“Nothing.”
“Will you pay 50 zlotys?”
“No.”
“Follow me then.”
But at that moment a client whom she knew came to her defense from a nearby stall. She said something to the agent and engaged him to such an extent that he did not notice when Mrs C. escaped. In the meantime Mrs C. managed to hide on Ząbkowska Street at her client’s, where she stayed until sunset. [13] Her client frequently went out to make sure that no one suspicious was sneaking outside. In the meantime the lady stallholder from the market came to the flat. She brought Mrs C.’s purse with its contents intact. In the evening Mrs C. went to the wacha by tram. But the policeman who was on duty on that post was infamous for his uncompromising antisemitism. Her way in was blocked. It was a dark, starless night—the unfailing ally of smugglers. She went to another meta and, like a rat, crept through a damp, stinking cellar corridor. She knew that path like the back of her hand because she often had to use it on her way back. Whenever it was locked she pulled herself up a rope or climbed ladders propped against the wall in that spot or elsewhere.
She saw that agent many times later, but he did not recognise her, because she would change her outfit whenever she went to the other side. According to Mrs C., like a detective, a smuggler too needs to master the art of disguise.
The ordinance about the death penalty for crossing the ghetto border without a pa355 was then posted on the walls in the ghetto. Mrs C. hesitated. She had to close several deals so she went to the “other side” several times during the first week after the posting of the ordinance. The streets were swarming with agents. Their merciless, uncompromising, and watchful eyes were looking for Jews. One day Mrs C. got in trouble too. An agent stopped her on Ząbkowska Street. He did not ask any of the typical questions, but simply demanded that she go with him to [14] the police station. She obeyed. On the way Mrs C. started talking with the agent, skillfully tailoring her pro
