The Family Behind the Walls

3. Jordanna

THREE

JORDANNA

JULY 27TH, 1943 – HAMBURG, GERMANY

I stretch my feet up the length of my pink walls, my head hanging backward off the side of my bed, thinking about the fact it’s been an entire year since the Gestapo handed out hundreds of deportation letters in just our community, Alfie’s parents included.

I stare at Lilli, belly down on the ground, her feet swaying from side to side as she draws a picture with one red crayon. Mama has suggested I find a hobby too, take up knitting, writing, drawing, reading, or just anything really to occupy my time—the endless minutes we all wait for the war to come to a close. It’s already been four years. I want to live beyond the walls of this apartment, experience a life without so many laws, where we’re not afraid to walk outside. Nothing can distract me from knowing how much we’re all missing out on.

This excruciatingly hot July marks one year since Alfie’s parents were forced out of their home and made to face the decision to leave their son behind. We all thought the move would only be for a short time, but that hasn’t been the case.

“Jordanna, I asked you to sweep the floors before your papa and Max get home,” Mama calls out from the kitchen, her voice ringing down the hallway.

My feet slide to the right, landing on my bed and I roll off the side, forcing myself upright then down to the family room where the broom awaits. No one comes to visit us anymore and I don’t know if Papa or Max notice that the floors are clean after working in a factory all day, but Mama wants to keep our life within our space the same as it’s always been, with the addition of Alfie, of course.

I’m unsure if there are any other Jewish families left in this city now, and if there are, they live as discreetly as we do. We hardly ever leave the apartment. If we do, we’re forced to walk around with the Star of David branded to our clothes and Mama says any unnecessary public appearance is just asking for trouble.

I grab the broom and start to sweep. The smooth swish of the bristles gliding over the floor hardly form a pile worth brushing into a dustpan . If the Nazis come for us, our apartment will be spotless. Mama wouldn’t appreciate that thought, but it’s true .

What if life stays this way forever? We’ll be left just watching life exist from the inside of our windows. Other non-Jewish citizens carry on as normal. Despite the country-wide food rations and financial burdens, they still walk around freely without fear of the Gestapo stopping them for questioning and proof of identification. They go to the theater, swim in the canals, visit friends, and wait out the war in the company of others. It isn’t fair.

I still thank God every day that we have a roof over our heads and have enough food to survive thanks to Papa’s connections at work, but we’re simply helpless in the middle of a war—at least that’s what I’ve heard Mama tell Papa more than a few times these past months.

It’s hard to distract myself from wondering when things will finally change. Either our luck will run out or the war will end. If the war ends and Germany comes out on top, there will be no one left to protect the Jewish German residents from the Fuhrer pursuing German racial purity of the Aryan race anyway. And if Germany were to lose the war, the Jewish people will be the ones to blame again, just as we were after the First World War. The antisemitism will only become worse here. I’m unsure if there is a third option that would somehow give us our lives back.

But maybe everything will just turn out for the best. Alfie’s parents will return, hatred will disappear once and for all, and I can live as a normal teenage girl. My days of sweeping might turn into dancing around a ballroom. Alfie would ask me to dance, perhaps. I wonder if he knows how to dance…I imagine he does.

“Perhaps you’d like to kiss the broom now,” Alfie says, walking past me with a snicker. He pauses to peer over his shoulder at me, his hair flopping to the side of his forehead—a gesture that makes me suppress a drawling sigh. Then he sticks his tongue out at me, reminding me that I’m just Max’s little sister to him.

My face burns with embarrassment, as usual, which has been hard to hide while he’s been living with us. I can’t let anyone know about my feelings for Alfie, especially Alfie. I’m sure he’s already uncomfortable living here without his parents as it is. I wouldn’t want to make the situation worse for him.

I grumble and pull a handkerchief out of my pocket to dab across my face, neck, and arms—the sweltering sticky heat and Alfie’s tease bringing me back to reality. The hot temperatures seem never-ending and it’s impossible to do much, even sleep. Mama said distractions are the best way to ignore the heat, so she’s been playing the most romantic, classical music on the phonograph all day. It worked; I was distracted, but now I’m not.

“How dare you make fun of me,” I scold Alfie. “I don’t see you tending to chores, and the toilet desperately needs a good cleaning.”

“Jordanna,” Mama snaps from the kitchen. “Alfie isn’t responsible for cleaning the toilet. He just finished ironing a pile of linen for me. That’s enough.”

Alfie isn’t responsible for as much as I am around here since he’s just our “guest.”

And of course, Lilli is still seen as the baby of the family, even at eight, and has yet to pick up a broom. Mama doesn’t have her do much of anything aside from making her bed and tidying up after her pretend tea parties. While Max and Papa work at the factory all day, Mama and I tend to the apartment and care for the others.

