door.
—I need more food. For my brothers and sisters. One is a baby.
—I have no more.
—Please, we are hungry and we have nowhere to stay.
The woman looks afraid. Lore thinks she might close the door.
—We can pay.
Lore offers a coin, and the woman hesitates, flushing hot red when she finally speaks.
—Do you have anything else? Not money.
Lore tears a hole in the handkerchief pouch in her apron, holds out her handful of Mutti’s things. The woman stares, and then picksher way through the jewelry with bitten fingers. Pokes at Mutti’s brooch, her pearl earrings, finally selects her ring.
—I can buy you some food with this.
Lore winces.
—Not the earrings?
The woman shakes her head. She squints at Lore.
—If you share the food with me I will let you stay.
The woman is waiting for them when Lore arrives back with the children. She stands at the door and smiles at them all, her own young son hiding behind her skirts.
She gives them a bowl of steaming water from the stove and clean rags to wash with, apologizing that she hasn’t any soap. Lore scrubs the twins’ necks and combs out Liesel’s hair. The woman cuddles Peter and bathes him with her son. When it gets dark, she asks if she can take the baby carriage, says she will be back in about an hour.
—There’s a curfew here, you know that? You should all stay inside.
The twins are still angry that Lore left them alone for so long. They stare at her with hard eyes, and Liesel stands close, whispers, tugging at the ends of her braids.
—Why can’t we go and stay with Mutti in the camp?
The woman’s little boy watches them, quiet and shy. Lore is furious with Liesel, thinks he might have heard. She pulls her sister away to the window, hisses into her face.
—You don’t talk about that. You know that. Do it again and you’ll get it from me, understand?
Liesel’s face crumples and Peter screams when Lore lifts him.
The woman comes back with food hidden in the baby carriage. It doesn’t seem a lot to Lore, fitting easily under the mattress. Her stomach contracts.
—My mother’s ring was gold.
The woman shrugs. A little later she says she is sorry. The woman cooks and eats with them, and her son is quiet, watching Liesel and the twins as he chews. When he has finished, the woman pours him the remaining soup from her own bowl, and when he has eaten that, she pulls him into her lap. She hums quietly to herself, watching him settle his head against her arm.
Lore is tired. She closes her eyes and eats more slowly, holding the food on her tongue before she swallows. She wants to ask about the photos on the tree. If the woman knows where to get food, she might know what happened to those people, too. But when Lore speaks, the woman smiles, puts her finger to her lips, points down at her sleeping son.
Lore clears the table, and the woman lays blankets on the kitchen floor, picks up her son and leaves the room. When she doesn’t come back, Lore presumes she has gone to bed and tells the children to lie down, too.
Lore gathers the food together in a too-small pile on the kitchen table. She leaves half a loaf aside for the morning, and chooses the bag of flour to leave behind. Lore thinks a moment, and then decides to leave a bit of the meat, too. The woman was gentle, asked no questions, gave her the milk she must have been saving for her son. Lore divides the remaining food between their bundles, sits down at the table while the children sleep, works out a ration. If she is strict, the food could last three days.
She blows out the candle and rests her forehead on the table. She dreams about the Americans again. The soldiers eat all the bread, throw the rest of the food into the jeep. They leave Peter with her this time, but nothing to feed him with. He is light and thin in her arms. She lays him down gently on the ground, next to the other children. They are all naked. Their bones brittle as bird wings.
. . .
The children are
—I need more food. For my brothers and sisters. One is a baby.
—I have no more.
—Please, we are hungry and we have nowhere to stay.
The woman looks afraid. Lore thinks she might close the door.
—We can pay.
Lore offers a coin, and the woman hesitates, flushing hot red when she finally speaks.
—Do you have anything else? Not money.
Lore tears a hole in the handkerchief pouch in her apron, holds out her handful of Mutti’s things. The woman stares, and then picksher way through the jewelry with bitten fingers. Pokes at Mutti’s brooch, her pearl earrings, finally selects her ring.
—I can buy you some food with this.
Lore winces.
—Not the earrings?
The woman shakes her head. She squints at Lore.
—If you share the food with me I will let you stay.
The woman is waiting for them when Lore arrives back with the children. She stands at the door and smiles at them all, her own young son hiding behind her skirts.
She gives them a bowl of steaming water from the stove and clean rags to wash with, apologizing that she hasn’t any soap. Lore scrubs the twins’ necks and combs out Liesel’s hair. The woman cuddles Peter and bathes him with her son. When it gets dark, she asks if she can take the baby carriage, says she will be back in about an hour.
—There’s a curfew here, you know that? You should all stay inside.
The twins are still angry that Lore left them alone for so long. They stare at her with hard eyes, and Liesel stands close, whispers, tugging at the ends of her braids.
—Why can’t we go and stay with Mutti in the camp?
The woman’s little boy watches them, quiet and shy. Lore is furious with Liesel, thinks he might have heard. She pulls her sister away to the window, hisses into her face.
—You don’t talk about that. You know that. Do it again and you’ll get it from me, understand?
Liesel’s face crumples and Peter screams when Lore lifts him.
The woman comes back with food hidden in the baby carriage. It doesn’t seem a lot to Lore, fitting easily under the mattress. Her stomach contracts.
—My mother’s ring was gold.
The woman shrugs. A little later she says she is sorry. The woman cooks and eats with them, and her son is quiet, watching Liesel and the twins as he chews. When he has finished, the woman pours him the remaining soup from her own bowl, and when he has eaten that, she pulls him into her lap. She hums quietly to herself, watching him settle his head against her arm.
Lore is tired. She closes her eyes and eats more slowly, holding the food on her tongue before she swallows. She wants to ask about the photos on the tree. If the woman knows where to get food, she might know what happened to those people, too. But when Lore speaks, the woman smiles, puts her finger to her lips, points down at her sleeping son.
Lore clears the table, and the woman lays blankets on the kitchen floor, picks up her son and leaves the room. When she doesn’t come back, Lore presumes she has gone to bed and tells the children to lie down, too.
Lore gathers the food together in a too-small pile on the kitchen table. She leaves half a loaf aside for the morning, and chooses the bag of flour to leave behind. Lore thinks a moment, and then decides to leave a bit of the meat, too. The woman was gentle, asked no questions, gave her the milk she must have been saving for her son. Lore divides the remaining food between their bundles, sits down at the table while the children sleep, works out a ration. If she is strict, the food could last three days.
She blows out the candle and rests her forehead on the table. She dreams about the Americans again. The soldiers eat all the bread, throw the rest of the food into the jeep. They leave Peter with her this time, but nothing to feed him with. He is light and thin in her arms. She lays him down gently on the ground, next to the other children. They are all naked. Their bones brittle as bird wings.
. . .
The children are
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