Escape from Mauthausen | Vasily Bunelik

ESCAPE 1

“Are there really in this world such fires, torture and stress

that could overcome the Russian spirit !" N. V. Gogol.

Mobilizing all my power, I fled though the dark night. My heart was pounding so that it could have dropped out and overtaken me, but I kept on running. I bumped into a cluster of bushes and getting entangled in it fell down scraping my face. With tremendous exertion, I got to my feet again and continued running until I fell into some water; it was a river, but not very deep, this gave me hope and alleviation. The water was cold and freshening, but it wasn’t just this that gave me hope; the brain-box was still working - the search dogs would lose trace of me in the water. Suddenly, I heard three shots nearby and the barking of dogs. The stones on the river bed were hurting my feet but stumbling along, I fled farther away, moving on to enter another little stream without leaving the water.

Gradually, the shots and the barking dogs were becoming more distant, then these sounds died away and all was quiet. Soon I was able to distinguish the lines of the stream and the woods. Dawn had begun in the Alps. I would now have to disguise myself. I dashed into a peasant’s back yard where there was some washing on the line and seized a dress the size of a thirteen year old girl, I threw away my striped camp garb, donned the dress and tied some rags around my feet and sped into the woods. Where could I hide myself from the daylight?

At first, I thought of climbing up one of the pine trees and passing the long April day there in the branches, just like a squirrel, but I had to drop this idea as soon as I realised that in my weak state climbing a tree was impossible. Also, could I afford to spend seventeen hours sitting in a tree? It was the 26th April, seemingly the longest day in the Alps, I decided to keep running.

On seeing an electric light, I headed for it, hoping there might be a suitable place like a haystack or a shed. But on approaching the light as near as caution would allow, I recoiled in fright, as I realised that the light I was heading for was in fact one of the searchlights of the prison camp I was supposed to be running away from! What was I to do? I had doubled back on my tracks. But to run far it was already too late, as the sun was up. I would have to camouflage myself. I caught site of a pile of pine branches forming a neat stack near a tree-stump. My brain was racing, should I get into that stack of branches and stay there the day? But the SS guards might start combing the woods and spray a volley of bullets into the branch pile. What to do? I could not stay out in the open, so I plunged into the stack of branches and raked over my entry point with wet and muddy branches. Quickly, I dug myself into the ground until I was well and truly entombed, having covered the whole of my lower body with branches, then the chest and the head. I reckoned like this: even if the fascists do fire into the stack, the bullets would not get me, as I was located a little below the stack. There I lay oblivious to the cold, the damp and my hunger; I felt no fear, my only thought was ....live!

live, live!, live and avenge myself, one single unwavering desire consumed the whole of my defenceless being.

The sun was slowly rising higher and higher above the horizon and finally I felt its oblique rays on my face; the heavenly light got through to me even through the branches with which I was covered. I got warm and dropped off to sleep ....It must have been a deep sleep, for I woke up just when the fading sun was going down. It was nightfall, just what I needed, as air and life; the night concealed me from the enemy, it hid me from death. Having waited until it was completely dark, I crawled out of my den, I listened and all was quiet. I set off in an easterly direction, towards my homeland. However, I soon lost my bearings; twilight did not serve me for long. I had to proceed by guess-work, just as long as I got farther and farther away from the enemy.

I was desperate to eat and went down to a populated area. Plucking up courage, I got into a cellar where I saw bunches of beetroot. I ate them with great greed and satisfied my hunger. I then moved on, thinking that was my only salvation, until there was a glimmer of daylight. This time I spent the day in the loft of a shed, where lucky for me, there was not just hay but corn on the cob. Having crawled into the haystack, I started to have 'breakfast.' It seemed to me there was nothing more tasty in the whole wide world than nourishing corn on the cob. Dead tired, I dropped off to sleep.

