But it was not easy to repress, elude, or ignore Rappoport. "What are you sleeping for? Here I am about to make my will and you're sleeping? Perhaps my bomb is already on its way, and I don't want to miss the chance. If I were free, I'd like to write a book with my philosophy in it. But for now, all I can do is tell it to you two wretches. If you can use it, fine. If not, and you get out of here alive and I don't, which would be rather strange, you can spread it about and maybe it will be of use to somebody. Who knows? Not that it matters much to me, though. I don't have the makings of a philanthropist.
"Well, here it is. While I could I drank, I ate, I made love. I left flat gray Poland for that Italy of yours; I studied, learned, travelled and looked at things. I kept my eyes wide open; I didn't waste a crumb. I've been dilligent; I don't think I could have done more or better. Things went well for me; I accumulated a large quantity of good things, and all that good has not disappeared. It's inside me, safe and sound. I don't let it fade; I've held on to it. Nobody can take it from me.
"Then I wound up here. I've been in this place for twenty months, and for twenty months I've been keeping accounts. They balance-- in fact I still have substantial credit. To tip the balance, it wold take many more months of Camp, or many days of torture. Actually," (he caressed his stomach affectionately) "with a little initiative, even here you can find something good every so often. So in the sad event that you should survive me, you will be able to say that Leon Rappoport got what was due to him, left behind neither debits nor credits, and did not weep or ask for pity. If I meet Hitler in the other world, I'll spit in his face and I'll have every right to..." A bomb fell nearby, followed by the roar like a landslide. One of the warhouses must have collapsed. Rappoport had to raise his voice almost to a shout: "because he didn't get the better of me."

from "Rappoport's Testament," an account of time spent in
Auschwitz, from "moments of Reprieve by Primo Levi


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