something],” she thought. “We want to survive,” she felt. And she took the risk, for herself and her husband.
The first time she went to “the other side” she posed as the wife of a prison key holder.348 This was in the early spring of 1941, around Easter. She met with the key holder, whom she knew, outside the prison gate. He brought her the ID of his wife, who, oddly enough, did somewhat resemble [9] Mrs C. As they were approaching the post Mrs C. felt growing excitement and fear. Her heart was racing. Her temples were throbbing from her rapid heartbeat. They stopped before the gendarme. Her “husband” produced his pass to prove his identity and then calmly said to her, “[. . .], show your ID.” At that very moment her fear disappeared. Mrs C. felt dead calm and kind of indifferent. They made it through the wacha. That first time she went to “the other side” only to “sneak around.” She wanted to get in touch with her former clients, revive her necessary contacts, and sound out the demand “on the other side.” She stayed on the Aryan side for three days, visiting various companies. The awareness that her actions were necessary boosted her courage. She spent the night in the home of her former Aryan client. She returned home after three days. Alone. Because the first deadline for pass extension had come and her companion had to stay [on the Aryan side] for a few more days to have the document prolonged. But Mrs C. got several orders which she promised to complete shortly. Time was pressing. She had to return in three days. She walked carrying a bag filled with food products to the mouth of Nowiniarska Street. She wandered near the wacha waiting for an opportunity to sneak into the ghetto. Suddenly a horsewagon arrived. The gendarme climbed up to examine the cargo, while the Polish policeman was busy dispersing a swarm of Jewish children smugglers. Mrs C. took advantage of the moment of the guards’ inattention and ran across the ghetto border. Encouraged by her success, two days later she went more boldly to her clients with their completed order. But this time she went through a [10] meta—a hole or a corridor in the cellar of a ruined tenement that joined those “two worlds.” She had wrapped her body with bras and [garter] belts. She had also hemmed leotard bavettes with a wide rubber band, foreign currency sewn up inside. She smuggled whatever she could—gold, watches, and merchandise to the “other” side, and
