Free Night by Elie Wiesel Page A

knew that you would not betray me…”
     
     
    ANOTHER TIME we were loading diesel motors onto freight cars under the supervision of some German soldiers. Idek was on edge, he had trouble restraining himself. Suddenly, he exploded. The victim this time was my father.
    “You old loafer!” he started yelling. “Is this what you call working?”
    And he began beating him with an iron bar. At first, my father simply doubled over under the blows, but then he seemed to break in two like an old tree struck by lightning.
    I had watched it all happening without moving. I kept silent. In fact, I thought of stealing away in order not to suffer the blows. What's more, if I felt anger at that moment, it was not directed at the Kapo but at my father. Why couldn't he have avoided Idek's wrath? That was what life in a concentration camp had made of me…
    Franek, the foreman, one day noticed the gold crown in my mouth:
    “Let me have your crown, kid.”  
    I answered that I could not because without that crown I could no longer eat.
    “For what they give you to eat, kid…”
    I found another answer: my crown had been listed in the register during the medical checkup; this could mean trouble for us both.
    “If you don't give me your crown, it will cost you much more!”
    All of a sudden, this pleasant and intelligent young man had changed. His eyes were shining with greed. I told him that I needed to get my father's advice.
    “Go ahead, kid, ask. But I want the answer by tomorrow.”
    When I mentioned it to my father, he hesitated. After a long silence, he said:
    “No, my son. We cannot do this.”
    “He will seek revenge!”
    “He won't dare, my son.”
    Unfortunately, Franek knew how to handle this; he knew my weak spot. My father had never served in the military and could not march in step. But here, whenever we moved from one place to another, it was in step. That presented Franek with the opportunity to torment him and, on a daily basis, to thrash him savagely. Left, right: he punched him. Left, right: he slapped him.
    I decided to give my father lessons in marching in step, in keeping time. We began practicing in front of our block. I would command: “Left, right!” and my father would try.
    The inmates made fun of us: “Look at the little officer, teach- ing the old man to march…Hey, little general, how many rations of bread does the old man give you for this?”
    But my father did not make sufficient progress, and the blows continued to rain on him.
    “So! You still don't know how to march in step, you old good-for-nothing?”
    This went on for two weeks. It was untenable. We had to give in. That day, Franek burst into savage laughter:
    “I knew it, I knew that I would win, kid. Better late than never. And because you made me wait, it will also cost you a ration of bread. A ration of bread for one of my pals, a famous den- tist from Warsaw. To pay him for pulling out your crown.”
    “What? My ration of bread so that you can have my crown?”
    Franek smiled.
    “What would you like? That I break your teeth by smashing your face?”
    That evening, in the latrines, the dentist from Warsaw pulled my crown with the help of a rusty spoon.
    Franek became pleasant again. From time to time, he even gave me extra soup. But it didn't last long. Two weeks later, all the Poles were transferred to another camp. I had lost my crown for nothing.
     
     
    A FEW DAYS BEFORE the Poles left, I had a novel experience.
    It was on a Sunday morning. Our Kommando was not required to work that day. Only Idek would not hear of staying in the camp. We had to go to the depot. This sudden enthusiasm for work astonished us. At the depot, Idek entrusted us to Franek, saying, “Do what you like. But do something. Or else, you'll hear from me…”
    And he disappeared.
    We didn't know what to do. Tired of huddling on the ground, we each took turns strolling through the warehouse, in the hope of finding something, a piece of bread, perhaps, that