Paris. The old man had never spoken. 40 years of silence. 40 years of carrying this secret alone in the darkness of his memory. And then that day someone knocked on his carries a young German historian who was looking for witnesses. Mr Garnier, I work on the history of pink triangles. I was told that you were in Buckenwald.
The old man Auguste Garnier, years old, looked at the historian for a long time moment. “Come in,” he said finally, “I’m going to tell you something that I never told anyone. This that Auguste told that day has changed our understanding of history. Not because it was new. Others witnesses had talked about things similar, but because Augustus had kept something, something concrete, a list, a list of names, of dates, order, proof of a system. Let’s go back.
Buckenwald, Germany. October 1942, Auguste Garnier was years old, former bookseller in Lyon, arrested in August 1942, deported in September, pink triangle. He had been at camp for 3 weeks when the order came. Garnier, 4892. Auguste stepped forward. Morning call as usual, but something was different.
The hood doesn’t have it sent to quarries, not to work forced. Blocar special presentation. Augustus does not didn’t understand. What is it? The mouse hood. A terrible smile. You you’ll see. Block 46 was away from the main camp. Auguste entered there with seven other prisoners. All of pink triangles, all young, between 20 and 35 years old.
All relatively presentable despite the weeks of camp. Inside, a room waiting area, chairs, a guard. Sit down, we’ll call you. They have waited 1 hour, 2 hours and then one door opened. An SS officer is appeared. Impeccable, arrogant. Which Do any of you speak German? Augustus has raised your hand. He had learned German at university. Before. You, follow me.
The office was luxurious. carpet, curtain, armchair and behind the desk a man SS. Fury Brigade, Elmut Voss, 52 years old, administrative manager of the region of Turingian. “Take care of yourself,” he said, “Auguste sat down. I was told that you was a bookseller, cultivated, that you speak German well.
” “Yes, Air Brigade fury. Good, very good. Vos got up, walked around the office. You know why are you here? No ! No ! Air Fury Brigade. No ! Brigade fury your a smile you are here because I need conversation company other thing these brutes in uniform. He stopped in front of Auguste and also for something else Auguste understood.
In for a moment everything was clear. This evening has said Voss you will come to my quarters you will dine with me. We will talk. And then he didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need it. You have a choice. Of course you can refuse. And if I refuse, then you return to the quarries where you will die in a few weeks like the others.
Silence where you can accept live comfortably, eat correctly, survive. Vos leaned towards him. What do you choose? This was not a choice. Augustus knew it. Voss knew it. It was a disguised order in question. I accept, said Auguste. Wise decision. That evening, Auguste went to the districts of Voss. What happened, he would never describe it in detail, nor to the historian in 1983, nor to anyone, but he survived and the next morning he was still alive. That was all that mattered.
Augustus was not the only one. In the days that followed, he discovered the scale of the system. The blocante was a reserve. A fishpond of selected homosexual prisoners for their appearance, their youth, their presentation. Officially, they were assigned to special services : cleaning of officers’ quarters, housework, shopping.
Unofficially, everyone knew. There were twenty of them at the blocante, twenty three men of different nationalities French, German, Dutch, polish, all pink triangles, all chosen and each signed at one or several officers. Auguste met the others. Marcel Dubois, years old, French, former dancer assigned to deputy commander, Wilhelm Vanerberg, 31 years old, Dutch, former teacher, assigned to two different officers, work-study Klaus Richter, 24 years old, German, former student, assigned to chief physician of campanisv Kowalski, 29
years old, Polish, former actor, assigned to a rotating group of officers five men, five prisoners, five destinies linked by the same horror. The rules were clear. When your officer called you, you went there without question, without delay. You were doing what he asked, everything he asked. You you smiled, you said thank you and you came back at block 46 until next time.
In exchange, you survived. No career, no mortal labors, one food OK, clean bed. It was thebargain, your dignity for your life. The first night they met alone, the five men spoke. “How are you holding up?” Marcel asked Augustus. “I don’t know. I’m leaving elsewhere in my head or in Lyon, in my bookstore. I put away books.
It’s everything I do.” Marcel nodded head. Me, I dance in my head. I am on stage. I’m not there. Willem had another method. “I counts,” he said. I count everything, seconds, minutes, breaths. When I count, I don’t think. And after, after, I note in my head the date, time, what happened. Auguste looked at him with surprise.
For what ? Because one day someone will have to know. Someone will have to testify. Klaus, the youngest, hardly spoke not. He spent his days sitting, blank look. In the evening, he went to the chief physician. In the morning he came back. He I’m going to break, Marcel whispered. He doesn’t will not hold.
We can’t leave him alone, said Auguste. What do we can do? Being there is everything. Staniswaiv, the Polish actor, had the most disturbing approach. He was playing a role, not only during visits, all the time. I am no longer Staniswaave, he explained. I am a character, a character who does these things. Staniswave watches from afar.
