In the Mouth of the Wolf Read Free

police.
    â€œIt’s tonight,” she whispered. “They’re coming tonight to surround the ghetto. The action is scheduled to begin this evening.”
    My father overheard. “What? Who told you that? Did your father tell you?” The girl became frightened and tried to take her words back.
    â€œI didn’t really hear anything. I was just kidding. It’s only a rumor.”
    But my father knew better. He sensed danger at once. Throwing on his coat, he went out to talk with the girl’s father. He wasn’t gone long.
    â€œI don’t like this at all. I can’t get a straight answer,” he said when he came back. “No one knows anything. It doesn’t look good. We better not take chances. Ruszka, Benek, go get your things. Polcia, run over to the Zarnowieckis and tell Rumka to leave for Moszczenice at once. She has to be at the station on time.” My little sister ran out the door as my father handed me my suitcase. “Now go at once! Don’t waste any time!”
    Benek changed his mind at the last minute.
    â€œPapa, let me stay. I’ll be all right here. Let me stay with you.”
    â€œDon’t argue! Go!” my father ordered, shoving us out the door. We left in such a hurry that Benek forgot to take his suitcase.
    It was the beginning of winter. An icy wind cut through our clothes as we scurried along the alleys, clinging to the shadows, making our way to the secret underpass that would take us over to the Aryan side. We arrived at the railway station shortly before eight and bought our tickets just as we planned: mine for Koluszki, Benek’s for Ostrowiec. We hoped the wait wouldn’t be long. A train station is a dangerous place for someone on the run: well lit, few exits, and well patrolled by gendarmes and secret police. Our train was scheduled to arrive at 8:10. We sat down on a bench to wait.
    At 8:05 we heard an announcement. The 8:10 train was canceled. The next train to Koluszki would arrive at 4:00 A.M. That news was like an iron trap snapping shut on us. What were we to do? We couldn’t go home, and we couldn’t check into a hotel without showing our passports to the desk clerk. His first question was sure to be “Why are you renting a room when your passports say you live here?” But at the same time we didn’t dare wait in the station. That was sure to attract attention. What were we going to do?
    As we sat trying to think of something, another train pulled in. “Come on, let’s go,” I said to Benek. We mingled with the passengers getting off and followed the crowd outside.
    Across the street from the railway station was a large park. Nearby were a number of rooming houses where the city’s prostitutes worked. But since the Germans had reserved all the hotels for their own use, such rooming houses were often the only places where respectable people could find a bed for the night. We assumed the owners of these places didn’t examine papers too closely or ask many questions,so we decided to give them a try. Down the street we went, knocking on one door after another.
    â€œCould we rent a room for a few hours? Our train doesn’t leave till four.”
    The answer was always the same.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œWe’re full up.”
    By now it was ten o’clock and close to curfew. We couldn’t risk staying on the street much longer, so we crossed over and went into the park. It was pitch black. All the street lamps were out because of the blackout. As Benek and I looked for a place to hide, I remembered a bit of advice my father once gave me: “If you’re ever on the run and have to hide, the best place is right in the mouth of the wolf. If the police are looking for you, hide in the police station. Hide in the policeman’s house or, better, under his bed. Hide in the most obvious place you can, because that’s the one place they never