He was no more than twenty years old, with copper-coloured hair shining under his cap and long blond eyelashes. He’s just a rabbit of a boy, and if I don’t lose my nerve … ‘I’m from the Reich Census Bureau,’ I told him, ‘and this man is helping me.’ He looked at my swastika armband on the ground and frowned. ‘I know who you are, so shut up and put up your hands!’ We did as he said, but Izzy gave me a sideways look, as if he was about to pull the cord of some mad plan. ‘Not yet!’ I whispered to him in Polish; I thought I could still talk my way out of this. ‘Shut your snout!’ the German yelled. Below my frantic heartbeat, I heard the metallic scratch of another stake landing in the woman’s pile. She was still gardening – it might have been comic under other circumstances. ‘Stay still!’ the Nazi ordered Izzy. ‘And you, get on your knees!’ he told me. ‘If you let us get on our way,’ I told him, ‘I’ll give you five hundred złoty.’ ‘If you want a bullet in your head, keep talking!’ he growled.
