“I knew he wouldn’t hurt us. I didn’t even mind the swastika he had on his lapel.”

Niusia’s story – Paradise smells of real soup and Schindler’s perfume

We have arrived in paradise. Okay, maybe this isn’t what paradise looks like. Maybe there are no barbed wires, mud, SS men and Ukrainians who were as vile as the Germans, and sometimes even more so. Maybe in paradise you don’t sleep in barracks. But there are certainly no dogs beating and tearing people apart in paradise. That’s for sure. And there were none of them at Oskar Schindler’s Enamel Factory on Lipowa.

But there was soup. A real one that doesn’t smell like an old rag. As soon as we arrived at the sub-camp – my mother, my grandmother and I – someone told us to give it to them. God, how we liked her. It had potatoes and a piece of meat in it. Certainly, or maybe I thought so, because what I ate was delicious. We couldn’t stop eating this soup. I was already finishing it when Grandpa Schachne and Rysie appeared out of nowhere in front of us. Rysiu jumped onto his mother’s lap and said that he had already eaten and was not hungry at all. What happened then cannot be described. Mom hugged Ryś, and grandma burst into tears when she saw grandpa. He didn’t look good. He lost a lot of weight. But he was alive and with us. He said that the day before, they brought him to the camp together with Ryś. Dolek couldn’t go with them, but we don’t have to worry about him. He’ll be fine. The SS man he knows from before the war – the Bigell I already mentioned – protects him. Besides, it was he who arranged with Schindler that we were transferred to the factory.

Grandpa added that Uncle Herman also contributed a little to this move. Two days ago he played at Oskar Schindler’s birthday party. Amon Göth told him to go to the factory on Lipowa Street because he wanted to give his friend such a gift. Uncle, of course, had to go with his guards so that he wouldn’t escape. So they gave him a Ukrainian, Ivan, to keep him company. This was just a murderer! But he had a beautiful voice, he could even sing opera arias with a baritone. I guess he didn’t sing too much, because as soon as they arrived, Schindler gave him vodka and he quickly fell to the ground. So Uncle Herman himself played the violin for Herr Direktor.

It was, as I later found out, a strange birthday. Schindler sat alone at the table, not as before, with the ladies he had plenty of. Because the lover had plenty of money. Apparently he drank cognac after cognac and became sadder by the minute. He told his uncle that the Russians were approaching. Therefore, he lost orders for the supply of bullet casings. After all, he was not only engaged in the production of enameled pots and other vessels, but also in the production of military equipment. Thanks to this, it was important for the arms industry of the Third Reich. But now his shares had gone downhill in Berlin and he didn’t know what would happen next or what would happen to his people. He had to come up with something. But he could have not cared about us, closed down Emalia and gone on to do other business. He didn’t do it. He spent his fortune and bribed Gestapo officers to save his Jews.

Niusia from Schindler’s List – photos from the book promotional materials Wielka Litera

He told Uncle Herman that he would like to take him to his factory with his wife and child. Then he could listen to his music every day. He talked about it with Amon Göth, but he did not want to agree to it. He valued his uncle too much. However, Schindler assured him that neither he, his wife, nor his son had to worry, because for now they were in no danger. Then my uncle decided to put in a good word for us, at least. He asked Schindler to take his sister with her husband, children and her parents-in-law, the Horowitzes, to the factory. When Schindler heard our name, he just nodded and said that he was already taking care of it, because Bigell had asked him the same thing a few days ago. “He’s already placed an order for you,” is how he said it. He wrote that we were essential workers for his factory. He only added that he would definitely not be able to transfer Dawid Horowitz, because without him the central warehouse would cease to operate. Papa was valuable to these bandits too. Oh, when my uncle talked about it, he also mentioned that something broke in Mr. Schindler during that birthday evening. He jumped up abruptly, grabbed a chair and wanted to throw it against the wall on which there was a photo of Hitler. However, he restrained himself and just banged the chair on the floor, almost breaking the wooden legs.

But let’s get back to Emalia. Rysiu could live with us in the women’s barracks. When we went to work, he ran around the hall and no one bothered him. The SS men rarely appeared because they were ordered not to disturb the workers at work. But sometimes Herr Direktor passed by us. When he walked in that double-breasted suit and long coat, I looked at him like he was a god. Because he, ma’am, was a god to us. I have no idea how, but I knew he wouldn’t leave us, he wouldn’t let us get hurt. I didn’t even mind the swastika he had on his lapel. In my eyes it looked like a brooch. And it always left a beautiful scent behind. It must have been expensive perfume.

Mostly he held a cigarette between his fingers, a long, elegant one. Not a dry hay joint like my mother and I smoked in the camp. Sometimes he would stop next to one of the workers, light a cigarette, take two drags on it and throw it to the ground. As he left, he discreetly looked around to see if anyone had noticed and would pick him up. He couldn’t serve food to prisoners because someone might report him. But at least that’s how he wanted to please his people. And everyone was really crazy about cigarettes back then.

In Emalia, my mother wouldn’t let me smoke because we weren’t hungry. But then I went back to cigarettes. After the war. I was thirteen when I started buying club vapes and inhaling them during breaks. My friends were surprised that I was a girl and I was so good at it. But what was I supposed to explain to them? It was hard for me to stop after that too. To this day I feel guilty for not giving up cigarettes even when I was pregnant. My daughter Madzia suffered because of this.

Oh, how I liked to smoke. I must admit that I am constantly drawn to it, even though I shouldn’t even think about it, because I have osteoporosis as a souvenir of the war. My husband, who is a doctor, diagnosed it for me. It is not painful, but gradually the ankles become like a sieve. I took various medications. Maybe the fact that I fell and broke my pelvis has something to do with it? Quite possible. But whatever, it will heal by the wedding. At least there won’t be a trace.

Because I have such a mark from the Płaszów camp, a scar on my leg, tiny, almost invisible now. I have it as an eternal souvenir. And it came from the fact that once, during the selection process, my dad hid me in his warehouse on a platform made of boards. While climbing the ladder, or maybe when I was already at the top, I hit a nail. I started bleeding a lot. But I didn’t say a word, I was so afraid. I saw through the cracks how the SS men were walking back and forth and telling us to count: one, two, three. Whoever had ten, went aside, straight to the transport with a stop in the gas chamber.

Niusia from Schindler’s List – cover promotional materials Wielka Litera