Chapter 30

At our camp there was a provisional medical center. One of the internees served as a nurse. She dispensed aspirin for aches and pain. An old retired doctor living in the village was called for emergencies. Referrals were made to see a physician in a hospital in Ravensburg, some 20 kilometers [ca. 12.5 miles] away. With one guard in attendance, eight internees went for medical help with him on the bus.

On one such trip I had a very serious encounter with the guard.

As the months dragged on in the camp, because of the poor nourishment and lack of medical help, I developed a skin disease. My eczema became progressively worse. Although vegetables and fruit were grown in the large camp garden, they were not for the prisoners.

In the meantime, my eczema spread and worsened. I anxiously awaited permission to seek the help of a skin specialist. How could they refuse? Finally, my name appeared on the list of women, who were to see the doctor in the town 20 kilometers away. Seven of the internees, who were part of our small group of eight from the camp, went regularly to see the doctor in town--a long, uncomfortable ride by bus. This was always called by them "a freedom spree," a chance to see the outside world, as well as getting the needed medical help.

When the day finally came, a bitterly cold wind blew, piercing through our worn coats and numbing our gloveless hands. Our escort, a burly German guard with a gruff voice, hurried us to the bus stop. Despite the cold, I was happy to see the outside world. After waiting patiently for the bus to arrive, we were elated to find a seat and sit down, after each of us paid our fare.

As soon as the bus started on its slow, sputtering, jerky way, a buzz of excited conversation could be heard--talk about the town, about beloved families, reminiscing about better times--all the while our guard kept a watchful eye on his wards, his rifle slung over his shoulder.

After a few stops to pick up the German people on their way to the market, all seats on the bus were soon taken. Women with heavy loads of bright red, golden-yellow and green apples looked toward the rear, hoping to spot a vacant seat. But there was no free space--we were already packed to capacity. So the newcomers had to stand and be jostled from side to side as the loaded bus creaked wearily to town.

The noise of conversation rose steadily. Loud complaints were heard from those standing, friendly prattle could be overheard between old neighbors, and our little group of eight could be heard gossiping happily about many things and about the town to which we were going.

Suddenly, the guard's voice rang out above the noise. "All internees will rise and give their places to the German passengers!"

What? There was immediate commotion among the riders. Will the women prisoners give up their seats to the Germans? The order was a way of humiliating us, especially since we were ill. This unexpected command broke our train of thought and alerted us to the real situation. The townspeople looked around where we were sitting. There was a long, grave silence. Slowly, fearfully, the internees rose one by one, standing aside as the newcomers took their seats. That is ... all stood except me.

The guard, who had been watching us the whole time, waited a few moments, then repeated his command. I sat quietly, not moving, as if I had not heard his order. All eyes were on me now. I didn't move. The guard pushed his way toward me, tapped me on the shoulder and said forcefully, "Mrs. Niewiarowski, relinquish your seat immediately."

It seemed as though all breathing stopped. Anxious eyes were focused one me, waiting ... I closed my eyes tightly to draw on some inner strength, as I took a deep breath, and said softly, "No, I will not give up my seat."

One could almost hear the surprise, consternation and shock of the other passengers. No sign of emotion showed on the guard's face as he again tapped me on the shoulder, now vigorously. "Mrs. Niewiarowski, you will accompany me to the Commanding Officer when we return."

I shrugged my shoulders, said nothing, and remained seated. After a few minutes, the stunned silence gradually gave way to cautious whispering. Fewer heads turned toward me and soon the riders returned to their private thoughts, and everyone breathed easier for it.

No more incidents marred the uneasy peace on the way to town. I sat quietly, half hoping the guard just might forget my "no." After leaving the bus, we lined up in two's, the guard following us. Walking through town, I noticed a shortage of food from one store to the next, looking for something other than staples to take home to their families. Merchants tried to ignore the scant food supply by covering their store windows with cardboard. Signs reading "no sugar," "no cocoa," "no coffee" were common. One housewife with a large family wrung her hands in frustration, faced with the prospect of feeding her family potatoes, beans and sauerkraut for lunch and supper for yet another week.

We took care of our medical business and returned to the bus. All of us had plenty of room on the trip back; most of the bus riders stayed in town for the whole day. We talked and gossiped on the way back. I still wondered, if perhaps the guard had forgotten his promise--I hoped he would forget, since I had caused no more trouble and made every effort to be an ideal prisoner.

There was a grove of apple trees just inside the perimeter of the camp. After stepping off the bus, one of the internees asked the guard if we might pick up the apples that had fallen from the trees. Surprisingly, he agreed. The women spread out over the grove, quickly picking the apples from the ground and, with a watchful eye on the guard, would from time to time pluck a big rosy apple from the branches, which were bending with the abundant harvest. I was picking apples somewhat absentmindedly, when an all too familiar voice briskly called out my name and ended my daydreaming.

