Slowly they began to shuffle in, one by one, never breaking their silence. It took about twenty minutes for Gurdweill to reach the door, which was guarded by two stalwart men with moustaches and hard expressions on their faces. Some of the poor showed little red cards, and others received such cards now from the guards. The sparsely bearded man, whom Gurdweill allowed to go in before him, was stopped in the doorway.

‘I know you,’ one of the guards berated him. ‘You’ve been here eight days in a row. Stand aside, you scum!’ And he pushed him out. ‘Next!’

Gurdweill entered a narrow passage, where two supervisors stood at a gate and inspected the men to see if they were clean. Those suspected of uncleanliness were led to one side, to bathe and have their clothing disinfected. Many requested baths themselves. Gurdweill followed the others, who were already familiar with the procedures of the place, deposited his watch in the safe-deposit locker in the passage, and went with them to the long, narrow bathroom, which had wide zinc troughs running along both walls and a rail in the middle, upon which hung rough towels, stiff as scouring brushes, as well as the clothes of the bathers. ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do,’ said Gurdweill to himself, and he squeezed in among the hairy men with their naked torsos, and washed himself like them with hot and cold water, sticking his fingers as they did in the mound of soft, squashy, glue-like yellow soap lying next to each pair of taps. In a small, square room leading off the bathroom, there was a cracked mirror on the wall, shining in patches with a pearly sheen, and before it a table holding a few filthy combs with their teeth stuck together, and here wet heads and beards were silently, diligently combed — and the people in their rags and tatters took on a somewhat different, less savage appearance. From here a door led into a large, spacious hall, with two rows of tables and benches set along the walls, leaving a wide passage in the middle.

Washed and combed, they seated themselves noiselessly at the tables, like obedient children. They sat still and waited. Gurdweill did not know what they were waiting for, but refrained from asking, in order not to give the impression of being a greenhorn, and also because speech seemed out of place here, unnatural. It was both strange and terrifying to see these sombre people sitting in silence, three hundred grown men not uttering a word.