We, the trees, speak of everything. Of all you seek to remember and all you seek to forget. This is our fate. You marshalled us for your terrible purposes. For war and genocide. You made us your auxiliaries. On our fibers, you transmitted orders, reports, correspondence, communiqués. On our fibers, you wrote those lists. All those many names.
Without us, how would you have possibly kept track? Without us, how would you have gone about the work of organizing, stigmatizing, traumatizing, dehumanizing on such a massive scale? Your children’s children’s children may not believe it. They may argue among themselves as to whether it is true. That all of it—the names, dates, vilest acts—were written on us.
Simon Grosman, for example. It’s Simon of whom we wish to speak. Not because he was someone special. He was just another boy, a Jewish boy, living in Paris. Simon’s name appears on two different deportation lists. As if he’d been sent to Auschwitz twice. The first time, in Convoy 15, which left France on August 5, 1942. The second time, in Convoy 22, which left on August 21. The boy’s birthdate is the same on both lists: ‘14.11.31.’ And the birthplace, the same too: Paris.
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