Singing Nursery Rhymes in a Concentration Camp
Fuzzy Wuzzy saved my life
“Daddy, I have something to tell you…” She rested her tiny chin on my chest and looked up with those neon blue eyes, “Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear, Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair,” she struggled to squeeze the rest of the words out around the cutest giggle in the world.
She wouldn’t stop singing that whole evening, and now I hear that song every morning. After the sirens wake us, I watch that little 15-second movie play on the back of my eyelids. I see her lying on my chest, and my love asleep on my shoulder. They are the only things keeping me alive.
“Get up you fuckin’ Yekke’s! There’s work to be done!” The fat Nazi soldier shouted, “GET UP. Or I’ll spray the lot of ya’s.” Swinging his rifle like a sprinkler.
I pressed up on one arm and barely could hold my weight. My arms had become twigs. No one knew what they were feeding us, but it clearly wasn’t doing the job…Or was it?
I didn’t think about those sorts of things. I couldn’t. I had the ability to go through most of the morning daydreaming about my girls. The mind is strange like that. Plastic. At least IT was on my side.
That day we ate less than usual, they didn’t tell us why, they just rushed us out of the cafeteria. We thought it was because of the…
