My mother had nightmares all her life: In summer 1944, she was 17 then, she witnessed several transports on railway stations near her home-town Vrútky (even toady one of the most important railw.junctions in that mountainous country, 40 km S ouf Polish border). She handed over her lunch, brought some water to the skinny arms stretched out from small barbed-wire-barred windows on the the cattle cars, while the SS looked the other way, all the time scared for her own life...
These people were on their (one-)way north - to then unknown town of Oswiecim [german: Auschwitz]
I went to Auschwitz with my father in 1960, barely 12 years old. He was put in charge by the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia of boxing club Spartak Dubnica for a friendly bout with Krakow B.C. The hosts gave a tour of Oswiecim and "sister" camp Brzezinki [german: Birkenau]
Now I had nightmares: even 15 years after the war the place stank of DEATH and unspeakable HORROR: the suitcase of glasses no one wear anymore, the wooden-barrack full of artificial limbs, another two full of human hair (the efficient nazis used them for matrasses!), I couldn't sleep without fear for months afterward...
Memento Mori!
No comments:
Post a Comment