The Family Behind the Walls

4. Dalia

FOUR

DALIA

JULY 27TH, 1943 – HAMBURG, GERMANY

“What in the world is that boy shouting about?” I say, rushing toward the door. He must be terrifying everyone in this building. Contamination?

“Don’t open the door, dear. Let him be,” Leo says, seeming less concerned than I.

Max places his water glass down on the table, the soft clink echoing louder than it should in my ears.

Once the newsboy’s voice stops bouncing through the corridor, Leo raises an eyebrow and holds his glass up closer to inspect and I press my hand to my chest, anger consuming me.

“Contaminated water,” Leo repeats the warning, then clears his throat before standing up from the sofa.

“How would we know?” I ask. My strained muscles fail me as my wrist shakes and my fingers tremble. We’re always waiting on the precipice for more terrible news to hit. This fear lingers like a foul odor, stuck to the walls and ceilings as a constant reminder that we will forever be living in some form of fear and doubt.

“Someone must have gotten sick. It could just be a rumor. There’s no way of knowing for sure. We’ll be all right. Let’s just boil some drinking water to be safe.”

Neither of them had much since being home, but I don’t know what they consumed throughout the day.

With a house full of children depending on me, I’m stunned by indecision. Every choice feels as if it’s a wager made on their lives. We could run and end up without shelter. By staying, we may become the next target for these endless air raids. The weight of the responsibility weighs on my soul. I’m supposed to protect them, and I don’t know if I can.

My heart lodges in my throat, as dread consumes my every thought. “Did you buy a newspaper today?” I ask.

“There’s no point, Dalia. You know that. They contain nothing but tales, propaganda, and exaggerations. With that said, there were no attacks last night. The raids could be moving on, but the water might in fact be polluted.”

“I’m not certain I believe that,” I reply. “How could our well water be affected by the western half of the city?”

“The network of wells can run into each other. It’s possible. The attacks were targeting factories and we don’t live near any. We should be safe here,” Leo says. I can see the uncertainty in his sea-blue eyes as he fidgets with his small compass hanging from a chain on his belt. The compass has always been his source of comfort—a good luck charm of sorts.

“Of course,” I say, wrapping my hand around the back of my neck. “Dinner won’t be ready for a bit. The two of you should wash up and change into clean clothes. I’ll put a pot of water on the stove to boil.”

I watch out the window above the faucet in the kitchen, studying the neighbors coming in and out of their apartment building across the road. No one appears concerned, but they may not be aware of what’s been happening these last two nights. As Leo said, the newspaper is full of exaggerations.

I peer up toward the sky, noting the cloud coverage hasn’t changed at all today or yesterday. It’s been gloomy despite the intense heatwave. Wouldn’t we smell smoke here if the west was burning? The sirens have been ringing in the distance but not in our precise region of the city.

Dinner time in our home was once filled with laughter, playful bickering, and the comforting chaos that makes up our family. Tonight, though, everyone is eerily quiet. The clatter of knives and forks against porcelain feels like nails against a chalkboard. The silence otherwise is heavy, a weight sitting on my chest making it hard to swallow my food.

Lilli’s pushing around groups of peas on her plate, lining them up one by one along the edge of her heap of potatoes. Jordanna is nibbling, her head leaning against her fist, elbow anchored to the table, and a look of boredom, or spiraling thoughts of concern, masking her face.

Max, Alfie, and Leo can’t seem to get the food into their mouths fast enough. I’m forcing food down my throat because I know better than to let a meal go to waste when there’s a countrywide shortage. “Girls, you must eat your food,” I tell them.

Jordanna stares up at me, and I can tell there is something she doesn’t want to speak about at the table. She likely overheard Max talking when he got home or turned a radio on when I wasn’t paying attention. She knows how to find information.

“Is the water cool enough to drink?” Lilli asks without shifting her stare from her artwork of peas and potatoes.

“Should be, yes. I’ll fill a pitcher.” I excuse myself from the table.

“Why did Mama have to boil water before we drink it?” Lilli asks.

No one answers right away. I’m struggling to think of a reason she might understand too.

“With all the airplanes in the sky, some of their fuel floats to the ground and can fall into our well water. It wouldn’t taste very good but if we boil the water, it burns away anything nasty that might have fallen into the water,” Leo says.

“Oh,” her sweet little voice replies.

The apartment isn’t large enough to miss the sound of Jordanna sighing in response.

