I felt it transcend that hopeless, meaningless world,
and from somewhere I heard a victorious “Yes” in answer to my question of the existence of an ultimate purpose.
At that moment a light was lit in a distant farmhouse, which stood on the horizon as if painted there,
in the midst of the miserable grey of a dawning morning in Bavaria.
“Et lux in tenebris lucet”—and the light shineth in the darkness.
For hours I stood hacking at the icy ground. The guard passed by, insulting me, and once again I communed with my beloved.
More and more I felt that she was present, that she was with me;
I had the feeling that I was able to touch her, able to stretch out my hand and grasp hers.
The feeling was very strong: she was there. Then, at that very moment, a bird flew down silently and perched just in front of me,
on the heap of soil which I had dug up from the ditch, and looked steadily at me.
Earlier, I mentioned art. Is there such a thing in a concentration camp?
It rather depends on what one chooses to call art. A kind of cabaret was improvised from time to time.
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