But there was no way to shut out the sounds. All night women cried out a German word I didn’t know. “Schieber!” Over and over from rasping throats: “Schieber!” Finally I realized that they were calling for bedpans. It was out of the question for most of the women in this room to make it to that filthy latrine next door. At last, reluctant to lower my legs, I climbed down from my cot and set about the chore. The gratitude of the patients was heart-wrenching. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”—as though cruelty and callousness were the norm, ordinary decency the marvel. As a wintry dawn
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