My apple picking stopped. I looked at the guard from under half- closed eyes, then raised my head and stood up slowly. He beckoned me with his right index finger, as one would beckon a mischievous child.

I approached slowly. I hoped the tremulous shaking inside me did not show on the outside.

"Mrs. Niewiarowski, you will see me at the gate and you will go with me to the Commanding Officer."

I shuddered. Damn, he didn't forget--the mean bastard; I swore inside.

I turned away and resumed picking apples, assuming an air of indifference. There was little pleasure for me now. One by one, my fellow prisoners wished me luck.

Finally, we approached the gate. It opened automatically and shut with a sharp, metallic clang. Our short trip to freedom ended. There at the gate was the C.O., waiting. The guard walked quickly up to him, saluted stiffly, then spoke in an undertone; I knew he was talking about me. The other seven women were dismissed. They walked quietly away, without looking back once, leaving me alone with the two Germans.

The C.O. turned abruptly, started walking to his office. The guard turned to me and made a motion for me to follow him. I followed meekly. The C.O. took his place behind his ornately carved desk. He made a grunting sound as he cleared his throat and asked, "What have you to say?"

I shook visibly for a brief instant. The sharpness of his voice grated on my ears, but with effort I overcame my fright and controlled myself. The last thing in the world I wanted was for this Nazi to think that I was afraid and shuddered before him. Quickly now I had to reply--two points I had to remember--that I was a sick woman--this was perhaps my best excuse--and that I had paid for my seat like the German passengers. So, I replied with slow and measured dignity. "I was sick, so I could not get up; that is why I went to town. I also paid my fare just like everyone else, so I considered these sufficient reasons to remain seated."

I tried to make it not appear as if I had willfully disobeyed the guard--I stressed the fact that I was ill, though perhaps I wasn't that sick. It was the principle of the thing.

The C.O. listened to my explanation, then, as if I had said nothing, began a lengthy monologue, explaining that when one was a prisoner in a camp, one obeyed the guards. Next, he enumerated the various possible consequences of my insubordination. While he spoke to me, I stood listening. I refrained from answering. I was in enough trouble already. My heart pounded. I waited for him to finish.

Then I hear him saying, "The next time you are so sick that you cannot stand when commanded, you remain in camp." His lack of logic appalled me. He paused for a second, then continued, "No letters, no cards for a month."

No use to appeal to him for a lighter punishment. He finished abruptly. I stood in front of him, not moving. For a few seconds, my mind went blank. I was so stunned, I couldn't understand what he said.

He rudely awakened me from my stupor with a sharp order. "Leave."

This brought me to my senses. I silently took leave of him and the guard, who was witness to the scene.

There was nothing I could do about his decision. Cutting off communication with my family was one of the cruelest punishments he could have inflicted. He must have had some idea of how much mail meant to a prisoner, but there was nothing to do but accept his verdict.

I was eager to tell my friends of my encounter with the C.O., but somehow I had a feeling I should go to bed, even though it was only 5:00 p.m. No sooner did I lie down than one of the guards came through to check.

He saw me in bed and seemed surprised. It was with feigned compassion that he said, "Mrs. Niewiarowski, aren't you feeling well? Why aren't you out walking with the others?"

With affected sorrow, I replied, "I am ill. The best place for me is in bed."

He left as quickly as he had come. Lying there in bed, I silently thanked God for my guardian angel's warning--that curious, foreboding, which I had just a few minutes before, had saved me from another punishment, no doubt. How was I to know why that guard came in, unannounced, at a time when all the prisoners always took their walks. Did he come to check on me? ... Did the C.O. send him in to see if I was faking illness? ... Did he want to catch me red- handed in a lie, which would give him a good reason to transfer me to Ravensbruck, the most hated extermination camp for women in Germany? ... No one would ever know.

The following day, unexpectedly, the International Red Cross Commission visited our camp and heard the report about the bus incident. The Commission asserted that henceforth any internee, who rode the bus and paid her fare, would remain seated. No guard could order her to relinquish her place in the bus for any German.

Transports from the camp occurred from time to time. On one occasion as many as fifty women left in a large army truck to the railroad, to be shipped home to England. Many of the eligible candidates for departure declined to go; they preferred to remain.

In January, 1944, a transport of Americans was being readied. I happened to be on the list at that time. I appeared before the C.O. to notify him that I would not go.

"Why not?"

"I have two daughters in Warsaw, who are living with their aunt."

"What's that got to do with you?"

"Lots," I replied. "I will not leave without them."

"Did you say they were in Warsaw?"

"Yes."

"Today is Friday and the transport leaves Monday. There is no way we could bring the children here on time."

"Well, then, cross me off the list. I will not go." Monday came around; the transports left. I felt no remorse.

The C.O. called me in to get the data on my children. Nothing else happened. I left his office.