Their sentence was carried out within the next few hours.
Those who were sent to the left were marched from the station straight to the crematorium.
This building, as I was told by someone who worked there, had the word “bath” written over its doors in several European languages.
On entering, each prisoner was handed a piece of soap, and then—but mercifully I do not need to describe the events which followed.
Many accounts have been written about this horror.
We who were saved, the minority of our transport, found out the truth in the evening.
I inquired from prisoners who had been there for some time where my colleague and friend P—— had been sent.
“Was he sent to the left side?” “Yes,” I replied. “Then you can see him there,” I was told.
“Where?” A hand pointed to the chimney a few hundred yards off, which was sending a column of flame up into the grey sky of Poland.
It dissolved into a sinister cloud of smoke. “That’s where your friend is, floating up to Heaven,” was the answer.
But I still did not understand until the truth was explained to me in plain words. But I am telling things out of their turn.
From a psychological point of view, we had a long, long way in front of us
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