After he smeared something all over my head, only bare skin was left and all my hair fell out. I started to cry because I thought that it wouldn’t grow again. But it grew and my hair has been exceptionally pretty until today. And it’s not dyed. I have never dyed my hair and I’m 75. Even though it’s not the color that suits me best.
He smeared me with something there, in Auschwitz. Some German. Nobody said anything, so how was I to know that it was an experiment? After all, it was the infirmary, the hospital.
I do have beautiful hair, don’t I?
As soon as I hear German, I get shivers. I recall everything.
After the war I worked at “Róża Luksemburg,” an electric lamp factory, in the export sales division. Every month the Germans would visit the plant. They paid us a lot, but I couldn’t… I would go out to the restrooms each time. My forewoman and the manager would force me to stay: “Ms. Bogdaniuk, but you cannot behave this way!”
And I would say: “Come off it, Mr. Malicki. I don’t want to be rude and I don’t want to force politeness.”
I don’t know what would have happened with me if I had had to be polite. It was enough that I heard this patter – no, and that’s it! They may be honest, but…
In the 70s somebody persuaded me to go to Auschwitz. I fought with myself, but I went in the end. After the film screening began, I didn’t even manage to leave the room. I passed out. And later all this hospital trouble. Even today, I still ask that nobody try to persuade me to do anything of that kind. Have I been getting medical treatment all these years only to end up in hospital like that?