Hermina Vlasopolos - April 9, 1984
Going Home III
"This time it was a passenger train. The prisoners were--we met were from Yugoslavia and many of them were sick. At night the ones who were ill slept on benches, the rest of us slept on the floor, men in one compartment, women in the other. The train stopped sometimes for hours, sometimes for days. The men used to bring warm water from the locomotive and we washed in the restrooms. They had money. We had sugar given to us by the French prisoners who had left the camp before us. The local people who hadn't fled sold us bread and we ate bread and sugar. Sometimes the train stopped next to a body of water. Everyone went bathing and ???. These were for underwear and generally dried in the sun. If one missed the train it didn't matter. We were already in Hungary; many prisoners had taken different ways to reach their hometown. Trains weren't so scarce anymore. Our luggage was with us. In those days we learned more about one another than we could have learned in months of normal life. One day our train stopped in a deserted village, even the railroad station was deserted. Not a single soul was there. We walked into the village, there were houses, barns, gardens, but no people. It was a ghost town. The population had fled. They knew that they had fought on the Nazi side. They had helped with the deportation of the Jews and now afraid of the consequences they took off at least for the time being. We entered the nice looking house and in the cold storage room we found strips of bacon, onion and potatoes. Out of these ingredients we cooked a stew and we had a feast. It was our first long meal since Berma. After eating and cleaning up we continued to explore the house, which without doubt belonged to a wealthy family. In the living room we found a grand piano. Fingering the keys I said, laughing, "Let's have a concert. Who knows how to play?" Without a word M. sat down at the piano and after fingering the keys suddenly he started to play Rachmaninoff Concerto No. 2. Everything seemed so unreal, the empty railroad station, the ghostly village, the house deserted by its people, our royal meal and the concert. Who are these tall young looking man with graying hair with sensitive, strong hands. He played the concerto to the end. All six of us were very quiet. The music had brought back memories. I learned later from M.'s friend that he was the conductor of the symphony orchestra in Budapest. It was also then that he told me about their task, which consisted of gathering all information and photographs about the Nazi extermination camps and sending them to higher authorities. Only then, from them did I learn the full extent of the Nazi crimes."
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