Remembering Dresden (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 2) (2 page)

That was it. Luther didn’t even think, he just walked up and kicked the boy in the shin.

“Ow! You little—” The boy grabbed Luther’s shirt.

Ernst didn’t hesitate. He punched the boy hard in the stomach. The boy doubled over. Ernst grabbed Luther’s arm. “Run Luther—now.” They took off. Luther heard a loud thump. Ernst groaned but kept running.

“Come back here, cowards,” the boy yelled. “Go ahead then, run away. But remember what I said…you’ll be on the streets next.”

After running a full block, they slowed down. “What was that thumping sound, Ernst?” They started walking normally.

“He punched me in the back.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Thanks for saving me.”

“He had it coming. You just got to him first.” Ernst rubbed his head and smiled. “We showed him, didn’t we?”

“We sure did,” Luther said. “He shouldn’t have said those things about Mother. Or The Fatherland.”

“There’s Eva’s store up ahead,” Ernst said. “Don’t tell her about this, she’ll just get upset and tell Mother.”

They walked a few moments in silence, weaving through the crowd. Ernst gripped Luther’s arm again. “Ernst, do you think what that boy said is true? Could the bombers come here next?”

“No, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just bitter from living on the street too long. Has our town ever been bombed, in all the years since the war started?”

Luther shook his head no. They’d often heard air raid sirens go off, but nothing ever happened.

“And it never will,” Ernst said. “I heard an old man say we have some kind of deal with the British. They have a historic town in England, called Oxford. It has all kinds of architectural landmarks like us. The deal is, our planes don’t bomb Oxford, and their planes won’t bomb Dresden.”

“What did that boy mean about the Russians coming soon? The Russians are bad, aren’t they?”

“Very bad. But they can’t come here, either. The Wermacht will make sure of that. Herr Goebels said so on the radio. We have nothing to worry about.”

Luther felt much better. “Ernst, how much longer before we win the war? Father has been gone so long.” If it wasn’t for the picture over the fireplace, Luther wasn’t sure he’d remember what their father looked like.

“It can’t be that much longer,” Ernst said. He didn’t look at Luther as he said this.

He never looked at Luther when he spoke of their father.

Later that night, Luther sat calmly clutching his third-grade reader, warming himself by the fireplace. The world at the moment consisted of two children named Heinrich and Hilda doing various things that didn’t take more than four letters and one syllable to accomplish. He loved to read. For now, he’d have to do all his reading and other schoolwork at home. When they’d showed up that morning, he and Ernst were told all the school buildings were needed as temporary housing for the refugees.

A few hours ago, just after dinner, Ernst had left for a special meeting with the Hitler Youth. He said it also had something to do with the refugees but wouldn’t say more. Ernst never told Luther much about what went on at his meetings, always pretending he was guarding great military secrets. Lately, whenever Ernst left for his meetings, Mother and Eva would say things about the Hitler Youth Luther knew would anger Ernst. They were doing it now at the dining room table. He glanced down at the pages of his book as he listened.

“You know what all these refugees really mean,” Eva said. “The war is coming closer to Dresden.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Eva. It’s not as bad as that. Besides, show a little charity. They’ve been thrown out of their homes. They have nothing left but what they can carry.”

“It’s not a question of charity, Mother. It’s a question of money. Mr. Von Esch said, between what these people steal and what he’s been forced to give away he’s hardly making any money anymore. If he’s not getting paid, then he can’t pay me. We haven’t seen one of Father’s checks from the military for over three months. How will we live?”

Mentioning father seemed to pull Mother out of the conversation. She didn’t answer Eva right away. She just sighed and looked away. “I hope he is well.”

Neither said anything for a few moments. Eva sipped her tea. “Things are not going well with the war, Mother. The things the refugees are saying—and not just a few of them, totally contradict what Herr Goebbels is saying on the radio. All the land we gained at the beginning of the war, the Allies have taken it all back. Now their bombers are bombing every major city in Germany, one by one. The Luftwaffe is nowhere in sight.”

“Keep your voice down, Eva,” Mother scolded.

