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"Why won't you marry me Marjan?" For months she had been wanting to be his wife.

"Marry me Marjan," she asked again.

Marjan groaned.

What was he to do? It would have been perfect to accept her proposal, for who would suspect him if he were married to a Roman Catholic farm girl? But that was out of the question; he definitely could not marry her. He had deliberately avoided becoming involved with girls because of a secret he could not reveal. This one was persistent, she wanted to get married and she had made no secret of her intentions-she wanted him. If he succumbed, his secret would be uncovered, so he could not accept her offer. He knew that if he exposed his penis in an intimate situation, she would know that he was not what he claimed.

"Come on, Marjan. Poppa likes you. He thinks you're the smartest boy he's ever met."

Marjan tried to think of an excuse, but he didn't know what to do. If she became angry, there was no telling what she might do or say to others. That was all he needed-someone investigating him.

"All right! I'll marry you," he finally blurted out, regretting his words even before they left his mouth.

"You will? You will never be sorry. I'm going to tell my family." She ran out of the barn.

As Marjan watched her leave, he began to tremble. My God, he thought. What have I done?

I can't marry her.

She'll discover I'm circumcised.

She'll realize I'm Jewish and tell the Germans.