jherbert.sepulchre-第33部分

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esswork　on　his　part　and　he　strove　to　make　it　sound　convincing　to　his　tormentors）　and　who　among　the　farmers　supplied　the　underground　movement　with　food。　It　was　not　until　they　took　him　to　another　room　and　pletely　immersed　his　body　in　water；　pulling　him　up　just　before　he　lost　consciousness；　repeating　the　process　several　times；　that　he　admitted　his　own　parents　were　involved　with　the　partisans。　Only　when　lighted　cigarettes　were　pressed　against　his　testicles　and　no　more　information　babbled　from　his　broken　lips　was　the　Gestapo　sure　there　was　nothing　left　for　him　to　tell。
　　The　next　day　Janusz　was　driven　to　Zamek　Lublin；　a　hillside　castle　that　served　as　both　prison　and　courthouse。　There；　in　an　old　chapel　that　had　been　transformed　into　a　courtroom；　the　dazed　youth　was　sentenced　to　imprisonment。　He　was　lucky：　others　with　him　found　guilty　were　dispatched　to　a　room　next　door　and　instantly　shot。
　　From　Zamek　Lublin　he　was　taken　to　Majdanek；　a　notorious　internment　centre　just　east　of　the　city　where　many　thousands　of　Poles；　Hungarians　and　Czechoslovaks　were　being　held；　and　it　was　here　that　Janusz　received　the　tattooed　number　on　his　wrist　that　forever　would　identify　him　as　the　unfortunate　victim　of　a　Nazi　concentration　camp。
　　Once　he　had　recovered　from　his　injuries；　he　began　to　realise　he　had　certain　advantages　over　many　of　the　other　inmates　which　might　possibly　help　him　survive：　he　was　young　and　had　learned　to　exist　on　a　limited　amount　of　food　for　a　number　of　years　（on　this　point　he　was　soon　to　discover　that　at　Majdanek　'limited'　meant　hardly　any　at　all）；　he　was　cunning；　already　a　natural　scrounger；　he　held　scant　remorse　for　any　personal　misdeeds　（the　thought　of　what　had　befallen　those　he　had　betrayed　…including　the　fate　of　his　parents　…hardly　disturbed　him）；　he　was　not　Jewish。
　　And　there　was　one　particular　aberration　of　character　that　would　eventually　ensure　his　survival　under　the　worst　of　circumstances；　but　that　was　not　to　be　appreciated　until　much　later。
　　His　clothes　were　of　a　black…and…white　striped　material；　thin　and　coarse　and　loose…fitting；　his　bed　was　a　plank　of　wood　on　damp　ground。　His　panions　were　the　starving。
　　Janusz　became　used　to　raving　hunger　once　more。　He　dreamt　of　great　plates　of　sauerkraut；　sausages；　boiled　pork　and　pickles；　with　coriander　seeds　mixed　in。　And　often　he　dreamt　of　when　he　was　nine　years　old；　of　the　night　his　father　had　stolen　the　tiny　pig；　how　his　family　had　feasted；　the　park　lasting　for　days；　thin　soup　made　from　the　bones　lasting　even　longer。　He　would　wake　from　the　dream　in　the　darkness　of　the　night；　his　sunken　eyes　wide　and　staring；　the　succulent　memory　vanquishing　the　moans　and　smells　around　him　in　the　rough　hut。　He　would　remember　other　details　of　that　clandestine　night；　and　juices　would　run　from　his　open　mouth。
　　Time　passed　and　Janusz　mentally　sank　into　himself　just　as　his　flesh　physically　sank　into　his　bones。　Yet　there　was　ever　one　bright；　although　tormenting；　light　far　him。　Unlike　many　of　his　fellow　internees　far　whom　food　had　bee　almost　an　abstract　thing…　they　still　craved　it；　still　licked　their　bawls　which　had　often　contained　only　watery；　meatless　soup；　a　piece　of　black　bread　and　sawdust；　but　the　less　they　were　fed；　the　more　unreal　to　them　became　true　sustenance…he　never　relinquished　that　one　glorious　memory　of　his　family's　night　feast　all　those　years　ago。　It　became　an　obsession　with　him。　And　oddly；　a　driving　force。　Where　others　slowly　drifted　down　into　their　own　private　abysses　of　despair；　Janusz's　thoughts　constantly　stretched　towards　his　vision；　perhaps　as　a　drowning　man　might　reach　for　a　swooping　seagull。
　　He　worked　as　hard　for　his　gaolers　as　his　enfeebled　body　would　allow　（and　with　considerably　more　eagerness　than　on　his　father's　farm）　and　was　never　averse　to　mentioning　any　subversive　talk　he　might　hear　in　the　barrack　huts　during　the　night；　always　willing　to　point　out　potential　troublemakers　to　the　German　guards。　He　became　a　pariah　among　the　prisoners　for；　although　they　could　only　guess　he　was　an　informer；　it　was　his　readiness　to　serve　the　Third　Reich　beasts　that　he　was　hated　for。　Fortunately　for　him；　there　was　too　much　dread　in　their　hearts　and　too　much　passion　sapped　from　their　souls　for　them　to　take　vengeance。
