Page 94 - Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen

where early spring flowers were opening. A wrought-
iron gate stood in front of the buildings, and over the
gate was a sign proclaiming in large black letters: ARBEIT
MACHT FREI.
Several of the villagers whispered the words, but the
rabbi, his hand up to his eyes, strained to read them.
"What does it say, Faygeleh?" he asked, clinging to
his daughter's hand, suddenly an old man. "My eyes . . ."
But Fayge was beyond answering. It was Hannah who
told him, her voice bitter. "Work makes you free," she
said.
The rabbi nodded. "See, my children," he said
hoarsely, "we are in God's hands. We are not afraid of
work."
Behind him, the badchan whispered, "This is the
Devil's work, not God's."
"Down there," the blond soldier called out again.
"Schnell!"
They were forced by the soldiers to scramble down
the high gravel embankment, and the slippery stones
slid away underfoot. Hannah went down on her bad
knee and cried out once. Behind her, Fayge tried to
sidestep so as not to bump into her, stumbled, fell, and
began to roll faster and faster downhill until she hit the
bottom with a horrible thudding sound. Her white skirts
were rucked up over her thighs. Shmuel ran after her,
knelt by her side, and cradled her in his arms. Smooth-
ing her skirts down, he whispered, "My bride, my bride."
Fayge didn't move.
"Get up! Get up! Men to the left, women to the
right!" All the soldiers were shouting now. One pushed

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