On awakening, I heard a woman’s voice, evidently as usually happens, the resident had come out into the shed and was talking to the cows. I kept quiet, thinking of my plight, "Today is the second day of my escape. They were searching for me yesterday. So, I reckon the search will continue today. How is it they did not find me, had I taken the right course of action?" Remembering how the first dawn led me back to the tunnel, I came to the most probable conclusion: the fact that I camouflaged myself right beside the Concentration Camp saved me, as the hunting SS could not have imagined that I was right beside them. Knowing that I had escaped in the evening, they would have presumed that I had distanced myself by at least a couple of miles, not allowing for my sheer cheek in spending the daylight hours right under their noses.Therefore, I thought, “they are not following my tracks but I am following theirs; in places where they were searching for me yesterday, I will be today and thus it could continue, so, be careful!”

I strongly believed in my freedom and the successful accomplishment of my escape. In my imagination, I pictured a meet up in Yugoslavia with the legendary Partisans. I imagined myself in the foothills of Split: I meet Yossef Broz Tito himself, I tell him how his compatriots are suffering in the Leibnitz Concentration Camp near to the border. I am already leading one of Tito’s squads through the Alps to show them the route to Leibnitz. A surprise attack, a skirmish, then the freed comrades pour into a national revenge brigade.

Having waited until evening, I left the hayloft and there I left my non-feasible plans... I was completely without fear and was tempted to go, for the first time, not through the mountains and woods, but along the real asphalt roads.

The dawn of the following night found me beside a clump of young bushes.

Selecting the most leafy bush, I snuggled into it and soon dropped off to sleep. I was awakened by the rain. At first thought, I was glad that the weather was so horrible, as during the rain there would be less people going about the roads, but soon I felt the cold rain getting worse and then a downpour. I was freezing and shuddered to the bones. Then to make the time go quickly, I started to count to a hundred, then to a thousand...... gazing at my skeleton limbs sticking through the child’s dress I was wearing. My hands and feet were wasting away. I tried to warm them by stretching out, but that did not help. Finally, the long awaited evening crept on. I decided to find a comfortable, warm den in a haystack, or in an animal shed, to warm myself up and sleep. Soon I found a hayloft, I dug myself into it and went off to sleep.

I don’t know how long I slept, but I started to feel throaty. I felt I just had to cough and sneeze. I came out of my den. I was beside a chicken run. It was daylight, and looking around me, I saw ten eggs in a nest. It was a valuable find. I felt like the millionaire Rockefeller. But I soon liquidated my riches and immediately became a beggar.

I dived into my den again, where I intended to stay all day. Farm dust

descended on me and I started to cough, clasping my mouth to cover the sound. After a time I heard the creaking of a door and someone cutting hay in the haystack. I was overcome by dust and hard as I tried to stifle it, I had to cough. The machine stopped for a moment but I couldn’t resist, I sneezed. A woman screeched and ran out of the shed. Then came a man’s voice, He grunted something, and started to prod the haystack with a rod, then I heard a grunt near my ear. “Stupid woman “ he was saying in German, “this woman is always alarming us.”

Having checked, the man stopped his prodding. Breathing a sigh of relief, I dropped off to sleep. Waking up later in the night, I peeped out of the hayloft; It was a moonlit night. I left the loft. The following day, I spent under the bare roots of an old pine tree, I camouflaged myself with dry grass and young branches. Nobody would have imagined that among those roots lay a living being. Here, it was absolutely safe, although not so comfortable as in the haystack........Here, I could stretch my legs limber up and cough.

Having rested the day, I then made toward the Danube [probably the river Mur ] to look around for food. Going along the beaten track, I came face to face with a forester. We both behaved awkwardly and couldn’t say a word to each other, positively hypnotised. On recovering from the first shock, I was the first to speak, asking him for a match. Still more scared, he silently produced a box from his pocket and counted out a few matches, boldly stretching out his hand.

“Give us a few more” I asked, “You can always get more.” The forester gave me a few extra matches. “How am I going to strike them?”

Without a word, he tore off a piece of sandpaper and gave it to me. I thanked him and quickly turned away. After taking a few paces out of sight, I ran off. The forester had also ran away. I wasn’t sure whether he was running off with fright (at the sight of a skeleton in a girl’s dress) or he was dashing to inform the police.

