Childhood Remixed! - The Finger Game

He was a tall man who looked slim and fit in
His spotless uniform
What a contrast to us, who were untidy and grimy after our long journey!
He had assumed an attitude of careless ease
Supporting his right elbow with his left hand
His right hand was lifted
And with the forefinger of that hand he pointed very leisurely
To the right or to the left
None of us had the slightest idea of the sinister
Meaning behind that little movement of a man's
Finger, pointing now to the right and now to the left
But far more frequently to the left

It was my turn
Somebody whispered to me
That to be sent to the right side would mean work, the
Way to the left being for the sick and those incapable of work
Who would be sent to a special camp
I just waited for things to take their course, the first of many such times to come
My haversack
Weighed me down a bit to the left
But I made an effort to walk upright
The SS man looked me over
Appeared to hesitate, then put both his hands on my shoulders
I tried very hard to look smart, and
He turned my shoulders very slowly until I faced right
And I moved over to that side
The significance of the finger game was explained to us in the evening
It was the first selection, the
First verdict made on our existence or non-existence
For the great majority of our transport, about
90 per cent, it meant death
Their sentence was carried out within the next few hours
Those who
Were sent to the left were marched from the station straight to the crematorium

We who were saved, the minority of our transport
Found out the truth in the evening
I inquired from prisoners who had been there for some time
Where my colleague and friend P had been sent
"Was he sent to the left side?"
"Yes," I replied
"Then you can see him there," I was told
"Where?" A hand pointed to the chimney a few hundred yards off
Which was sending a column of
Flame up into the grey sky of Poland
It dissolved into a sinister cloud of smoke
"That's where your friend is, floating up to Heaven," was the answer
But I still did not understand
Until the truth was explained to me in plain words
But I am telling things out of their turn
From a psychological point of view, we had a long, long way
In front of us from the break of that dawn at the station
Until our first night's rest at the camp

Written by:
Viktor Frankl

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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