Cienfuegos – another stunning colonial style Cuban city, this one clean and not too frantic. We could almost be in Spain. Most of the day is spent in its elegant squares and threadbare department stores, and having fun with the kids. I eventually give in and buy a box of Cohiba Esplendidos, Fidel Castro’s favourite brand before he eventually gave up smoking cigars (described as "the hardest battle I ever fought"). I bought this beautiful wooden box of 25 cigars from a couple of youths on a street corner. There is a strong possibility that they are fake, apparently, but at $30, I’m prepared to take the risk. In the government shops here the same box cost nearly $500, and in the UK, probably double that. I’ve bought them as a present for a cigar expert friend at home, who will be able to judge their authenticity.
Back at the luxurious Hotel Jagua, we bump into 21 tight-trousered Glaswegians on a salsa holiday.
As M goes for a wander round the lush gardens outside the entrance, I sit in the hotel bar, where I drink cheap cocktails and continue to read Martin Gilbert’s brilliant but quite devastating book on the Holocaust. I read the testimony of one Yakov Grojanowski, who worked as a gravedigger in Chelmno, burying the bodies of his neighbours in huge pits. They were herded into large transports, with the promise of a trip to a humane workcamp. But the vans were mobile gas chambers, and none emerged alive. Here is a small sample of his 14 pages…..
Wednesday 14 January 1942
For breakfast, they gave us bitter coffee and bread. Immediately afterwards, Krzewacki from Klodawa, who had long contemplated suicide, put a noose around his neck. He begged Chrzatowski to remove the small packet from under his feet and shove it into his mouth, so that hs breathing should stop sooner. Chrzatowski fulfilled his request and Krzewacki died an easy death. He couldn’t bear to watch the murderous deeds any longer. We cut him down and placed him against the wall.
Immediately after this Swietoplawski from Ixbica also wanted to commit suicide. He had been Krzewacki’s colleague in digging, and wanted to lie in the ditch with him. But we were too tired to help him. We didn’t want to save him (whatever for?), but on the other hand we couldn’t bear to watch his torments. We begged Chrzatowski to put an end to them. Chrzatowski tied a noose tightly round Swietoplawski’s neck, pinned his body down with his feet, and tugged hard at the rope till he had throttled Swietoplawski.
We left both corpses lying uncovered in the cellar. They remained there for a few days.
At eight in the morning, we were back in the ditches. Around ten o’clock there appeared the first van with Jewish victims from Izbica. By noon we had already buried five overloaded transports.
During the lunch break two carloads of SS men arrived who viewed our slaughterhouse with pleasure. In the afternoon a further five transports were processed. In the light of headlamps we carried on working till seven in the evening. At the end of the day, six out of eight [of my gravedigging gang] were taken aside and shot.
Back in the cellar, we burst into tears. We said the evening prayer and the prayer of mourning.
Thursday 15 January 1942
At 8 a.m. we were at our place of work. At ten o’clock the first victims arrived. By noon we had dispatched four overloaded transports. One waited in line after the next.
Imagine the scene: one German drags one corpse from the pile to one side, while another drags a corpse elsewhere. They searched the women’s necks for gold chains, which they tore off. Rings were pulled off fingers. They pulled out gold teeth with pliers. Then the corpses were stood up, legs apart do that a hand could be inserted into the posterior. In the case of the women, an examination was also carried out in front. Although these examinations took place every day while we worked, our blood and brains boiled.
I had a clod of frozen earth thrown at me by the benign German with the pipe. Then ‘Big Whip’ shot at me. I don’t know if he missed me deliberately, but one thing is certain: I remained alive.
At midday I received the sad news that my brother and parents had just been buried. At one o’clock we were back at work. I tried to get closer to the corpses to take a last look at my nearest and dearest. Out of my entire family, which comprised sixty people, I am the only one who survived. I as as lonely as a piece of stone.
At the end of the day, seven out of nine [of my gravedigging gang] were taken aside and shot. I spent a night filled with nightmares and images of horror.
I close the book and drain my Bloody Mary. The end of my cigar is crushed into the ashtray. I get up and walk across the air-conditioned bar, through the automatic doors at the far end, into the afternoon heat. I walk on past the waving palms and the giggling kiddies till I reach the long wall above the empty, golden beach. And here I sit, in the Caribbean warmth, staring across the translucent turquoise ocean for a long, long time.
