No doubt the people who lived here had no idea what was happening down by the river. Not a single Cossack came to disturb their tranquillity; perhaps they looked upon the horror and confusion of the ghetto as if they were at the theatre, with the superficial shudder of spectators watching a drama who quickly reassure themselves with their comfortable sense of security: ‘That would never happen to me. Never.’ They were lucky. A million times luckier than her. And yet, they were Jewish too, just like her, weren’t they? Ada imagined them like angels who leaned over the balconies of the heavens and watched the wretched earth with indifference. This was where she wanted to stay – with them. She refused to go back down.

‘Let’s stay here, Ben,’ she pleaded softly.

He got angry, called her ‘mad, an idiot, a coward’, but she knew very well that he didn’t really want to leave this heavenly place either.

They held hands and walked aimlessly along. Ada clung to her cousin’s arm, limping. Ben had fallen and torn his trousers, his knee was bleeding.

‘Maybe we’ll find someone who’ll ask us to come inside,’ Ada said shyly.

Ben laughed sarcastically. ‘Ah, so that’s what you think, do you?’

‘Ben,’ said Ada after a moment, ‘this is where the Sinners live.’

‘So?’

‘So they’re our cousins . . .’

‘So you think we should go to their house, do you?’

‘Why not?’

‘They’d chase us away.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they’re rich.’

‘But we wouldn’t ask them for money!’

Ben called her ‘an idiot’ again. She didn’t argue, just sighed sadly and kept on walking. She could feel Ben beside her, shivering from the cold.

‘This is where they live,’ said Ada, pointing out the street.

‘I don’t give a damn.’

But the wind was blowing more harshly now. She took Ben’s hand.

‘We could at least get out of the cold for a while under their porch. I remember they have a porch with columns and a roof . . . made of marble,’ she added, after thinking for a moment.

‘Marble?’ said Ben, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Why not solid gold?’ he sniggered.

‘Well, anyway, it’s a porch and we’d get out of the wind.’

‘And how would you get into the garden?’

‘I thought you bragged about being able to climb over any gate, even the highest?’

‘Well I could, maybe . . . but you, you’re just a girl!’

‘I could do it just as well as you,’ she said, angrily.

‘Really? Just look at yourself! You’re a real sight, hobbling about in the snow . . . And we only ran for half an hour!’

‘Well, what about you? You were the one who fell down while we were running away, weren’t you? Your knee’s bleeding.’

‘I bet that I’ll be able to climb right over the top of the gate and jump down into the garden, and that you won’t even make it to the first rung!’

‘Well, we’ll see about that!’

‘I dare you!’

They ran all the way to the Sinners’ house. It was already nine o’clock and there was the odd passer-by: a few servants were hurrying towards the shops and the marketplace in the centre of town; a footman was walking some dogs; a worker was sweeping away the snow; but the children chose a moment when there was no one in sight and started to climb over the gate. They were both agile, even though their movements were hindered by their padded winter coats. Ben got over first and gave Ada a scornful look. Ada, putting herself in God’s hands – she wouldn’t dream of asking her cousin for help – managed to get a foothold between two gilded bars. Getting up was the most important step; you could always get down . . . slowly or fast . . . She jumped down on to the snow-covered lawn and got buried up to her waist. Ben reached out to her; he pushed, pulled, hoisted her up so she was finally standing. Creeping behind the bushes, they made their way to the door, or rather to the front porch with its oval ceiling and slender stone columns. Ben and Ada edged their way along the cold wall and waited . . . for what, they had no idea . . . At first, they were just relieved to be out of the wind, but soon they felt horribly anxious and their exhaustion and hunger were stronger than ever.

‘Let’s ring the bell,’ Ada suggested in a quiet, nervous voice.

Ben, his face turning blue from the cold, shook his head ‘no’, but less insistently.