Chapter Three
The name rang in my head. I've never heard it before, but it carried the weight of importance. Auschwitz. Was this the place I was going to die? Was this the place where my family was going to die? What horrors will we encounter in this godforsaken place? Fear clenched at my heart and soul like an evil grip, refusing to release me.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the side of this hellish cattle car. It jolted me to reality, and I was suddenly very grateful for my family's presence. I knew I could not get through this without them.
After the bang, The small door was unlatched and opened. A breeze of air blew in, and my reflex to vomit was triggered. It smelled like the flesh of burning corpses. I vomited all over the newly vacant ground next to me, my insides roiling. My face burned in shame as my mother patted my back comfortingly, and the nothing that was in my stomach was even more pronounced. I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears away, then reopened them. We had to leave now.
I jumped over the edge of the door, my father leading the way. We took our place in line and the smell of burning dead bodies perfumed the air around me even more. I peered to the front of the line, seeing what was at the front.
There were three men in the tan uniforms sitting at a desk, with papers and documents in front of them. They were seeing each of us one by one. A man who looked about thirty approached the desk, and was asked his name and age.
After the brief interview, they directed him to the group of people on the right. Next in line was a frail old woman whose face was contorted with fear. The same questions were asked, but this time the woman was directed to the group of people on the left. It was clear what was going on here.
The people on the left were going to die. The group looked sickly and unwell, clearly unfit to help the Germans' war effort. The people on the right were clearly in the prime of their lives and ready to help the Germans by slave labor.
Immediately, hope planted a small seed of happiness into my head. Maybe if we were all deemed fit to work, we could
stay together. There was no doubt that my stay in this horrible place called Auschwitz would be horrible and torturous, but with my family I would surely not succumb to those vast feelings of hopelessness and loneliness.
My thoughts were interrupted by a man in line in front of my father who seemed to be talking to us. His gaze was
directed to my father as he asked, "How old are you?" Taken aback by this stranger, my father gave him a quizzical look and answered, "45." The man nodded and then asked him, "How about your beautiful family?" I shuddered as he aimed lecherous look my way. My father, not missing that look, narrowed his eyes and said, My wife is 38, my daughter is 17, and my son is 13. Why do you bother us with your questions of age?
"Listen to me," the man said harshly. "If you want to stay together, then just listen. Lie about your ages. The Germans don't want anyone too old or too young on their work force, it slows down work production. You and wife must both be 35, and your son better be at least fifteen. Lie or suffer the consequences." Then he turned around, for it was his turn in line.
"You heard the man," my father said decisively. "It makes sense. Honey, me and you are both 35, and Gabe must be fifteen. Keep this in mind and we shall stay together." Then, he stepped forward, for it was his turn.
He was asked his usual questions, and then mercifully directed to the group of people destined to live. I breathed a sigh of relief, then my stomach notted up. It was my turn.
I stepped up to the desk with my head held high, although on the inside I was screaming in fear. The three officers were
all in their twenties, all handsome, and all wearing that uniform that disgusted me. Despite their young ages and handsome faces, a surge of unrelenting hate flowed through me.
The man sitting in the middle looked at me with appreciation, and raked his eyes from my feet to my face. With a smirk that made me want to smack him, he finally asked me the two questions. "What is your name?" he asked, that infuriating smirk still on his poisonously handsome face. God, I hate them all.
"Lisbet Sobell," I said, sounding much braver than I felt. He marked something on his clipboard, then looked up at me
again.
"And how old are you, Lisbet?" he said, mocking me and running his eyes up and down my body once again. Disgust, hate, and fury tore at me.
"Seventeen." I said shortly, wanting to get away from these men as quickly as possible. He marked something else down on his paper and said, "Very well, Lisbet." If he said my name one more time, I was going to scream. "You may join
your father."
Holding my head even higher, I walked to where my father was. I immediately grabbed his hand as we waited impatiently as my mother and brother took their turns.
Miraculously, they both passed the selection. Relief and gratitude enveloped me as we all joined hands once again. The Germans finished interviewing the others, with three more people joining our group. A middle-aged soldier told us to line up as he led us through the gates of Auschwitz. Once inside, a new order was issued.
"Men to the left, women to the right!" the soldier barked at us in German. Immediately, worry and despair planted themselves into my head. Would we see father and Gabe again?
My mother, seeing the look on my face, tried to calm me. "Lissy, it's okay. They're probably just going to different barracks."
Still, watching my father and brother walk away, worry began to gnaw at me.
I did not know that I would never see them again.
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