The heat is getting to me. Usually, I’m not so sour.

“Has the post come today?” Alfie asks Mama as he turns into the kitchen nook around the wall that separates the two main living spaces.

Mama pauses before responding. I think she’s trying to find the strength to keep giving him the same old painful answer. “I’m sorry, sweetie, nothing came for you today.”

Alfie steps back out of the kitchen, teetering between the separated rooms. He can see us both now, but he’s still focusing on Mama. His shoulders fall and he presses a smile onto his lips. “No, no, it’s all right. You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, his voice pinched with disappointment.

A twinge of pain flutters through my heart, the same feeling I always get when I hear him ask if there are any letters for him. He never complains, just relentlessly holds on to hope while wondering if his parents are still well. They promised to write to him every day, but he hasn’t received one letter from them this whole time.

I can’t help but wonder where they were sent and the real reason they haven’t written to him. I’ve overheard Mama and Papa talking about rumors of Jewish people being sent to ghettos and labor camps as a form of punishment, but they never talk about what that actually means.

The only reason we haven’t been forced to resettle is because Papa’s former deputy officer from the army was able to convince a higher power of the Reich to grant us immunity from deportation. So long as Papa continues his labor work at the factory, supplying ammunition to the army, he said we should be safe.

Alfie twists on his heels to return down the hall toward the bedrooms but stops and turns back to face Mama. “Actually, may I help you prepare dinner?” he asks her.

The clinking of the ceramic casserole top shimmying into the grooves of the dish seems to answer for her. “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m just about done and only have to slide the casserole into the oven.”

“Of course. I’ll see if Lilli has any space at her tea party for me today. Yesterday, she told me I would need to leave my name, and she would send for me if room became available.”

I stifle a laugh; grateful my little sister is turning out to be just like me. She can be a royal pain much of the time, but these moments outshine the rest.

“She couldn’t have put you on a waiting list,” Mama says following a gasp, comically stunned.

“It isn’t the first time, I’m afraid,” Alfie says with a sigh, sounding defeated by an eight-year-old little girl.

The two of them laugh, followed by Mama releasing a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with my little Lilli.”

Alfie holds his hands out to the side. “Oh, I say just let her think she has all the power in the world,” he says.

His statement hits me like a dense patch of fog. He’s right. Soon she’ll understand the world she’s living in—the one where we have little to no say or power over our lives, never mind the fact that we’re a Polish Jewish family living in Germany.

Alfie travels back through the main living room, scuffing his socks against the worn wood where I’m still mindlessly sweeping a spotless floor. He stops, spins around and points to a spot on the floor in front of the coffee table. “It seems you’ve missed a spot,” he says with a chuckle and wink, causing sparks in my belly.

I release a quiet hum as he closes himself into the room that he and Max share.

It isn’t long before the heavy thud of boots vibrates the walls around me. I know the rhythm of their footsteps, almost in sync, but not exactly. Papa and Max are home earlier than usual. I can’t imagine working in a factory in this heat. They must be sick.

They walk in through the front door, their shoulders heavy, knees bent, hair soaked and cheeks burning red. “I’ll get you glasses of water,” I say, dropping the broom against the wall and rushing to the kitchen to fill a pitcher of water.

Mama passes me, wiping her hands on a dishrag as she tends to Papa and Max. “You poor things. Sit, sit. How about some damp rags?”

“We’ll be all right, Mama,” Max says.

Papa doesn’t say the same.

I pass Mama once again as she returns to the kitchen for rags as I bring them water, the tin pitcher and glasses clattering in my overfilled hands. I place everything down in front of them on the oak coffee table. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, no, darling. We’re fine,” Papa says. “Come.” He holds his arm out to the side, over the arm of the sofa, and I run to give him a hug and a kiss. Papa presses a kiss to my cheek and the heat from his body swelters over me. He reeks of burnt rubber, sweat, and nicotine. I’m sure Max isn’t much better.

Mama returns with wet rags, placing the first over Max’s head, despite him refusing it a moment ago, then Papa’s.

“It isn’t healthy to be working in this kind of heat. I don’t know how you two even made it home in one piece,” she says.

“Dalia, have you listened to any broadcasts today?” Papa asks, brushing off the topic of a hot factory.

She shakes her head. “We’ve had records playing to?—”

“Yes, I know…” he says, not allowing her to finish her statement explaining why she’s been distracting us.

“What were the broadcasts about?” I ask. I thought the music was to distract us from the heat.

“Jordanna, sweetheart, could I have a word with your mama for a moment?” Papa asks.

“Well, how about Max? Does he get to stay and listen?”

“Jordanna,” Mama says, her voice stern and also full of concern. “Go to your room, please.”

