The Sunflower_ On the Possibilities and - Wiesenthal, Simon copy

We were escorted by the same askaris as on the previous day. An SS man from the guard
room placed himself at the head of our column. On the way I wondered where I could hide if
the nurse came to look for me.
The cemetery with the sunflowers came into view again on our left. Soon the dying SS
man in the hospital would join his comrades there. I tried to picture the spot reserved for
him.
Yesterday my comrades had stared at the sunflowers as if spellbound, but today they
seemed to disregard them. Only a few glanced at them. But my gaze traversed row after row,
and I nearly stumbled over the heels of the man in front of me.
In Grodeska Street children were playing unconcernedly. They at least did not need to
hide when a man in uniform appeared. How lucky they were.
My neighbor drew my attention to a passerby.
“Do you see that fellow with the Tyrolean hat? The one with the feather.”
“Certainly a German,” said I.
“Sort of. He is now a racial German, but three years ago he was a fanatical Pole. I know
him well. I lived near him. When the Jewish shops were looted, he was there, and when they
beat up the Jews in the University he was there too. Moreover he is sure to have volunteered
when the Russians were looking for collaborators. He is the type who is always on the side
of the people in power. Probably he has raked up a German ancestor from somewhere or
other. But I am prepared to bet that he could not speak a word of German until a short time
ago. The Nazis need people like him. They would be helpless without them.”
In fact one constantly heard of ethnic Germans striving to make themselves 150 percent
German. On working parties one had to be careful to avoid them. They were always anxious