The Family Behind the Walls

Prologue

PROLOGUE

DALIA, JULY 27TH, 1943

Hamburg, Germany

In the dark bunker, searing with vengeful heat, twenty-five steps underground, we stand skin-to-skin with neighboring villagers. I hold the children tightly within in my arms as my husband Leo’s embrace envelops us all. We stand in stillness, waiting as sweat oozes from every part of our bodies. The rubble beneath our feet continues to shake and jolt us in every direction for what seems like an eternity.

Then it all stops as if it was a figment of our imaginations, as if it never happened at all. Knowing it might start again, we wait until the minutes pass without feeling a nerve-numbing quake.

No one speaks a word but the fear within us is louder than anything I’ve heard tonight.

“Micah,” someone shouts. “Micah, stand up, get up.”

Someone must have fallen. We can’t see anything, and it would be impossible to light a match with so little space to move.

“Micah!”

“Someone should go up and check the street,” a man says from behind us in the back of the bunker. “The air raid is over.”

How could any of us be sure it’s over? We thought the raids ended with the demolition of the western part of Hamburg over the last few days, but it seems the British and Americans are back to attack the east too.

“It’s too soon to go up there,” Leo replies. “After the amount of damage done to the west—those fires are still burning. We won’t be any better off.”

“We can’t breathe down here,” a woman complains.

There isn’t any more oxygen outside than in here, I want to argue. It’s useless to reply when everyone’s pleading to survive as the world burns above us.

“My elderly parents are alone. I must find them,” another voice cries out.

“I don’t know what to do,” Leo whispers in my ear. He always has a plan, and a backup one too just in case. “The fire won’t die down for a while. Even if the last of the bombs have fallen tonight, the damage is done and it’s still spreading. These people must realize there’s an inferno outside that bunker door.”

“It isn’t your decision what they do,” I whisper back, reminding him he’s no longer in charge of a squadron, but just fellow citizens taking cover in this bunker.

Leo sighs with grief and frustration. He can’t stand still, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his ash covered arm rubbing against mine.

“All who want to remain in the bunker move toward the back. Anyone who prefers to leave, move forward,” he says, pushing me and our four children backward as we trip over others who are moving in the opposite direction. It’s hard to tell how many of us are even in here. We continue shuffling back until we hit a stone wall. Leo then ushers us to the right, farther away from the exit.

Lilli whimpers, “Mama, I’m scared.” She’s only eight and I can’t imagine what’s going through her little mind after watching our city erupt into flames all around us.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. We’re safe here,” I tell her. Is it a lie? Am I lying to myself by thinking we’re safe?

The metal door squeals and scrapes as it gives way to stone steps. A bright orange glow bursts into the bunker, blinding us. We all shield our faces from the wave of searing heat filling the space. Dozens of heavy footsteps charge up the steps, rushing out onto the street. Everyone who is still down here with us shouts, “Shut the door!”

Someone secures the exit with the metal latch from the inside, closing us back into the darkness.

There’s more space to move now, but no additional air, just a rush of thick, acrid smoke cloaking us like a thick blanket.

“There’s a lantern hanging from the wall at the bottom of the steps,” Leo says. “Whoever is over there, feel around for an overhead shelf and grab the lantern.”

The faint rustling of clothing merges with the deep thuds echoing off the stone walls.

“I have it,” someone shouts as if they’ve just won a contest.

“Bring it down this way. Follow my voice. We want to keep the lantern as far away from the exit as possible. The gasses could?—”

Leo stops talking, something he does when he’s speaking his fears out loud and realizes he doesn’t want to scare anyone else around him.

“Over here,” I shout, following Leo’s stunted comment. Everyone shuffles around as the man with the lantern makes his way through the crowd. I reach out to feel for movement and grab the man’s shirt as he steps past me. “Here. Give it here.”

Leo feels for my hands and takes the lamp before stepping away from us. His footsteps scratch along the floor then stop. Within seconds a faint glow illuminates the lantern’s glass. “We must keep it dim. We don’t want to use too much gas,” Leo says.

