''There is a world out there," I gasp, giving way to the deluge inside of me.
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There is a song we sing in camp. It never leaves my mind for one moment, always I am singing it inside my head:
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 | | There used to be tangos, fox-trots, and fanfares
sung by dancing pairs.
There were tangos of dreams and lovers,
but now we're at war. Nobody writes songs.
It's a waste of our young years.
So sing this new song, our heads held high.
Sing, sister, behind the German iron bars
this tango of tears, suffering, and desperation
what the war means to us today.
Our hearts are crying hot tears.
Are we ever going to see the sun?
Are we going to see the beautiful world again?
From the distance through the iron bars freedom is laughing at us
and about freedom we are constantly dreaming.
But the sun's still not shining.
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It is so impossible, but there it is, just a few kilometers away. Even in Stabsgebaüde, even if I can't see it, the smoke is still belching from the crematoriums. We aren't out of it, and the Germans are so efficient, and they're winning the war. We are surviving because we have a hope for living, but admitting to this hope is insane! In my heart I want to believe I will be free again someday because I don't have the strength to stand up and live without that hope. But death is too imminent; the crematoriums are too oppressive. Hope is only there because we cannot survive without it.
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"What's wrong?" Marek's voice invades my sorrow.
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"That train, . . ." I answer, my voice wavering and unsure, "there were people on it, all dressed up, sitting there as if there is no war . . . as if we're not even here." I disappear behind the
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