‘When I say run,’ Cibi whispers into the falling snow, ‘run!’
Cibi and Livi take a last look at the camp; at the floodlights illuminating the brooding buildings; at the gates, which will never set them free; at the empty watchtower.
The faces of Mumma, Magda, Grandfather and their father are never far away. In a strange way, these images give the sisters strength.
Together they take several steps. Cibi pauses for a moment and Livi knows the next word, the last word she ever will hear from her sister, will be ‘run’。
‘Don’t do it!’
The girls jump and turn round.
‘Don’t do it,’ the voice repeats. A silhouette of a slim figure hovers in the shadows of the block.
‘You can’t stop us!’ says Livi, squeezing Cibi’s fingers tightly, as if to urge her forward.
‘I know I can’t. But just tell me why. Why tonight? What is so different about this night from any of the others?’ It is a girl’s voice, plaintive, faltering.
She steps out of the shadows and Cibi recognises her as one of the new girls.
‘Someone has taken our blanket,’ says Livi. ‘And we don’t want to die in there, in that stinking bunk in that stinking room. There, is that enough of an explanation? Will you leave us alone now?’
‘Come inside. I promise I will find you a blanket,’ the girl says.
Cibi looks into her sister’s eyes and senses hesitation. They could run now for the fence, hold on for an instant and this would all be over.
‘If there’s a small chance we can live long enough to see Magda and Mumma one more time, then we should take it,’ whispers Cibi. ‘Shall we go back? Or shall we go forward?’
Livi doesn’t move for a long time. She stares at her boots and then, almost painfully, she puts one foot in front of the other and leads Cibi back towards the block.
Inside, Cibi and Livi watch the girl who has tempted them back inside move around the room, tugging at the blankets of the sleeping occupants. When she meets resistance, she lets go. She does this again and again, until, finally, she lightly pulls two heavy blankets free.
She hands these to the sisters without a word and goes back to bed.
The next morning as the sisters prepare to leave for rollcall, Cibi looks across to the bunk from which their blankets were liberated. Two girls lie bonded together; their eyes are open, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Cibi turns away, her mind a necessary blank.
CHAPTER 16
Vranov nad Topl’ou
December 1943
A
flurry of snow follows Magda into the house. She pulls off her coat and shakes it, scattering soft flakes onto the threadbare rug. ‘I don’t believe it, Grandfather,’ she says, hanging her wet coat on the peg. ‘I just don’t believe it.’ She holds out a small cloth bag to her grandfather.
‘What is it?’ he asks, his face suddenly pale. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s not bad enough that I got given stale bread even though I could smell the new loaves coming out of the oven, but that Mrs Molnar went out the back and found an especially dry loaf – just for me! I wanted to throw it at her.’
‘Is that all?’ Chaya comes into the room, drying her hands on her apron. ‘Let’s just be thankful we have bread.’ She forces a smile.
‘No, that’s not all, Mumma. Far from it.’
Chaya’s smile fades. ‘So tell us,’ she says.
‘As I was leaving the store Mrs Szabo snatched the loaf out of my hands and threw it on the floor. They were all laughing. I hate their faces!’ Magda’s cheeks are pinched pink from the cold weather, but she isn’t chilled; if anything, she is too warm, her fury as powerful as a roaring fire. ‘I wanted to leave it there and walk away, but how could I?’
Her blue eyes are bright, defiant. Yitzchak is pleased his granddaughter is angry. Anger is better than dejection, but all the same he is distraught she has been humiliated in public, and worse, that he can do nothing about it.
‘They might be horrible to your face, Magda,’ says Chaya, ‘but they haven’t reported you to the Hlinka yet. For that we can be grateful.’ And it’s true: none of the smug ‘patriots’ in town have given her up, yet. But maybe it’s just a matter of time.
‘Well, you’re home now,’ adds Chaya. ‘Come and have some soup. You must be frozen.’
Now Magda rests her head on the table. ‘Do you know what else I saw?’ she says, almost to herself.
‘Go on,’ Yitzchak says, holding his breath.