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Nighttime Hours

Boom
Boom
Boom
They were getting louder, closer together.
Boom
Boom
Six weeks after the celebrations and-
BOOM
-now here we were again. In the bomb shelters.
BOOM
There was one right over head, it seemed. Dust seeped down between the cracks in the ceiling, settling on Katrina's nose. She wrinkled her face, sneezed, and began to cry. Leni sighed, and began to coo at her little daughter.
"I can take her," I said softly. Leni gave me an exhausted smile.
"Danke," she said, and rested her head against the wall. The little brown haired girl was not terribly fond of sleeping through the night, and since being blessed with fantastically working lungs and vocal chords, she kept Leni awake as well. I was surprised that she had let me take Katrina, the little girl was all she had left of Peter since he had gone for the Party not long after that beautiful April Sunday; she meant the world to her mother. I brushed the dust from her nose tiny nose with my pointer finger, assuring her that all was well as she continued to fuss. I glanced around for something to distract her.
"Look!" I said. "Look at Jacob! See how funny he looks?" I propped her up so she could see him. The doctor was kneeling in front of Katrina's loving uncle, gently removing the bandages around his nose. Sure enough, she furrowed her brows and stared in confusion, only snuffling now. The doctor spied and smiled at her from around the flashlight he held in his mouth, causing her to grin back. As the last bandages came off, another bomb dropped. Katrina's face crinkled as she began to cry again.
"What? Does it really look that bad?" Jacob asked, taking her chubby hand. It wasn't perfect, that was for sure: the bridge was slightly crooked, a long scar running along the side. Jacob's mother passed him the compact she kept in her purse, and he studied his reflection doubtfully.
"I think it gives you character," I said with as reassuring a smile as I could muster. Jacob rolled his eyes, doubting my statement. "Well, it could be worse." I finished, being more honest.
"This is your fault," he said as he gave back the compact. I rolled my eyes
"I know it's my fault, you've never let me forget it."
BOOM
People shrieked and gasped as the room shook and the lights cut out. Surely the next bomb will kill us! I thought. They were getting closer and closer, bringing with them impending doom.
BOOM
I didn't think it possible, but yet another explosive fell even closer than the last.
"Mama?" I whispered in the dark. Deafening silence answered me. "Mama?" I tried again.
"Shh, Alina. It's alright." Papa's gentle whisper replied. "Try to sleep." I looked down at Katrina, though I could not see her sweet face in the dark I knew she was fast asleep. She cooed to herself; how wonderful would it be to be so innocent? To just trust that the world would be alright enough to sleep while bombs fell around us? How I envied her.
Boom
Like thunder, the explosions were moving farther away.
"Hello." I jumped at the sudden voice, causing Katrina to sputter. I glanced down nervously; the last thing I needed was for her to wake up and scream. "Relax," the voice said. "It's me." I released tension in my shoulders I didn't know I had after realizing my closest friend had come to join me.
"Where are you?" I whispered into the dark, my eyes widening. As if that would help me see!
"Next to you. See?" His fingers fumbled in the dark, bumping my arm. He brushed up against my chest. I smacked his arm. "Sorry!" I could practically feel his blush through the dark.
"Do it again and I'll break your nose all over," I snapped angrily.
"I said I was sorry!"
"I don't care! Don't do it again!"
"Fine!"
"Alina? How about I take Katrina back now?" I blushed as I realized Leni had likely heard all of this hopelessly embarrassing episode.
"Um...sure," I said as I passed the still sleeping cherub back over. Moments passed.
"You're scared," Jacob said.
"Says who?" I retorted.
"You. The way you're sitting." I glared at him through the dark. I was not scared. No Allied powers in the world could scare me.

Alright maybe I was the tiniest, most insignificant bit scared.

But just this once.

He chuckled.
"You've got your knees pulled up to your chest and your arms wrapped around them. You always do that when you're scared." I immediately straightened my legs and unlaced my arms that had felt so empty without Katrina's comforting weight in them. I swear, if I hadn't already broken his nose... He chuckled again, so proud of himself. "Come on, try to sleep."
boom
Another bomb, duller sounding than the last. When would this all be over?
"Relax, Alina. It's just thunder." I curled up with my back to Jacob.
"I knew that!" I tried to snap back. It lost its sting when it wrapped itself around a yawn. Have I ever been so tired?
"It'll all blow over by-"
_________________
I blink and gasp, realizing where I am. How long have I been asleep? Rain gently patters the streets above us, washing away what I can only imagine is a ruined village. None of the lights have come on, and the shelter has a grey tint in the wee hours of the morning. Jacob stirs beside me.
"How long have you been awake?" he mumbles sleepily, some of the words slurring together.
"Not long." I realize too late that I'm sitting in my frightened stance, and press my hands against the cool stone wall. Jacob notices but doesn't mention it.
"Think there's anything still out there?" he asks, tipping his head back as if he could see anything, which of course he can't since our cavernous prison has no windows. I shrug. From the sounds of last night, how could there be anything left? Against my will, images of fires running wildly through the streets, houses collapsing into piles of bricks, and screaming people enter my mind. The sky must have been blood red, dangerously dainty wisps of grey smoke floating through, carrying the souls of those crushed under the buildings. Planes rocket over head at low altitudes, bearing American and British markings. My chest tightens and it grows hard to breathe. I feel as if I am drowning above land; is someone pressing on my chest?
"Alina? Alina, you're shaking. You're hyperventilating. Alina, stop!" Jacob cries and grips my shoulders. I flinched at his commanding voice. The last words come out harsher than he intended, I can see it in his worried eyes. "Stop," he says, tenderly and softly, like I'm a dandelion he's afraid to squash, or a baby bird he doesn't want to wake.

