Chapter 2 introduces Andor Gutman, a guard who replaces Arnold Marx every noon. Both are roughly the same age, around forty-eight, and Gutman, an Estonian Jew, carries a deeply unsettling history from his time at Auschwitz. His life was nearly cut short when he was assigned to the Sonderkommando, a notorious group tasked with guiding condemned prisoners to the gas chambers and later removing their bodies. His fate was dramatically changed when Himmler issued the order to shut down the crematorium ovens, sparing him from an inevitable death that befell many of his fellow Sonderkommando members. This life-altering decision reveals a haunting irony—while the camp functioned to exterminate millions, certain individuals, like Gutman, were momentarily spared through sheer chance or administrative decisions that remain beyond their control. The revelation of his survival amidst such horror sets the stage for Gutman’s psychological complexity, illustrating how his experiences would forever haunt his sense of identity and morality.

The term “Sonderkommando” itself is chilling, translating to “special detail,” which evokes the unimaginable responsibilities thrust upon these prisoners. Those selected for this role were given a brief respite from execution, but their own lives were forfeit after they had served their purpose. Interestingly, Gutman reveals that some men volunteered for this role, which raises difficult, unanswered questions about the human psyche in extreme conditions. In response to the question of why these men might have volunteered, Gutman confesses that comprehending their reasons would require an in-depth exploration far beyond his current understanding—something he believes could fill an entire book. Despite having been one of those volunteers, he confesses to being unable to grasp the reasons for such a choice, suggesting the complexity of human decision-making under life-or-death circumstances. The idea that anyone would willingly embrace such a fate in exchange for temporary survival raises questions that remain elusive, reflecting the psychological complexity of those who lived through the camps.

Gutman’s recollections of Auschwitz are marked by the ever-present loudspeakers that echoed throughout the camp, broadcasting a mix of music and announcements. The music, often of high quality, was oddly devoid of any Jewish composers, who were banned from contributing their works under Nazi rule. This musical selection serves as a strange, unsettling contrast to the grim reality of the camp, where loudspeakers also delivered frequent and brutal announcements. The recurring calls for the Sonderkommando to report to the guardhouse, “Leichenträger zu Wache” (Corpse-carriers to the guardhouse), symbolize the grotesque purpose of the unit and reinforce the inescapable nature of their horrific duties. The combination of music and grim announcements creates a psychologically charged atmosphere in the camp, where the dissonance between melody and duty reflects the twisted reality the prisoners were forced to endure. This stark contrast between culture and death echoes the horror of their existence, where the beauty of music could not mask the brutality of the camp’s operations.

Initially, Gutman saw his position in the Sonderkommando as a survival tactic, considering it preferable to being subjected to the relentless violence of the Nazi machinery. However, as time passed, the weight of this decision became unbearable, and he began to reflect on the moral compromises that survival in such conditions demanded. His shame over his role as a corpse-carrier—exploiting the suffering of others to extend his own life—haunts him deeply, illustrating the moral landscape of survival in Auschwitz. Despite the pressure to simply survive, Gutman’s internal conflict underscores the profound emotional toll that collaborating with the Nazis, even in this limited capacity, exacted on those forced into these positions. His reluctance to revisit the subject in conversation signals the overwhelming burden of these memories and suggests that the trauma from his actions may be too heavy to confront. This chapter captures the lasting psychological scars that linger long after the physical horrors have ended, exposing the complexities of survival, guilt, and the emotional cost of living with choices made under duress. It challenges the reader to consider the human cost of survival in one of history’s most morally complicated contexts, asking whether such individuals can ever reconcile their actions with their humanity.