
gust 1942, 15,000 women were the first to be transferred to the camp.The ap-
pearance of these inmates has been described by Désiré Haffner: ‘‘Their skele-
tal appearance, their shaved skulls, their blood-streaked bodies, their scaly
skin—all this made it hard for an observer to recognize them as women. The
lack of any hygiene was even more perceptible among them than in the men’s
camp because of the pungent odor that came from their blocks, the smell of
thousands of women who had not been able to wash for months. Their work
is as hard as the men’s, and as a rule they are even worse dressed. They are
usually seen bareheaded and barefoot, and sometimes they are naked.’’
Seweryna Szmaglewska observed the columns of prisoners marching off to
work from the nearby Birkenau men’s camp:
Prisoners marching five abreast keep streaming out of the gate. Now the
capo pulls his cap off, screams in the direction of the marching columns,
‘‘Caps off!’’ and runs towardthessmen.Thereis somethingalmost shame-
ful about the sight of the shaved heads of the defenseless prisoners, who
obediently march past some armed Germans, and there is something ut-
terly repulsive about the figure of the capo, who stands at attention and
presses his cap against his striped pants as he makes his report.The second
gate is opened, and one column after another march out. And again there
is a capo, and there are rows of five, the same thing over and over again.
All are equally skinny and equally black. Those shaved heads are alike, and
everywhere those fingers stretched out against the trouser seams. Thus
they march, like a big, lifeless army, to the last parade. New columns keep
streaming out of the camp, and they are easily counted. The first thousand
have marched past, two thousand, ten thousand. They march and march.
If your father, your brother, or your son were among them, you would not
recognize him, for these emaciated figures are all alike. A young lad has
the same furrowed face as an old man.
n While still under the shock of arrival, nameless new inmates faced a merci-
less struggle for their bare existence in a world that was so very different from
the one they had known.
‘‘Just survive, survive, that is what it is all about,’’ writes Franciszek Jaz-
wiecki retrospectively, ‘‘and the forms of survival are extreme and disgusting,
they are not worth the price of living.’’ Nevertheless, prisoners were forced by
their instincts to seek a way of surviving.
In the quarantine section, which Julien Unger likened to a menagerie with
defenseless animals that were subjected to drills by tamers without compas-
sion, there began the struggle for a second helping of camp soup, water, a
better bed, a bit of blanket—in short, the most elementary things. The re-
90 n the prisoners