Having matches, I decided to prepare a hot meal. In a farmyard, I snatched a chicken from a hen-pen and wrung its neck In the same yard, I found a bucket, took some water and set off for the woods licking my lips at the thought of a tasty chicken. Eagerly, I piled up some dry branches. Having set myself up in some thick bushes, I then lit a fire and hung the bucket of water over it from a branch and plunged the un-plucked chicken into the bucket. The fire threw out bright flames, which alarmed me, for it not only shed its light on me and the bushes, but it seemed that my kitchen would be sighted throughout the Third Reich. I started to put out the superfluous flames, trying to leave flames only under the bucket. Suddenly, I heard the crackle of dry branches nearby.

Instinctively, I started to run, catching myself on prickly branches, scratching my face, hands and legs and whole body. But I overcame these obstacles and carried on running into the depths of the woods. During my flight, I heard some grunting and realised that the sound was that of a wild boar, which had been making its way to my chicken. It was no use going back now. My dream after so many hungry years was to go and buy a hot meal like normal human beings do, but this was not possible. This was the first time I had been frightened by a wild boar. I never thought that meeting a wild boar would present such an unforeseen obstacle to my progress; however, there was no Alpine beast so horrible and dangerous as the two-legged fascist beast.

Now it was day-break, so it was essential to find a hiding place. I found a loft, where I quickly set myself up, there was nothing edible, so I started to eat hay. Coming through a gap in the roof, there was a shaft of sunlight. I figured it was the eve of the 1st of May or maybe the first of May that day, I had lost count of the dates and days. The sun was rising and heated the roof tiles, which slightly warmed me up. I wanted to sleep, but hunger got the better of me. I couldn’t sleep, so I suffered a whole day. As soon as it started to go dark outside, I crawled out of the loft. I felt a strange tiredness and weakness and was thinking that if I didn’t manage to get anything to eat that day, I would probably die.

I went up to the window of the house where I had spent the day in the loft. I started to peer through the lace curtains. In the room, I could clearly see a man aged about thirty five and two women, one of which was evidently his wife. The other, judging by her behaviour, was a stranger. She shook hands with the wife then with the man of the house. The latter kissed her hand and came out to see her off. “A cultured person.” I thought, “He surely won’t refuse me a slice of bread.” Having seen off the guest, the man returned; I went forward to meet him, “Excuse me. “ I said in German. In surprise the man recoiled, but replied,

“Yes, what do you want?" I asked for bread.

“Come into the house” he said, “we will feed you.” I had two equally strong feelings - hunger and danger. Without asking about anything, the man sat me down on a bench in the kitchen. His wife came into the kitchen, looked at me with surprise and squeamishly pulled a face, but the man whispered something to her and she went out.

My heart started to beat faster and harder. I felt it beating faster and faster, until I seemed to hear it. If he’s sent his wife for the Gestapo, run, run, run. Meanwhile the man was putting a whole loaf on the table as if he were about to invite guests and kindly said to me, “Would you drink some pear juice?

“Just give me a piece of bread and I’ll go, as I have friends waiting for me , they will be worried.” I replied. This, I thought up to get out of the 'mousetrap'.

“Where are your friends?”

“Waiting for me in the garden.”

“Why haven’t they come in with you?”

“They fear being arrested and sent away...”

“And you are not scared?”

“It’s just the same to me, I would even want to be put into prison, just to be able to rest and recuperate, otherwise I could die; you see for your self how I can hardly stand on my legs.”

Evidently, I was a terrible sight and my words convinced him that I was ready to go willingly to prison so as to recuperate. He was also convinced he could keep me under control. But my imaginary friends still interested him. “Bring your friends in here, I shall feed them also.” said he, hanging on to his intentions.

“They don’t listen to me.”

“Then lets go to them together, they will listen to me.” He insisted. I obediently went into the garden with the man and shouted as loud as I could:

“Petya, Vanya.! After waiting a few minutes, I said: “No reply, so they’ve gone into hiding.”