It’s enough for us to see those standing closest to us.

A few people cheer for the simple gift of light. A few cry. And one shrieks, “My Micah…No! He’s not breathing. He’s…God help me! No!” Her cries echo between the walls. “He’s just a child. He’s just a child!”

I clutch my chest upon spotting her lifeless son draped in her arms.

What we can’t see in the dark can’t hurt us…

Alfie, whom I consider my son for the sake of protecting him against German law, is huddling in the corner, holding his hands up to his ears, his eyes clenched shut. Little Lilli is beside him, her head against his arm.

My son Max is by Leo’s side, and his younger sister Jordanna hasn’t released me from her grip since we made our way down here. We’re all covered from head to toe in black ash, leaving only the whites of our eyes to catch the light.

“Can we go back home?” Jordanna asks. With little hope in her question, at fifteen, she’s much too aware this won’t end without significant impact.

“No, we mustn’t go anywhere just yet,” Leo says. “Does anyone have injuries? If so, raise your hand.”

“Max,” I call over to my son. He turns to face me; his childlike eyes have aged with wisdom the last year as he fills into his role as a seventeen-year-old man. With so little to see of his features, it’s more obvious than ever before how similar his eyes are to Leo’s. He resembles his father in every way. “Take Jordanna over to the corner. Check on Alfie too. It doesn’t seem as if he’s doing well.” Max and Alfie have been best friends since they were in diapers, and now they are more like brothers. “I need to help others.”

At least a dozen people raise their hands. Leo starts on one side, and I move to the other.

Charred skin, fabrics burnt into flesh, hair disintegrated. I tear clothes off the uninjured, using unscathed materials to dress burns until we can get them medical treatment.

Burns were common in my time of nursing during the Great War but not as much as gunshot wounds and amputations.

I’ve barely helped one person when a fist pounds incessantly against the metal door, shocking us all with the reverberation between the walls. Leo stands and makes his way up the steep steps toward the door, lifting the latch before stepping back down toward us.

The door flies open, revealing two Gestapo, disheveled, covered in soot and sweat. “Papiere!” one of them says. “Take out your identifications.”

The demand causes a fire inside of my stomach. Leo steps up to the first police officer. He pulls out his and my identification papers, leaving the children’s papers in his robe pocket. “Obergefreiter Bergmann,” he says, stating his former Lance Corporal ranking as he always does before anyone can read more about him—find out he’s Jewish. We’ve had immunity from deportation because of his achievements and service in the Great War, but it seems we’re on borrowed time.

The Gestapo stares at Leo for a long moment then down at his identification, and back up at his face. The silent conversation continues as he confers with his partner, showing him Leo’s papers. Their gazes drift in my direction. “Are you a medic?” they ask as I’m in the middle of wrapping someone’s leg.

“That’s my wife,” Leo answers before I do.

“That wasn’t the question,” the Gestapo grits through his teeth.

“I was a medic on the home front during the war, yes,” I reply.

“Both of you, come with us. We need help.”

The children will have to stay here, but we can’t leave them.

“We should stay to help these people down here,” Leo argues.

I continue wrapping the woman’s leg, her mouth hanging open, her eyes stark white with red veins.

“It wasn’t a question, Ober-gef-reiter Bergmann,” the Gestapo snaps at Leo, mocking him, it seems.

“The city is on fire. What can we do?” Leo continues. He knows better than to argue with the Gestapo, but we have no choice.

They storm toward us and Leo drops his robe to the ground, leaving him in his pajamas, just before the police grab his arm.

“Anyone else here have medical training or experience?” the other Gestapo demands. It doesn’t take him long to scan the area, finding our children, the elderly, and injured. He doesn’t wait long for a response before lunging for me and pulling me up to my feet. “You. Let’s go.”

