Another roll call. In the snow. The soldiers wear overcoats.
Prisoners clutch rags as blankets .
The only sound is the crunch of the kapos' feet as they patrol the rows, the occasional thud of a club, or the equally dull sound of a body collapsing. It's a blizzard. Past the rows of gray prisoners, past the gray kapos with their clubs, and the gray guards, Manheim waits in his black car. The snow turns charcoal where the blue smoke of the exhaust pipe burns. The car faces the gallows.