Dear Stranger,
I've got news.
The Steiner's fear that their son, Werner, of which none of us knew about until yesterday evening at dinner, might stop for Christmas. Of course, Papa blew up and all of us helplessly watched.
Hans continued to spoon his soup, until he was finished. It was really frightening. I'd almost wished he'd blown up like Papa.
'Are you done, Jakob?'
'What do you mean, done? Do you know what this could mean? Have you thought about us?'
Hans had stood up. 'Have you thought about us? We're just as much dead if they found out,' he had pointed out, emphasizing on the unsaid words, we all knew lingered in the air. 'We know what we're doing, Jakob.'
Papa looked furious, about to spit out another insult, but Hans cut him off.
'Now, please, hand me a sheet and my fountain pen in the drawer.'
Mama scrambled, ready to please as always, and placed them shakily in front of him.
'I will write him a letter. I doubt he will see it in time, but we must hope he does.'
At that, Papa snorted and kept quiet, Johanna stared blankly at the clock in the kitchen, Mama folding her serviette, and Benyamin whispering his son's name over and over again. I wasn't quite sure what was happening in that exact moment.
I mean, who could believe it? A Nazi was hiding Jews in his cellar and his son was fighting on the Western Front. And here we were—here the Steiner's were—hoping their son wouldn't even return for Christmas.
How messed up was that?
The snow is everywhere outside. If only, I could truly feel it in my heads.
My only duty now is to crouch down in that hatch, crawl back into the cellar, and wait.
—Etta
YOU ARE READING
The Sound of Silence
Historical Fiction"God had given us a miracle, and I wasn't sure there would be one next." Winter 1942, one of the coldest years in history. Hans Steiner, a man of his late thirties, looks through the iron fence, through the hollow eyes that follow him, and to the as...