Luther could feel their eyes looking in his direction. He put his finger on the left page, pretending to follow along with the words as he read.

“With your eyes, Luther,” Mother said. “Read with your eyes, not your hands.”

“Yes, Mother.” They continued to talk, but he could still hear their loud whispers.

“The Americans and British,” Eva continued, “have reached the Rhine, and the Russians have already crossed into Germany. Everyone is saying it is just a matter of time before the war is completely lost.”

“It’s already lost if you ask me,” Mother said. “The Fuhrer is a madman. He has brought all this destruction on Germany himself with his ambition and greed. I’ve seen this coming for years. I tried to tell your father.” She held her head in her hands. “If he does not return to me…” her voice trailed off.

“Don’t say that, Mother. Father will return. One of these days he’ll come right through that door. Remember that accident at the cigarette factory before the war? Twelve men around him were hurt; only father escaped unharmed. He has luck on his side.”

“God was watching over him,” Mother said. “But I think God has abandoned Germany now.” A look of dread came over her face. “We have done too many terrible things. Especially to the Jews. I never thought it was right. Never. Calling them Christ-haters. The Bible says they are God’s chosen people. Christ was a Jew. The apostles were Jews. He taught we should love our enemies. But what have we done?”

“Our family has done nothing against the Jews. We were always kind to them when they were still here.”

“Yes, when they were here. But where are they now? We stood by and said nothing when they were all taken away.”

Eva sighed. “What could we have done? Nothing. How can God blame us for that?”

A strong smell of baking bread wafted into the living room. Luther thought about how nice it would be to have some butter to put on that bread when it was done. Maybe after the war they would have butter again.

There was silence for a moment. Luther looked over at his mother and Eva. Eva got up from her chair and walked to the window. She stood holding the edge of the drapes aside with one hand, just staring outside.

“What is it, Eva?”

Eva was still looking out the window. “It’s nothing.”

“What? Tell me.”

“It’s just…I’ve been looking around the city lately, and I’ve noticed…” She halted again.

“Noticed what?” Mother said.

“I notice there are no young men left my age. Even among the refugees. They are all boys like Ernst, or else old men.”

“But that is because the young men are at war.”

“Is it?” Eva said with some anger.

“But what else could it be?”

“What if this war has taken away any chance for me, and I am to become an old maid?”

Poor Eva, Luther thought. Two of the young men Eva courted before the war had been killed. One on the Russian front, the other in Belgium.

“They cannot all be dead,” Mother said.

“Haven’t you heard? They’ve come for Gerhard Hammel? They’ve put him into the war, straight from the Hitler Youth. He is only two years older than Ernst—a boy. What else can that mean, except that they have gone through all the young men?” Eva began to cry.

Luther looked up again. Mother had her arm around her shoulder.

“I wish I had left years ago…with Arthur.”

“That boy from America?” Mother asked. “You hardly knew him.”

“But we were in love, Mother. I know that now. It could have worked. Then maybe I could have sent for you all before America got into the war.”

“Eva, do you think your father would ever have consented to such an idea? To leave Germany for America? Our family has always lived in Dresden…for more generations than I can count.”

Eva sighed. “I know. It all just seems so hopeless now. You and father were married at nineteen. I am twenty-eight. There will be nothing for me but old men and cripples when this war is over.”

“Oh Eva, don’t say that.” She looked over at Luther, noticed him paying attention. “Luther, it’s getting late. You need to start getting ready for bed.” She motioned for him to get up and pointed toward the hall.

Luther obeyed.

“Where is your brother?” Mother said.

“Remember?” Eva said, “Ernst’s group went to that circus in town after their meeting. He told you about it at dinner.”

Luther remembered. When they had picked up Eva at the bakery, Eva’s boss, Mr. Kleindeist, asked Ernst if he was going. He had taken his family the night before. Ernst told him he didn’t have the money. Mr. Kleindeist had offered to pay Ernst’s way if he would stop by after the circus ended to help him move some boxes into his storage room.

“That circus should be over now, shouldn’t it?” Mother said.

“It probably is,” Eva said. “I guess he’s still at the bakery.”

