Page 131 - Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen

the filthy baby in Hannah's filthy arms.
"That means 'thank you,' " Rivka said-
Hannah stared after Leye. "I think . . . ," she said
slowly, "I think I prefer the water to the thanks."
That night, she washed out her dress with the cup of
water, hanging it like a curtain from her sleeping shelf.
Now she understood why the children had all stripped
off their clothes, dropping them like bright rags on the
sandy ground. She'd worried that the clothing would
be gaudy signals to the commandant, but clearly he
already knew—as did the guards—where the children
hid. It was all some kind of awful game. But she'd been
too scared to stop and too shy to undress out in the
open like that, especially while the memory of her naked
hours waiting for the shower still brought a blush to her
face. Especially as the guards, some in their late teens,
had all been laughing nearby.
As she fell asleep, she was sure the smell of the mid-
den had gotten into her pores; that there was not enough
water in the camp—in all of Poland—to wash her clean.

The days quickly became routine: roll call, breakfast,
work, lunch, work, supper, work. The meals were all
watery potato soup and occasionally bread, hard and
crusty. Then they had a precious hour before they were
locked in their barracks for the night.
The work was the mindless sort. Some of it was meant
to keep the camp itself running: cleaning the barracks,
the guards' houses, the hospital, the kitchen. Cutting
and hauling wood for the stoves. Building more bar-
racks, more privies. But most of the workers were used

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