“I think the littler one looks like Sister Nadzieja. And the bigger one—see how her paws move as if kneading dough—like Sister Halina.”

Zosia giggled to be imagining the cats in dark habits with headdresses tucked around their ears, teaching lessons and baking bread.

Now, they check on the cats daily, and while walking to evening prayers they name what they see in the clouds: an angel with feathery wings, a dragon’s head, mashed potatoes, a dollop of cream. They whisper—or, in the case of food likenesses, moan—and if one of them laughs, the other squeezes her hand. They bite their tongues and bow their heads and rush along.

They cover for each other if one drifts back to sleep after morning call, or dallies too long outside, or needs the washing done quickly to remove a careless stain. But there is no cover for Zosia the day Sister Olga takes it upon herself to inspect the children’s room. Her stomach churns with dread as the nun brusquely opens the tops of the trunks and lifts the mattresses to expose what’s been tucked beneath: two uncooked potatoes wrapped in a napkin.

“Zosia, come over here right now. Explain this—”

“It is food that I saved.” Zosia rushes over; she wants to put it back where she’d stowed it, but Sister Olga holds it up high, out of her reach.

“I can see perfectly well that it is food. How dare you save food for yourself when we are all going hungry?”

“It’s not for me. It’s for my mother, in case—” She grasps for it.

“For your mother? What a hideous lie!”

“It is not! If she comes for me, I—”

“You must be punished for this. I’ll do it myself.” Sister Olga takes Zosia’s arm and shoves her toward her bed.

Zosia begins to cry. She can feel the eyes of the other girls on her.

“Stop your crying. You are a bad child. You deserve this.”

In the corner of the room, there is a long wooden ruler used for taking the heights of the children. Sister Olga grabs it, brings it down hard upon Zosia’s outstretched hands once, twice, three times. A stinging, burning pain rises—along with the despairing thought that it may take days before she will be able to play her violin.

Zosia crumples onto her bed. Kasia runs to her side but steps back when Sister Alicja rushes in.

“Zosia, what happened?”

“I hid food under my bed. But it wasn’t for me!”

“Oh, Zosia.”

“I wanted to have it for my mama when she came for me. Sister Olga took it away. And she punished me.” Her face contorts.

“Now, now. We can get more. You are a good girl, Zosia.” Sister Alicja strokes her hair, moving it away from her face.

“No. I am not. I’m bad just like Sister Olga said.”