Ans groped through her bag. Before she could find it, the policeman snatched the bag from her and searched through it himself, tearing away the lining where she hid the ration cards, feeling inside the space. Thank God she’d made her deliveries. The space was empty.

But she still carried the map. Her stomach writhed as if she’d swallowed live eels.

“Please, I’m only a few minutes late,” she begged. She felt trapped, backed against the wall while the policeman stood in front of her, rummaging through her bag.

He studied the napkin that had wrapped her lunch as if it contained hidden messages. He found her forged ID card and examined it closely. Would it pass official scrutiny? He finally looked up.

“Well, Miss Bernandina Kamp, you’re under arrest for breaking curfew.” He grasped her arm so tightly she winced. Terror turned her stomach inside out.

“I’m going to be sick!” she moaned, and before she could stop herself, Ans bent over and vomited. She tried to turn away but the policeman stood too close, and some of the vomit splattered on his shoes.

He shoved her to the ground. “Wipe it off!” he demanded.

Ans crawled to her knees and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe his shoes.

“You stink!” he said. “Stand up!” He yanked her to her feet and pushed her forward.

Ans’s fear mounted with every step she took toward the police station on the square. They would search her thoroughly. They would find the map. And the terrible things Erik had warned her about would happen.

Lord, help me get rid of this map . . .

Red banners with swastikas fluttered in the evening breeze as she was led up the steps and through the station door. She saw a photograph of Adolf Hitler on the wall and felt her stomach contents rising. “I’m going to be sick again!”

The policeman dragged her down a hall to a lavatory. He shoved her inside, leaning against the door to watch her.

Ans barely made it to the toilet before vomiting as if her guts were falling out. She knelt in front of it, gasping and spitting. The room had only one dim light, and as she huddled over the bowl, Ans reached beneath her blouse and pulled the folded map out from the front of her bra. When she leaned forward to vomit again, she dropped the map into the toilet, praying that the sound of her retching would make the policeman turn away. She quickly flushed, watching to make sure the map went down, then knelt there until her dry heaves subsided. At last she stood, legs trembling.

“Clean yourself off.”

Ans used the tiny sink to splash water on her face and rinse her mouth.

“Let’s go.”