“Papa, is the heat going to stay the same all summer long?” Lilli continues with her usual nightly questions. At least she’s bringing the normalcy back to our typical family dinner.

“I’m sure the heat wave will end soon, my little darling.”

An infant’s shrill scream in the middle of the night will startle a sleep deprived mother like an electric shock to the heart. I survived those tireless nights three times, and until this past year, had almost forgotten the painful jolt of panic when awoken from a dead sleep.

My eyes flash open as the air-raid siren shatters through the silence, the sound ripping through me like a jagged knife. I gasp, fumbling around our dark bedroom trying to grasp at the darkness around me as I try to determine if it’s today, yesterday, or tomorrow until I spot the bedside clock. It’s just before midnight. The children have become all too used to the sirens in the middle of the night.

At this hour, I shouldn’t be able to so easily spot Leo sitting upright in bed, staring toward the window on his left side. “Dear, what is it?” I ask, my throat dry and scratchy.

He doesn’t respond except to hold his index finger up to me as he stumbles out of bed and runs for the window, tearing the drapes apart.

“They’ve returned. The Allies,” Leo says. “Dalia, grab the children. We must go at once.”

“Where will we go?” I ask.

“We don’t have time for a discussion. Hurry. Hurry, sweetheart!” he shouts. In a frenzy, I grab my thin robe and boots from the closet, the crack and clatter of the wooden floor parting adding a layer of seriousness to the moment. Leo snatches his compass from his nightstand then collects our family papers from beneath the bed.

I open the door, finding Max with Lilli in his arms, Alfie in his shadow, and Jordanna slipping her arms through her matching robe to mine. “Put your boots on quickly, all of you,” I say, trying to balance myself against the wall while slipping mine on.

“What’s happening?” Jordanna cries out as Leo rushes past her to collect their boots from their bedrooms.

“Here we go,” he says, handing them each their boots. “We have to move.”

“I’m scared,” Lilli whimpers, nuzzling her face against Max’s neck.

“They’ve returned for another round, haven’t they?” Alfie asks, the fear in his voice ever so present despite what he’s been through this past year. We didn’t realize how much he knew of what was happening in Hamburg the last few days but maybe we should have been more forthcoming.

“We must leave at once. Everyone get to the door,” Leo shouts. We haven’t made it out of the apartment building when the ground beneath us begins to shake, throwing us off balance. We step outside, blinded by flames roaring around us, licking at the black sky. The air is thick with smoke, stinging my eyes, nose and throat. My senses are suffocating and all I can think about is the children—keeping them close and safe. I need to shield them, but even with my body in front of theirs, I’m powerless against the wrath of our world burning before us. The mass of destruction takes more of my breath away.

“Let’s head for the canal,” Leo shouts, coughing against the infiltrating smoke. “We’ll wade through the water until I can spot a bunker with a clear path.” He charges ahead, sure of his plan, as always. Except Leo would never suggest us stepping foot into a bunker as a family of Jews. Maybe no one will know us; who we are. I have faith Leo knows what he’s doing. He spends his life preparing for catastrophes, or so it seems. A soldier is never truly at rest, he’s told me before. I thought it was from the nightmares of blood and gore, but I realize now, it’s to prepare for whatever might come our way.

Thick smoke wafts around us. The chemical smell of melting tar, and the acrid whiff of fuel mixed with burning wood burns my nostrils and throat. Up ahead, a plume of fire drops from the sky. A second doesn’t pass before the ground rumbles at the same moment winds howl in a vortex surrounding us. The sirens are mute in comparison. With the smoke growing closer, blocking our visibility, Leo wraps his arms around me and Jordanna then pulls us to his left side. Max hoists Lilli up on his right hip and grabs a hold of my arm with his free hand as Alfie clings closely to his side. We’re all running, following Leo as he compulsively checks his compass for direction.

“I can’t breathe,” Jordanna shouts.

“Hold your robe over your face,” Max tells her.

“No, don’t! No fabric on your face,” Leo grunts. “We’re almost to the water.” The canal is just two rows of apartments away from us, but the short walk feels much longer when we can’t see where we’re going.

I wouldn’t question my husband, but I can’t imagine why we wouldn’t cover our faces from the smoke.

Leo stops running and we all crash into his backside as he keeps his arms out to the side. “Halt! Wait here.” He skids down a short hill in front of us. It’s the drop to the water but smoke is floating over the canal too. “It’s boiling,” Leo shouts. “This won’t work. Napalm. Bloody hell.”

