The Auschwitz Escape

  Jacob couldn’t believe how much detail this guy had on him. Who was he? And who were these “friends”?

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “I didn’t,” Poczciwinski said. “But I’d heard so much about the exploits of your uncle that I was intrigued when I finally saw a picture of him. I studied that picture carefully. I was fascinated by it. You might say it was seared into my psyche. And then I was walking down the street this morning and you walked by. Do you realize how much you look like your uncle? Anyway, I put two and two together and took a calculated risk. You should have seen the look on your face! And now here you are. Welcome to Auschwitz.”

  Jacob wasn’t sure what to say.

  “And welcome to the Canada command,” Poczciwinski added. “I just saved your life.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You were about to become a Sonderkommando, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what they do?”

  Jacob shook his head.

  “They remove corpses from the gas chambers.”

  “The what?”

  “The gas chambers.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you heard?”

  Jacob shook his head again.

  “The Nazis are exterminating the Jewish race here at Auschwitz,” Poczciwinski said, now sitting on the edge of the desk. “That’s what this place is for.”

  “Really, sir, I don’t understand,” Jacob said. “I mean, obviously people are dying, but . . .”

  “No, Jacob, they’re not just dying,” Poczciwinski insisted. “They’re being systematically liquidated. That’s what’s happening here. The Nazis are methodically murdering the Jews by the thousands. Actually by the tens of thousands.”

  “How?”

  “They march them into special rooms that look like showers, and then they pump in poison gas—it’s called Zyklon B—and within a half hour, everyone in the showers is dead.”

  Jacob just stared at him for a few moments. That wasn’t possible.

  “They sent me into the showers,” he finally said. “I didn’t die.”

  “When you first got off the train, were you sent to the right or the left?”

  “To the right.”

  “There you go.”

  When Jacob didn’t respond, Poczciwinski kept talking. “Everyone who was sent to the left yesterday was gassed, Jacob. They’re all dead. They’ve all been cremated. All that’s left of them are ashes and smoke.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Everyone.”

  “What about Mr. Eliezer?”

  “Gone.”

  Jacob felt sick to his stomach.

  “You don’t believe me?” Poczciwinski asked after a pause. “I understand. I didn’t believe it at first myself. But it’s true. They kill the weak. They force the strong to work. When they become weak, they kill them, too. And then another train comes, and it all begins again.”

  Poczciwinski let that horrible reality sink in for a moment. Then he turned to more practical and immediate issues.

  “You’re lucky I found you,” he said. “Otherwise you would have been up to your waist in dead bodies. Pulling out their gold teeth. Prying off their gold crowns and fillings. Loading them on carts. Wheeling them next door to the crematorium. Watching them be shoved into ovens. And then hosing down the gas chambers of the blood and the urine and the excrement so they’re ready for the next shipment of unsuspecting victims.”

  Jacob was too stunned to speak. A thousand questions flooded his brain, but he didn’t know which one to ask first. So he just said nothing.

  “Go ahead, son. It’s okay.”

  “Why do they do it?” Jacob finally asked.

  “Who, the Nazis?”

  “No, the Sonderkommandos.”

  “What choice do they have?” Poczciwinski asked with a shrug. “They want to live. Plus they’re fed better. They get extra bread. A little extra jam. Occasionally some decent meat—you know, the kind that’s not spoiled. The kind that you might actually serve to a dog. It’s not much, but it’s more than everyone else gets. But it’s no life. The Sonderkommandos get extra food, but they don’t live that long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They go crazy. It doesn’t take long. They throw themselves against the fences. Or they’re rounded up every eight to ten weeks and shot by the guards and thrown into the ovens themselves.”

  “Why?”

  “The Nazis know a man can only take so much. They try to shoot them before they go crazy.”

  “Why not assign them another job?”

  “To keep them quiet.”

  Jacob didn’t understand.

  “Not everyone knows what’s happening here, Jacob,” Poczciwinski explained. “That’s part of the Nazis’ plan. If everyone in the camp knew all the sinister details of what happens here, they might revolt. Then who would do all the work? And what if someone escaped? God forbid. They might tell the Jews on the outside what was really happening here, that this isn’t a slave-labor camp but a death camp. Would any Jew in his or her right mind actually get on a train bound for a camp if he knew—not suspected, not heard rumors, but actually knew for certain—that it was an extermination camp? Would you?”

  Jacob just stared at him.

  “Of course not,” Poczciwinski said. “You’d fight back. There would be massive revolts everywhere. And that’s what the Nazis are afraid of. The only way for Hitler and the SS to kill every Jew in Europe—and believe me, this is their plan—is to keep the Jews and the rest of the world from knowing what’s really happening here. That’s why they take every precaution to prevent word from getting out. That’s why the security here is airtight. That’s why they go to such extraordinary lengths to prevent anyone from escaping. All the fences. All the towers. All the guards and dogs. Huge fields of land mines around the camp for dozens of kilometers. Thousands of soldiers on alert twenty-four hours a day to hunt down and kill anyone who does manage to break out for a few minutes or a few hours.”

  “Has anyone ever gotten out?” Jacob asked.

