The Underground Reporters (15 page)

The first stop for the Jewish families was a small house in town, where everyone had to register, identifying themselves by the transport numbers that had already been given to them. The lines were long, but they all waited patiently for their turn to sign their names and list their numbers. From there they were taken to a large warehouse, a two-story wooden building that had been a factory once owned by a Jewish family. The wooden floor was dirty, but that did not stop families from staking
out their spaces and dropping wearily to the floor. A few old mattresses were scattered about, but for the most part they slept on luggage and on each other.

The warehouse filled up quickly, until it was crowded and noisy. John was reassured to see many of his friends. There was Beda, along with Frances and Reina. Ruda Stadler was there, along with Irena. Rabbi Ferda walked around talking quietly to people, comforting those who were frightened. Even John’s teacher, Joseph Frisch, sat on his suitcase, reading. Things couldn’t be so bad if everyone was still together, thought John, comforting himself.

John and the others moved around the factory, talking to friends and relatives. And then, the children did what they always did when they were together. They played tag, and ran noisily in and around the people who were sleeping on the floor. They even got to go outside, into the yard behind the factory, where they wrestled and shoved each other good-naturedly.

After playing with his friends for a while, John joined his family, huddled on the floor. “Here,” said his mother, handing him a roll. “Eat this. We don’t know when we are leaving and we must keep up our strength.” They ate what little food they had managed to bring with them. Then the Nazi guards brought some soup into the warehouse, and shouted for them all to line up to be fed. The soup was thin, and not very appetizing.

“What do you think will happen when we get to Theresienstadt?” John asked Beda, as the two of them sat together in a corner.

Beda shrugged. “I don’t know. What do your parents say?”

“Not much. They keep saying the war will be over soon. But they’ve been saying that forever.”

“Do you think we’re going to come home again?” asked Beda.

“Of course we will!” John declared, pretending confidence.

At one point, all the families were ordered to assemble downstairs in the yard in order to be counted. They left their belongings in piles on the floor and moved slowly outside. There they assembled in groups, according to their transport numbers, and waited anxiously as the guards moved about, counting people and checking their numbers against the transport sheets they held in their hands. It took forever to count a thousand people. Finally, they were permitted to go back to the warehouse and find their spots once more.

As they returned to their luggage, John saw Tulina sitting alone in one corner of the warehouse. She looked scared, and John longed to comfort her. When he walked toward her, she looked up and brightened.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said.

John nodded. “Me too.” There was an awkward pause.

“Do you know how long we’ll be here?” she asked. Her dark eyes were sad. Gone was her bright, lovely smile.

“A few days, I think. And then we’ll get on the trains. Don’t worry,” he added. “We’ll be fine.” Once again, he sounded braver than he felt.

Tulina smiled at him, grateful for his encouragement.

“I’ll just sit here with you,” he said. “We can talk, or play a game.”

Tulina nodded again, and they sat together in the warehouse, saying little, thankful for each other’s company.

On the fourth day – Saturday, April 18 – everyone went outside to be counted again. But this time they did not return to the warehouse. “Move along the railroad tracks,” the guards barked. “Take your belongings and board the train.” Everyone scrambled to get seats on the train, anxious to stay together as families.

The crowded railroad cars became hot and noisy. The doors closed with a bang and at last the train pulled out of the station, leaving Budejovice behind. John kept his eyes glued to the window as his town became smaller and smaller, and finally disappeared.
When will I see Budejovice again?
he wondered.

P
ART THREE

A street in the town of Terezin today.

CHAPTER
24
T
HERESIENSTADT
A
PRIL
1942

When the train pulled into Theresienstadt, John and the others had their first taste of what to expect. Fierce guards surrounded them, bellowing orders as the Jews descended from the train and assembled on the platform. “Move ahead!” the guards shouted, kicking and pushing anyone who moved too slowly. They all quickly fell into line, trying to avoid this abuse. Then they were marched toward a warehouse, to await further orders.

Theresienstadt was a dirty, barren town consisting mainly of three-story brick buildings, much like the apartment buildings in Budejovice, but run-down. Other, smaller houses stood between the taller buildings. These buildings surrounded a large fenced square, a muddy wasteland in the center of town. A high wall patrolled by the guards enclosed the entire town.

