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wife and I remain together, I will take care of her.’ From a wealthy, educated background, Edita not only considered it her mitzvah or moral duty but hoped that if she did as she promised, then her prayers that she be saved and have a husband of her own one day might be answered. Tibor thanked the kind stranger as Priska, who recognised her accent, added softly in Hungarian, ‘ Köszönöm ’ – thank you.
    All cried out as the train jerked to a standstill at a central train depot at the border of Poland and the German Reich, where the prisoners were formally handed over to the new authorities. The doors to their stifling wagons didn’t open and they had no idea what was happening as they waited in a siding. Then the train from Sered’ gave a convulsive twitch and moved off again, until a few hours later it suddenly was buffeted sideways onto a dedicated rail spur and clanked violently to a halt at the railway ramp in the heart of Auschwitz II-Birkenau. It was Sunday, 1 October 1944. Beyond the sealed doors of their prison-on-wheels, the occupants of thetrain immediately recognised the sounds of violence – men shouting and dogs barking – and knew then that they had reached their destination.
    ‘Everything will be fine, my Golden One!’ Tibor promised his wife moments before the wagon doors were thrown open with a tremendous bang. Shuffling forwards to the brink of they knew not what, he cried, ‘Stay positive, Piroška! Think only of beautiful things!’

2
    Rachel

    Rachel Abramczyk
    ‘Guten Morgen hübsche Dame, sind sie schwanger? ’ (Good morning pretty lady, are you pregnant?)
    Rachel Friedman had been asked a similar question in the autumn of 1944, as Mengele gave her the special smirk he seemed to reserve for the shaved, naked women paraded before him like mannequins at Auschwitz II-Birkenau .
    Rachel didn’t know what to say or where to look, so she kept her eyes lowered and her chin to her chest. Surrounding her were hundreds of other women in the same predicament, all of whom had been commanded to stand for hours on the open parade ground. Like them, she was mortified to be seen undressed in front of so many strangers. At twenty-five, she was suddenly grateful that her husband Monik hadn’t been transported with her from their ghetto in occupied Poland and couldn’t witness her humiliation .
    Along with Priska Löwenbeinová – one of the thousands of women who shared her fate – Rachel had only a few seconds to choose how to respond to the high-ranking Nazi who would indicate with a casual movement of his hand if she was to live or die. She wasn’t even one hundred per cent certain that she was pregnant with Monik’s child – and if she was it could only be a matter of weeks. Nor did she have any idea what it might mean to admit that she was .
    She’d heard a few horrible stories of what went on in some of the Nazi camps but she couldn’t bring herself to believe them. And no matter how preposterous those rumours became, there’d been no mention of Dr Mengele, of the fate of pregnant women in his care, or of his brutal medical experiments on children – especially twins. That was to emerge later .
    The only thing Rachel knew as she watched the impeccably groomed doctor personally examine scores of female prisoners was that his smile never quite reached his eyes. In fact, his whole demeanour was that of a diligent farmer closely scrutinising his livestock as he unashamedly appraised the physique of a blushing teenager, or roughly manhandled the breasts of a woman in her prime .
    With his highly polished boots and crisp uniform, he bore all the hallmarks of a man who thrived on discipline and routine. While some of the fat-necked Nazis lolling around the perimeter of the muddy roll-call area appeared to be drunk or worse, Mengele didn’t seem to need to deaden his senses. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy his work, sometimes whistling as he strode up and down the rows of inmates,