He’d never thought that fighting for his life would become a routine. In the very beginning, right after their enforced move into the wired-in part of the city that had become his home during the past four months, his slender body had immediately been flooded with adrenaline each time he’d stepped onto the streets and left the relative security of their basement rooms, but somehow, things had changed.
Maybe it was the constant presence of death, the threat of being shot without warning, or the images of children’s and adults’ bodies decaying on the sidewalks - right where they’d been dying from starvation - naked, for their clothes still brought a certain amount on the black market – unburied, for their families were either too busy trying to survive or simply didn’t know they had passed away… or were already dead.
Even though his glance usually remained focused on the pavement, he tried not to look at them any longer. Too big was the fear of recognizing one of his friends, covered by a thick carpet of hungry flies that the sweet, nauseating smell had attracted, broken and empty eyes mirroring a late autumnal sun while open mouths were uttering their last prayers to a god that had forgotten about them… no. It had given him nightmares for weeks, filled with reproachfully staring, dead eyes and bony hands reaching for him, and he couldn’t afford to wake up bathed in cold sweat and spend the day inattentive and constantly angst-ridden.
His family needed him. They were relying on him, on his knowledge on where to buy bread when everyone said that food was out, on his instincts on which alley to evade on a certain day, on his skills to run and hide or simply melt with the masses when the soldiers were driven by blood-thirst again; most of them simply kept guarding the fence, but some… some you didn’t even want to know in normal times, no matter their profession, as they were driven by greed and sadism, were still roaming the streets, stealing what was left, hurting, raping and killing those being unfortunate enough to attract their attention… which could happen to anyone.
Sel took a deep breath and adjusted his hat - the cap made from rough, brown tweed was hiding his crimson-shaded hair perfectly after his little sister had gathered it in a tight braid and bobby-pinned the thick plait to the back of his head; he’d seen Jews getting their sidelocks and beards cut off with blunt daggers, and he surely didn’t want this to happen to his locks, which, as long as they were and blessed with such a vibrant colour, would certainly catch someone’s attention, and catching attention was equivalent to a death sentence these days. Or worse.
For a moment, the young man almost stopped in his track and shook his head, realizing how much the circumstances must have messed with his head if keeping his hair appeared more desirable to him than wasting a thought about where things might end that started with penning up people behind barbed wire… it wasn’t like he didn’t want to know, and deep inside he was feeling that things were going wrong, incredibly wrong… but daily life’s struggle had shifted his focus away from the constant terror’s deeper meanings to more… practical thoughts.
“Hey - walk faster! This isn’t a lazy walk on a sunny afternoon, you worthless SCUM!”
Sel heard the hoarse voice of one of the wardens ringing out from the open lorry driving past, the vehicle that carried the tools they would need for the forced labor that was scheduled for this day and that they’d been randomly picked for from the streets - a group of approximately 30 men of all ages, the youngest being 12, the oldest just above 70 years old. The red-haired wasn’t really afraid of the things to come. If you were being grabbed for hard work, you could return home in the evening since they needed your working force the other day again, and the rest of your family was rather save from encroachments, and he was still in a relatively good shape that would allow him to meet the requirements without having to taste the whip.
With a slow and careful move, the young-one turned his head and uttered towards the man walking next to him, his glance still focused on the wet-shimmering asphalt as their numerous steps echoed against the ghetto’s walls.
“Did they say what they want us to do this time?”
The other, a rather tall-grown and pinched, blonde man Sel happened to know to be a Jew named Bittermann living across the street from his new home, lowered his voice and replied in a hushed whisper.
“They said we’re meant to be digging holes, son. But I have no clue what for.”
Digging holes. Sel nodded wordlessly and pulled the flimsy jacket tighter around his slender body, for an upcoming, cold breeze had sent a chill down his back. Winter would come early this year.
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