I knew nothing about them...Since 1940, my mother had not received a single letter from them. But I lied:

"Yes, my mother did hear from them. Reizel is fine. So are the children..." 

[...]And he himself was so thin, so withered, so weak...

"The only thing that keeps me alive," he kept saying, "is to know that Reizel and the little ones are still alive. Were it not for them, I would give up."

One evening, he came to see us, his face radiant.

"A transport just arrived from Antwerp. I shall go to see them tomorrow. Surely they will have n e w s ... " 

He left.

We never saw him again. He had been given the news. The real news. 

"It doesn't hurt." His cheek still bore the red mark of the hand. 

We were walking slowly, as one follows a hearse, our own funeral procession. Only four more steps. Three. There it was now, very close to us, the pit and its flames. I gathered all that remained of my strength in order to break rank and throw myself onto the barbed wire. Deep down, I was saying good-bye to my father, to the whole universe, and, against my will, I found myself whispering the words: "Yisgadal, veyiskadash, shmey raba...May His name be exalted and sanctified..." My heart was about to burst. There. I was face-to-face with the Angel of Death…

No. Two steps from the pit, we were ordered to turn left and herded into barracks. 

I squeezed my father's hand. He said:

"Do you remember Mrs. Schächter, in the train?"