A familiar figure appeared from the darkness and instantly threw itself at me: it was Joachim, the little guy! How was this possible? After the selection, he and the professor had left for the gas chamber...!
‘A handful of trade is a handful of gold,’ he grinned, revealing his perfect false teeth, glimmering in the dim light. ‘During registration – because Germans are neat as hell, even when they slaughter us like cattle – they asked me what my occupation was. As soon as I told them I was a baker they jumped with joy, like Christmas had come early! They grabbed me and took me to the administration chief, where they interrogated me regarding my experience and the former location of my store. They filled an entire report on the subject, which I had to sign. That chief knew the exact locatio
