Chapter 24

Two hours later our train screeched to a halt. Again we lined up by two's. We marched through the beautiful city of Poznan, in occupied Poland, to a prison. I knew this town.

Many times I came in happier days to visit my cousin and family. He enjoyed listening to my English, saying, "Radzia, it sounds as if you had a mouth full of noodles." His wife always served the best meals with fancy desserts. Her home was like a friendly inn, guests coming and going.

But, unfortunately, not now in 1942. She and her family were deported to the eastern part of Poland, while her eldest son was taken to a concentration camp.

We trudged on our way in silence. In the distance, a tall, gray, round tower with small slits for windows loomed in front of us.

"No, not here." I spoke out loud.

"Silence," roared the escorting guard.

Meekly, we approached the tower. One of the guards rang a bell. Soon the creaking prison door opened. The guard led the way. The gate slammed ominously behind us.

"Now what?" murmured Jean softly to the friend beside her.

"Prisoners, follow me," ordered the guard on duty.

Down a long, musty corridor we went, the damp concrete reeking. We passed along bolted steel doors with small peep holes. Behind them on the floor lay moaning skeletons of humanity. The groans of the suffering captives filled us with fear. We followed the guard, wondering what was going to happen to us. Were we to be beaten, whipped into unconsciousness, and subdued to the state of the wretches here?

But no! There was a mistake. We were not to be shipped to Poznan; we were in the wrong prison! We eagerly left this place of hopelessness.

"About face," came the command.

We followed, hearing the awesome clanging of the chains as the inmates moved around, moaning and lamenting in their cells.

Soon we were outdoors, taking in deep breaths of the cool September air, happy to be away from the living morgue.