They had arrived in a large open space, where Johann saw many rows of single-storey buildings reaching away for as far as he could see. There were prisoners here and there in their striped uniforms, going about their work, and Johann noticed that they wore armbands of different colours. He asked Volker what they signified.
‘They represent the authority that sent them here,’ Volker said. ‘If the Gestapo send us a political prisoner, he wears a red armband. Anyone convicted by the criminal courts wears green. Those sent by the welfare authorities wear black. Jews yellow. Jehovah’s Witnesses purple, and so on. It helps us to keep track of everyone.’
‘I imagine the security for so many prisoners must be very strong?’
‘Indeed. The camp enclosure is heavily guarded. We have seven guard towers and wire fences that are two deep, creating a ten-foot-wide space between them. The guards have orders to shoot anyone found in this forbidden area, and yet even while the prisoners know this, some still enter. The entire compound is surrounded by a combination of electrified, barbed-wire fencing and brick walls. It’s impossible to escape, so I can only believe they enter the area with the desire to end their own lives. I really can’t understand why.’
As they walked alongside the prisoner barracks and Johann came closer to some of the prisoners, he thought he understood very well. Many were obviously malnourished, and he could only imagine the long work regime they had to endure day in and day out with little or no respite or sustenance. They came to a halt beside a small parade of prisoners who had been lined up three men deep by eight men wide at the end of one of the huts. There were guards to either side of them, clenching their weapons as if threatening to use them at the slightest provocation.
Every prisoner, some wearing thin hats of the same striped material, others with their shaved heads exposed, was visibly shivering in the cold December air. Their otherwise pale skin was tinged with shades of purple at the extremities. It suggested to Johann that they had been standing in the cold for a long time, waiting for Volker to appear. They were all standing to attention, as though they were a fighting unit at an inspection parade, and it was easy for Johann to identify those prisoners who had been at the camp the longest by their drawn faces and hollow-set eyes, and by the way their striped uniforms seemed to hang without substance on their near skeletal frames. As Volker looked upon them, each man seemed to stand more stiffly to attention, forcing his chest out as best he could in an attempt to please their Lagerführer. It was clear to Johann from every man’s expression that they did so, not out of pride or honour, but out of fear.
Volker turned to Johann and simply smiled at him, saying nothing, as though he was too proud for words at his efforts to instil such discipline at Dachau. A moment later, he turned abruptly on his heel and continued the tour. Johann was glad to move on.
‘You know,’ Volker said, ‘I’ve a mind to take a bride of my own.’
Johann couldn’t imagine what had prompted Volker to think about marriage after what he’d just seen. ‘Aren’t you going to dismiss those prisoners?’ he asked. Looking back, he could see that they were still standing to attention.
Volker waved his hand, as if flicking at a fly that was irritating him. ‘They will remain there until we leave the enclosure. Do not feel sorry for them, Johann. Those workers were selected because they are in need of discipline. Now where was I? Ah, yes, you remember Trudi, don’t you? The beautiful Trudi Scheffler?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well, I think I’ll marry her after all. I’m sure she’d like that. Then you and I will both be married. And someday, when this war is won, our children, and perhaps even our grandchildren, will be the best of friends, just like us. Wouldn’t that be something?’
Johann just nodded and feigned a weak smile, distracted by everything around him. He considered himself fortunate that he was not in Volker’s shoes. The perils awaiting him on the Ostfront were a far greater enticement to a fighting soldier of the Waffen-SS than to be assigned duties at a work camp such as this, where discipline was seemingly demanded through cruelty over a sense of honour.
‘You’re a very lucky man,’ Volker continued.
‘How so?’
‘For marrying Ava, of course. For winning the girl.’