was so small that one person could barely squeeze in there, and it was littered
with rags, scrap metal, and a couple of broken stools. There was no table,
and the walls were cracked and not plastered. It was damp, dirty and cold, and
the wind and frost had taken over. I decided to suffer for a few more days and
wait for deliverance. Every morning the woman left and returned around 6 or
7 p.m., explaining that she was doing everything possible to arrange transport
to Warsaw.
After another a week, she announced that all her efforts had come to
nothing and that the only solution was for her brother to agree to take us
across the border in his horse and cart, as far as Głowno. There we would
find a wagon, because it was in the territory of the General Government.
After a great deal of haggling with the brother and his son, the brother agreed
to take us the 38 kilometres to Głowno for 100 marks per person. His chutzpah
was beyond belief. We bargained with him one more time and he consented
to take us as far as Głowno for 65 marks, and to get what he could from the
others. He said he would have another five or six passengers in addition to us
and his sister and her two children. He set the departure time for Saturday
afternoon, because he had to be back by Sunday evening.
At 2 p.m. on the appointed day, he came and told us that his son was
already harnessing the horse. He demanded to be paid in advance, otherwise
the luggage would be left behind. We haggled again for a long time and
he finally agreed to accept 45 marks at once and the remainder in Głowno.
He tossed the luggage carelessly onto the wagon, and told us to go on foot to
a certain point on Brzezińska Street, a matter of 5½ to 6 kilometres, where we
could get on board. He was doing this as a precaution. I followed his instructions
and walked by myself, my wife walking separately, covering up the yellow
stars on our fronts and backs. His son walked on ahead to show us the
way, because the wagon carrying the luggage and his sister and the two children
drove through back alleys, zigzagging this way and that, step by step,
as if unsure of the way.
As we approached the fence of the Jewish cemetery, we saw that the
wagon had halted and a pair of strangers was talking to the Christian driver,
who was supposedly the coachman to whom the horse and effects belonged.
[6] The real coachman was standing to the side. They opened my large suitcase,
rummaged through it and poked around. I went hot and cold from fear
and agitation. I kept my distance, because they would have taken me and my
