Read Online The Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jane Yolen
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the
lalala
chorus, sounded angry.
Hannah tried to make out the words above the noise of the truck. They were about someone called a
chaper
, a snatcher or kidnapper, who dragged men off to the army. One verse went:
Sir, give me a piece of bread,
Look at me, so pale and dead.
It hardly seemed a song to calm the children. But first Shmuel, then Yitzchak, then several of the other men in their truck joined in, singing at the top of their voices. The children on their perches clapped in rhythm. Atlast, even Fayge and her father began to sing.
Hannah listened to the growing chorus in wonder, as the song leaped from truck to truck down the long road. Didnât they know? Didnât they guess? Didnât they care? She kept remembering more and more, bits and pieces of her classroom discussions about the Holocaust. About the death camps and the crematoria. About the brutal Nazis and the six million dead Jews. Was knowingâor not knowingâmore frightening? She couldnât decide. A strange awful taste rose in her mouth, more bitter even than the Sederâs bitter herbs. And
they
were for remembering. She fought the taste down. She would not, she
could
not be sick. Not here. Not now. She opened her mouth to catch a breath of air, and found herself singing. The sound of her own voice drowned out the steady drone of the tires on the endless, twisting road.
10
â LOOK !â SHMUEL CRIED OVER THE NOISE OF THE SINGING .
At his voice, everyone suddenly quieted, following his pointing hand. Ahead of them was a train station, its windows sparkling in the bright spring sun. There were armed guards standing in front of the station house door and scattered around the periphery. Two wooden boxcars squatted on a nearby siding.
The trucks pulled up to the station house. Jumping out of the cabs, the soldiers called up to the villagers, âGet out. Out. Quickly.â
When no one moved, the soldiers raised their guns.
Shmuel put his hands on the raised panel, and leaped down. Yitzchak handed his son down to Shmuel, then jumped down himself. The other men climbed out, turned, lifted their arms to take the children. Then the women and girls, clumsier in their party skirts, climbed down with help from the men. Faygeâs wedding dress caught on a protruding nail. When she had to rip itloose, she began to cry and could not be comforted.
âQuickly, quickly,â the soldiers called, gesturing with their guns. Rounding up the villagers, they herded them toward the trains.
There were piles of things spread out along the tracks, as if they had been dropped by a fleeing army. Hannah saw suitcases and carpetbags, some carefully packed and some with their contents spilling out. Dresses and shawls were scattered around, and there was a bag of what looked like medicines, several dozen jewelry cases, a sackful of milk powder, even a small chest of baby toys.
âThat is Grandmaâs satchel,â Fayge shrieked, pointing to a tapestry bag with wooden handles. âPapa, Papa, they have left Grandmaâs things here. What will she use in the resettlement camp?â
Before the rabbi could answer, Hannah had turned to Gitl. âI know . . .â
âDo not say a word, child,â Gitl pleaded. âNot a word.â
More and more, the villagers began to recognize baskets and bags belonging to their families. But they were not allowed to stop by the piles, simply pushed closer to the boxcars. When the last of them was out of the trucks, the soldiers made a great circle around them. A high-ranking officerâbut not the colonel who had spoken to them beforeâstepped into the circle with them. They looked to him and he raised his hand for silence.
âNow, Jews, listen. Do what you are told and no one will be hurt. All I ask is your cooperation.â His voicewas ragged, as if it had been used too much recently. He had a dark blond mustache and bad teeth.
Hannah felt Gitlâs arm
lalala
chorus, sounded angry.
Hannah tried to make out the words above the noise of the truck. They were about someone called a
chaper
, a snatcher or kidnapper, who dragged men off to the army. One verse went:
Sir, give me a piece of bread,
Look at me, so pale and dead.
It hardly seemed a song to calm the children. But first Shmuel, then Yitzchak, then several of the other men in their truck joined in, singing at the top of their voices. The children on their perches clapped in rhythm. Atlast, even Fayge and her father began to sing.
Hannah listened to the growing chorus in wonder, as the song leaped from truck to truck down the long road. Didnât they know? Didnât they guess? Didnât they care? She kept remembering more and more, bits and pieces of her classroom discussions about the Holocaust. About the death camps and the crematoria. About the brutal Nazis and the six million dead Jews. Was knowingâor not knowingâmore frightening? She couldnât decide. A strange awful taste rose in her mouth, more bitter even than the Sederâs bitter herbs. And
they
were for remembering. She fought the taste down. She would not, she
could
not be sick. Not here. Not now. She opened her mouth to catch a breath of air, and found herself singing. The sound of her own voice drowned out the steady drone of the tires on the endless, twisting road.
10
â LOOK !â SHMUEL CRIED OVER THE NOISE OF THE SINGING .
At his voice, everyone suddenly quieted, following his pointing hand. Ahead of them was a train station, its windows sparkling in the bright spring sun. There were armed guards standing in front of the station house door and scattered around the periphery. Two wooden boxcars squatted on a nearby siding.
The trucks pulled up to the station house. Jumping out of the cabs, the soldiers called up to the villagers, âGet out. Out. Quickly.â
When no one moved, the soldiers raised their guns.
Shmuel put his hands on the raised panel, and leaped down. Yitzchak handed his son down to Shmuel, then jumped down himself. The other men climbed out, turned, lifted their arms to take the children. Then the women and girls, clumsier in their party skirts, climbed down with help from the men. Faygeâs wedding dress caught on a protruding nail. When she had to rip itloose, she began to cry and could not be comforted.
âQuickly, quickly,â the soldiers called, gesturing with their guns. Rounding up the villagers, they herded them toward the trains.
There were piles of things spread out along the tracks, as if they had been dropped by a fleeing army. Hannah saw suitcases and carpetbags, some carefully packed and some with their contents spilling out. Dresses and shawls were scattered around, and there was a bag of what looked like medicines, several dozen jewelry cases, a sackful of milk powder, even a small chest of baby toys.
âThat is Grandmaâs satchel,â Fayge shrieked, pointing to a tapestry bag with wooden handles. âPapa, Papa, they have left Grandmaâs things here. What will she use in the resettlement camp?â
Before the rabbi could answer, Hannah had turned to Gitl. âI know . . .â
âDo not say a word, child,â Gitl pleaded. âNot a word.â
More and more, the villagers began to recognize baskets and bags belonging to their families. But they were not allowed to stop by the piles, simply pushed closer to the boxcars. When the last of them was out of the trucks, the soldiers made a great circle around them. A high-ranking officerâbut not the colonel who had spoken to them beforeâstepped into the circle with them. They looked to him and he raised his hand for silence.
âNow, Jews, listen. Do what you are told and no one will be hurt. All I ask is your cooperation.â His voicewas ragged, as if it had been used too much recently. He had a dark blond mustache and bad teeth.
Hannah felt Gitlâs arm
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