I peer over my shoulder, finding Max’s hand over Lilli’s mouth as she stretches her arms out for me, tears leaving white streaks along the black ash on her face. “Don’t say a word. Stay put,” I mouth to my children, praying they understand what I’m trying to tell them. Max acknowledges me with a long blink then lowers his head. Thank God. Jordanna’s tears follow, her head shaking back and forth, furious and pleading with her eyes for us not to leave.

If there’s anything I’ve been firm about these past few years, it’s that the children should always be with either Leo or myself, no exceptions. From our apartment windows, we’ve seen members of the Gestapo snag unaccompanied children wearing their yellow Star-of-David badges. They’ve thrown them into lorries, taking them away without warning. There are few Jewish families left in Hamburg now. We’re an exception and that privilege can be taken away at any given moment.

I’m grateful the children don’t have yellow stars sewn to their pajamas. Covered in black ash from head to toe, there’s no visible way to identify them. However, that doesn’t mean much, knowing the Gestapo’s capabilities. If they were to find out the children belong to us and are here alone, the privilege Leo has held on to for his military service won’t protect them. Most Jewish citizens don’t have a moment to explain why they should be treated differently than any other Jewish person in this country. Jews are not wanted here.

I mouth the words, “I love you,” knowing it’s not enough to keep them alive. I need to shelter my children. The last thing I want to do is go with these mongrels, but if I argue with them, they’ll surely realize it’s because I want to stay and protect my children. It won’t take them long to deduce the children sitting in the corner without adults belong to us. We’ll all end up with a target on our heads.

Max and Alfie stare at me with hollow eyes. Max loses a tear and Alfie seems to be losing the last bit of hope he was desperately holding on to. My heart aches, sobs burn my throat, and I try my hardest to swallow the pain because I cannot let these Gestapo suspect I’m leaving anything behind.

This decision is the only one that will protect them right now.

But what if I’m wrong? I could have just unknowingly abandoned them or left them in the hands of more Gestapo. Fear burns in my stomach as I begin to follow the Gestapo up the stairs of the bunker. And as I reach the top, I know it was a mistake.

The two Gestapo step to the side to carry out a silent conversation, leaving Leo and I here waiting and contemplating what’s to come for us and the children. The door to the bunker closes and I jump at the echoing clatter.

“I have to go back for them,” I utter beneath my breath.

“Sweetheart…” Leo replies in a hush.

I swallow against the dry ashes in my throat before speaking out. “Excuse—I’ve—I—uh, I’ve forgotten something in the bunker. May I—” I plead to the two Gestapo across the short distance between us.

One of the men twists his head to the side before taking his time to turn around and stare at me as if I’ve cursed him rather than ask a simple question. “You forgot something, did you? The four children with tears in their eyes as we took their mama and papa from them?” he scoffs, mocking me.

“They need us. They should be with us. You understand that, don’t you?” I ask through chokes and gasps.

The Gestapo is still staring at me without an answer written on his face, then whistles and holds his hand in the air, signaling to someone behind us. “The bunker,” the Gestapo says, nodding toward the door we walked out of a moment ago. “Grab the four children from down there.”

“Yes, herr,” the man replies before his footsteps clunk toward the door.

“Is he bringing them to us,” I ask, the words shooting out of me like bullets.

The closest Gestapo takes a long stride toward us, narrowing the gap between us. “Bringing who to you?” he says. He’s not confused. He’s toying with me.

“My—”

The man coughs and then clears his throat. “May I remind you, for every second longer we stand here, more people are dying. That will be your fault,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.

“But my—my—” I cough too, so hard it feels like knives scraping down my throat.

“We don’t have time for this. Not another word from you. And I won’t warn you again.” He steps behind us and presses his fists into mine and Leo’s backs, shoving us forward.

My heart stutters in my chest as I swing my head over my shoulder, watching another Gestapo reach for the door to the bunker. No, no! Don’t take them. I can’t just keep walking not knowing what they might do with them.

“No! Wait!” I shout at the Gestapo pushing us along.

At least, I think I do. I can’t hear anything above my heartbeat pounding in my ears…