The Night Train

by Peter Gifford

It smelled, the smell was the worst. Stale, unwashed bodies, urine and worse spilt on the floor, sweat and fear. Standing up wasn’t so hard, after you gave up trying to use your own feet and let the crush of bodies hold you up. I hurt all over, but I was lucky — one side of me was pinned up against the boxcart’s side, and compared to the poor souls in the centre I had it easy; I could get some air through the thin cracks in the wood, and there was a gap wide enough for me to see a thin blur of dark, unknown countryside rushing by. A thin beam of light from passing signal lights flickered into my eyes repeatedly and made me wince, over and over.

No one knew where we were going, and I don’t think anyone cared anymore. Certainly I didn’t. At first there were the continuous screams, the calling out for separated parents or children. Then came the wailing, the entreaties. Soon people tried to bring some order to our crushed gathering, and endless theories flew in the stale air above our heads. But no one knew our destination. The cries and questions died out, and everybody retreated into their own little worlds. When the first person lost control of their bowels there were cries of disgust, but before long it was too common an occurrence to complain about.

In my hand, sweaty and grimy, I clutched a small amulet. Mother had pulled it off her blouse and pressed it into my hand as we were pulled apart at the train station. I knew somehow it was the last time I would see her. Sometimes there would be enough light for me to bring it up to my face and look at it.

“Commandant, we shall be arriving in twenty minutes.”

“Very good Lieutenant. Prepare the men for offloading.” As the man saluted smartly and turned on his heel, Fleischer looked back out the window and at the shapeless darkness beyond. Ten minutes to arrive, perhaps an hour to offload, and another three hours on to Hermanstadt. A week of leave, beautiful young frauleins, wine, song … Fleischer heaved a great sigh that caused his belly to cut into his leather belt. But first, one’s duty must be done. At the end of the sigh he was gripped by a violent shudder. He glanced down at the Luger in its holster at his waist, wondering if it would be enough to protect him should things turn for the worst. This was a job for less than men, he thought.

Outside, the train and its line of boxcars sped through a defile and higher into ragged mountains. The track clung to steep hillsides which became canyon walls. In the distance a craggy black silhouette thrust up from the line of mountains like a hand grasping for the moon.

The train was slowing, finally. As if on a signal the groans and cries started anew, weight shifting as people moved stiff and painful limbs. We came to a stop in total darkness save for a soft red flickering that filled the car with garish glimpses of faces. Then we had stopped. I could hear voices, movement. There was the sound of a bolt being drawn back then suddenly the box car door was opened and the crush of people heaved and welled as bodies fell outside.

“Scheisse! The stink is unbelievable!” shouted a voice.

I was caught in the tide of bodies and soon found myself at the door, blinking in just the dull red light from torches. Someone shoved me and I fell into the dirt, was kicked before I managed to get to my shaking feet.

“Schnell! Move now!” said a soldier in my ear, and I was pushed roughly forward. I was in some kind of underground train station, but the walls were of old stonework, dripping with moss, encrusted with age. To my right and left the tunnel extended into darkness. Crowds of people fell or jumped from the boxcars, to be pushed by Nazi soldiers into a large space in front of me where the tunnel widened into a dark, barrel-vaulted room. The tunnel echoed with moans and barked orders.

I fell again, but this time no one pulled me up, so I crawled under the shuffling feet of the mass back towards the train. There was a chance I wouldn’t be seen under there, that somehow I could escape the fate of these strangers with whom I once shared a neighborhood. We were no longer names, members of families, parents, sons, daughters … were we still men at all? I didn’t wish to find out. I reached the tracks, huddled in the darkness under the boxcar and tried to make myself small.

Schnell! The sooner this is done the sooner we leave!” shouted a commanding voice. I saw the legs of soldiers, firemen’s hoses dragging behind them, then there was a blast of water towards the barrelled chamber, and the screaming began. The sound was like blows upon my head. I moved closer to one of the wheels of the train and huddled behind it, gripped my head.

“Enough!” shouted the voice. There was sudden silence as the water was shut off. The crowd whimpered and moaned. I shivered as a chill hit my body, noticed I was still clutching my mother’s amulet tightly, its metal cutting into my palm. I moved my head slowly around the edge of the wheel to see.

From where I hid I could see into the large chamber. The soldiers were facing away from me towards the entrance, and they had gone strangely quiet. For at the back of the room, higher on the wall, was a barred window I had not noticed before, and behind that window was a black shape towards which all eyes were slowly turning. The moans died away and a heavy silence fell over the people. There were no words to say, or sounds that could be made, that could live in that silence. It waited until broken by a voice that made all who heard it, victim and tormentor alike, feel not like men, but like cattle.

““Thankyou Herr Commandant. You are most punctual as always. I am pleased our arrangement continues to be beneficial to us both.”

Between the people and the soldiers, those doomed in this life and those doomed in the next, crashed an iron portcullis. The screaming this time was nothing like what had been heard before.