“Beside the train they divided us into two groups. The others had to go by truck. You haven’t seen them?” A singular, agonized smile comes over his sunken face. “Was the other group lined up on the left?” “Yes. We were told they’d get to ride on trucks.” This man in a striped uniform raises one of his thin hands and points into the distance. “See those chimneys there? That’s Birkenau. The crematorium city. The smoke there is already—them. Those who stood to the left.”
