Page:The Jail, Experiences in 1916.pdf/121

 At four o'clock he stoodup, took the bag and stationed himself by the door.

Six o'clock. He was still standing and waiting.

Eight o'clock. We had supper. Our new arrival had sat down on his bag. But by the door.

It was before nine. The skylark began to sing again. The skylark, the only creature which of its own accord inhabited this building. The straw mattresses were thrown about, people undressed. Mr. Karl asked the newcomer whether he would lie down. Yes, he would lie down, he was tired, but he would not undress. They would certainly call him and take him away that same night.

Half-past nine. He was lying in his overcoat and had removed only his hat. His skull was completely bald.

"I say", said the artillery-man who was his neighbour, "take off that overcoat, it smells horrible, and what's your name?"

"Simon Lamm", replied he, and took off his overcoat.

"Lamm from Brody?" asked Mr. Fels.

"Yes. And I am here by mistake. They said I wanted to keep my son out of the army, but my son had already joined, he lost his left hand, has an artificial one now and works in an office,—they're sure to take me away from here to-night."

"Take off your things, Mr. Lamm, and try and get to sleep." Mr. Fels stood up, came over to me and said softly: "One of the best Polish Jews in Galicia. A landed proprietor,—of course he's a beggar today. The Russians are managing his estates, but he was the benefactor of the whole district."