The German replied sadly “Well lets go into the house.” He ushered me in front of him into the house, kindly opening the door.

I was startled: In the middle of the kitchen stood an old policeman with a rifle. With shaking hands, he levelled the rifle at me and with a croaking old voice, he rapped out: “Hands up!” I obeyed the order. “Search him.” He shouted to the man.

“You search him yourself, its your job.” A squabble began. Although they were talking in dialect, I understood the German word “wirklich”(the same). I instantly knew that they were still searching for me. Evidently, my identity had been circulated or a photo had been distributed.

“I haven’t got anything on me” I said, lifting up the skirt, the only thing I was wearing.

Without taking any notice of my comments, the farmer with a wicked glint in his eye, hastened to inform the policeman: “There are two more like him in the garden. Let’s go and find them.” Then he turned to the old chap who had just entered the room and who turned out to be the brother of the farmer, “Keep an eye on him while we go to find his friends.” As soon as they had gone out of the room, I spoke to my guard.

“Your brother is not very nice, I asked him for a piece of bread and he called the police.”

“He is not very good to his own, so I’m not surprised. Take some bread while he’s away and eat” The old chap moved the bread over to me and filled me a glass of pear juice. With great greed, I devoured the bread, swallowing it without even cutting it up, just as long as I could eat it up quickly. After drinking the pear juice, I clasped my stomach and groaned. The old chap asked me sympathetically whether I wanted the toilet. I nodded my head, crumpling up as if with pain. He opened the outside door for me and pointed where to go, right at the threshold. “Sit right there, don’t go any farther, you might run away.”

Lifting up my skirt, I crouched so that I could quite easily strike the old chap in the belly with my head to make him fall backwards into the room. As soon as he fell backwards, I plunged into the dark and fled. Stumbling along, I fell down, got up, ran on, then fell again and went head over heels into some water. My route was barred by a small stream or pool. This gave me heart and I plunged into the water, which was fairly warm. Then all was quiet after the gun-shot and shouts of “Halt” died away.

So, the police and the farmer, having pursued three rabbits, didn’t catch the one, or rather, whilst pursuing the other two, they had let go the one that they had in their hands.

It was now quiet. Apparently the policeman had returned to the farm, as I heard the creaking of the gate and the bang of the farm door, when evidently the farmer had bolted his door. Time went by and I started to feel cold. The water wasn’t as warm as I had thought in the first few minutes. Furthermore, dawn was approaching so I decided to get into the hay-loft of the farm, knowing from experience that nobody ever suspected that the fugitive would hide in the same place where he had previously been arrested. I got out of the water. The early morning bitter, frosty wind seared me with the cold. The dress clinging to my body was shivering together with my skin. I only warmed up a little when I got into the hay-loft and sank myself deeply into the hay, where I lifelessly dropped off into a deep sleep. I woke up in the evening. Undoubtedly the SS and the police had been searching the district all day for me, assisted by volunteer civilians to find the 'dangerous political criminal'. “They’ve probably been searching every bush” I thought, without giving a thought to the possibility that I might be in this very same yard. But just as I was getting out of the loft and groping my way down, the shed door opened and in came the farmer’s wife holding in one hand a bucket and in the other a torch. I immediately noticed her scared approach and she gasped when she saw me. So I decided to go straight up to her and make her more afraid with a threat:

“Tell your husband we are not leaving until we have taken revenge for having me arrested to turn me in to the authorities.” I don’t know exactly what effect my threat had on the woman, but I met with no resistance as I made my way out of the shed and I quickly got into the nearest woods. Later, in a built up area, I noticed a roadside sign “Ottenberg”. I shall remember the name of that village for the rest of my life and if fate ever lands me in that area again, I could easily find the farm of that fascist stooge who was trying so hard to serve the Hitler regime.

