But I didn’t know about that, I didn’t want to believe it. But then that man who I helped now and then with the cement sacks, I used to say ‘Where is so and so?’ –‘Gassed’. –What do you mean gassed?’-‘ Gassed, finished with. Too weak to work’. –‘Ah, when you’re too weak to work, the gas chamber.’ Then I start believing it. But that didn’t happen to my wife and child. I didn’t want to believe it. It kept me alive. Somewhere my wife and child, was working, I’ll see her in the end, and we can talk to one another. There were only two occasions that I gave up this life… when I wanted to give up this life. I didn’t want to believe that my wife and kid were gone. I kept on living, and that, I was kidding myself, fooling myself, I didn’t want to believe the in and outs. I had fleas, I had lice, I had scurf, I was very hungry, I fought the hunger by shaving the beards of the prisoners, they had to be shaved every Saturday. So that’s what the Nazis said, when they march out to work on Monday, with a clean face. And who had to do the shaving, not the village barber, we, amongst the prisoners. Amongst the prison were ex-barbers like myself. And you shaved all day long, one was lathering, one or two others was shaving, and you got the shaver from the chief barber Kapo in the barrack, we had to hand that back, there’s another story in that. Anyhow. And for that you received payment. Not money. I never saw money in the camps. You got half a litre, if there was any left, half a litre soup on a Sunday. And if there wasn’t any, you didn’t get any, dare not to talk about it. If they want they’ll beat you up to ask you what you’re thinking, what did you say. You just took everything that came your way. Your former life did no more exist. You had a different life now. A terrible life.