Page 93 - Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen

They scrambled out of the boxcar to stand, blinking
in the early morning light. Hannah's knees trembled
from the effort of moving, and her head felt light from
all the fresh air. When she looked around, she could
see how weakened everyone was. Only Gitl, her dark
green dress crumpled, the white collar torn, held her
head high. She had an arm under Fayge's, steadying
her. Fayge's white wedding dress was badly stained,
front and back, and she was as pale as paper. Yitzchak,
carrying both his daughter and his son in his arms, was
still gulping at the air. The children did not move. And
Shmuel—Hannah could not find him. Then she saw he
was still standing in the door of the boxcar.
"There are more dead here," he called.
"Leave them!" a soldier said, slamming his rifle butt
into Shmuel's shins. "Get down."
Shmuel got down painfully, and hobbled over to Gitl's
side. He put his hand on Hannah's hair tenderly, but
it felt as heavy as a weight.
"There are five old women from Viosk, and old Shim-
shon the tailor in there," he whispered. Then under his
breath he muttered, "And a child."
"Boruch dayan ernes . . .," Gitl said.
"Down there!" a soldier shouted, gesturing with his
rifle. Part of the moon still hung in the sky, a pale halo
over his blond head.
Hannah followed the line of his pointing gun. Below
them, down a gravel embankment, was a stark line of
low barracks. She tried to count them; they seemed to
go on and on. A barbed wire fence surrounded them.
To the side of the barracks was a small, pretty house

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