In the following days, I suffered the same horrible conditions: hiding in piles of sodden leaves, in piles of horse shit and brushwood. On one occasion whilst skirting the Alps, my strength gave up and I sat down to rest and dropped off to sleep. I woke up at dawn to bright sun-rays. On standing up, I observed that I was at the edge of a sheer cliff. If the previous night I had taken a few more steps before sitting down, I would not have lived to tell the tale.

Warm sunshine, wild mountains, gorges and cliffs, fertile land and the green all around me alleviated my unenviable life, and if I hadn’t been so hungry, I would have felt like staying there, in that peaceful and quiet spot.

I started to search for edible leaves on various leaves and bushes, but in vain, the leaves were bitter to the taste. They gave me a headache with noises and my eyes became glazed.

I decided again to take a risk. On descending the mountain, I spotted a village and headed for it. Then near to me on the wooded side there was a shed and I noticed a gap, so I climbed into the hay-loft and dropped off to sleep. My sleep was disturbed by the sound of someone approaching. The sound faded away, but then I heard the prattle of a child and a cat meowing. For a few minutes the child 'talked' with the cat, in words which only a cat would understand. The cat was moving towards me. Then the child, with delight, told someone that the cat had seen something. A man, presumably the father, told the child not to be frightened. Their conversation was in a Slavonic language. So, I felt slightly cheered up to know that I was near to my goal. After a little while, someone else climbed into the hay-loft, but this time the paces were not of a child, but heavy ones. By the use of a farmyard fork, this someone almost uncovered me.

Through a thin layer of hay, I saw a youth about 16 year old. My heart nearly stopped. The youth was throwing the hay downwards and was coming back for more. The second time, he uncovered me completely and on seeing the unexpected stranger, he ran from the hay-loft shouting “Tata, Tata”(Papa). After a few minutes, a giant climbed up into the loft, who would be about 40 year old. He lit up the loft, disturbed a few slates. Then he came towards me, holding the fork horizontally, possibly intending to do battle with me. It flashed through my mind that surely a Slav would not attack a Russian, but he wouldn’t know who lay in front of him. So, I rose to my feet and shouted “Ya Russky” [I’m Russian]

The Yugoslav eyed me up intently, put down the fork on the hay and without a word went down. For many reasons, making a run for it was out of the question; firstly my weak state, completely without strength, secondly a daylight run was risky; they would have easily caught me, thirdly I was trusting in the help and support of the Yugoslav.

Time went by and the hoped for help did not come. Finally, the barn door creaked open and someone shouted in Yugoslav: “Hungry one, come down and eat.” I waited a little, not being able to pluck up the courage to meet even a Yugoslav in the daylight. But after that invitation came the command: “Auf, Auf (Get up, get up). On lifting my head, I saw the nozzles of two machine guns pointing at me. The persons holding the guns were not visible. They were on a ladder, not knowing what sort of adversary they were dealing with. I moved straight towards the guns. One of the gunners cautiously raised his head. On seeing a live corpse, he gasped out loud. I had a terrible headache and could not stand on my feet, but knowing the ways of the fascists, I stood up again and moved towards the menacing guns. By then, there were already two pairs of eyes of menacing policemen with the guns. One of the policemen demanded: “Who are you and how long have you been here?” I replied in German:

“Help me to get down and I will tell you all.”

“He’s completely weak.” said one of them, coming up to help me. He then supported me under the arm. Thus, with their help, I got down from the loft. By then, a lot of onlookers were around the barn, including the farmer’s wife, to whom one of the policemen ordered:

“Give him a cup of coffee with milk and bread, we’ll have to look after him or else he’ll die on our hands.”

The farmer’s wife quickly disappeared and returned with coffee and a piece of bread made with maize. I quickly devoured the bread and coffee, and pleadingly looked at the woman. She understood that hungry look and brought me another helping. In an attempt to nourish myself, I was oblivious to all around me. Having gobbled up the second helping, I looked again at the farmer’s wife and she said, “Do you want more?”

“Yes please.” I said, but the policeman interrupted, saying he feared too much may harm me. “No, no!" I said. “It won’t harm me, please give me some more.” The policeman then said,

“Give him a glass of wine, he shouldn’t eat any more. We’ll feed him down at the police station.” 'Feed him' I understood this expression in my own way: take me down to the police station, beat me and interrogate me to find out who I am, where from and where was I going.

