Fugitives
I’m Leah, remember me? The last time we met, Dad told us about the upcoming trip to America via Shanghai. He had to walk around the whole city, talk to countless people and ... give away a handful of undeclared diamonds for permission to cross the Reich border, to get the train tickets, and to get the boarding cards to the Potsdam cruise ship: Genoa-Shanghai, a round trip.
You can’t buy a cruise only one way, such are the rules. Rules, rules - we have no life anymore, only rules. Mom cries, she tries to keep it secret, but we see her reddened eyes. Dad locked inside his workshop for a couple days: he melted all of Mom’s and Grandma’s gold jewellery that had not yet been taken away. He melted earrings and chains and casted a few new things. The buckles of the boys’ belts and my and Mom’s shoes are golden, only painted black. For a rainy day.
Every Jew who crosses the border of the Reich can have only ten marks, one watch, and one ring on them. We can’t carry any savings, no jewellery. Nothing. But that’s not scary, says Dad. Money can be earned. And what’s scary? - Mom asks and bites her lip almost to blood again. I only got five tickets, he replies so quietly that you can hardly hear, and Mom attacks him with her fists, crying.
There are six of us. Dad, Mom, Aaron, Tolik, me and Grandma.
