The Sunflower_ On the Possibilities and - Wiesenthal, Simon copy

unlocked a door. We entered a room which looked as if it were used for storage. On wooden
stands which stretched nearly to the ceiling, bundles and boxes were piled.
“Wait here,” she ordered, “I will be back in a moment.”
I stood still.
After a few moments she came back. In her hand she had a bundle tied up in a green
ground sheet. Sewn to it was a piece of linen with an address.
Somebody passed along in the corridor. She looked around nervously and drew me into
the storeroom. Then she gazed at me searchingly and said: “The man with whom you spoke
yesterday died in the night. I had to promise to give you all his possessions. Except for his
confirmation watch, which I am to send to his mother.”
“I don't want anything, Sister. Send the lot to his mother.”
Without a word she thrust the bundle at me but I refused to touch it.
“Please send it all to his mother, the address is on it.”
The nurse looked at me uncertainly. I turned away and left her there. She did not try to
hold me back. Apparently she had no inkling of what the SS man had told me on the previous
day.
I went back to work in the courtyard. A hearse drove past. Were they taking away the SS
man already?
“Hi you over there, you're asleep,” shouted the orderly.
An askari heard him and came over flourishing a whip. In his eyes there was a sadistic
gleam. But the orderly sent him away.
This time our midday meal was not provided by the hospital. The ordinary prisoners’
food was brought to us from the camp—an evil-smelling, gray brew misnamed soup. We