It was only the next morning when I

It was only the next morning when I awoke to that awful sound-someone pounding on our door. They were here. I knew it. I had tried to tell Father. But he wouldn't listen. And now it would be too late. They'd take us all away...

"Mr. Friedman?" A voice resonated through the flat.

"Which one?" I could hear Father say. "I am Joseph Friedman. My brother is Isaac."

"It's Isaac Friedman we're looking for. We have a warrant for his arrest."

I heard rustling and doors slamming. I peeked out of the tiny room I shared with Marta. There were two policemen in the hall. Uncle Isaac was putting on his hat. He turned and saw me. He winked. Then he was gone. I threw on my clothes and ran out after him. Mother called after me to stay inside, but I ignored her. I remembered his words to me soon after we'd arrived. "Don't ever be a mug," he'd said to me. "Your father plays by

the rules. Won't get him anywhere in this world. Stick with me, kid."

I ran to the police station and arrived covered in sweat and puffing so hard I could barely speak. Once I knew for sure that he was at the station, I raced home to get Father. We both went back down there, but it was hours until we were finally allowed to see Uncle Isaac.

"Ben," he said to me, "you know my associates." He passed me a small piece of paper. "You can find them at this address. They'll make my bail."

"Don't worry, Uncle Isaac," I said. "I'll do it right away."

"Don't give me that look," he said to Father. Father just shook his head and said nothing.

Uncle Isaac's associates told me not to worry, they'd take care of it. One of them, the one I couldn't understand, gave me a dollar. And sure enough, Uncle Isaac came home that night, long after I was supposed to be asleep.

I started to think about what would happen if I needed to fight or even run. I was just a big blob. I decided that after school I was going to run on the track, and I was going to run every day from then on.

Two days later, John missed school. The next day at lunch, I asked him why he'd been away.

"They arrested Father. His business is importing and exporting Japanese goods, so they say he might be a spy! We're worried. What does it all mean?"

I'd been trying to remain optimistic. I'd been telling myself that Mother was right and I'd been letting my imagination run away with me. But when John told me about his dad something inside me snapped, and the fear I'd managed to squeeze into a small kernel grew in my stomach until it felt like my whole stomach would burst. I felt nauseated. I put down the sandwich I'd been eating. I grabbed John's wrist.

"Whatever happens, if they want to send you away, don't go!" I whispered. "Run away. Maybe they'll send you to a camp. No one gets out of those camps alive."

"This isn't Nazi Germany," John objected, twisting his wrist out of my grasp and giving me a strange look. "They aren't going to kill us." He looked around nervously to see if anyone had overheard me, but we were all alone at our table-a fact that should have told him something. When we first made friends there were always others sitting with us.

"That's what we Jews said," I replied. "We said, 'This is Germany! This is a civilized country. With laws.' But no one ever comes back from those camps. Except as ashes. In urns. It doesn't happen right away. It never does. I know all about that. First, you can't vote. Then you aren't citizens. Then you have to carry special ID cards. Then you're expelled from school. Then you have a curfew and can only sneak out at certain hours as if you are criminals."

"This is different," John insisted.

"Then they arrest innocent people and say they are spies; that's so the population will be afraid. Fear is the government's friend because the more afraid people are, the more you can make them listen to you. They get everyone to spy on everyone else. The Nazis burned the Reichstag and blamed it on their political opponents and got into power that way. They made ordinary Germans afraid-afraid of everything and everyone, including other countries. They used us Jews as scapegoats and said the economic problems were all because of us, because Jews controlled the banks. And the thing is, no one said, 'That's just silly, they are our friends and our neighbors.' No, everyone believed the Nazis. And isn't that what's happening with the Japanese here? And if it's happening to you, why not us next? They take away your rights in tiny little slices and you don't even feel it-well, you feel a small nick, and it doesn't hurt that much, but they keep slicing and slicing and suddenly there's no freedom left, there's just bullies left, bullies."

"Ben," John said, his voice low, "even if you are right, what on earth could I do about it? You're making me nervous." He stopped talking and I felt just awful. He was right. What good would it do him at this point, even if all my worst fears came true? Would he run off and leave his mother? Never.

"I'm sorry," I said, suddenly embarrassed by my outburst. "It brings back bad memories, that's all," I added.

"I know," he said. "But I'm not giving up. Nothing bad will happen to us."

I hoped desperately that he was right.

"I'm going to Canada, Ben," Uncle Isaac told me. "Don't want the police breathing down my neck. The only reason I'm out of jail is because I'm an American. But I won't get a fair trial."

"Can I come with you, Uncle Isaac?" I pleaded.

"Sorry, kid. Your dad would never forgive me."

"But he won't listen to me. What if it's us who get rounded up next? We have to escape! And anyway, he won't fight if it happens."

"Who's he gonna fight, kid?"

He wrote down the address where he was going. "If you do need to get away, you can all come to Canada, you hear?"

"They won't let John's father out," I said to him. "And he's not even getting a trial."

"That's because he's probably not an American," Uncle Isaac said. "Wouldn't say there's much hope for him."

"Spy! Traitor! Enemy!" Four tenth-graders were shouting as they beat up John in the schoolyard. I raced over and took them all on at once. So they started in on me. "Nazi! Jew!" They got a few good licks in. But the running I'd started doing on the track at lunchtime and after school was starting to pay off. I was getting faster, as well as stronger; not by much, but every little bit helped. I guess they weren't interested in getting hurt, so finally they gave up. I figured I'd have to keep closer tabs on John and try not to let him out of my sight.

It occurred to me that John might not like me hanging around him because it made him stick out more, but I figured it worked both ways. He never asked me to get lost, but if I ever thought he'd be better off without me, well, I'd make myself scarce. But the truth is, the only thing that stops a bully is the chance they might get hurt themselves. They're such cowards! Would those Brownshirts have beat up Jews if the Jews had fought back? But the Jews were too civilized. They weren't organized. They should have fought from the beginning. Instead it was, "Oh, this is Germany. Our country. The model of civilization. Everyone will come to their senses. It can't last. It can't last. It can't last."

What lasts longer than death, I'd like to know?

The morning paper reported that a Chinese man had been found with his head almost cut off. The paper said that he was probably mistaken for a Japanese man.

At school, John looked terrible, like he hadn't slept.

"They've sent my father away," he said so only I could hear. "To a camp called Fort Missoula in Montana."

I didn't know what to say. That I wasn't surprised? And yet part of me was-the part of me that had thought it really wouldn't happen here. And if they'd sent his father away, probably John and the rest of his family would be next, and then they'd go after the Germans. Us.

We were standing in line. It was raining. We'd been ordered to turn in our radios and cameras because we were German. Japanese and Italians had to do it too. But apparently we were allowed to keep our guns, if we had any. That was so odd it was almost funny.

"Maybe they're afraid we'll kill people by knocking them on the head with our radios! Or conking them with our cameras," I said.

"You can see their point of view," Father said. "If we were spies, we'd need the radio to get our coded messages. We could take pictures of troops at the docks with our cameras."

I didn't answer. Let him make excuses for them.

"Don't you think we need to get away?" I asked him again.

"Where?" he sighed. "Back to Europe? Where can we go?"

"Canada," I said, remembering Uncle Isaac's words.

"Canada won't be any safer," he said. "It's not the same as before, Ben," he added. "Hitler isn't in power here. They're fighting Hitler now. This is the best place