They took me down there on a two wheeled cart; beside me sat the Yugoslav who handed me over to the fascist Authorities. In front and behind went the

policemen on motorcycles. It was already dark when we arrived at the police

station. Contrary to my expectations, the policemen had almost a kind attitude.

They did not interrogate me at all; they gave me some biscuits and soup and I

asked for more.

“What you have received is according to regulations” said the policeman. “The Law is the Law.” This reminded me of the fascist reality. After supper, they instantly sent me down to the prisoners’ cell, above which was a school and above that a church. Thus, I was in the heart of fascist culture: on top, they prayed, below that they taught 'lessons' and still lower, they punished those who didn’t learn the lessons of the Third Reich.

The door of my cell had bars and the room overlooked the square of a built-up area. In the cell was a double decked bunk. On locking me in, the policeman said, “You may use both towels, you are alone in the cell, you’re lucky. Tomorrow morning we’ll deal with you, meanwhile rest, good night.” It was difficult to know whether or not he was being sarcastic, or whether he sincerely wished me a good night. For a long time, I could not sleep; there was the noise of rats, the eternal companions of prisoners; straw mattress full of lice, fleas and bugs. All this made me move over to sit at the barred door, where the air was fresher, which made me feel a little better. Only in the morning did I drop off to sleep.

I must have slept a long time. A young Yugoslav woke me up. "How did you come to be taken prisoner, brother?" He asked compassionately, shaking his head. Instead of replying, I said, “Bring me bread, I am a Russian.”

“A Russian brother.” He breathed, contentedly. “Just a minute” He disappeared but soon returned with a big piece of white bread and a jug of milk. To grab the bread, it was fairly easy, but the jug of milk couldn’t pass through the bars. On seeing me eat the bread with such greed, he said he was sorry he could not get the jug of milk through the bars. Then, suddenly, his face lit up: he had the bright idea to place the upper narrow part of the jug through the bars and tilt it a little so that I could gulp the milk, which, by the way, I had not even seen for two years.

Busy with all this, we had not noticed that the policeman had come upon the scene. To my great surprise, he not only did not say anything to the Yugoslav, but he opened my cell and advised him to pass the jug of milk into my hands. Having waited until I drank up the milk, the policeman returned the jug to the youngster and then addressed me: “Besides that treat, you are due for a prison breakfast." I again got a few biscuits and a glass of coffee. After breakfast, one of the policemen (there were two of them), asked me if I could write in German. When I replied in the affirmative, he handed me a few sheets of paper and said,

“You will write down your biography, giving all details: Who you are, where from, where you were going, where you were before, address, where you were working etc. You can take all day, you don’t need to hurry, but write the truth. We will not disturb you.”

“What date is it today?” I asked.

“The 9th of May. You were arrested yesterday, the 8th ofMay.”

41 The eighth of May. On that day, it was exactly 20 years since I married. There, somewhere, very far away were my wife and two daughters. “Are you still alive, my dear ones and am I surviving for you?” I thought. “I was a happy husband and father and now it gives me happiness to remember you." I was so captivated by my memories that I became oblivious to the reality of my situation. A cold shiver came over me when I remembered what I was having to do. “0h, yes, I’ve got to write about myself on that paper.” Today was the 9th of May. I had escaped on the 26th of April. So, I had been running for twelve days and I was now in Yugoslavia. These circumstances made me feel a little calmer. Now, I needed to think up a biography which the fascists would believe. I took up the pen and started to write. This is what I wrote; a fantasy, in tragic circumstances and a desperate situation:

