papa away,’ he screamed.
Uncle Ernst pushed him back, but the Nazi soldier closest to Erich butted his head with his rifle anyway. Erich fell to the floor. Miri gasped. Blood spurted from Erich’s head and speckled his face. Erich touched his head. He appeared surprised to see blood on his hand.
Aunty Gitta ignored the soldiers and kneeled, cradling Erich’s head in her lap. They didn’t look at her. This was good luck for Aunty Gitta, because they might have taken her away too if they’d seen the look of pure hatred she gave them.
Miri’s fingers stroked mine. Where were they taking Uncle Ernst? Why?
Aunty Gitta held up her hands in a gesture of complete helplessness as they marched Uncle Ernst out of the apartment and down the stairs. Her voice, usually quite loud and strong, became a feeble cry as she wept: ‘No. No.’
After he had bandaged Erich’s wound Papa locked himself in the bathroom. When he came out his eyeswere red. ‘I should have done something,’ he said to Aunty Gitta. ‘I should have…I am a coward.’
‘Shush,’ Aunty Gitta replied. She shuddered and put her hand over her mouth and coughed, her face damp with tears. Erich and Agnes circled her with their arms. I thought she was very brave. What if it had been Papa? I would have melted away.
‘Ernst will come back,’ Aunty Gitta said. ‘Maybe Hitler has a torn coat he needs repairing. Who knows why they picked my Ernst? Don’t feel a failure. You couldn’t do a thing. They would have shot you on the spot.’
So the awful truth had finally been said. The Nazis shot you.
‘You are very brave,’ I told Erich later. ‘I was too scared to do anything. Does your head hurt?’
Erich nodded.
Miri said to him, ‘Erich, I couldn’t have done what you did. I was frozen. You were amazing.’
Erich frowned. ‘It didn’t help, though.’
Chapter Eight
A FTER THAT DAY Aunty Gitta took to looking out the window for the return of Uncle Ernst. She didn’t speak much anymore.
Other people from Judenhäuser had been taken too. I heard talk in the queue outside the toilet of ‘forced labour’ and had to ask Miri what that meant. ‘Slave labour. You work for the Nazis and if you’re slow they probably shoot you.’
Mama heard this, and she looked up from her knitting and said to Miri abruptly, ‘Be quiet.’
‘Why should I be quiet?’ yelled Miri. ‘Everyone knows what’s going on. There’s no escape for us. Mama, stop knitting that crazy scarf.’
Mama frowned and her lips pursed in annoyance, but her fingers twitched away at the scarf. Miri sighed. She continued to help me with my reading and writing. I loved learning. I loved anything that kept my mind busy because it kept the thoughts about Nazis away. Miri read me her journal. I think she enjoyed reading out loud. She invited Erich to listen but he said no, although helowered his book when she read and I think he really did listen.
Erich played the violin often. When he played, he wanted to make his mother and sister feel better, but his music was so mournful, I was sure it was making them feel worse.
I felt enormous fear for Papa. If Hitler needed a tailor, wouldn’t he need a doctor too? Maybe a lot of Nazi doctors had been killed and he’d have no choice but to employ a Jewish doctor. So far, Papa had been safe. Had it anything to do with Mrs Liebermann, the kind lady who gave us food? Had her husband, Papa’s former patient, put in a good word for Papa?
Miri sat at the table chewing the end of her pencil, deep in thought. Every now and then she leaned over the table and wrote in her journal.
I sat at the table with her, my head resting in the palms of my hands as I watched her. ‘Read to me, Miri,’ I asked.
‘Read to yourself,’ she replied.
‘I’ve read all the books we have, and they are baby books. Come on, read me more of your journal.’
Miri sighed. ‘All right, you annoying thing, but you’re to sit still and listen carefully. Mama’s
Uncle Ernst pushed him back, but the Nazi soldier closest to Erich butted his head with his rifle anyway. Erich fell to the floor. Miri gasped. Blood spurted from Erich’s head and speckled his face. Erich touched his head. He appeared surprised to see blood on his hand.
Aunty Gitta ignored the soldiers and kneeled, cradling Erich’s head in her lap. They didn’t look at her. This was good luck for Aunty Gitta, because they might have taken her away too if they’d seen the look of pure hatred she gave them.
Miri’s fingers stroked mine. Where were they taking Uncle Ernst? Why?
Aunty Gitta held up her hands in a gesture of complete helplessness as they marched Uncle Ernst out of the apartment and down the stairs. Her voice, usually quite loud and strong, became a feeble cry as she wept: ‘No. No.’
After he had bandaged Erich’s wound Papa locked himself in the bathroom. When he came out his eyeswere red. ‘I should have done something,’ he said to Aunty Gitta. ‘I should have…I am a coward.’
‘Shush,’ Aunty Gitta replied. She shuddered and put her hand over her mouth and coughed, her face damp with tears. Erich and Agnes circled her with their arms. I thought she was very brave. What if it had been Papa? I would have melted away.
‘Ernst will come back,’ Aunty Gitta said. ‘Maybe Hitler has a torn coat he needs repairing. Who knows why they picked my Ernst? Don’t feel a failure. You couldn’t do a thing. They would have shot you on the spot.’
So the awful truth had finally been said. The Nazis shot you.
‘You are very brave,’ I told Erich later. ‘I was too scared to do anything. Does your head hurt?’
Erich nodded.
Miri said to him, ‘Erich, I couldn’t have done what you did. I was frozen. You were amazing.’
Erich frowned. ‘It didn’t help, though.’
Chapter Eight
A FTER THAT DAY Aunty Gitta took to looking out the window for the return of Uncle Ernst. She didn’t speak much anymore.
Other people from Judenhäuser had been taken too. I heard talk in the queue outside the toilet of ‘forced labour’ and had to ask Miri what that meant. ‘Slave labour. You work for the Nazis and if you’re slow they probably shoot you.’
Mama heard this, and she looked up from her knitting and said to Miri abruptly, ‘Be quiet.’
‘Why should I be quiet?’ yelled Miri. ‘Everyone knows what’s going on. There’s no escape for us. Mama, stop knitting that crazy scarf.’
Mama frowned and her lips pursed in annoyance, but her fingers twitched away at the scarf. Miri sighed. She continued to help me with my reading and writing. I loved learning. I loved anything that kept my mind busy because it kept the thoughts about Nazis away. Miri read me her journal. I think she enjoyed reading out loud. She invited Erich to listen but he said no, although helowered his book when she read and I think he really did listen.
Erich played the violin often. When he played, he wanted to make his mother and sister feel better, but his music was so mournful, I was sure it was making them feel worse.
I felt enormous fear for Papa. If Hitler needed a tailor, wouldn’t he need a doctor too? Maybe a lot of Nazi doctors had been killed and he’d have no choice but to employ a Jewish doctor. So far, Papa had been safe. Had it anything to do with Mrs Liebermann, the kind lady who gave us food? Had her husband, Papa’s former patient, put in a good word for Papa?
Miri sat at the table chewing the end of her pencil, deep in thought. Every now and then she leaned over the table and wrote in her journal.
I sat at the table with her, my head resting in the palms of my hands as I watched her. ‘Read to me, Miri,’ I asked.
‘Read to yourself,’ she replied.
‘I’ve read all the books we have, and they are baby books. Come on, read me more of your journal.’
Miri sighed. ‘All right, you annoying thing, but you’re to sit still and listen carefully. Mama’s
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