He is not involved. And does it work? I don’t I don’t know, but I’m still here. The weeks have passed. The system worked. The officers had their favorite nails. The prisoners survived and no one talked about it. It was the unwritten rule, the silence absolute. The other prisoners in the camp knew or suspected.
But no one didn’t say anything by tastes perhaps or by unacknowledged desire. Those of the blockade six ate better, worked fewer, lived longer. One day, Augustus received an unexpected visit. A prisoner of the main camp, triangle red, political, a French resistance fighter. Are you Garnier, the bookseller? Yes, I Calls me Henry.
I need you speak. Henry knew what was happening at the blocante, not the details, but the essential. “I’m not here for you judge,” he said. “I’m here for you propose something.” “What? You have access to the officers’ quarters, you see documents, you hear conversations.” Augustus understood where he wanted to get there.
“You want I spy. I want you to observe, that you memorize, which you transmit. It’s of suicide. Maybe or maybe It’s a way of making sense of it. that you suffer. Auguste thought for days. Make sense. These words swirled around in his head. What he doing with Voss made no sense. It was survival, nothing else. But if it was more, if it served any purpose thing, he accepted.
Augustus became a spy, not a spectacular spy. He did not steal a document, photographed nothing, sabotaged nothing. He observed, listened, memorized. Your loved to talk. After the rest, he loved drink brandy and chat. Politics, strategy, gossip from the High Command. Auguste listened, asked questions innocent, held back everything.
and the forehead eastern brigade fury news are good. Voss then launched into explanations, figures, plans, names. He wasn’t suspicious. Why would he be suspicious? Augustus was just a prisoner, a toy. A thing, he forgot that things can listen. Every week, Auguste passed on what he knew to Henry. Not directly.
It was too dangerous through intermediaries, messages coded, furtive encounters. The information went outwards, towards the resistance, towards London. Sometimes Auguste didn’t know if it was useful, but he did it when same. He suggested to others to join the network. Marcel refused. It’s too dangerous. I just want survive. Willem agreed.
You had reason. Someone must remember might as well be useful too. Klaus no longer responded. He was sinking in silence. Staniswaave hesitated long time. If I do this, I won’t be no longer a character. I will be me. Staniswaave. Is this a problem? I don’t don’t know. It’s been a long time since I not been me.
Finally he agreed to become someone again, even if it’s dangerous. They developed a system. Everyone observed their officer(s). Noted what he heard. transmitted to Augustus, Augustus compiled, transmitted to Henry an invisible chain, an silent resistance. The information were precious, troop movement, change of command, morale of officers, problems supply, fragments often, but fragments that came together.
Henry was impressed. You are the best agents I’ve ever had. Nobody distrusts you because no one sees us as people, said Auguste bitterly. We are just objects. Use this,turn it against them. But the danger was constant. One evening Voss looked Augustus strangely. You pose a lot questions lately. Augustus felt his frozen sense. I’m interested.
Hair brigade fury. That’s all. You What are you interested in? to you, to your work. It’s fascinating. Vos fixed it for a long moment, then he laughed. You are a flattering, I like it. Augustus breathed. This time, Klaus broke down in January 1943, not spectacularly, silently. One morning he didn’t get up.
He is remained in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Klaus! Klaus! Wake up! No response. Klaus! Nothing ! was still breathing, his heart was still beating, but something he had passed away. The chief physician, whoever used it, did it examine. Catatonia, said the doctor camp. Mental collapse, he can still serve.
No, he no longer reacts to nothing. The chief doctor raised the shoulders. So it’s no longer of any use. Klaus was transferred to the block invalid. He died 3 weeks later late, officially from pneumonia, unofficially. Everyone knew this which happened to invalids. His death haunted others. It could have been me, murmured Marcel.
It could be me tomorrow. We won’t let him, said Augustus. We watch each other. We supports. How ? We can’t even protect ourselves by remaining human. That’s all we can do. Augustus had started something different. A list, not a list information for the resistance, a other list. The names of the officers, dates, prisoners used, a meticulous documentation of the horror.
He wrote in his head first memorizing and then when he could, he scribbled on pieces of paper, codes, abbreviations. Willem was doing the same thing on his side. If we survive, said Auguste, we will have proof. And if we don’t survive, then we hide our papers and someone will find them. The list grew.
Voss Fury Brigade, prisoner 4892 Garnier 5103 wood. October 1942 to present. Strumban Fury Keller prisoner 4756 Vanerberg 5.91 Richter December 1942 to January 1943 Astorm Fury Brant prisoner 5234 Kovalskiis multiple other rotating number names dates. The proof of a system. In March 1943 something changed. A new officer arrived at the camp. Ss.
Auert fury Werner Lang. Inspection general. Lang was different from others. Colder, more methodical, more dangerous and he had noticed something. “The pink triangles of block 46”, he told the commander of the camp. “Why are they treated so well ? “They are domestic workers, è Robert fury. Workers servants who eat better than the guards? The commander hesitated.