  Poczciwinski shook his head. “Close to eight hundred people have tried,” he said. “Not one of them made it. Then again, there’s a first time for everything, right? Maybe the first will be you.”

  38

  Leszek Poczciwinski stood up from the desk.

  He was taller than most of the men Jacob had seen in the camp, probably around six feet, and seemed in good physical shape, considering all he had been through. Though by nature his build was slender, he was not gaunt. He wasn’t starving. Like everyone else, he wore the zebra stripes, but for some reason his seemed to fit better. They weren’t baggy or falling off of him. They almost seemed tailored or at least carefully chosen.

  One thing was sure: he was not Jewish. He wore a red triangle, meaning that he was a political prisoner. His piercing blue eyes betrayed a sharp intelligence, and they showed no hint of fear. Jacob wasn’t sure if that should be reassuring or a cause for concern. How could one not be afraid in such a place?

  Leszek pulled two glass bottles of apple juice out of a cooler and set one on the desk. The other he opened and began to sip. He did not offer the second bottle to Jacob. Instead he pointed through the window to the warehouse below and began to speak once again.

  “There,” he said, motioning Jacob to come and look, which Jacob dutifully did. “That’s the world I oversee, young man. And believe me, of all the jobs in this godforsaken place, this is the one you want.”

  Jacob looked out over the expanse and saw shelves filled with every kind of clothing imaginable. Other shelves were piled with blankets, comforters, and sheets, while still others were filled with jars of fruit and canned vegetables, boxes of jams and jellies, bottles of syrup and cooking oil, and bags of rice and flour. And this was just the beginning. In one area were piles of household goods—shaving kits, ladies’ makeup supplies, combs and brushes, sewing kits, flashl
ights, personal mirrors, and the like. In another area there were stacks of lamps and sets of china, pots and pans, and all manner of cookware and kitchen supplies, save knives or anything else that could be used as a weapon. In yet another area was an enormous mound of shoes and boots and slippers, and on and on it went.

  Jacob was amazed by how plentiful everything was. As he stared in wonder, for the first time he felt a bit more hopeful that things could actually get better. Perhaps the guards were just punishing everyone for a while. Perhaps all this roughness was just for a season, to make everyone more humble, more pliant, more willing to work hard, and then conditions would be eased. Here, after all, was tremendous plenty. People didn’t have to starve. They didn’t have to suffer cold or heat.

  He stole a glance at the bottle of apple juice now sitting in a small puddle of water on the desk. His mouth was watering. He wanted to grab it and drink it down as rapidly as humanly possible. He was becoming desperate, but it had not been offered, and Jacob kept telling himself to be careful. He didn’t know this man. Perhaps he was being tested. He didn’t dare fail the test.

  Then Leszek explained that everything in this place had been taken from the prisoners upon their arrival at Auschwitz. Nothing had ever been returned to them, and nothing ever would be.

  “Most of this is sent back to Berlin, to be distributed among the families of Nazi soldiers serving on the front,” Leszek explained. “But no matter how much we ship out, the place is always bursting at the seams. Every few days another train arrives. More Jews. More luggage. More booty. The SS guards steal what they want, so long as they don’t get caught, then make us catalog the rest. And it all gets shipped out in due course.”

  “All of it?” Jacob asked, his hopes suddenly dashed.

  “Every bit,” Leszek confirmed. “And you’re not even seeing everything here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m talking about the gold and the silver and the cash and the jewelry,” Leszek said. “All of that is kept separate, under much more security than here.”

  “How much are we talking about?” Jacob asked.

  “Millions, tens of millions, maybe more. I couldn’t say exactly, but the Jews are coming with everything they have, and Hoess and his men are taking it all away.”

  “And it all goes to der Führer in Berlin?”

  “I’m sure his inner circle is getting their cut. If I had to guess, I’d say most of this Jewish treasure is being stashed away in Swiss bank accounts, not in the central bank in Berlin. But that’s just a guess. And Hoess’s men don’t miss a thing. They rip the rings off fingers. As I said, they pull the gold fillings and crowns right out of people’s mouths. They want it all.”

  Jacob backed away from the windows.

  “Young man, welcome to Canada,” Leszek said gently, waiting a few moments and then adding, “That’s what people—long before me—nicknamed this place. Canada.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I guess they think of Canada as a land of great bounty and natural resources. Anyway, the name stuck. I’m the kapo that runs this place, and I need a new man. I’d like you to come join me.”

  “Why?” Jacob asked, wondering if he looked as perplexed and troubled as he felt.

  “I want you to survive, Jacob,” Leszek said bluntly. “I’ve heard of the work your uncle did in Germany and in Belgium, and I could use someone with your background. Now, let’s be clear. I’m going to work you hard—very hard—but I’ll also take care of you. I’ll give you extra food, make sure you get some coffee you can actually swallow, and I’ll watch your back. All I ask is that you watch mine. Only the strong survive here. And only people who have enough to eat and drink stay strong. Only those with inside jobs stay strong. Only those who help each other and build true friendships and alliances stay strong. I’m giving you a chance to survive and hopefully to help some others survive too. So what do you say? Can I count on you?”

