A polite man translated for her.
She looked right into the guards’ eyes, bravely. But at that moment, a new thought passed through her mind: this is the end.
Renia stayed focused. It was nighttime. Gendarmes everywhere. As inconspicuously as possible, Renia opened her bag, fished out the addresses, and shoved bits of paper into her mouth, swallowing them whole. She threw aside her stash of money. Her Reich fingerprinted documents and a few more Warsaw addresses were sewn into her garter belt—but there was no way for her to get at them in public.
They took her to the customshouse. She saw Ilza, surrounded by gendarmes.
The gendarmes asked Renia if she knew this woman.
“No.”
Ilza’s face flushed. Renia could tell her eyes were saying, “We’ve fallen into the hands of our hangmen.”
They took Renia to a small examination room. “A fat German policewoman who wheezed from her nose like a witch,” was there to investigate. She searched Renia’s clothes—jacket, shirt, skirt—using a knife to slit open seams. Renia tried to remain still while she slashed so close to her skin. Too close.
And there she found it, in Renia’s garter belt: the fingerprinted document and the addresses.
Renia tried right away to appeal to her conscience. “Please.”
Nothing.
Renia removed her watch and offered it on condition that the policewoman destroyed the papers.
“No.”
The guard escorted Renia to a large hall. Not only did she present the papers and the addresses, but also she reported Renia’s attempts to bribe her.
Gendarmes gathered around. They started to laugh. Who are these girls? What should be done to them?
Renia was barefoot. Her shoes had been cut open, her jacket unraveled, her bag cut to pieces. She saw that they’d pierced her tube of toothpaste looking for hidden materials. They’d shattered her small mirror, dismantled her watch. Examined everything.
First, they questioned Ilza, then turned to Renia. Where did she get the papers? How much did she pay for them? How did she get her photo into the passport? Which ghetto did she escape from, and was she Jewish? Where was she going? Why?
“I’m Catholic. The papers are authentic. I got them from the company where I work as a clerk.” Renia stuck to her story. “I intended to visit a relative who works in Germany, but I met a woman who told me that my relative had moved, so I’m returning to Warsaw. I stayed in the country with people I didn’t know. I paid them for my stay.”
“So, let’s go back,” an officer said. “Show us where you stayed.”
Renia didn’t miss a beat. “It was my first time in the area. I don’t know the people. My memory isn’t good enough to remember the name of the town and the exact house. If I knew, I’d write the address down for you right now.”
Renia’s answers angered the gendarmes. One of them hit and kicked her. He grabbed her hair and dragged her across the floor. He ordered her to stop lying and tell the truth. But the more they yelled and hit, the more hardened Renia felt.
“More than ten Jews with these exact papers were shot to death like dogs just this week,” said one gendarme.
Renia chuckled. “Well, that would be proof that all the passports issued in Warsaw are fake and that all their holders are Jews. But obviously that’s not true, since I’m Catholic, and my papers are real.”
They told her she’d be better off if she was honest, threatening, “We never fail to get the truth when we want it.”
Renia held firm.
So, they went through the protocol. They compared her face to the photo. They made her sign her name over and over again, comparing her signature with the one in the passport. All her papers were in order except for the stamp, which was slightly different from the genuine.