In The Presence Of My Enemies

The matrons called this place a foundlings' disciplinary home. The other children in here were ragged and scrawny, but very clean. The whole building reeked of disinfectant. They'd separated the Gimpel girls, maybe to keep them from coming up with a story together. For Francesca and Roxane, there wasn't any story to come up with. They were genuinely outraged at what was happening to them. Alicia had to pretend she was, too. If she could manage that, she had a chance. She might have a chance, anyway.

They'd put her in a room with a sharp-faced, stringy-haired blond girl named Paula. "What are you here for?" Paula asked.

"You won't believe it." Alicia assumed somebody was listening to everything she said.

"Try me." The other girl's smile showed pointed teeth. "I burned down my schoolroom." She spoke with nothing but pride.

"Wow!" Alicia wasn't sure she believed that. Maybe Paula was bragging. Or maybe she was trying to get Alicia to talk big, too, and hang herself. Could an eleven-year-old be an informer? Of course she could.

"So what did you do?" Paula asked.

"They say I'm a Jew-or they say my father is, anyway," Alicia answered. That was the truth; admitting it couldn't hurt.

Paula's pale blue eyes widened. Now she was the one who said, "Wow!" and then, "That's so neat! I didn't think any of you people were left. The way the Nazis go on, they got rid of you. If you stayed ahead of 'em, more power to you."

She sounded as if she meant it. But then, if she was an informer, shewould sound that way.I can't trust her, Alicia reminded herself. She said, "That's what they say, but it's a lie. I'm not, and Daddy isn't, either."

"Sure he's not." Paula's smile was knowing. "You've got to say that, don't you? If you say anything else, it's the showers or a noodle, right?"

That was what Alicia was afraid of. But she couldn't even show that the thought had crossed her mind. "They wouldn't do that to me!" she exclaimed. "I haven't done anything, and I'm not what they say I am!"

"Maybe you're not," Paula said. "What the hell-I don't know. But if they decide you are, you are, whether you are or not. You know what I mean?"

Whether she was an arsonist or not, she was a perfect cynic. How many brushes with the authorities had she had? How many of them had she won? More than a few, or Alicia would have been astonished. But not all, or she wouldn't be here. Alicia knew perfectly well what she meant, too. Here, though, she had to pretend she didn't. If she'd been seized for something she wasn't, none of these dire things would have occurred to her. She said, "They can't do that! It'swrong! " Maybe fear sounded like anger. She hoped so, anyhow.

All Paula said was, "When has that ever stopped them?"

Alicia had no answer, not at first. That had never stopped them. But then hope flared. "The new Fuhrer won't let them do things like that."

"Buckliger?" Paula didn't try to hide her scorn. "You wait till the time comes. Lothar Prutzmann will eat his lunch." She might have been handicapping a football match, not politics.

"Oh, I hope not!" Alicia said. Even that might have been too much, when Prutzmann's Security Police had her. She said it anyway. She meant it. And she couldn't get in too much trouble for showing she was loyal to the Fuhrer… could she?

Paula only laughed. "You just watch. You'll find out." In the hallway, a bell rang. Paula bounced to her feet. "That's supper. Come on."

It was a wretched excuse for a real supper: cabbage soup, boiled potatoes, and brown bread without butter. Alicia could see why Paula was so skinny. She looked around for her sisters. Each of them had a matron hovering close. When Alicia looked back over her shoulder, she saw one behind her, too. She decided not to get up and try to see Francesca or Roxane. Why give the matron the pleasure of telling her she couldn't? These women looked as if saying no was their chief pleasure in life.

She did ask her matron, "When will you let us go back to our mother and father?" She made sure she mentioned Daddy as well as Mommy. Nobody seemed to think Mommy was a Jew. She wondered how that had happened.

The matron frowned. She had a long, sour face, a face made for frowning. At last, after a pause for thought, she said, "Well, dear"-Alicia had never heard a more insinceredear -"that depends on what they decide to do with your father, you see."

Maybe she hoped Alicia wouldn't understand that. And maybe, if Alicia hadn't been a Jew, she wouldn't have. She was, and she did, but she had to pretend she didn't.If they decide Daddy's an Aryan, you'll go home, too. But if they decide he's a Jew, he's dead, and your sisters are dead, and so are you.