She was so docile, so malleable. Her mother could shape her as she wished. It wasn’t as if Ada was going to fulfil any expectations. What a child! Taciturn and insolent by turns, rebellious, her head always in the clouds . . . No, she couldn’t worry about Ada. She had enough to think about with her own children. As one of her favourite Russian sayings went: ‘The shirt you own is closer to your body than your neighbour’s suit.’ But when Aunt Raissa said, ‘The children . . . my children . . .’, she was really thinking only of Lilla. And so when the trouble started, Lilla was sent to stay with the family of one of her classmates. They were Russian Orthodox, so their home was safe. As for Ada and Ben, they would have to see.

That year, Ada discovered her grandfather’s books for the first time. She hadn’t yet started high school as she’d been ill when the admission tests were held, but a first-year student gave her lessons in exchange for lunch and two pairs of shoes per year. She was a good student; she even displayed a quick, insightful mind, less critical or assertive than Ben’s, but which nonetheless annoyed Aunt Raissa.

‘Why,’ she would ask bitterly, ‘are Jewish children either too dim or too intelligent? Lilla thinks like an eight-year-old and Ben replies to the slightest observation like an old man. And now Ada’s copying him. Why can’t they just be like everyone else, not smarter and not more stupid?’

But no one had an answer to that.

Her grandfather’s books were works in Russian and translations of English, German and French classics. An entire universe, hitherto unknown, opened before Ada, a world whose colours were so dazzling that reality paled in comparison and faded away. Boris Godunov, Satan, Athalia, King Lear: they all spoke words charged with meaning; every syllable was inexpressively precious. How could the inane, monotonous words her relatives spoke be of any interest whatsoever, those bits of information Ada found so insignificant as they spread from one person to another: ‘I heard that the Governor General has received death threats . . . They’re saying that the Chief of Police has been wounded . . . I heard some Jews were arrested . . . What if it’s true . . . how awful . . . But even if it isn’t true . . . God will protect us . . .’

One evening, just as Ada had put down her book and was about to go to bed, she heard strange, muffled noises coming from the streets below, usually so calm at this time of year. It was February, a time of year that was not very cold but when there was heavy snow and strong winds. What could anyone be doing outside? She walked over to the window, blew on it to melt the ice and saw a crowd of people rushing about the street; every now and again they shouted and blew whistles. Ada stood there, watching, not understanding what was happening, when suddenly Aunt Raissa rushed into the room. Red blotches covered her face, as always when she was angry or in the grip of some violent emotion. She grabbed Ada by the arm and yanked her away from the window.

‘What are you doing? You horrible child!’ she shouted. (She was clearly happy to have her niece there, so she could take out all her fear and anger on her.) ‘You’re never around when you’re needed, but you manage to get in the way at the worst possible time! . . .