I had exchanged with the gentile woman, a large cross, cast in cement, had remained in the cellar (the woman had it made after she had heard that her husband had died in Auschwitz). So I undertook to deliver the cross to her at home in my old flat in Praga.
The following week, I took the cross on one shoulder, the rucksack on the other, and off I went, straight onto the tram to Praga. Nobody even tried to ask me anything. I did all my business at the market in Targowa Street, bought and sold; may all Jews have such luck, but not bad luck, as was the case then. But gradually the ticket collectors, policemen and all the other cops started bothering me: they perceived that the business with the cross wasn’t straightforward. I had to [2] throw away the cross. All right; working for the devil may have been worth it, but offering bribes is not possible every time. The cross was too visible: the religious Christians muttered to themselves that a Jew was exploiting a cross for his business, (may they stick it in their gut!) and Gestapo officers, too, started to look me in the eye. I tried other measures.
But I’ll tell you this another time. I will tell you mainly about the Volksdeutscher.
I did business with him a couple of times: once he came to ask me to get him a large diamond, could be a three carat one, for instance. I sensed that the chap wanted to test me out. What to do? I went off, took a glass mounted in a silver ring, brought it to him and told him that it would cost 6 grand, but that I must have the cash in hand. These days no one trusts anyone. Show me the hallmark, he retorts. Oh, you are so clever, aren’t you? No, naïve fellow, do you take me for a sucker? The chap started haggling with me until he persuaded me to accept only 1,200 zlotys in the meantime, [3] and the next day he swore blind that he would bring me the rest.
The following day, he looked for me. Unfortunately, he got hold of me about two months later.
In Pawiak I had no luck. I had absolutely nothing to eat, and instead I was beaten more than I could bear or would want.
I found a solution for the food, I got by somehow: by doing odd jobs for others, like cleaning the toilet, washing the hall and the stairs better and quicker, I was given some slops, but the beatings were really a disaster. This is what turned out:
The chief interpreter was Dr. Witold Pruszyński from Puławy, the former leader of Ozon. This fellow had been in Oranienburg and Auschwitz for
