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Pregnancy could be a disaster for a female prisoner. There had been two sisters in the camp and one of them had been pregnant. The other wanted to tell the PART I | DRANCY
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    Germans about her sister’s condition, believing it would prevent her from being deported. A red armband quickly straightened her out.
    ‘‘How can you be so naive? She won’t be able to work and she’s creating another mouth for them to feed. She will be the first on the train.’’
    So I kept drinking the awful-tasting wine. But Stella became impatient, nearly frantic. There was an urgency in her eyes that puzzled me. I mulled over the possibility that she had had a premo-nition, but something stopped me from asking.
    At the first opportunity, I snuck into the camp’s administration office and stole the key to the storeroom. Late the next afternoon, after I had finished my shift, Stella led me down the hall. I turned on the light. We stretched out on a pile of coats among the stacks of suitcases and quickly pulled down our clothes.
    ‘‘Make love to me.’’
    She was biting her lip and her face was flushed with anticipation. I kissed her as I slid on top of her. I felt a resistance. She whimpered. I couldn’t believe that as I entered her my mind drifted.
    When would we be able to do this again? Where were they shipping us? Would we stay together? How could I face her parents?
    Stella started moaning softly. We had to keep quiet. I muffled her mouth with my hand, and suddenly she sounded like Kiki, my pet guinea pig. Stella held me tight, her fingernails digging into my back. She let out a subdued groan, trembled, then relaxed. I pulled out just in time.
    Her eyes closed, Stella smiled. ‘‘Now I won’t die a virgin.’’
    Stunned, I blurted, ‘‘Don’t be silly. You’re going to live a long life.’’
    She stared at me as if she hadn’t heard my fairytale words, then she cuddled on my chest. To classmates and friends I had always proclaimed with some bravado that I was a fatalist, and here I was unnerved by the girl whose virginity I had just taken. What she was hinting at was darker than anything I dared to imagine.
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    SCHEISSHAUS LUCK
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    What was Stella thinking now, I asked myself as our bus arrived at the rain-soaked freight yard in the Paris suburb of Bobigny. I peered out the window. The boches weren’t spoiling us with comfortable passenger compartments this time around. No, we were going to travel like farm animals. My belly was filled with fear. I was glad Jonny, the circus strongman, hadn’t removed his arm from around my shoulder.
    As our bus pulled up to the loading ramp, Nazi guards were locking one of the cattle cars. I had foolishly hoped to catch one more glimpse of my Stella before we were loaded. Now I would have to wait until we reached our destination, wherever that was.

    C H A P T E R 4
    ‘‘Forty Men or Eight Horses’’ was stenciled on the side of the cattle car. I followed Jonny up the rain-slicked ramp. We squeezed inside and began jockeying with the others for a spot where we could comfortably sit on our luggage. When the Nazis locked the door, silence fell over us. It was as if we had all stopped to admire how a single action utterly defined our predicament.
    They had told us in Drancy that we would be riding for two or three days, so when the train started moving the guessing games of our destination began.
    ‘‘We’re going to stop in Metz for screening.’’
    ‘‘What do you mean, screening?’’
    ‘‘Why would they give us food when Metz is less than a one-day ride?’’
    ‘‘It seems that there is a big camp in Saxony.’’
    ‘‘Do you think we’re going to clear away the rubble in Berlin?’’
    ‘‘I know that we’re going to Theresienstadt.’’
    ‘‘Theresienstadt is only for old people.’’
    ‘‘Let’s pray we don’t go to a Polish ghetto.’’
    ‘‘Shut up, you silly fools,’’ Jonny snapped. ‘‘We’re going to the spas of ‘Pitchi