Angry men glared at her, fists raised. Soldiers pointed guns at her. Strange children were shaking their heads sadly and staring. All of them were shouting the same question, demanding an answer: What is your name? My name? My name, she thought, looking wildly around for someone to help her. Finally, helplessly, she whispered, “Edith. My name is Edith.” “Edith what?” they yelled. “What is your name?” “It’s Edith … Edith …” Oh, what was the name on her papers? Why hadn’t she practiced? Now it was too late. She was going to be arrested because she couldn’t remember her name. “It’s just Edith,” she cried. “Don’t you know who you are?” they yelled. I know who I am, she thought wildly. Mutti, I haven’t forgotten. But I don’t know my new name! The people in the crowd shouted and pressed closer, grabbing at her. Edith sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. Then the shadows in her dormitory began to take on their familiar shapes, and she recognized the sound of her roommates’ breathing.
