girlhood and womanhood, looking forward to her thirteenth birthday. Now she was nothing, a changeling, half of each and nothing of either. Tall and awkward, someone who had been beautiful until she told herself that being beautiful was a crime. Now she was a pale, gawky girl. She did her best to pull away, but her mother had told her that Ava was strong and she was right. There was no possibility of eluding her grasp, not unless Lea wanted to reveal herself for the wolf that she was. That could wait until the time was right.
No Jews were allowed out at this hour, still the station was mayhem with so many Germans leaving the city. The crowds opened for Ava, perhaps because of the way her gaze settled onto people, as if she could see inside of them. Some wept when she drew near, some stopped speaking, some realized they had forgotten how to love. Some, like the girl she was with, were frightened of her for reasons they didn’t quite understand.
As they walked along the platform, Lea had a vision of her mother weeping behind the apartment door, and of Bobeshi, in her bed, blaming herself for splitting the family apart because she could not walk. It was possible that she would never see them again. A wave of panic set in. She didn’t think she could contain herself and keep going, pretending nothing was wrong. If she turned and ran right now, perhaps she could find her way home through the unfamiliar streets around the station.
“Don’t think about that.” Ava could read her thoughts now that they were linked together. One breathed in, the other breathed out, like it or not. “Everything your mother has done is to ensure your escape. We will do as she says.”
Lea glared at her companion. You are nothing to me and everything I care about is here. “You don’t know what I’m thinking,” she said in a bleak bitter voice.
“You’re thinking I am nothing to you.” Ava gave the girl a sidelong glance, finding herself pleased that she had been able to shock her. It was strange to have such a feeling when she was made to be clay.
“You’re not my cousin,” Lea said.
“If your mother says I am, it must be so.”
They stared at each other with cold eyes. Both must do as Hanni had instructed.
The conductor checked their tickets, then allowed them to board. Those who had not managed to get onto the train soon began to shout and strike their fists against the doors, but it did them no good. Soldiers were called in, and the riot was stopped as quickly as it had begun. The last people to board were the rabbi’s daughters. Marta’s dress was torn when a man grabbed for her ticket.
“Keep your ticket hidden,” Ettie told her. “Everyone wants to steal.”
The sisters had nearly missed the train. There had been so much to do before their departure. First they bought packets of hair dye to turn Marta’s dark hair blond so she would appear more Aryan. Both girls had rid themselves of their head scarves and cut their waist-length hair, which had never before been shorn. It was shoulder-length, with a fringe of bangs, so they might look like ordinary Germans. They had fled through the window above the sink, landing in a patch of their mother’s herbs. Now they both smelled like rosemary, the scent of remembrance.
They’d found themselves lost in the narrow cobbled streets near the station for more than an hour as they searched for the shuttered storefront where they were to purchase their visas. Before this night they’d barely been out of their house, and Berlin was a mystery. Despite Ettie’s harsh manner, she was innocent in the ways of the world, and now realized they had been taken in by a charlatan. Hanni had given her an address where they could buy their visas, but that man charged too much and instead they’d gone to what people called the Street of Forgers. In her haste she’d chosen an amateur, a painter from the art school who was new to the task and not terribly adept. Once she’d handed over the second emerald, Ettie had no choice but to go forward with his flawed work and hope for the best. They were now sisters called Karin and Margrit Beck, although it was difficult to make out the forger’s messy print. Marta’s fingers had turned blue from the running ink.