I am lying to my diary.

I don’t know why,

except maybe some things are too scary

to write down,

even in a diary.

Truth:

This night is endless, not quick.

The border is a tangle of trouble.

From Hamburg to Cologne to Aachen,

still in Germany,

there are Nazi guards on the cars,

carrying rifles with sharp bayonets.

Are we so valuable

they want to guard us?

Not all the passengers

are Jews leaving Germany,

but I think most are.

We sit quietly,

Ruth sleeping,

as the train clatters

away from the lives we know.

In Aachen,

the last town in Germany,

just before we cross into Belgium,

the train stops.

The engine quiets.

A Nazi guard

takes Father off.

We crowd the window,

looking, looking—

we see Father talking,

moving his hands,

reaching into his pockets,

showing his papers,

his small billfold

with a pittance of money.

We can’t hear anything.

More Nazis soldiers

join Father and his guard,

more silent talking.

The train engine rumbles to life again;

a whistle sounds.

Soon we will be moving!

Moving without Father!

Vati, say the magic words,

tell them what they want,

give them anything!

Another whistle.

We see Father hand over his billfold.

Now he’s walking fast, fast,

to the train.

Now he’s back on board!

It all took ten minutes.

What did they want,

the soldiers?

Maybe money,

but Father had only a little.

He was following the law,

and the Nazi law

said we could not take

much money with us.

Soon we are in Belgium.

Another train stop.

Don’t take Father again!

I get my wish.

I get better than my wish:

The Nazi soldiers leave the train,

and a few Belgian guards get on.

Our nightmare over,

I can finally sleep.

I wake in Paris, France.

No more lying to you, diary.