  Jacob reminded himself that he didn’t know this man from Adam. Yet somehow Leszek knew an awful lot about him, or at least about Avi. Was he trustworthy? How could Jacob know for sure? It certainly seemed like this man was part of the Resistance. How else could he know such things? But he hadn’t said as much. Not definitively, anyway.

  Then again, what if he was actually an agent working for the SS? What if he worked for the Gestapo or directly for the commandant? Wouldn’t that make more sense? How else would he have gotten such a plum position of working inside this treasure trove?

  Still, if the Nazis knew Jacob’s real name, why go to such lengths? Why not just arrest him, torture him until he spilled whatever secrets he had, and then hang him? Of course, he didn’t know that much about the Resistance network. Avi would have been the real catch. He was a big fish in the Resistance. Jacob was a minnow, and he couldn’t imagine the Nazis didn’t know that. Why, then, go through this charade?

  “May I ask you a question?” Jacob said at last.

  “Of course.”

  “Why don’t you just turn me in?”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Wouldn’t they reward you for turning in a member of the Resistance, even one as insignificant as me?” Jacob asked.

  “They might,” Leszek said.

  “Then why not do it?”

  “I’m not here to help the Nazis, Jacob. I’m here to save every life I can—Polish, Jewish, whatever.”

  Jacob considered that for a moment.

  “But isn’t it against the rules to give a prisoner extra food?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What happens if you get caught?”

  “They’ll probably hang me,” Leszek said. “They’ll probably hang you, too. But here’s the thing, Jacob. I’ve survived here two and a half years. So who knows? Maybe today my number will come up. But if they catch and kill me, I want it to be for something that matters. And saving lives matters to me.”

  “You’ve been here two and a half years?” Jacob asked, having a hard time believing that.

  Leszek nodded. “I got here in September of 1940.”

  “How long do most people last?” Jacob wondered.

  “Two months,” Leszek said. “Maybe three.”

  “Then how did you make it so long?”

  “I made friends.”

  Jacob just stared at the man, but Leszek didn’t strike Jacob as someone who often told tales or cracked jokes. He had an air of confidence about him, though he didn’t wear it on his sleeve. Conflicted though he was, Jacob decided he had little choice but to play the charade out and see where it led. Maybe he would only live another few days or a few weeks or three months at best. But wouldn’t that be better than dying today? After all, every added hour gave him more time to plot his escape. And there was no question in Jacob’s mind that he was going to escape. The only questions now were how and when. Working here in Canada with Leszek, he calculated, might just give him access to the supplies and the cover he’d need to find a way out.

  So Jacob finally nodded and forced himself to say yes and thank you to the opportunity he was being offered.

  He put out his hand, and Leszek shook it firmly and smiled. “Again, welcome to Canada.”

  Then, and only then, did Leszek pick up the bottle of apple juice and hand it to him. Jacob took it, stared at it, and then gulped it down before Leszek could change his mind.

  Nothing had ever tasted so sweet.

  39

  “Excuse me; I’m here to pick up a box for Canada.”

  Jacob desperately hoped he had come to the right building. Auschwitz was not a place that was forgiving of errors. He glanced back at the paper in his hand, on which Leszek had scrawled down the building name and number. Jacob had asked several prisoners, and they had all pointed him here. Though he hadn’t actually been able to find a name or number on the front of the building, he had nevertheless entered the low, squat structure adjacent to the great chimney, ever spewing its putrid black smoke.

&n
bsp; “Which box, boy?” said a prisoner working behind the counter. “I don’t got all day.”

  “I really don’t know, sir,” Jacob conceded. “I’m kind of new here.”

  The man sniffed in disgust and went off muttering and cursing but came back in a few minutes with a huge box filled with eyeglasses of all shapes and sizes.

  “That what you come for?” the man grunted, clearly at the end of whatever shred of patience he’d ever had.

  Jacob had no idea. But as he stared into the box at all the different kinds of spectacles, one pair caught his attention. Sitting to one side of the wooden box, nestled up against the edge, was a pair of gold wire-rimmed glasses. Jacob instantly knew he had seen these before. He reached for them and picked them up. He examined them carefully and finally set them down. These were Mr. Eliezer’s glasses, the very ones his “father” had been wearing on the train. Jacob felt a sadness so haunting and so palpable he thought he might actually be able to reach out and touch it with his hands.

  Leszek was right. He wasn’t lying or telling ghost stories. The old and the infirm were being exterminated in Auschwitz. Mr. Eliezer had been murdered. He had done no wrong. He hadn’t hurt anyone or caused any trouble. But Commandant Hoess had ordered him to be slaughtered anyway. One day Mr. Eliezer was alive and well and trying to save Jacob’s life. The next day he was sent to a gas chamber, and his body had been burned to ashes in an oven right next door. Now all that was left were his spectacles. All that was left of any of them in that cattle car were their glasses. Reading glasses. Sunglasses. Everyday glasses. That was it. Lara was no more. Mrs. Brenner was gone too. They were all dead. These kind ladies who had taken care of him and given him food to eat on the train, they were all gassed. Murdered. The gold in their teeth ripped out. Their naked bodies set on fire.