Just as they are laying their produce on the table, a figure rounds the corner of the house and stands before them on the lawn. He is dressed in rough cotton trousers, a thick shirt. “Who are you?” he barks. At once the group gathers around Cibi, instantly on their guard. Livi closes her hand around her knife; he isn’t so big and there are ten of them. Cibi once more finds herself stepping forward, clearing her throat. “We were prisoners of Auschwitz,” she tells him, firmly. “And now we’ve escaped.” The man doesn’t speak for a long time. He looks at the girls, who are suddenly self-conscious
...more
