Rina rummaged through her briefcase and pulled out the least offensive one she could find: a bony old man who looked like he was sleeping in striped pajamas.

Oscar studied the picture. “Yes…yes. You see these light lines? That’s the fence. That is the fence!”

Rina covered her mouth and nodded. “Yes, I see.”

He handed the photograph back to Rina. “I don’t know the boy. Some people talk to that boy. Some tell the boy to take their pictures. One man…he brings his dead son…let the boy take picture. Me?” He shook his head. “I say nothing to him.

“He comes for five, ten minutes, takes pictures, then he hides back in the forest. You don’t stay near the camps too long. You get shot.” Oscar scrunched up his forehead. “He brought bread…not real bread, most of it was ersatz…sawdust…but better than what we had. He takes it and squeezes it into little balls and throws them through the spaces in the fence. Never missed once. Good arm.” He nodded with admiration. “A dangerous thing to do. If it hits the fence, it sets off the electricity. Then the guard is warned what is going on. He never missed.”

Tears were streaming down Rina’s face. “He gave you food?”

“Tiny balls of bread—half bread. And bits of carrots and turnip. And once…tiny wild strawberries. Do you know how much a luxury that was? Strawberries? Warsaw had nothing! For him to have strawberries…and afford to give them away. Oy vey, he was a very rich boy. The boy with the camera who throws at us bits of food.”

“Did he speak to any of the inmates?”

Oscar thought, then shook his head. “No, he never said a word. Just took the pictures. Maybe he wanted to laugh at the dead Juden after we were all gone.”

“Or maybe he wanted to remember. He couldn’t have been that cruel if he gave you food.”

“Maybe he liked seeing the Juden act like animals—like feeding animals in the zoo. Still, we act like animals, clawing at the ground to find the bread balls or bits of turnip.”

“If he had wanted to cause you trouble, he would have hit the fence at least once. He wouldn’t have thrown a hundred percent, nu?”

“You want to see good in him.”

Holding back tears, Rina nodded. “Yes.”

“That is nice.” Oscar shrugged. “Tiny balls of bread. It tasted like…as good as your soup.”

“That’s some compliment.”

“Yes, it is a compliment.”

“Should I show you more pictures that were found in the synagogue? Maybe these were the pictures the boy took?”

“You say they are only of dead people?”

“I don’t remember, Oscar. Maybe some of them were alive.”

“No matter. They’re all dead now.”

“Maybe he took your picture.”