They had barely noticed that I had been sent from hut to hut in the meantime.
But I was aware that in those few minutes fate had passed me in many different forms.
When the transport of sick patients for the “rest camp” was organized,
my name (that is, my number) was put on the list, since a few doctors were needed.
But no one was convinced that the destination was really a rest camp.
A few weeks previously the same transport had been prepared. Then, too, everyone had thought that it was destined for the gas ovens.
When it was announced that anyone who volunteered for the dreaded night shift would be taken off the transport list,
eighty-two prisoners volunteered immediately. A quarter of an hour later the transport was canceled,
but the eighty-two stayed on the list for the night shift.
For the majority of them, this meant death within the next fortnight.
Now the transport for the rest camp was arranged for the second time.
Again no one knew whether this was a ruse to obtain the last bit of work from the sick—if only for fourteen days—
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