Some officers appreciate their company. Lang looked at him coldly. I see. A discreet investigation has begun at the beginning. Then less and less questions, checks, looks. Auguste felt the danger approached. One evening, Henry warned him. He looking for a mole, someone who does pass information.
They know that it’s me. Not yet, but they are looking for. What do I do? You stop immediately. You make yourself forget. Auguste stopped transmitting but he did not stop noting, document. The list continued to grow, hidden in the seams of its mattress, tiny pieces of paper covered in code for later for the story. In April 1943, the system was collapsed.
The language survey had found something, not resistance, something else. Letters, letters of love written by an officer to a prisoner. The irrefutable proof of this that was happening. The scandal broke. Not publicly, never publicly, but in the circles of the Top command of homosexual officers using homosexual prisoners. Absolute hypocrisy.
Berlin was furious. The consequences were fast. Three officers were transferred. Two were encouraged to commit suicide. And Voss Voss disappeared one night. Taken away by the guestapo, Auguste no longer has it never seen again. For the prisoners of block 46, that was the end. The block was dissolved.
Survivors sent back to camp main. More protection, more privilege. Back to normal hell. Auguste managed to hide his list. Before the dissolution of the bloc, he buried in a corner of the camp under a precise stone. “If I die,” he said to Willem, “there is there, under the third stone to the left of the latrine north. You won’t die.
We don’t know never. Augustus is not dead. He has survived the careers at Tifus at the death march of 1945 when the Americans liberated Benwald April 11, 1945. He was there, skeletal, broken but alive. The first thing he did after liberation is to return to the location of the list. She wasstill there, damp, damaged, but readable.
He collected it, dried it, dried it kept. For 40 years, Marcel did not have survived, died in December, executed for attempted escape. But Auguste knew it was false. Marcel had never tried to escape. William didn’t survive either. Death during the death march. Exhaustion, 3 days before release, Staniswave had survived. Auguste has it found in 1946 in Warsaw.
They have talked a whole night. “You kept your list?” Staniswaave asked. “Yes, what are you going to do with it? I don’t don’t know. Nobody wants to talk to you about it. One day, maybe? One day? This day came in 1983 when the young German historian knocked on the door of Augustus, the historian was called Thomas Müller, trastan, doctoral student in history, specialist in persecution of homosexuals under the Nazism. Mr.
Garnier, I am looking for witnesses for years. Nobody doesn’t want to talk. I understand why this that we have experienced, it is not something what people say, but someone has to do for history, for those who are dead. Augustus looked at him. This serious, passionate young man, who didn’t judge. I have something of yours show. He pulled out the list.
40 years of conservation. Yellowed page, fragile, but intact. Thomas looked at him with eyes wide-eyed. My god, this is the proof, the names of the officers, the dates, the prisoners, everything. You kept this for 40 years. I promised men dead that someone would know. I hold my promise. The interview lasted 3 days. Auguste told everything.
Block 46, Voss, the invisible resistance. Klaus, Marcel, Willem, Staniswave, everything. For the first time in his life, he said the words out loud. Why now? Thomas asked at the end. Auguste thought. Because I’m going soon to die and I don’t want take this with me. You regret something? I regret not could have saved more.
Klaus, Marcel, William. He deserved to live. And you, Do you regret having survived? Silence. No, because if I was dead, no one would be there to tell and the story would be lost. Thomas has published his book in 1987, the forgotten ones of the pink triangle, testimony from block 46. The book made scandal in Germany, France, everywhere.
Some refused to believe, others were terrified. Others again, the survivors, their families, cried while reading. The truth was finally said. Augustus died on February 1991. He had funeral donkeys people. Thomas the historian. Staniswave came from Warsaw despite his great age and a man that Auguste didn’t know. After the ceremony, the man approached Thomas.
I calls me Pierre. Pierre Morau. My father was the prisoner47. Was he in the OR? No, he was at careers. But one day, in 1942, he been removed from a transfer list towards Auschwitz. He never knew why. Thomas understood. Augustus? Auguste transmitted my father’s name to resistance and someone did something. My father survived.
I I was born after the war. He had the tears in my eyes. I never could thank August. I didn’t even know his name until I read your book. Are you there now? Yes, I am here. Augustus’ list is now kept in the archives nationals of France. Documents historical, proof of a crime but also proof of other things that even in absolute horror, certain men found a way to resist.
not with weapons, not with violence, with words, names, memories. You will sleep with the general. These words were an order, a condemnation, a dehumanization. But those who received them refused to be dehumanized. They survived, observed, memorized, transmitted. And 40 years later their testimony changed the story.
Marcel died thinking that he was just a victim. Willem is died knowing he was a resistant. Klaus died broken. Staniswav lived by rebuilding himself day after day and Augustus lived long enough long time to tell five destinies. Five ways to respond to the impossible. None was perfect, none was heroic in the classical sense, but all were human.
And maybe that’s it true resistance. Stay human when everything tells you that you are not.
