Chapter 8. Born Again
For the first time since he could remember, Henry was happy and hopeful. When he first arrived at Dachau he immediately noticed how easy the prisoners had it. “These people look like they get enough food to actually stay alive,” he pleasantly thought to himself. “Maybe those rumors about being traded for German prisoners are true after all.” The conditions Henry was used to were a thousand times worse than what he now saw. He was lead to his barrack along with several dozen other Jewish prisoners wearing striped uniforms. They walked down a narrow road with long single-story buildings on either side. He saw Americans, Canadians, Russians, and Frenchmen all busy hanging their clothes out to dry, cleaning, working on small tasks, and most surprisingly, lounging about. “There’s no forced labor?” he questioned wondered to himself. “Wow, t. This is like a convalescent home.”
A German officer brought Henry and his group to a building where they were instructed to take off their clothes and shower. They were given fresh uniforms.
“You are now political prisoners of the German Army," he announced. “The Red Cross is here doing an inspection. You will not talk to them. If you are heard speaking with them you will be dealt with harshly, "Vershten?"
The officer then left the building. Henry understood. He would not be telling the Red Cross how he just came from the salt mines in Kochendorf and witnessed hundreds of men expire from exhaustion and malnutrition. He would be silent about how he had to steal food from the knapsacks of German soldiers when their backs were turned, risking his life so that he wouldn’t starve to death while he did back-breaking slave labor for twelve hours a day. He would not say a word about the long march to Dachau, with nothing to eat for days, and how he watched men drop dead by the dozens as he walked beside them. He would say nothing about how he reached down to pick up a rotten apple core he saw lying on the road, only to be stabbed in the back by a bayonet on the end of German officer's riffle. No, he was not going to ruin his chances of being traded for German soldiers and gaining his freedom. There would be plenty of time to speak later if he was lucky enough to live till until then.
A German officer brought Henry and his group to a building where they were instructed to take off their clothes and shower. They were given fresh uniforms.
“You are now political prisoners of the German Army," he announced. “The Red Cross is here doing an inspection. You will not talk to them. If you are heard speaking with them you will be dealt with harshly, "Vershten?"
The officer then left the building. Henry understood. He would not be telling the Red Cross how he just came from the salt mines in Kochendorf and witnessed hundreds of men expire from exhaustion and malnutrition. He would be silent about how he had to steal food from the knapsacks of German soldiers when their backs were turned, risking his life so that he wouldn’t starve to death while he did back-breaking slave labor for twelve hours a day. He would not say a word about the long march to Dachau, with nothing to eat for days, and how he watched men drop dead by the dozens as he walked beside them. He would say nothing about how he reached down to pick up a rotten apple core he saw lying on the road, only to be stabbed in the back by a bayonet on the end of German officer's riffle. No, he was not going to ruin his chances of being traded for German soldiers and gaining his freedom. There would be plenty of time to speak later if he was lucky enough to live till until then.