Luca Crippa - The Auschwitz Photographer: Based on the true story of Wilhelm Brasse prisoner 3444

1. PART ONE :
   Auschwitz 1941: Hiding to Survive
2. PART TWO :
   Auschwitz 19423: Serving the Master
3. PART THREE :
   Auschwitz 19445: Rebellion and Testimony

Luca Crippa is an expert in theology and philosophy. He has worked as a research professor and editorial consultant for many years. He is the author of a number of history textbooks and essays, historical novels and documentaries.

Maurizio Onnis has travelled extensively in developing countries and has studied the anthropology and history of religions and cultures. He has written historical novels and screenplays.

Jennifer Higgins translates from French and Italian. Recent translations include A Short Philosophy of Birds by Philippe Dubois and lise Rousseau, and a co-translation of Faces on the Tip of My Tongue by the contemporary French author Emmanuelle Pagnano, which was longlisted for the Man Booker International Prize 2020. She is also the programme manager of the Oxford-based Queens College Translation Exchange, an initiative to develop an inspiring range of translation-related workshops and activities for schools, students and the wider public.

A Hedy Epstein, lei sa perch.

Alle migliaia di giovani che in questi anni ci hanno ascoltato raccontare questa storia.

To Hedy Epstein, she knows why.

To the thousands of young people who, over the last few years, have heard us tell this story.

W ILHELM B RASSE SWITCHED ON the enlarger and a bright beam of white light fell on to the sheet of photographic paper. The negative had been developed that morning by Franek, one of his colleagues, and Brasse hadnt even glanced at it. Franek was a skilled lab technician, so Brasse was sure the negative would have the correct contrast and exposure. Brasse also knew his way around the enlarger well, having worked with it for so long, and he was sure that with this medium-density negative, a dozen or so seconds of exposure would be enough to create the print. After exactly twelve seconds he switched off the white light and the room returned to semi-darkness, illuminated only by the red safety lamp.

His boss, SS Oberscharfhrer Bernhard Walter, had asked him to produce large prints, so Brasse had placed a thirty-by-forty-centimetre sheet of photographic paper on the base of the enlarger. Now he took the sheet which already contained the secret of the image projected from the negative, but was still invisible, still immaterial and immersed it in the developing tank. He waited impatiently, as he always did at this stage of the operation, and slowly the image began to take form. It was a face, there could be no doubt about it.

First to emerge were the outlines of the eyes and a few darker strands of hair, then the features and the neck. A woman with a dark complexion. She was young and wore a coloured scarf tied around her head. When the pupils had become fully black, Brasse took the sheet out of the developer, rinsed it quickly and submerged it in the tank of fixer: half a minute would be enough. He didnt even look at the timer sitting on the shelf next to him. This process had become second nature to him, and for a while now hed no longer needed instruments to measure it. Finally, he extracted the sheet from the fixer, washed it carefully once more so that the print wouldnt turn yellow, and hung it on a line to dry. He had asked Walter for a print dryer but his superior was having trouble getting new equipment sent from Berlin. As for looking for one in Warsaw, there was no point: the Germans had already taken anything from there that could possibly be useful.

Only after hed hung up the print did Brasse switch the darkroom light back on. Standing there, in front of the line, he studied the image. He felt a surge of satisfaction: the print was perfectly developed and the contrast was just right. But that feeling quickly gave way to one of unease. The womans eyes fixed him with a terrible gaze.

Disturbed, he took a step back to take a better look.

He wouldnt have been able to say from what distant country she came: the portrait was too close up for him to deduce anything from her clothes or other details. It was a face similar to the thousands of others that he himself had immortalized here in the Erkennungsdienst the camps Identification Service. The woman could be French or Slovak, a Jew of any nationality Romani, even, although her features werent like those of the nomads seen in Auschwitz. She could be German, punished for something the Nazis didnt like.

He didnt know.

The photograph had been taken by Walter, who didnt waste time explaining things. Brasse himself never went outside to take photographs. He had the authorization to do so but didnt want to. Unless they ordered him to do otherwise, he preferred to stay here, shut away in the warm studio, working alongside the other men in his kommando as the SS called the various teams assigned to different tasks in the camp. Walter, on the other hand, liked taking photographs and producing short films out in the sunlight. He would then take everything back to the studio to be developed and printed.

The Oberscharfhrer appreciated and respected his chief portraitist, but he never failed to remind Brasse that he himself was an SS man and Brasse was a prisoner, worth less than zero. Brasses abilities were too useful to him, though, and with time he had even developed a fondness for this Polish deportee. They chatted to each other, and Walter would ask Brasses opinion on technical problems and entrust him with the most difficult jobs.

That morning Walter had come into the studio early before the queue of prisoners to identify and register had even formed and when he appeared everyone sprang to attention. The German had a roll of film in his hand and, judging by the care with which he was carrying it, it must have been something precious, and there was a lot of it several metres.

Wheres Brasse?

In the darkroom, answered Tadek Brodka, who was preparing the equipment for the mornings work.

Walter crossed the room quickly and knocked on the door to the laboratory. He didnt want to barge in while the red light was on: he would have ruined his favourite prisoners work. Only when he received permission to enter did he open the door.

Good morning, Herr Brasse. How are you today?

The photographer smiled at him. As well as ever, Herr Oberscharfhrer. How can I help you?

Walter held up the roll of film, then put it down on a table. Heres some more work for you. When do you think you can develop it and get it printed?

Brasse looked at the reel. Ill start today, as soon as weve finished the registrations. May I ask what it is?

Walter shrugged his shoulders. Some pictures I took yesterday, as I was going around the camp. But theyre very important to me and theyre for my superiors. Do you understand?

The photographer understood perfectly. These pictures were not destined for Walters personal album; they would be seen by the highest-ranking officers in the camp. He must work on them with the greatest of care.