V Alexander - The Taster

The train headed west, toward Germany. After several hours, we arrived at parallel train tracks in the flat, wooded countryside of eastern Poland. A second train sat next to ours, filled with people. Their faces, pressed against the windows, watched me as I departed my train. A deep and vacant sadness filled their eyes.

One of the security men handed me a paper and spoke, the only words he said during our journey together. “Keep this with you. It shows your destination.”

The day was sultry and hot and I slipped on the greasy tracks as I walked between the guards. The man who’d spoken to me caught me by the arm and helped me to the steps leading to the second train. I turned from my perch on the steps and looked at him. He smiled and brought his hand up as if to wave. Then he walked back to the train with another guard.

Armed soldiers stood on the couplings between the cars. They looked at me as if I were their property. One directed me to the right with the barrel of his rifle. I walked into a car crammed with men, women and children. The men were dressed in rumpled suits; the women, in summer dresses. Still, the smell of unwashed bodies filled the car and I reached for a handkerchief in my coat. I placed it over my nose and looked about for a seat. None was to be found. A young man, with black hair and glasses, sitting on a bench saw me. He stood and offered me his seat next to a young woman, whom I supposed to be his girlfriend or wife. I thanked him and collapsed in the narrow space between the woman and a metal partition.

The train jerked into motion and chugged slowly down the tracks. The young man stared at me. I felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He spoke to me in Polish, and not knowing much of the language, I answered in German that I didn’t speak Polish. He immediately switched to German. The woman, whose feet rested on two brown leather suitcases, peered at me. She wore a plain gray dress. Despite her drab clothing, she was handsome, with dark hair and eyes.

“Where are you headed?” he asked.

I still held the paper the security man had given me. I opened it and peered at the official document emblazoned with the Nazi insignia and signed by the Colonel. “It says, ‘Bromberg-Ost.’” The name meant nothing to me.

“My wife is headed there as well.” He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his jacket and sat on the floor in front of us. His body swayed with the erratic movements of the train. “Perhaps you can be friends.”

The woman spoke up with sudden intensity. “I want to be with you,” she said in broken German.

The man sighed. “I’m afraid we have no choice, my dear.” He pointed to the nearest guard, who stood at the end of the compartment casually stroking his rifle and smoking a cigarette as he looked out upon the countryside. Turning to me, the Polish man said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Erik and this is my wife, Katrina. We are teachers.”

“Teachers?” I asked, incredulous at their occupation. I knew what I was suspected of, but I would never have guessed that I would be seated next to teachers. What were their crimes?

“We are political subversives,” Erik said as if it was a common title. “That’s what the Nazis tell me. We’ve been accused of communist leanings and teaching students about radical governments apart from National Socialism. So, I am being sent to Stutthof and my wife to Bromberg-Ost. That’s why we find ourselves on this train. For telling the truth.” He looked at me intently, studying me from head to toe. “Why are you here?”

Of course I couldn’t tell them the truth. I didn’t want them to know that I had come from the Wolf’s Lair or that I had been in service to Hitler. So much of my life was built around lies. I hated lying, but I had no choice. “I’m not certain. There are no charges against me. An SS Colonel came this morning and told me I had to leave in an hour.”

“Are you Jewish?” Erik asked.

“No.”

“Then you are a traitor,” Katrina said.

Erik shook his head and scolded her. “Hush. We don’t need to start rumors. Who knows what the Nazis are up to?” He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose. “At least we are blessed to be on a decent train.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We can at least breathe and sit. We’ve heard about the other trains: people crammed into cars like animals, so tight they can’t move. They defecate upon one another, suffocate or die standing up. They travel for days with no food or water.” He added with pride in his voice, as if honored by his captors, “This train has been reserved for intellectuals and powerful businessmen. Some are Jewish, some not. If the Nazis don’t like you, it doesn’t matter. I hear Stutthof is no playground.”

The photographs Karl showed me flashed into my mind. The mounds of bodies, luggage, books, glasses, shoes, all discarded, thrown upon the ground as so much human waste. A wave of nausea washed across my stomach.

Katrina burst into sobs. Several men in the car looked at her and then turned away, unmoved by her tears, stoically resigned to their condition. I stretched my arm across Katrina’s shoulders and held her.

“How could this happen?” she asked. “Why? Because we told the truth, we are under arrest?”

She spoke loudly enough that the guard heard her. He stepped into the car. “Shut your dirty communist mouth.”

Erik attempted to soothe her, entwining his fingers with hers. After a time, Katrina regained her composure. I was shocked at how much the world had changed, how naïve I had become since my service to Hitler began. I seemed on the verge of experiencing the horrible reality I had first witnessed in Karl’s photos. For the first time, I truly understood why many Germans defended Hitler. All the Nazis’ tricks—the political fervor, the propaganda, the myth of superiority—played to the common man. Few knew such atrocities as these existed.

The train bounced along, and we said nothing for a long time. My stomach growled and I remembered I hadn’t eaten since dinner. Soon the rocking and the heat lulled me to sleep. Erik dozed with his head against his wife’s legs.

We were jolted awake when the train came to a halt about three in the afternoon at the station called Stutthof. Two armed guards came through the car and looked at everyone’s papers. Those who were destined for this stop were told to get off. I looked out the window. I saw little except woods spreading across a plain, which reminded me of the countryside around Hitler’s Wolf’s Lair. In the distance, I could barely make out a formidable two-story brick building with many windows and a sloping roof that reminded me of a French château. There appeared to be a clearing beyond it. A row of armed SS guards stood outside the train herding people down a pebbled pathway.

When it came Erik’s turn to leave, Katrina clung to his arms, sobbing and swearing in Polish. One of the guards stepped up beside them and threatened to ram his rifle butt into her stomach. Erik ordered his wife to let go. She released his arms, letting her fingers drift down, her body shaking with sobs.

“Be good, my dear one,” he said. He kissed her on the forehead and said, “We will meet again soon.” He looked at me. “Good-bye…”

I had forgotten to tell them my name. “Magda.”

“Good-bye, Magda. May God keep you in His graces.”

The guard grabbed Erik by the shoulder and shoved him down the car. Katrina collapsed on the bench and buried her face in her hands. I sat beside her, shaking with my own fear, feeling inadequate and scared.

I looked around the car and saw that only ten women were aboard. We were all bound for Bromberg-Ost. No one spoke as the train pulled away. We all stared at one another blankly as if our lives were over.