Leideritz wondered what the problem was. Perhaps other larger ghettos—Lvov, Lublin—had priority. Never mind, typhus and starvation were doing some of his work for him. It was only important to prevent infection from spreading beyond the ghetto. That would require really severe discipline. He had already had to threaten more than one unshaven Polizei with the Eastern Front for slovenliness. Passage through the ghetto gates was a twice-daily challenge to appear completely inconspicuous. Never be first. Never come late. Carry nothing. No bright colors, no tatters, and above all, no eye contact with anyone, inmate or Polizei. At least once Rita thought she’d copped it. Coming in late, as the curfew siren began to blare, she was jostled in the crowd and brushed a German sleeve. “Entschuldigung, Mein Herr,” she said, as sincerely and obsequiously as she could contrive. Perhaps it was the faultless German, but the words jolted the Gefreiter, bored by the passing tide of flotsam.