His mother sighed. She entered the hallway. “I just wish there was some way to get Ernst out of the Hitler Youth altogether. You know they’ll come after him next.”

A loud, frightening noise pierced the air outside.

“Luther?” Mother called. “Into the cellar. Now! Eva? You too.”

It was the air-raid sirens.

Luther followed Mother and Eva through a narrow doorway in the dining area that led down to the cellar. “But the bombers never come here,” Luther protested.

Fifteen minutes had passed. Luther, Eva and their mother continued to sit in the cold, damp cellar, without making a sound. Finally, Luther spoke up. “Mother, can we get out of here now? It’s just like all the other times. No bombers are coming. Ernst told me this afternoon they’re never coming here.”

His mother said nothing. It looked like she was thinking. Eva joined in. “I think Luther’s right. There’s no reason to stay down here.”

Alright,” his mother said. “I suppose there’s no harm.”

Luther got up and opened the cellar door. A few moments later, he was in the kitchen. He heard Eva’s footsteps right behind him, then his mother’s.

“It’s still time for bed, young man,” she said.

“Can’t I just go outside a moment? To get some fresh air? The cellar stinks.”

“For a moment,” she said. “Then you get right back in here and get ready for bed.”

“I will.”

“I think I’ll join him,” Eva said. “He’s right about the smell down there.”

“It’s not that bad. But go ahead. Make sure he comes in soon.”

Eva joined Luther who was standing out on the sidewalk looking south toward the
Altstadt
, the Old Town area. The air was crisp and cool, the night sky a pleasant dark blue. Although most of the city lights had been dimmed because of the air raid, you could still see specks of light here and there downtown.

“Smells much better out here,” Eva said.

Luther nodded.

“But you should be wearing a jacket.”

“We’re only out here a minute.”

Suddenly, Luther heard something, a deep droning sound up in the sky. At first, he didn’t know what it was.

Eva said it before he could. “Those sound like planes.”

“You think they are bombers?”

“I don’t know,” Eva said. “It doesn’t sound like there are too many of them.”

Then Luther saw something strange. “What is that?” He pointed to the sky above the downtown area, in the direction of the stadium. “What are those?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “But it doesn’t look good.”

“They look like flying green Christmas trees, all lit up,” he said. “See? They’re falling from the sky. Some of the neighbors had come out from their houses and were also pointing to the green lights in the sky. The sound of planes faded. But he noticed something else. “They’re coming down on little parachutes. See?” Luther also noticed, green light appeared to be dripping and falling to the ground in big drops.

“Those aren’t Christmas trees,” Eva said. “I think they’re flares. I’ve heard about them. Those planes we heard must have dropped them. They’re here to light up the city.”

“Light up the city…why?”

“We need to get back in the cellar, right away.” She turned back toward the house.

“Eva, what’s the matter? Light up the city for what?”

Moments later, Luther had his answer. A new sound. Eva heard it, too. She stopped just before the front door and turned around, her head shot upward. It sounded like swarms of monster bees coming.

“What is that, Eva? Are those…bombers? Are they coming here?”

She reached out her hand. “C’mon. We have to get to the cellar. Now.”

Every one who’d been outside began running back into their homes. Others ran down the street in the opposite direction.

“But what about Ernst?” Luther said. “He’s right down where those green lights are falling.” Eva sighed. She looked up at the lights, the first few were close to reaching the ground. She looked toward the Altmarkt area, then back at Luther. He didn’t understand the expression on her face. The sound was getting louder.

They didn’t sound like bees anymore.

Luther knew exactly what they were.

“I don’t know what to do about Ernst, Luther. I’m sure whoever’s in charge of their group will take them to a shelter. That’s what we have to do—now! Come on.”

Mother appeared in the doorway. “That sounds like planes.” A frantic look on her face.

“They are, Mother. And they’re coming here. We have to get back down to the cellar.”

Luther came up behind her. “But what about Ernst? He’s still downtown.”

Eva pulled Luther through the front door. “Don’t worry about Ernst. He’ll take shelter. Just follow Mother, quickly.”