He’s only two years older than me. Why is he treated as an adult and me as a child? It’s not fair.

I make my way toward my bedroom down the hall, slowing my pace once I’m out of their sight and around the hallway wall.

“The firecrackers we saw on Saturday and Sunday night, the whistles?—”

“The western part of Alster Lake is in ruins. The Brits and Americans have already obliterated the industrial side of Hamburg,” Max says. “Entire buildings and city blocks are in ruins. There was talk today that many of the residents who made it out of the fires are fleeing in our direction for safety.”

“Max,” Papa says. “Lower your voice, son.”

Mama gasps, but the sound is muffled. “Well, we must be safe here if others are heading in our direction, yes?” she asks. I can tell she just wants to believe it. She has a point, though.

“The city’s gauleiter declared a state of major catastrophe on Sunday morning. So, moving the residents in this direction must be a part of that plan. I prefer to assume it’s safer here. One can never be too sure, though,” Papa says.

I continue down the hallway into the bedroom I share with Lilli, finding Alfie patiently waiting for her attention on the desk chair between our beds. “Have you seen a goblin?” she asks from a spot on the floor she’s sprawled out on between our beds.

“A goblin?” I reply, closing our door slowly, hoping to avoid making the hinges whine too loudly. There’s a fine art to eavesdropping, and though it’s my worst habit, I can’t get myself to stop. I just want to know what’s happening outside of this building.

“You look as though you’ve seen a goblin,” she repeats.

“No. There are no such things as goblins,” I remind her.

“Why do you look so scared then?”

“I’m not,” I reply.

She shrugs and returns to her game of jacks and bounces the small rubber ball, causing a clatter between the porcelain tea set she’s yet to clean up. “Lilli, you’re going to break your cups. Why don’t you take a break and have some tea with Alfie. It seems he’s been patiently waiting quite a while.”

She flips her long dark braids, tied off with red ribbons, behind her shoulders. “No, not yet,” she says with a sigh.

I wonder if the people of Western Hamburg will try to live with us. Where will they all go here? Surely people can’t just sleep on the streets.

“Did something happen?” Alfie asks, staring at me as if he’s trying to read the thoughts inside my head. But when Lilli stares up at him with a curious squint, he clears his throat. “Never mind.”

I swallow the lump in my throat while trying to make something up. “It’s nothing,” I tell him. “Max was fooling around at the factory today. They’re giving him a lecture.” I lift my brows, hinting to him that there’s more to say, but not now in front of Lilli.

Alfie stands from the chair and makes his way toward me. “Well, what was he caught doing?” He must not have noticed my gesture, hinting at making up a story. Or he does and wants me to make up more.

“Uh—he was, um—reading a bulletin instead of working. He read some nonsense and stirred up a commotion among the other workers.”

“Nonsense…” Alfie repeats, but not as a question.

“About a fireworks show that upset villagers who were trying to sleep.”

I don’t know if my made-up story is making much sense to Alfie. The creasing lines between his eyebrows tell me he is confused.

“How did you learn all of this?” he asks.

I stare at him for a long moment, knowing he knows I have a tendency to eavesdrop. He’s caught me before. “I—I just overheard on my way to my room.”

“Hmm,” he says, his gaze floating up to the ceiling as if lost in thought. Then his eyebrows do that thing again where they crinkle. When he breaks his stare from the ceiling and looks back at me, he presses his hands against the sides of my arms and whispers, “That must be why your mother was playing records all day.” I can hardly breathe from his touch, or from the fact that he’s reading between the words of my story and still putting the pieces of truth together. It’s too much to wrap my head around.

He’s right, though. Sirens must have been blaring in the distance all day. Mama tries to drown out the noise when possible. They occur so often it’s impossible to always avoid.

“Sir Alfie, I have decided you may have some tea now,” Lilli says. Alfie doesn’t respond right away, but he steps away from me and folds his hands around the back of his neck as he walks toward the window, covered by thick drapes. “You know, it isn’t polite to refuse tea.”

Alfie shakes away his heavy thoughts and turns back to face Lilli, clears his throat and prepares a suitable response for the princess. “Accept my apologies, Fraulein Lilli,” Alfie says with a curt bow as he flashes me a glance. The passing look causing a flurry of heat through my body. Alfie shrugs to the ground, leaning against Lilli’s iron bed frame. He looks silly sitting in front of a little girl’s tea set, yet, quite charming at the same time. In any case, Lilli is content and hopefully unaware of what’s happening in our city. That’s all that should matter right now.

A heavy knock on our front door rumbles through the apartment. “Bulletin!” someone shouts from outside. “Important bulletin! All city water has been poisoned by the enemy! Do not drink the water!”

My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach, realizing I’ve just handed a glass of poison to Papa and Max.