“Stinking Jew, from ten to twelve thirty you played hooky from work. Where were you? What do you imagine? That we’re filling you up with free food?” We don’t hear the reply, only the swishing of the whip. This is warming up. 21825 has to stand on all fours. This is just a formality, actually, pure tradition, since most of the blows land on the head. “Fifty,” snaps the violinist. The Lagerälteste carries out the sentence.
