“Dokuments? What kind of woman carries documents?” she feigned naivety.
“Und was haben Sie hier?”354 the gendarme pointed at her basket.
“I’ve bought meat for the holidays,” she tried to explain.
She swiftly unwrapped the [paper?]—the meat was lying on top, so they stopped questioning her and left only to return after a while.
“Do you know this boy?” They pointed at her guide walking nearby.
Mrs C. denied this. “God, there are so many people on the street at night.” She was conspicuously bold. And she got lucky. They let her go.
Another time was shortly before the announcement of the ordinance introducing the death penalty for Jews who crossed the ghetto border without a pass. She was at the Różycki market in the Praga district. Suddenly somebody blocked her way like a menacing wall. She instinctively knew it was an agent.
“A Jewess?” [the man asked] in a threatening manner.
“Oh, come now!”
“I know, I know. ID!”
[12]—“It got burned during bombardment.”
“Follow me.”
“I won’t. I’m not a Jewess. I don’t know what you want from me, sir.” They stood by the stall of a lady stallholder she knew. Mrs C. leaned her back against the edge of the counter.
“Why are you arguing? Let the agent have a hundred zlotys,” said another lady stallholder from the opposite stall (her denouncer, as it turned out later).
“I won’t, because I don’t have any money.”
She was trembling, but she persisted. Her mind was working frantically. In her indispensable, big bag was a hidden purse with several thousand zlotys. She had to save that money. She reached into the bag as if to take out a handkerchief. She adroitly took out her purse and without changing her position she lifted it in front of her and discreetly handed it to the lady stallholder. She then rapidly turned around and whispered the address to which the purse could be returned. Even though this lasted but a fraction of a second, the agent did notice her skillful maneuver.
“What did you just hand to the stallholder?”
