We roll off our bunk, slipping the sandals onto our feet. We divide the extra portion of bread and quickly eat.
|
"March!" Even though we are tired we try to march proudly, just as we are instructed to. "March!" Heads forward, we step in unison, playing the part of dutiful servants to the Third Reich, but there is nothing to be proud of. We organized an extra piece of bread; it means a lot to us, it is nothing to them.
|
"Line up across the field!" The pile of bricks has not gotten any smaller overnight. We line up wondering what this chore will mean.
|
"You go on the right side of me," I tell Danka.
|
"Face me!" We shuffle into position. We stand about ten feet apart and wait. Orders are barked in German. The girl in front of the line picks up a brick and throws it to the girl next to her, who throws it to the next girl. The whip cracks as the girl in the front shakes the cobwebs from her brain and grabs another brick. The girl to the left of me tosses the first brick into my hands. I toss it easily to Danka, turning back just in time to receive the next brick. At the front of the line we can hear the SS yelling, "
Schnell! Schnell!
" The tempo increases so that there is barely a moment between tossing the brick to our neighbor and receiving the next brick. Within twenty passes, blood begins to ooze from cuts on my hands. The rough edges of the baked clay slice into our palms, repeating the injuries over and over. Danka is slow at this chore and doesn't always turn in time for me to throw my bricks, but the girl by my side is not waiting for anything. She throws them anyway.
|
I want to scream at the pain in my foot when the bricks land on my arches or toes, but I do not. I do not do anything to call attention to myself. I throw the bricks as I have been instructed, but I do not throw them at my sister's feet, I do not inflict the torture on her that is being inflicted on me. I grab these bricks quickly from
|
|