The town was packed with Jewish prisoners from all over Czechoslovakia and other parts of Europe. Men, women, and children shuffled
through the streets with their heads down, dressed in rags, moving silently. Soldiers patrolled the small cobblestone streets, brandishing rifles. Guard dogs strained at their leashes and barked ferociously as the prisoners walked by.

Left: The central square in the town of Terezin today. Right: A drawing of prisoners as they arrive at Theresienstadt, carrying their possessions.

In the dark warehouse, families searched for a corner where they might have some space and privacy. But the warehouse quickly became crowded, and people had to lie pressed closely against each other. John slept little that night. He lay with his head close to his father’s back, his mind racing. There was a desperate feeling in the air. He could sense it in the strained faces of the adults around him. He could see it in the grimness on the streets and in the buildings, in the guards who patrolled nearby. And he could feel it in the hunger pangs that were already gnawing at his stomach. He moved closer to his father for comfort.

The next day, they had to line up outside to be counted again. John
was exhausted, and stood timidly in line, wondering if they would be given a real place to sleep and when they would receive some food. The count seemed endless, but eventually the guards reached the families of Budejovice.

“Get into lines!” they shouted harshly. “Men on the left, women to the right, and children in a separate line over here.”

John’s heart beat wildly as this news settled in on him. Families were to be separated! Women were being sent to one large barracks, men to another, and boys and girls to two other barracks. There was mass confusion as parents all around him clutched their sobbing children. John had never been away from his family, and here in this walled prison the notion was even more alarming. He felt terror creeping over him. Where was he going? Would he ever see his parents again?

“John!” his mother cried, holding him. “We will come and find you. We’ll be with you as soon as we can.” He clung to her neck, unable to respond. He had barely a moment to say goodbye to his parents before he was ordered into the line of boys and marched away.

Desperately, he searched the crowd of boys for familiar faces, and there suddenly was Beda. Though they couldn’t talk, their eyes met, a brief but reassuring glance. At least John had his good friend nearby. As he lugged his suitcase down the road with the other boys, he thought about Budejovice, and he remembered the times when he had tested his courage by jumping from the streetcar, or by climbing the Black Tower.

Survival here, in this prison, would take a very different kind of courage.

CHAPTER
25
I
N THE
B
ARRACKS

John eventually found himself in Barracks L417, the house for boys under the age of sixteen. Because he was older, Karel went with their father.

The first time John entered the dormitory, he was terrified. He already missed his parents and his brother. There were forty boys in the room, crammed into a very small space, but John felt alone.

As he stood there, uncertain and afraid, a young man walked up to him and reached out his hand. “Welcome,” he said. “My name is Arna. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Almost immediately, John felt himself relax. Young Jewish men and women lived in the children’s barracks as house leaders. Arna, a tall, good-looking young man, was the leader of this boys’ room.

John had to adjust to a new reality of life in this harsh place. Three times a day he stood patiently in a long line, waiting to receive his tiny portion of food. In the morning, there was weak coffee. At noon, prisoners received
some watery soup – on good days there was a potato in it, or a dumpling floating on top. For supper, there was more soup and a small bun. Hunger pains clawed at John’s stomach, until they became so familiar that he couldn’t remember what feeling full was like.

In the barracks, the bunk beds were piled three high, to enable forty boys to sleep in the crowded room. It was dirty and difficult to keep the bugs and rodents away. Soap was a treasure, hoarded for the rare times the boys had the opportunity to wash in cold water. With no hot water for washing, lice bred in the boys’ clothing, hiding in the seams, biting them and spreading disease. Prisoners became ill on a daily basis.

In another room in the boys’ barracks, Beda was having his own problems. Shortly after arriving in Theresienstadt, he had contracted scarlet fever, a serious disease. It had begun with an infection in his throat and had led to a high fever and a rash across his body. Left untreated, scarlet fever could be fatal. Fortunately, Beda was treated in a small hospital and within a few weeks he recovered. But the disease left him weakened and frail.

Beda’s sister lived in the girls’ Barracks L410. Even though their buildings were close, Frances and Beda rarely had a chance to see each other. Frances spent her days working. Her first job was in a bakery, sorting through the moldy bread that was put aside for the Jewish prisoners. She hated the work. The hours were long and the conditions were terrible. Back at home, this rotten bread would have been thrown out in seconds. But here in this prison, hunger drove Frances to steal pieces of the bread for herself and her family. You can eat anything when you are starving, she realized.