I, Platonenko, George Konstantinovich was born in Moscow at No.13 Kapelsky Pereulok on the 15th September 1893 (Here I made myself 10 years older). My parents were landowners, they lived in the South of Russia, where they moved back to when I was still a child. We lived in a village called Mikhailovka, in the Zaporozhskoi Oblast, where my father had a large estate and gave us a good education. I studied at a farming institute, obtaining the speciality of Agronomist. In 1917, the Bolsheviks arrested my father and shot him. During the period of Collectivisation, my two brothers were arrested but I managed to hide myself in another area of the country and I got myself a job in my trade. When the Germans 'liberated' the Ukraine, I went to Germany together with my family. In Breslau, we were separated. I went to work for a rich German who lived in Grossmasselvits Strasse. My wife and two daughters were sent somewhere else in Germany. Later, I learned that they were in Split in Yugoslavia. I worked for two years in Breslau. Then I got sick and could not work. My boss left me without food, telling me he couldn’t use me any more and that I could go wherever I wanted. I decided to make for Yugoslavia to find my family, improve my health and get strong, and return to work and be a useful citizen of the Great Germany.

My writing finished, I gave the papers to the policeman, saying, “Read it through, maybe I haven’t written what you require?” After reading it out aloud, the policeman smiled: - “It’s all very good, but I don’t understand why you were wearing a girl’s dress and what you have done with your trousers.”

For this eventuality, I had prepared an 'episode': “I travelled a long time, wearing my suit, until I arrived at a river, on the bridge of which there was a German military patrol. A peasant told me they could arrest me and I would not get to see my family. He advised me to undress and cross the river by the ford, thus avoiding the bridge. But during the crossing, I fell into the water. My clothes dropped out of my hands and I arrived at the opposite bank naked. Not knowing what to do, I sat there until a stranger came along. When I told him my plight, he gave me the dress of his only daughter.”

On hearing my tale, one of the policemen burst out laughing. The other joked: “Now you are a girl with a tail.”

“How is it you were so sure of the whereabouts of your family?” Asked the other policeman.

“I received letters from Split. They arrived at Post Restante Breslau.”

“Where are these letters?”

“They were swept away together with all my clothes.”

“How do you reckon to find your family, if you haven’t got their address?”

“I’m putting my hope in the Post Restante of Split. Undoubtedly, my family will be known to the Authorities.”

“Possibly, agreed the policeman, following up with the question: “Or, were you, perhaps, trying to get to the Yugoslav bandits who are in the woods around Split?”

“What would I want to get to the bandits for?”

“Why! They need people like you.”

“What could they have from me, when I’ve got nothing.” I replied naively,

“Bandits need rich people.”.

“All of them are like you.” Continued the policeman. “They kill German soldiers and change into their clothes.”

"I’m interested only in my family.”

The policeman evidently believed me, for he stopped talking about Yugoslav bandits.

“How are you feeling now, better than lying hungry in that loft?” said the policeman, seemingly for something to say.

“Oh, yes, I’m grateful to you. I feel so good with you that I wouldn’t mind staying here until the end of the War, if only you would agree to look after a sick person.”

Here I was trying to gain trust.

“I’m sorry, but prisoners may not be held by us for more than three days. Tomorrow we will send you to the Gestapo.

“I’m grateful to you for treating me so well. I will always remember you.”

“No need to thank us. Maybe in time to come, you will receive us in your country.

“Of course, if I survive, after the War you come as my guests to Moscow. I’ll receive you as a good friend.

“We will not meet in Moscow, but probably we will be in some prison in Russia.

“You are old, so they won’t take you to the front.” I said, continuing with naivety.

“We are very likely to be sent to the front, time is catching up on us; very soon the front will be here.”

“you like to joke" said I, inwardly smiling with glee.

“No, this is no joke. When the Russian Communists have reached our borders and continue to press forward; and here are the Yugoslav bandits, they’ve opened up a front line.”

After such frankness, I became really convinced of the humanity of that policeman.

I read through my 'biography' once again, wrote the date, signed it and gave it to the policeman. He locked it in a draw of a writing desk and softly said: “Let’s go to the cell, you are tired - have a rest before your meal.”

I went to the cell almost happy; the information I had just received from a reliable source imbued me with energy; I was filled with hope for the possible freedom from the chains of slavery and the fear of death.