There was a hush as soldiers boarded to go through the rest of the cars, demanding to look at visas and examine faces and identity papers. Ettie reached for their papers only to find the ink had now smeared completely. Her face was hot and she muttered a curse she had never said aloud before. Zum Teufel mit allem. To hell with it all.
Ava felt the darkness enveloping them. She could see the future as if it were happening in front of her eyes. It was a good thing men and women could not foresee their fates. Even without a heart, without a soul, Ava could scarcely bear to know what was to come.
“No matter what, do not leave this train,” she told Ettie. She was nothing, mere clay, and her maker was everything, the giver of life and breath, but Ava understood that Ettie was also a headstrong girl. “If you stay I can protect you, but if you leave, I cannot follow.”
“You’re not made to protect me.” She nodded at Lea. “You’re here for her. That was the bargain.” Ettie grabbed her sister’s hand to pull her into the corridor. “We’re not safe here.”
“Why? We have our tickets and identity papers.”
“With running ink and your fingers turning blue? They’re clearly forged.”
Marta looked behind her, frightened. She had her father’s profile, the sharp nose and high cheekbones. “But the golem said not to leave.”
Lea was paying attention.
“She’s a dumb creature,” Ettie told her sister. “We can’t listen to her.”
They made their way toward the rear of the train. They didn’t speak, they didn’t run, and they didn’t look back at Ava, who’d come to stand in the corridor. She could go no farther, she was born to keep Lea safe. She wanted to cry out her maker’s name, but it was impossible; she had not been made to do as she pleased or come to her own conclusions. There were more gunshots outside. Soldiers went from car to car, asking questions. What church did you attend in Berlin? Recite the Lord’s Prayer. Tell me your address. Your pastor’s name.
They were not easily satisfied. There were suspicions even when the answers were correct. They looked for dark hair, dark eyes, sharp features, a nervous demeanor.
Juden müssen die erste Tür benützen, um den Zug zu verlassen.
Jews have to leave through the first door.
“Keep walking,” Ettie urged her sister. They went in the opposite direction of the crowd, to the far exit. But when they reached the rear door, a porter was there.
“My sister is sick. We need some air,” Ettie told him.
The porter looked them over. He had girls of his own, so he opened the door and told them to be quick about it.
There was no other way, really, no matter what the golem had said. When they leapt from the train there was a rush of cool air. They could not go backward now. The sisters held each other’s hands as they jumped. The grass was even taller here, and for a moment they were startled as they landed in a pool of mud. There were gnats in the air and swallows rose and fell in the sky. Ettie helped her sister to her feet and they ran. It was like flying as the blades of grass hit against them. They heard shouts from the rear of the train; they were commanded to halt. It was a rough voice, shouting from a distance. But when you are flying, you can’t stop. You don’t dare. Ettie ran so fast she feared her heart would burst. She could hear her sister right behind her, breathing hard, so hard it seemed as if she were crying.
A story their mother had told flashed through Ettie’s mind. There was a beggar who prayed every day for God to stop his sorrows. He believed no one had a more terrible life and greater losses, and he would do anything, please God, to make them stop. One day the east wind carried him away and dumped him into the sea, where he drowned. Then he had no more problems. So think over what you are complaining about before you do so and be careful, their mother always said. You may look into the world, you may wish you were there, but what if you were? You have no idea of what you might have to face. Their mother, who was so strict, so exacting, so sure of what