Free Night by Elie Wiesel

him my shoes. They were all I had left. ”I'll also give you a ration of bread with some margarine…“ He liked my shoes; I would not let him have them. Later, they were taken from me anyway. In exchange for nothing, that time. The medical checkup took place outside, early in the morn- ing, before three doctors seated on a bench. The first hardly examined me. He just asked: ”Are you in good health?" Who would have dared to admit the opposite? On the other hand, the dentist seemed more conscientious: he asked me to open my mouth wide. In fact, he was not looking for 48
The first three days went by quickly. On the fourth day, as we stood in front of our tent, the Kapos appeared. Each one began to choose the men he liked: “You…you…you…” They pointed their fingers, the way one might choose cattle, or merchandise. We followed our Kapo, a young man. He made us halt at the door of the first block, near the entrance to the camp. This was the orchestra's block. He motioned us inside. We were surprised; what had we to do with music? The orchestra was playing a military march, always the same. Dozens of Kommandos were marching off, in step, to the work yards. The Kapos were beating the time: “Left, right, left, right.” SS officers, pen in hand, recorded the number of men leaving. The orchestra continued to play the same march until the last Kommando had passed. Then the conductor's baton stopped moving and the orchestra fell silent. The Kapo yelled: “Fall in!” We fell into ranks of five, with the musicians. We left the camp without music but in step. We still had the march in our ears. “Left, right, left, right!” We struck up conversations with our neighbors, the musicians. Almost all of them were Jews. Juliek, a Pole with eyeglasses and a cynical smile in a pale face. Louis, a native of Holland, a well- known violinist. He complained that they would not let him play Beethoven; Jews were not allowed to play German music. Hans, the young man from Berlin, was full of wit. The foreman was a Pole: Franek, a former student in Warsaw. Juliek explained to me, "We work in a warehouse of electrical materials, not far from here. The work is neither difficult nor dan- decay but for gold teeth. Those who had gold in their mouths were listed by their number. I did have a gold crown. 49
gerous. Only Idek, the Kapo, occasionally has fits of madness, and then you'd better stay out of his way.“ ”You are lucky, little fellow,“ said Hans, smiling. ”You fell into a good Kommando…“ Ten minutes later, we stood in front of the warehouse. A Ger- man employee, a civilian, the Meister, came to meet us. He paid as much attention to us as would a shopkeeper receiving a delivery of old rags. Our comrades were right. The work was not difficult. Sitting on the ground, we counted bolts, bulbs, and various small electri- cal parts. The Kapo launched into a lengthy explanation of the importance of this work, warning us that anyone who proved to be lazy would be held accountable. My new comrades reassured me: ”Don't worry. He has to say this because of the Meister.“ There were many Polish civilians here and a few French- women as well. The women silently greeted the musicians with their eyes. Franek, the foreman, assigned me to a corner: ”Don't kill yourself. There's no hurry. But watch out. Don't let an SS catch you.“ ”Please, sir…I'd like to be near my father.“ ”All right. Your father will work here, next to you." We were lucky. Two boys came to join our group: Yossi and Tibi, two brothers from Czechoslovakia whose parents had been exterminated in Birkenau. They lived for each other, body and soul. They quickly became my friends. Having once belonged to a Zionist youth organization, they knew countless Hebrew songs. And so we would sometimes hum melodies evoking the gentle waters of the Jordan River and the majestic sanctity of Jerusalem. We also spoke often about Palestine. Their parents, like mine, had not had the