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nt race （not to mention stubborn） and the village was no mare； and certainly no less； than an encapsulation of the country as a whole。 Many of the younger men became partisans； hiding in the surrounding forests by day； venturing forth to sabotage where they could by night。
Henryk Palusinski saw… this as a time to redeem his former glory。 Age and his old wound prevented any active part in resistance operations； but he endeavoured to supply the hiding groups with what little food he and the other villagers could spare。 He also fed them any information on German troop activities that came his way。 He urged his son to join the partisans many times； but Janusz was even more reluctant to do that than he was to plough the field； and Kazimiera； when her son plained to her； forbade Henryk to persist with such suggestions。 The risk in providing food for the cause was enough； she scolded； without exposing their one and only son to more danger than already existed for them all。 Besides； who would work the farm if anything happened to the boy？ Although disappointed in his son's lack of spirit； Henryk was forced to listen to reason。
Events took their own course when the older Palusinski fell ill in the winter months with a severe respiratory condition。 In the early hours of one morning when he lay wheezing in his sickbed； there came an urgent rapping on the frontdoor。 Kazimiera feared it was German soldiers making a spot check on the farms around the village； a frequent occurrence in those dark days； searching for hidden food stores； perhaps hoping they might discover a partisan or two skulking on the premises。 She opened the door with much trepidation and it was with relief that Kazimiera recognised the woman standing outside； hair dampened by drizzling rain： she was from the village； her husband a member of the resistance。 The woman held a small bundle in her arms。
'Food； Pani Palusinska；' she told Kazimiera； 'for my husband。 The Germans watch me； they suspect my Mikolaj is with the resistance。 But our men are starving in the forest； Pan Palusinski must take this to them。' Kazimiera explained that Henryk was too ill for such a journey。 'You have a strong son；' she was reminded； the woman's tone cold。
Henryk had heard the conversation through the open door of his room and he called out for his wife to bring the woman inside lest by chance she were seen by their enemy。 The villager rushed to Henryk's door and pleaded with him to send Janusz into the forest with the food。 The older Palusinski began to rise； prepared to undertake the mission himself despite his poor health； and Kazimiera pushed him back again； agreeing that their son should go； afraid that such an effort would surely kill her husband。
Janusz had no other choice。 If he refused he would be pilloried by the villagers and neighbours； branded a coward； and his own father would make his life even more unbearable for him than it was already。 Besides； the risk should be minimal at that hour of the morning。
His father gave him detailed instructions on where to find the partisans' forest hideaway； and the youth set out； pulling his coat tight around his neck against the chill rain。 It was one of those few occasions when Henryk Palusinski felt truly proud of his son。 Unfortunately that pride was to be short…lived。
Janusz was captured in the forest by German soldiers who had always been aware that there was a supply line between the partisans and the villagers and farmers。 As fate would have it and as perversely ironic as fate often is…a patrol had chosen that morning to watch a particular section of woodland in which the young Palusinski crept。 He was caught within ten minutes of reviewing his home。
To his credit； Janusz did not instantly break under the Nazi threats and beatings which followed。 However； it took less than a day at the dreaded Lublin interrogation centre for that to happen。
He gave the names of partisans； revealed where their encampment in the forest was hidden； mentioned which villages assisted them （much of this was guesswork on his part and he strove to make it sound convincing to his tormentors） and who among the farmers supplied the underground movement with food。 It was not until they took him to another room and pletely immersed his body in water； pulling him up just before he lost consciousness； repeating the process several times； that he admitted his own parents were involved with the partisans。 Only when lighted cigarettes were pressed against his testicles and no more information babbled from his broken lips was the Gestapo sure there was nothing left for him to tell。
The next day Janusz was driven to Zamek Lublin； a hillside castle that served as both prison and courthouse。 There； in an old chapel that had been transformed into a courtroom； the dazed youth was sentenced to imprisonment。 He was lucky： others with him found guilty were dispatched to a room next door and instantly shot。
From Zamek Lublin he was taken to Majdanek； a notorious internment centre just east of the city where many thousands of Poles； Hungarians and Czechoslovaks were being held； and it was here that Janusz received the tattooed number on his wrist that forever would identify him as the unfortunate victim of a Nazi concentration camp。
Once he had recovered from his injuries； he began to realise he had certain advantages over many of the other inmates which might possibly help him survive： he was young and had learned to exist on a limited amount of food for a number of years （on this point he was soon to discover that at Majdanek 'limited' meant hardly any at all）； he was cunning； already a natural scrounger； he held scant remorse for any personal misdeeds （the thought of what had befallen those he had betrayed …including the fate of his parents …hardly disturbed him）； he was not Jewish。
And there was one particular aberration of character that would eventually ensure his survival under the worst of circumstances； but that was not to be appreciated until much later。
His clothes were of a black…and…white striped material； thin and coarse and loose…fitting； his bed was a plank of wood on damp ground。 His panions were the starving。
Janusz became used to raving hunger once more。 He dreamt of great plates of sauerkraut； sausages； boiled pork and pickles； with coriander seeds mixed in。 And often he dreamt of when he was nine years old； of the night his father had stolen the tiny pig； how his family had feasted； the park lasting for days； thin soup made from the bones lasting even longer。 He would wake from the dream in the darkness of the night； his sunken eyes wide and staring； the succulent memory vanquishing the moans and smells around him in the rough hut。 He would remember other details of that clandestine night； and juices would run from his open mouth。
Time passed and Janusz mentally sank into himself just as his flesh physically sank into his bones。 Yet there was ever one bright； although tormenting； light far him。 Unlike many of his fellow internees far whom food had bee almost an abstract thing… they still craved it； still licked their bawls which had often contained only watery； meatless soup； a piece of