he sobbed as he tried to wipe the muck from his boy's face, his body trembling in great spasms of sorrow. I looked around at what we had become. I looked at my own hands. Could I appear as ragged as the others, their skinny bones poking through patches, their faces deathly-thin and haggard? Everyday we carried people from the barracks and piled their cold, stiff bodies over countless others. Sometimes all we got to eat was a small cup of soup made from grass and a crust of bread. I thought back to the days before, when I, a barber in Amsterdam, had laughed and joked with my friends. Amsterdam, Holland - Thursday, May 9, 1940 This was a good day. It was a little chilly, and there were clouds in the sky, but it didn't look like it would rain. I whistled as I opened the door to my shop, pausing to look down the street and wave at Hans, who was opening his mercantile store just a few buildings down. The shop was cold. I started a fire and settled back to read a newspaper. A few minutes later the door tinkled and Bart Thunderland, an official, a city representative, and a close friend, hurried in. He smiled a greeting. "Gus," he shivered. "O-o-oh...cold this morning." "Good morning, Bart. How's the family?" "Fine. Fine." He took off his hat and coat, put them on a hook, and settled back in the chair. He was an ordinary-looking man, a typical Dutchman except that he had the manner and confidence that befitted his profession. "War is a terrible thing. We should be glad we're not in it." I put the barber sheet over his shoulders. He sighed. "War happens every few generations, when the young don't know what it is, and when the old have forgotten. It only takes a few people to make sorrow for many." Amsterdam, Holland - Friday morning, May 10, 1940 I lay in bed for a moment, wondering what had awakened me. A low rumble filled the cool morning air and became louder, and with the rumble came the sounds of people running and shouting. Me heart was beating fast as I dressed, and my hands shook as I tucked in my shirt. In the street, the people were dashing around from house to house, wailing and waving their arms. The shrill scream of an air siren mixed into the melee, and the rumble became a roar of engines. "Germany's here! The German armies are here!" I looked out over the horizon. There were planes hovering in the sky, and dark clouds of smoke hung far away, twisted and curled by the breeze. A friend came past where I stood and gestured in the direction of the planes. "Why?" He hurried by, pausing to talk to someone else long enough to wave his arms in disbelief. Then he went on. A quick succession of distant booms echoed, then re-echoed as flashes appeared under the planes and the ground shook under my feet. Incred- 24 ible! Impossible! As I stood there a chill came from the ground and crept up my body. Four days later, the ominous drums thundered as all of Amsterdam watched the victorious German armies parade down the main street. I watched them come, and I looked at my wife. Goose-stepping hordes of Nazis moved swiftly down the street. Their faces were expressionless, and their military precision was frightening, as if machines were marching. "Your rights will be respected..." the loudspeaker crackled and sputtered. I barely listened, for thoughts were rushing through my mind. "Do not cause yourself any discomfort..." The loudspeaker moved on, and the "green" police, the Nazi Storm Troopers, were marching by. Huge machines bringing cannons, tanks, and weapons of war we had never seen roared past. The stench of their exhaust filled the air. Was it true? Maybe they would leave us alone. They said all they needed was to occupy Holland, that they wouldn't even change our constitution. Somewhere a doubt plagued me. Amsterdam - Almost four years later It had come gradually, the taking away of our liberties, to "insure peace", they said. Soon it was unbearable. People were beaten to death for almost no reason at all. Prices were high. Many people were near starvation that were poor before. Some had bought all the supplies they could possibly store and horded them, charging outrageous prices. A Jew was especially ostracised from normal living. Any Jew found on the streets after eight disappeared forever. The Gestapo, the terror forces, broke into houses, taking babies and old men, "to work", they said. The cardinal sin of giving shelter to a Jew was punishable by death. Then the word came that all the men between the ages of eighteen and thirty would be taken to Germany to work in the labor camps. Oh, God, please don't let this happen to us! Germany April, 1944 The panel truck lurched and swayed as it rumbled over the rough roads. We had been mashed together by the boots of cursing and screaming Nazi soldiers. A small man with coarse features and smelling of sweat whispered in my ear, "Where are they taking us?" I grimaced as an elbow dug into my side. Cramps seemed to be aching at every joint. "Buchenwald." "Buchenwald?" The word tumbled out slowly, his bottom lip quivering. Faces turned. "Buchenwald." The truck sped on. "I heard the officer say it." "What are they going to do with us?" the small man said. Nobody answered him. The truck squeaked to a halt. There was the sound of metal doors being opened and the yelling of the soldiers for us to get out. Some- 25