Free Chasing the King of Hearts (Peirene's Turning Point Series) by Hanna Krall

can manage?
    She runs with the men – across the snow-covered field, through the forest, across another field – she crouches, doesn’t take off the sheet, keeps absolutely still, then runs again. A pale, cold sun appears. They’re in the Generalgouvernement. She hands back her sheet and asks the way to the nearest train station.
Joy
    She dyes her hair (her favourite colour – ash blonde).
    She replaces her tooth (the new tooth comes on a little screw, very practical, the technician assured her, you can take it out if you need to. She found that strange: why would you want to take out an artificial tooth?).
    She retrieves her compact. (Stefa cried so much when she received your letter, says Stefa’s colleague, a typist at the Ostbahn. She was so sorry she didn’t give you that crib for algebra… But I’m giving you a hat instead, Stefa announces, and sure enough she hands Izolda a beautiful black hat, with a large fancy brim, a keepsake from her romantic mother.) The typist gives her a pair of patent-leather shoes with high heels (custom-made on Nowy Świat right before the war) and Mrs Krusiewicz painstakingly alters the overcoat left by her husband.
    Izolda stands on the corner of Piękna Street, waiting for her acquaintance, an excellent translator of German poetry (the excellent translator is supposed to find a buyer for the pearl ring – if the price isn’t exorbitant).
    She’s cold and stamps on the wet snow.
    Wearing the patent-leather shoes from the machinist.
    Wearing the romantic hat from Stefa.
    Wearing the silk stockings with the black arrow print from Józio’s aunt.
    Wearing the overcoat from Mr Krusiewicz.
    Two women wearing civilian dress look her over and come up to her. Waiting for someone? one of them asks, her hands in a fur muff. May I see your identity card? She takes a police badge out of her muff. I don’t understand… Izolda says in a very sweet, pleading voice, why are you asking? Just don’t pretend, says the other. And don’t smile. You’re all alike, first all innocent smiles and then nothing but tears. Let’s go.
    She follows the policewoman.
    The nearest station is on Poznańska Street. Not a good place, getting out won’t be easy.
    She has her pearl ring. She thinks: Should I give it to her right away? And why did she say you’re all alike? By all she means Jews. Excuse me, ma’am, she risks the question. What did you mean by all alike? Stop playing dumb – the policewoman now makes no effort to be polite. I’m from the vice squad, now do you understand?
    Now she understands.
    They’re not taking her for a Jew but for a whore. What a relief, thank God, they’re just taking me for a whore.
    She now walks more lightly, like any other woman genuinely amused at such a preposterous idea.
    The policewoman sits at a little desk, unfolds the identity card and reads out loud. So you’re married, well, well. And where is your husband passing the time?
    She says: He’s passing the time in a camp. He was in Auschwitz.
    You aren’t lying? The policewoman looks up from the desk and changes her tone: Are you sure that’s true?
    My husband is in a camp, she repeats. I have a letter…
    The policewoman gets up, as if she intended to escort her to the door. I’m going to check everything, she says sternly. You can go, but I’m going to check… And you better… she pauses for a moment. Couldn’t you make an effort to dress more decently?
Armchair. Everything in Life
    If she hadn’t been loitering on the street so absurdly dressed, she wouldn’t have been taken for a prostitute.
    If the policewoman hadn’t sent her away, she wouldn’t have stopped in on Mariańska Street to see Mateusz the caretaker.
    If she hadn’t visited Mateusz (she wanted to warn him that the vice squad would be enquiring about her), she wouldn’t have learnt that the postman had been there.
    That he had delivered a letter.
    That her husband was asking for food. And that he had sent a new address: