Dima. Standing in the dim doorway are three men I don’t know, two who look like brothers with flat noses and clefts in their chins, and a third, taller and thin with bags under his eyes.
“We heard there were Jews here,” says the taller of the men with flat noses. “This neighborhood is Judenrein.”
Judenrein. That was the German term. That’s why we had to leave this apartment to begin with. This neighborhood is Judenrein.
But German words can’t dictate what neighborhoods are free of Jews anymore, can they?
My mouth is dry as yarn. “Where did you hear that?”
I don’t know why I think I can buy time. They’ll learn the truth eventually. Everything about my appearance looks as though I was in a camp.
Faintly, coming off their clothes, I smell alcohol and sweat, and now my heart starts to pound. The speaker brushes past me into my own house, and the others follow, backing me farther inside. Their eyes roam the apartment, what they can make out of it in the dark.
“There’s nothing to take,” I manage. “You can see, the only furniture left is junk. And I’m the only one here.”
Stupid, I chastise myself as soon as this sentence passes my lips. I’d meant, maybe you can leave me be because I am obviously no harm to you. But now the original man’s face is leering in the lantern light at this discovery that I’m alone.
“If you’re hungry, I can—I can get you some food, maybe,” I improvise, trying to find a way to edge around closer to the door. “My friend is on his way back, right now.”
“You said you were alone, Jewess.”
“I’m alone now, but my friend will be here soon. He’s a lieutenant. In the Red Army.”
“Convenient, there’s a boyfriend now,” the dark-circled man mutters under his breath.
There’s no place I can go to maneuver myself away from all three of them. Already, the second brother has positioned himself in front of the door. The other two are still wandering about my apartment.
“There is a boyfriend,” I insist in a way that sounds so fake even I wouldn’t believe me.
I don’t see any weapons, though maybe they’re hidden beneath their jackets. Please let them just steal my things and not beat me. Please let them just beat me and not rape me. Please let them just rape me and not kill me.
Please kill me. Please just kill me. Why not; how else will this ever be over?
“I can pay you,” I offer, desperate. “For—for the trouble of having me use the apartment.”
At this, two of the men look mildly interested, so I keep talking about the money. I’ll give them everything left from what Dima provided for groceries and try to keep the large, unbroken bill from the hospital. “Just let me get it. While I’m doing that, there’s vodka in the kitchen. Nearly a whole bottle; you can take it.”
I don’t want them drinking more. But the vodka is a distraction, and I don’t want them following me into the bedroom, either. So as two of them go to the alcohol, I rush past the one guarding the door, into the bedroom, fumbling in my checked gingham cloth where I’d stuffed all the money.
From the hallway, I hear more noises, whispering. And then, one of the men calls out to the original speaker, whom I’ve begun to think of as the leader.
“Piotr.”
I peek around the corner. The men cluster around Dima’s cap resting on a chair, prominent sickle and hammer.
“I told you.” I find my voice, stepping back into the room. “His name is Lieutenant Sokolov. He works at the—he works for Ivan Kuznetsov.” I don’t know whether this name will be familiar to them, but I say it as though I expect it will.
“Shut up, Jewess.”
His voice is dismissive, but I think it mattered, what I said. The Russians are in control here now. That has to mean something.
“He’ll be back soon.” Now, I stalk toward the door as if I have more courage than I really do and hold out the leftover grocery money. “So I think you should take this and leave.”
The one named Piotr menacingly snatches the bills from my hand. “Next week. We’ll pay you a little visit next week.”
When they leave, I relock the door and then sink down against it. My thudding heart aches in my chest. My heart hurts even when it’s not beating. But that can’t be right, because my heart hasn’t stopped beating, my heart has