The spotters at the peepholes reported that dawn was a half hour off, that the countryside was covered with deep snow, the thick hilly forests could be distinguished in the distance. The cold was bitter; the emigrants huddled against one another for warmth. The two-day supply of food had long disappeared. So had conversation. Now they waited in darkness, chill and silence. The train crept forward. The spotters announced that they were passing under a large wooden arch, passing through metal gates, that lights could be seen ahead, that the tracks had spread into three spurs, that the ground was frozen and littered with debris, that double lines of barbed-wire fences could be seen on either side, that barracks stretched endlessly beyond. The car bumped to a stop. Shouting was heard outside. The door slid open. The light was blinding. “All out, good friends, all out,” ordered the smiling man in striped cap and overcoat. “Welcome, and bring your possessions with you. Deposit them at the other side of the ramp.