Another ball of fire drops from the sky, the flames clearing a way through the smoke just long enough for us to watch it land in the canal.

“What are we going to do?” I ask. A gust of sharp, gritty dirt coats the inside of my mouth, the taste of rust and charcoal coating my tongue.

“Come along. Stay with me.” He’s breathless, but his determination never wavers.

We are running back toward our apartment. All the children are coughing and choking with each step. The longer and further we run, the more I question how we’re still upright with so little air to inhale. I don’t know whether to focus on that thought or the bloodcurdling screams in the distance. All I know is, stopping isn’t an option.

The smoke hovers overhead as we run between two buildings, one side charred, the other intact.

A scuffle of feet followed by Alfie tripping and catching himself against the asphalt, forcing us to stop. “I’m so sorry,” he says.

Not to us, but the person melted against the road, skin black as tar and clothes grafted to bones. Alfie screams, followed by Jordanna and Lilli. We all stand frozen for a moment in horror, the gravity of what we’re fleeing weighing us down. Alfie’s face is pale, his eyes wide with terror, as if his mind can’t process the nightmare unraveling in front of us. A second passes before I reach out and grab his arm. “We have to keep moving,” I say firmly, trying to pull him forward. His feet seem stuck to the ground, but he reluctantly begins to move again with heavy, stumbling steps.

Down another row of apartments, we forge on, keeping a grip on one another.

“Where’s Alfie?” Max shouts.

We stop and search around our small area of visibility.

“Max!” Alfie shouts, his voice echoing around us.

“Where are you?” I call out.

“Stay here, all of you,” Leo says. “Alfie, keep talking so I can find you.”

“Leo…Leo,” I cry out, pointing to the sky, unable to form any more words or scream.

I push the children to the ground, tossing myself over their bodies. Max fights his way out to wrap his arms over me. “I am your mother, stop it,” I shout at him.

A howl blares overhead, crashing with a static burst and the ground trembles beneath us. A high-pitched squeal pierces my ears, shooting in through one and out the other, drowning out all noise. Debris falls over us and I continue to cling my arms over my children, praying Leo and Alfie are all right.

A vortex of heat strikes us from beneath, forcing us all up at once as if we’ve been lying on hot coal. “Dalia!” Leo screams, his voice muffled and soft.

“I’m here. We’re here,” I call back. I don’t see him anywhere.

From a cloud of smoke his silhouette appears, Alfie with his arm in Leo’s hold. “This way. We need to run.”

The smoke clears in our path, but it’s not clear why. We’re able to see more of the street we’re running along but also, people burning in flames, screaming through bloodcurdling cries. My tears and cries are silent among the rest. Trees ignite around us, windows explode from the buildings, cars burst into flames. The heat from the gravel is searing through my boots.

Another explosion blasts through the path, dizzying and shoving everyone in a different direction. Flames creep up from up behind, reaching out as if to seize each step, forcing us to run harder and faster.

In the near distance, all I see are black shadowy figures with flames sprouting from their bodies.

With one more turn around a corner, we spot a short line of villagers shoving their way down a set of stone stairs beneath a building. “There. Right there,” Leo shouts, “a bunker.”

By the time we reach the top of the descending steps, the metal door is closing. Leo throws himself down the stairs and into the door, forcing it back open. “Just six more.”

“There’s no room,” someone shouts.

“Make room,” he growls.

We make our way down the dark, narrow stairway, deeper into the ground than I was expecting. I have Jordanna and Max in my grip, knowing Max has Lilli and Leo has Alfie. There’s no visibility. There’s no telling how large the space is or how many are down here. Faint cries, whimpers, and prayers are all I hear.

“Are you all right?” Leo asks as we reach solid ground in the middle of all these people we may or might not know.

“Yes,” Jordanna squeaks.

“I’m scared,” Lilli says.

“Everything is fine,” Max assures her.

“Yes, sweetheart. We’re safe here.” I always tell her we’re safe, but there’s no such thing as safety anywhere in this country.

“Alfie? Where are you?”

“I still have a hold of him,” Leo says. “Are you all right?”

Alfie doesn’t reply.

“Alfie, sweetie, what’s wrong?” I follow Leo’s question.

“What’s wrong with Alfie?” Jordanna cries out with panic.

Again, he doesn’t reply.