Page 51 - Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen

tied them around the ends of the plaits, then pinned
the plaits on top of Hannah's head like a crown. "There!
Look!" She pushed Hannah toward a mirror that hung
on the wall.
Hannah looked. Gone were her braces. Gone was
the light coral lipstick her mother had allowed her to
wear to the Seder. The girl who stared back had the
same heart-shaped face, the same slightly crooked smile,
the same brown hair, the same gray eyes as Hannah Stern
of New Rochelle, New York, in America. But there
was something old-fashioned and unfamiliar about this
Chaya Abramowicz, something haunting, like one of
the old photographs on Grandma Belle's grand piano.
Photographs of Grandma's family but none of Grandpa
Will's, because, Aunt Eva had once explained, no pho-
tographs had been saved in the death camps. "We are
our own photos. Those pictures are engraved only in
our memories. When we are gone, they are gone."
Hannah smiled awkwardly at her reflection and turned
away.

By noon, half the shtetl was gathered outside their door,
laughing and trading stories so loudly the chickens hid
in the barri, refusing to come out even when three little
boys in short pants and yarmulkes tried to coax them
with corn.
Hannah felt a lot like the chickens, nervous about all
the loud, strange men and the laughing, chattering
women. She, too, would have hidden in the barn if she
could. Sensing Hannah's timidity, Gitl kept her close
as she greeted everyone by name, thanking them for

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