Cold Crematorium: Reporting from the Land of Auschwitz

by József Debreczeni

46514 is a premium häftling. Premiums are rare; to be recognized as one is a big deal. A premium gets a weekly bonus worth two marks, which he can trade in for special jam and makhorka cigarettes. 46514 jumps out of the pit and snatches off his cap. Half Arm casts him a glance but asks him nothing, and then steps to the side. He reaches lazily for his holster, pulls out the revolver, and presses the barrel to 46514’s temple. A shot rings out. The man, who’d been standing straight as a flagpole, now teeters before crashing facedown into the pit. The lifeless body plops with a dull thud. The officer with the Leica puts the camera into a pocket, while Half Arm smiles silently, absentmindedly. “A little demonstration,” he says. “An example of how even the best Jew must croak.”