Although Dorotha and Ruth moved as fast as they could through the streets, the shadow of a truck soon swallowed them and then, they were upon them.
‘Papers,’ said a voice.
Dorotha turned and felt an icy fist clench her heart. The Kripo, or criminal police, terrorised the ghetto. They were German criminals, from what Dorotha could tell, not guided by any kind of ideology apart from their own power, which they wielded over ghetto prisoners with a ruthless brutality. In peacetime, these delinquents would be behind bars. Rarely was anyone who passed under the shadow of the infamous ‘red house’ headquarters seen again. Their shadow loomed over everything. And it was in the shape of the gallows.
Dorotha clutched Ruth’s arm and said firmly under her breath, ‘Do exactly as they say and say as little as possible.’ It was the new arrival’s first experience of the Kripo, and Dorotha was terrified she would do or say something to get them both killed.
The occupants of the German truck, all young men with wild eyes, bristled with a feral energy. Dorotha’s heart plunged. They had been drinking.
The women handed over their identification papers.
‘You work for Rumkowski?’ the lead man asked, his rheumy eyes squinting against the sun.
Dorotha nodded and looked down at the dusty pavement. When she looked up, they were laughing.
‘Maybe for not much longer,’ another said in German, not realising that Dorotha understood enough of the language to know exactly what he was saying.
‘May we go now please, sir?’ she asked. ‘We are late for work.’
He waved them off, but as they turned, the sunlight flashed against a sliver of silver on Ruth’s wrist.
‘Halt!’ The lead man pointed at Ruth’s hand. ‘Ich mochte das armband.’
‘He wants your bracelet,’ Dorotha whispered, gesturing to a silver band on her left wrist.
Ruth’s face emptied of colour.
‘They tried to get it off when we boarded the transport here, but my wrist is too swollen. Besides,’ she whimpered, ‘it belonged to mybubbe.’
‘They won’t care,’ Dorotha muttered. ‘Please, Ruth, just give it to them.’
Ruth tugged, but it was stuck fast.
The man in charge looked bored as he dug around in his mouth with a toothpick to remove a piece of pink gristle. ‘Schneller!’ he ordered.
‘It won’t come off,’ Ruth trembled.
For a moment, Dorotha thought he was going to leave it and drive off, but instead, he flicked his toothpick onto the ground. Then he grinned, a predator playing with his prey.
‘Fetch an axe,’ he ordered the men in the truck. ‘I’ll chop it off.’
At once, the men’s sluggishness shook off, and they all sat bolt upright, keen as wolves scenting blood.
Ruth started to shake, and Dorotha gripped her arm and leaned in to whisper in her ear. ‘You’ll need to run. They’ve been drinking heavily. They won’t be able to shoot straight. It’s your only hope.’
But Ruth wasn’t listening. She was praying fervently, her eyes closed, her mouth moving.
Dorotha took Ruth’s wrist and made a pretence of trying to tug the bracelet.
‘Ruth, youhaveto listen to me,’ she urged, her heart thundering. ‘On the count of three, I’ll turn and push him, and you must run. Run as fast as you can back home.’
Ruth’s brown eyes snapped open. ‘B-but they’ll kill you!’
Dorotha heard laughter behind her. The heavy tread of boots.
‘Better one of us get out of this situation alive,’ she muttered. ‘Count with me, then run. Three... two...’ Dorotha gripped the bracelet and gave it a last desperate yank.
The blood hissed in her ears as she turned and saw a flash of silver slice through the sky, and then the glistening piece of pink meat stuck in the Kripo’s teeth as his mouth fell open in surprise.
