In a dream, she found herself lowering her head to Hans Biebow, as a new proclamation had decreed all ghetto Jews must do when faced with anyone in uniform.
‘You’re in breach of curfew.’
‘I apologise, sir.’
She stared at the floor, her pulse hissing in her ears. Even without looking, she could tell his glacial blue eyes were unpicking her. She hugged the books so tightly they might be a shield.
‘Don’t I know you?’ he asked.
He stepped closer. So close, she could smell fresh coffee on his breath and her stomach lurched at the memory. ‘Yes, I do,’ he went on. ‘You’re a typist in Rumkowski’s offices.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What are you carrying?’
There was little point in lying.
‘Books, sir.’
Biebow pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit up. The smoke drifted up the empty road. Though they were alone, Dorotha could sense dozens of eyes watching from windows.
‘Where did you get them?’
‘From an address in Kelmstrasse I knew had been vacated.’
‘I see. You’re a reader?’
‘I was a librarian, sir, but these books are not for reading. I was intending to burn them for fuel.’
The lie was necessary, and in that moment, Dorotha thought, just about their only hope of salvation.
The heavy silence stretched out between them. She could hear Ruth’s breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
‘What kind of philistine burns books?’ he asked eventually. The hypocrisy was so breathtaking, Dorotha had to stop herself from actually laughing.
‘A cold one,’ she shot back, astonished at her own verve.
Biebow laughed, a deep-throated rattle that sounded like a motorcar backfiring.
‘Very well then. Be on your way. If you’re seen out during curfew again, I promise you, you won’t be shown such leniency.’
Before she could leave, Biebow picked up the book on the top of the pile. Agatha Christie.The Mysterious Affair at Styles.The only book in English she’d found.
‘This is too good to burn. I’ll keep this.’ Then he saw the one underneath and a nostalgic smile flashed over his face.
‘Heidis Lehr- und Wanderjahre. My daughter will enjoy this.’
Dorotha inwardly cursed. Heidi would have been a popular book. Biebow tucked both under his arm and turned to her, the smile vanishing and hatred icing his features.
‘You disappoint me.’
Then he was gone, his long legs easing themselves back into his chauffeur-driven car. Dorotha felt at that moment that, had she a knife, she could easily have slid it between his ribs. He was a mass-murderer and a thief, responsible for the slaughter, misery and suffering of thousands, andshedisappointedhim? There was no fathoming the Nazi mind.
‘We’ll have to be more careful next time,’ she whispered to Ruth as his car vanished round the corner.
‘Next time?’ Ruth gasped. ‘Are youmeshuge? You mean to tell me we are going to do this again?’
‘No, I’m not crazy. Or maybe I am a little bit, but no library was ever built in a night.’