　　Then　one　day；　Janusz　and　two　dozen　or　so　others　were　marched　from　the　camp　to　a　hillside　that　was　used　for　mass　executions。　They　were　instructed　to　wait　beside　several　open　pits。
　　The　number　of　Unerwunschte…undesirables'　as　the　Nazis　referred　to　Jews…was　too　many　to　count　（years　after　the　nightmare　Janusz　could　not　remember　if　there　had　been　hundreds　or　if　there　had　been　thousands）　as　they　were　lined　up　before　the　pits　in　groups。　There　they　were　machine…gunned；　most　of　the　bodies　toppling　into　the　open　graves。　It　was　the　task　of　the　working　party　to　throw　in　those　who　had　fallen　the　wrong　way；　then　arrange　the　bodies　so　that　the　next　batch　could　be　heaped　in　on　top。　When　the　pile　reached　a　certain　level；　they　were　to　cover　the　pit　with　lime　and　soil。　Before　that　was　done　though；　there　was　a　special　job　to　perform　for　a　chosen　few。　Janusz　was　one　of　the　chosen。
　　An　SS　captain　provided　Janusz　and　three　panions　with　pliers　and　short　blunted　knives；　their　orders　were　to　pull　any　gold　teeth　they　could　find　among　the　corpses　and　to　cut　off　any　rings　that　had　not　already　been　confiscated。
　　This　was　no　shock　for　Janusz；　because　his　mind　had　long　since　decided　to　protect　him　from　such　traumas。　He　crawled　among　the　still　warm　corpses；　giving　them　no　more　regard　than　if　they　were　freshly　slaughtered　livestock。　Dead　meat。　That's　all　this　great　tumble　of　arms　and　legs　was。　White　carcasses。　Some　still　pink…coloured。　Like　the　little　pig　。　。　。
　　No　one　was　watching　as　he　lifted　the　hand　of　the　plump　woman；　the　flesh　of　her　finger　swollen　over　the　rim　of　her　gold　ring。　The　Gestapo　had　been　merciful：　they　hadn't　cut　the　jewellery　from　her　while　she　was　still　alive。　He　sawed　at　the　finger。　No　one　was　paying　any　attention。　He　slid　the　ring　off。　And　drew　meat　from　the　fingerbone　with　his　teeth。　He　swallowed。　The　woman's　eyes　opened。　She　looked　at　him　and　he　fought　to　keep　the　bloodied　morsel　down。　It　lodged　in　his　throat　as　life　went　from　the　woman's　eyes。　He　swallowed　again；　once；　twice。　The　meat　was　accepted。
　　That　was　the　real　beginning　of　Janusz　Palusinski's　survival。　He　had　found　a　food　supply。　He　was　filled　neither　with　joy　nor　shame；　merely　relief　that　he　had　a　means　to　exist。
　　Exist　he　did；　even　though　he　was　violently　ill　for　days　after　that　first　eating　of　human　flesh；　his　stomach　was　not　accustomed　to　such　richness。　He　was　lucky　to　recover；　for　his　general　weakness　might　have　allowed　permanent　damage。　But　Janusz　was　resilient；　if　nothing　else。　From　then　on　he　was　more　cautious　about　how　much　he　cut　from　the　piled　corpses；　often　concealing　small　segments　in　his　loose　clothing　to　be　consumed　late　at　night　beneath　his　thin　blanket。　The　amount　he　was　able　to　eat　was　never　enough　to　have　any　marked　effect　on　his　physique；　and　that　was　fortunate；　for　such　a　change　would　have　been　easily　noticed　amidst　the　walking　skeletons　of　the　Majdanek　concentration　camp。　But　it　was　sufficient　to　strengthen　him　and　thus　renew　his　desire　to　survive。
　　Disaster；　for　him；　came　months　later　when　for　no　apparent　reason　he　was　taken　off　the　burial　detail。　Perhaps　the　German　soldiers　themselves　had　grown　sick　of　his　eagerness　to　crawl　among　the　dead；　or　perhaps　they　felt　he　had　bee　too　privileged。　Whatever　the　reason；　Janusz's　specialist　services　were　no　longer　required。　His　condition　deteriorated　rapidly　with　no　regular　sustenance。
　　He　became　as　the　others　of　the　camp；　a　shuffling　corpse；　eyes　enlarged　as　his　skin　shrivelled；　his　bones　jutting　with　deep　hollows　between。　He　began　to　have　fits　of　coughing　that　drained　him　of　any　strength　he　had　left；　and　bloodspots　speckled　his　palm　when　he　took　his　hand　away　from　his　mouth。　Delirium　soon　followed。　Finally　he　was　moved　to　a　but　where　those　who　were　dying　were　left　without　food　or　care；　their　passing　hastened　by　lack　of　both。
　　He　had　no　idea　of　how　long　he　had　lain　there；　it　could　have　been　days；　it　might　only　have　been　hours。　But　something　had　drawn　his　senses　towards　one　focal　point。　It　was　a　smell。　Familiar。　From