Like he's afraid.

"Es tut mir leid," he coughs and turns away, ashamed of himself. But his voice, the commanding tone of his voice that last time he urged me to stop my...what even was that? Whatever it was, the boy that had begged me to return from my muddled mind was not my boy, my Jacob. The voice was not his, but the voice of a man with power, a man determined to have his way. It was the voice of a soldier, like the commanding voice of the speaker six weeks ago. The voice of the soldiers who had taken Jan, the voice of the soldiers who forced Otto away from me. The voice of a man, and yet a terrified boy. The voice of a man who was trying to help, the voice of a man who was trying to protect. But this man was not Jacob.
Slowly, more people begin to stir. Mama looks over at me, and though I know she slept all night, she looks as tired as she was when I last saw her. A rough hand taps my shoulder.
"Come here, Mädchen," a man says. I recognize Mr. Rosenberg and his wife, the family who owns the grocery. I smile; he's never had an ill word to say to anyone, and has always been kind to me. He does not reflect my smile in his face. "You listen here: that brother of yours, Jan? Was it Jan?" I nod, the hairs on my neck standing up. "Do you know what the Nazis are doing to him? You'll never see him again, Alina. He's dead. My son's written me all about what they do to the Jewish children. And if you and your parents don't make a run for it now, they'll come for you, too. And they'll do the same, they don't care if you're a Jew or not. This is what my Stefan tells me-they separate them all, men from women, first. Then they separate the young and old that cannot work. Your brother, he was what, seven? Eight? Doesn't matter. Ein Kind that young doesn't have a chance." I want to run away but my feet will not move, like they are cemented into the ground. "They take them out immediately, tell them they're going to 'take a shower'. They're not. They throw them into a huge room and dump poisonous gas in so they all suffocate. They all die! You're lucky they haven't come for you all already!" My lips are moving, tears washing down my face at such a speed I've never recalled feeling. Mr. Rosenberg clasps my shoulders so hard it hurts. "You need to know this, girl! Knowledge is what will keep you alive! You have to understand-" Another arm yanks me away from Mr. Rosenberg.
"Do not tell my daughter such lies!" Papa says through gritted teeth. "You've no right to fill her head with such talk!" Mr. Rosenberg shakes his head.
"Please, Linus, listen to me! You need to leave! Take Julia and your daughter and-" Papa pulls me away; I can feel the stares of neighbors and a few Nazi soldiers burning my back. When I sit back down, a soldier who regularly patrols the city studies the Rosenbergs, then nods to a friend. He must recognize them from the grocery because he writes down what I can only assume must be their names and address. When we are told the coast is clear, Papa hurries Mama and I out into the street. I blink and squint in the sun, and Papa's firm hand guides me towards home.
"How is there so little damage?" I ask. Shingles have been knocked off here and there, but nothing devastating.
"The bombs are so loud, it seems as if they are right near by when they could be several miles away." Mama answers. She doesn't look away from the road, and I wonder how much of Mr. Rosenberg's speech she heard. I trudge up our street like my legs are full of lead. Our little house has rarely looked so lonely, waiting in the sudden drizzle for us to come home. I push open the door and shuffle inside, but snap awake when I see two letters sitting on the table. I run over, and grin when I see Otto's scrawling hand writing.
"Mama! Papa, look!" I cry and shove the weather envelope into Papa's hands. He smiles at the paper, removes his hat, and lights his pipe.
"Go on and read yours upstairs," Papa says with a twinkle in his eye. I don't need to be asked twice, rushing up the stairs with Mama calling behind me not to run. The envelope is open practically before my door is closed and I'm sprawled on my bed.
Dear Alina,
I read the letter, all good things. They're doing well, yes his shins hurt from running, they could be in combat soon. But it's the middle detail that strikes me:
Alina, Stefan Rosenberg was executed for spreading information through letters to his father. They think they could have been treasonous. I know it may come as a shock. I figure you're old enough now to understand these things. Alina, please be good to the Rosenbergs during this time. For me, yes?

I set the paper down on the bed and stare at the wall. Treasonous. Treasonous, that he was sharing lies to his father, or deadly truths? This changes nothing, only adding to the whirlwind of thoughts that had become my mind. I walk down the stairs carefully, leaving the letter on my bed.
"So you've heard about Stefan?" Papa says to my general directions. My feet have only just barely reached a point where he could see them from his favorite chair.
"Yes," I respond from the shadowy hallway.
"So you see? Mr. Rosenberg was sharing false information with you. All is well." All is well. Not the words I would have used, especially after passing by the Rosenberg's deserted grocery the next day with its blacked out windows, boarded up doors, and painted over sign.