The Numbers That Brought Our Fates Together 93 This Number Is Your Name.

Lena tucked her knees to her chest and tried not to look around. Next to her was a family: parents and their three children.

From their conversation among themselves, she found out that the woman was from Holland and even won a gold medal in athletics at the last Olympics. They were captured because she had Jewish roots.

The boy, who was sitting next to Lena, was their youngest son, and he looked like no more than three years old. He reminded her of a younger brother who remained in Leningrad.

The kid constantly cried from hunger and cold, but none of the adults uttered a word of indignation. As if the child was pouring out all the pain with his tears, the pain that they themselves could not express.

The kid wiped his nose and looked at Lena. The girl also looked at him and smiled. The kid immediately fell silent and began to look intently into her eyes. Lena smiled again, poked around in her pocket and pulled out a small pipe.

This was Vanya's pipe. It was the only thing left from her family.

She gave the pipe to the kid and asked, "Do you know what this is?"

The kid shook his head.

Lena brought the pipe to her lips and made several melodious sounds. The baby's eyes immediately gleamed, as if he saw a toy that he had long desired.

"Sorry, I can't play well," she said, and again handed the pipe to the boy.

The kid grabbed it at once and began to blow into it full force. The sounds were chaotic and looked more like a discord, but the child was so carried away by the game that he did not notice how he began to laugh happily.

In the eyes of all those present, silent tears came out. Hearing the laughter of a child in such conditions was like a miracle.

The train slowed down, and the soldiers opened the gates of the carriage. Poking the guns into prisoners, they lined everyone up in a long line.

Lena looked around and saw that their carriage was not the only one. She saw at least 40 carriage wagons behind it. The train with the prisoners was so long that it was not possible to see its end.

The line of people was moving slowly to the checkpoint, where one of the camp overseers was sorting the newly arrived prisoners and sending someone to the left, and someone to the right.

The family with a boy were inspected, interviewed and sent to the left. The kid looked at Lena and, smiling, waved goodbye to her with this hand.

Her turn came. The camp overseer was filling out the papers with an indifferent look.

"Name?"

"Lena," the girl said.

The man cast a sidelong glance and repeated annoyedly, "Full name."

"Elena Limova."

"Age?"

"17."

"Where from?"

The girl, having understood that they ask about the place of birth, answered, "Leningrad, USSR."

The man looked at her attentively one more time, wrote out a piece of paper and sent her to the right.

She walked into the next room, where she was forced to take off all her clothes and put on the prisoner's robe. The man who gave Lena clothes was also one of the prisoners.

She approached him and asked in a whisper, "Why do they send some people to the right, and others to the left?"

The man threw a frightened look at the girl. Making sure that the soldiers standing nearby pay no attention to them, he replied barely audibly, "Everyone who is sent to the left will be burned down in the crematorium this evening. And believe me, it would be better if you got there." He took the girl's belongings quickly and told her where to go next.

Lena's legs were walking on their own, while she tried not to remember the joyful face of that child, who, perhaps, was no longer alive. The girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She understood that it was not a good time to cry now.

She was taken to a new room and seated at the table. The smell inside was peculiar, it was stuffy, and there were several soldiers in the room.

One of them that was apparently the leader said, "Where is your number?"

The girl mechanically handed a piece of paper that she was given at the entrance.

"What is this?" she asked the solder.

The man grinned and instead of answering the question addressed the soldiers, "Hold her."

Two soldiers grabbed the girl. One was holding her arm, and the second solder was holding the girl herself.

The man picked up the needle from the table and brought it to the girl's arm.

"W-what are you doing?" Lena screamed with horror, and a sharp pain pierced her entire arm.

The man was slowly drawing the numbers on her left forearm: 280498.

When he finished, he laughed out loud, "Girl, from now on this number is your name. And pray to G.o.d that your every new day will be your last day. Welcome to Auschwitz concentration camp."