At the beginning of February a flood of POWs poured into Stalag VIIA. The German breakthrough in France and Belgium accounted for the increase. The event had no name then; now it is known as the Battle of the Bulge. I was aware only of the overpopulation. As the men crowded into Stalag VIIA, I was suddenly separated from Stubbs and Coppola and moved to another compound called South Lagar. Although uprooting and dislocation were by then a way of life, I missed the companionship of Stubby and Coppola.
South Lagar was a hole. The floors, unscrubbed for weeks, were dirty Heavy population forced the bunks to be placed eighteen inches apart. The narrow aisles were cluttered with blowers, wood, and personal belongings. There were no books to read, no entertainment. There was no electric light. Our single source of illumination was a carbide lamp a German guard made out of a coffee can. There was one heat stove about four feet high. There was no stove for indoor cooking, and the one POW who had a stove refused to allow others to use it. Those of us who preferred to heat water or cook hot food for dinner went out into the yard to do so.The Windows of the barracks were boarded halfway up against the cold weather. The interior of the barracks was therefore dark and dreary, which made for severe confinement. The effect of this gloomy environment on us was immediate; normal irritation bounded into aggressive annoyance. Some of us became as untouchable as thorn trees.
A POW who bunked next to me named, Lynn Smith, was as prickly as the fruit on top of a Tunisian cactus. He seemed constantly on guard against the human race. I found no smooth and easy way to converse with Lynn. He talked endlessly about the books he'd read, which he probably had, except that he never seemed to have absorbed them. According to the Stanislavsky method of animal identification, Lyme was a porcupine, easily ruffled, a humorless and selfish man; no length of acquaintance or shared affliction altered these attitudes. Even though he made a fairly presentable first appearance, it was strange how the men somehow got his number and stayed away from him. He constantly apologized for his young wife, whose picture he showed me, accounting for her inadequacies by way of the differences in their ages. He was self-conscious about his marriage and, although he talked on many subjects, wound up being crude about them all. It is entirely possible that Lynn Smith was a nice guy, but circumstances altered cases.
The coming and going of the Munich detail in South Lagar was a dreadful experience. Once the lukewarm soup was distributed, in the evening, I gathered up some wood and went outside to cook my dinner. More and more it seemed important to protect my health. Many of us brewed coffee, cooked Spuds chopped up in Spam in a blizzard of snow. In the blowing wind and snow, frantic for fear that I, or someone near me, would tip over the tin of food and jittery while carrying it inside avoiding bumping into someone, I finally got to my bunk, removed my shoes, set up a box, nervously poured the hot water, and buttered the toast while at the same time passionately vocally spitting out my hatred of all Germans who made it necessary for me to eat the miserable dinner.
The daily tensions under which we lived in South Lagar produced additional tensions. The misery of waiting for the end to come, waiting to go home, day after day, week after week, month after month, through the cruelty and exposure of winter was trying in the extreme. The accumulation of unproductiveness packed the waiting days with waste, emptiness, and exasperation. We could not see the end.
About the first of March, the food radon was visibly reduced. There was but a dribble of mail. Some POWs had received ten letters, some eighteen, some none-I had yet to receive one. Distribution of Red Cross boxes was uncertain. But the hunger in February and March was not for food and mail alone. It was for music, for newspapers, for bed sheets, for magazines, for money, for a change of clothes, for light, for a chair, for plates, knives, and cups; for a bed, for warmth, for affection; for sympathy; for love. Lice and fleas were, naturally, more abundant in South Lagar.
We developed a skin disease that started at the ankles and ran eighteen inches up the leg, appearing also at the base of the spine, in the crotch, and on the wrists. Scratching only raised welts and produced sores. Festering rumor was a disease in South Lagan. Our faith in the war's end was like a weathercock in turbulent winds: now all hopeful, now all despair.
