Dating Habits

I just stood there, sad for not having found any members of our family. Suddenly, one newcomer, a fine, good looking young man stood opposite me without any formalities and started questioning me about camp life. It went on for a good while; before going on his way he asked me for a date for the morrow. We decided that our rendezvous would be at the corner of the latrine.

A few days later, my friend Hilda, came to meet me escorted by a nice, good looking young man. She intended to introduce this young man to me. His parents were good friends of my own parents. My Mom was really glad to meet him, and later declared to me that his parents are very rich, and that she will marry me off to this boy. At that point, I told my mom that she would not, because I am definitely not going to marry this rich boy.

For a short period I dated the first young man, whom I will refer to as "blonde". The rich boy, I will refer to as "brown". Both had nice, blue-grayish eyes. The rich brown boy also asked to meet me, but I refused. Anyhow, he also found his way to approach my company. I never gave him much time; after a few words I would tell him goodbye. No begging of his would change my mind.

During their first days in Bergen-Belsen, the spoiled women from Budapest found the "dorge - muse" uneatable. They all dumped their portion inside the washroom basin. Soon the Nazi officials found out and revoked the distribution for two days - not just for the spoiled ladies from Budapest, but for our whole block, block ten. We were all outraged. Having already been thirty days in the concentration camp, and suffering from constant starvation, going two days entirely without food weakened our entire system.

I continued to meet my blonde acquaintance for a while - every day at 4 p.m. at the corner of the latrine. We usually walked around the courtyard, and on rare occasions when the weather was extremely cold or stormy, we stayed inside my family's barrack. Sometimes he would sing - he had a very pleasant voice. The conversation between the two of us by and large revolved around the cruel fate of our loved ones - our people - and ourselves. He worried deeply, imagining that members of his family had already perished in the gas chambers of Auschwitz. I tried to comfort him, encourage and induce him to hope for the best - to bear an unbearable existence for a little longer.

Making matters worse was the bromide drug and its unavoidable effects. Every one of us became despondent to some degree. My blonde acquaintance lost his desire to sing. I lost interest to converse with him - or anyone else for that matter. None of his begging would change my mind, as he searched for me in vain. I tried to avoid him, but when he occasionally found me and asked me what happened, I simply told him the truth - I am too desperate to talk to anybody.

© David Muskal, 2001