much.
“Are you sure you can do this?” asks Barney.
“Yes,” I say.
I know what Barney was going to say before Zelda opened her eyes. If we can’t get her temperature down in the next few hours, she’ll die.
I must find her some aspirin.
And there’s something else I must bring back for her as well.
I slip quietly out of our building without anybody seeing me.
The ghetto streets are different tonight.
They’re just as dark and scary and full of litter as always, but not so deserted. Nazi trucks are zooming around. German soldiers are running in and out of apartment blocks. In the distance I can hear shooting.
I creep into an empty apartment.
No aspirin.
I try next door.
Yes. A whole jar.
But I haven’t finished yet. There’s something else I need to find.
All the apartments in this block seem to be empty. I can hear Nazis down the street but I haven’t seen a single Jewish person.
I creep down yet another apartment hallway, holding the candle out in front of me so I don’t trip over any of the toys or ornaments or smashed photos on the floor.
More gunshots in the distance.
This will have to be the last apartment. If I don’t find it here, I’ll have to give up.
I close my eyes as I step into the kitchen. I open them slowly. After last night I won’t ever be able to go into a kitchen with my eyes open again.
This one’s all right, except for a big dark stain on the floor that could be just gravy.
I ignore it and start opening cupboards.
Nothing in the top ones.
I bend down and start opening the bottom ones. Zelda’s locket chain keeps getting caught on the cupboard doors. I toss it over my shoulder so it hangs down my back.
Two cupboards left.
Please, God, Jesus, Mary, and the Pope, if you’re still on our side please let this be the one.
Yes.
There, lying next to a moldy potato, something that will help Zelda just as much as the aspirin.
A carrot.
I know I should get out of this apartment as fast as I can. I know I should sprint down the stairs into the street and hurry along the darkest back alleys to the cellar so Zelda can have her aspirin and her carrot soup.
But I can’t just yet.
Not now that I’ve seen this bedroom.
It’s exactly like the room I used to have at home.
The wallpaper is the same, the reading lamp is the same, the bookshelves are the same. The one thing that’s different is that there are six beds crammed in here.
These kids have even got some of the same books.
I clamber over the beds and squeeze onto the floor and take a book from the shelf. Just William by Richmal Crompton. It’s still one of my favorite books in the whole world. And probably one of Dodie’s by now. As I open it I try not to remember Mum and Dad reading it to me.
Instead, I read a bit to myself. About William’s dog. He’s called Jumble and he’s a mixture of about a hundred different dogs and William loves him even when he pees in William’s new boots.
Mum and Dad said I can have a dog like Jumble one day.
Stop it.
Stop thinking about them.
William is training Jumble to be a pirate. That’s what I love about William. He always stays hopeful, and no matter how bad things get, no matter how much his world turns upside down, his mum and dad never die.
Not ever.
I know I should be getting back, but I can’t get up at the moment. All I can do is stay here on the floor, with Just William and Zelda’s carrot, thinking about Mum and Dad and crying.
What’s that noise?
It’s dark. The candle must have burnt down. Oh, no, I must have fallen asleep here on the floor.
The noise again, thumping. A dog growling.
Jumble?
No, there’s somebody in the apartment.
Several people. Boots thumping. Torches flashing. Men shouting in another language.
Nazi soldiers.
Where can I hide?
Under the beds. No, every story I’ve ever read where somebody hides under a bed they get caught.
I know. Under the books.
I lie next to the bookcase and tilt it forward so all the
“Are you sure you can do this?” asks Barney.
“Yes,” I say.
I know what Barney was going to say before Zelda opened her eyes. If we can’t get her temperature down in the next few hours, she’ll die.
I must find her some aspirin.
And there’s something else I must bring back for her as well.
I slip quietly out of our building without anybody seeing me.
The ghetto streets are different tonight.
They’re just as dark and scary and full of litter as always, but not so deserted. Nazi trucks are zooming around. German soldiers are running in and out of apartment blocks. In the distance I can hear shooting.
I creep into an empty apartment.
No aspirin.
I try next door.
Yes. A whole jar.
But I haven’t finished yet. There’s something else I need to find.
All the apartments in this block seem to be empty. I can hear Nazis down the street but I haven’t seen a single Jewish person.
I creep down yet another apartment hallway, holding the candle out in front of me so I don’t trip over any of the toys or ornaments or smashed photos on the floor.
More gunshots in the distance.
This will have to be the last apartment. If I don’t find it here, I’ll have to give up.
I close my eyes as I step into the kitchen. I open them slowly. After last night I won’t ever be able to go into a kitchen with my eyes open again.
This one’s all right, except for a big dark stain on the floor that could be just gravy.
I ignore it and start opening cupboards.
Nothing in the top ones.
I bend down and start opening the bottom ones. Zelda’s locket chain keeps getting caught on the cupboard doors. I toss it over my shoulder so it hangs down my back.
Two cupboards left.
Please, God, Jesus, Mary, and the Pope, if you’re still on our side please let this be the one.
Yes.
There, lying next to a moldy potato, something that will help Zelda just as much as the aspirin.
A carrot.
I know I should get out of this apartment as fast as I can. I know I should sprint down the stairs into the street and hurry along the darkest back alleys to the cellar so Zelda can have her aspirin and her carrot soup.
But I can’t just yet.
Not now that I’ve seen this bedroom.
It’s exactly like the room I used to have at home.
The wallpaper is the same, the reading lamp is the same, the bookshelves are the same. The one thing that’s different is that there are six beds crammed in here.
These kids have even got some of the same books.
I clamber over the beds and squeeze onto the floor and take a book from the shelf. Just William by Richmal Crompton. It’s still one of my favorite books in the whole world. And probably one of Dodie’s by now. As I open it I try not to remember Mum and Dad reading it to me.
Instead, I read a bit to myself. About William’s dog. He’s called Jumble and he’s a mixture of about a hundred different dogs and William loves him even when he pees in William’s new boots.
Mum and Dad said I can have a dog like Jumble one day.
Stop it.
Stop thinking about them.
William is training Jumble to be a pirate. That’s what I love about William. He always stays hopeful, and no matter how bad things get, no matter how much his world turns upside down, his mum and dad never die.
Not ever.
I know I should be getting back, but I can’t get up at the moment. All I can do is stay here on the floor, with Just William and Zelda’s carrot, thinking about Mum and Dad and crying.
What’s that noise?
It’s dark. The candle must have burnt down. Oh, no, I must have fallen asleep here on the floor.
The noise again, thumping. A dog growling.
Jumble?
No, there’s somebody in the apartment.
Several people. Boots thumping. Torches flashing. Men shouting in another language.
Nazi soldiers.
Where can I hide?
Under the beds. No, every story I’ve ever read where somebody hides under a bed they get caught.
I know. Under the books.
I lie next to the bookcase and tilt it forward so all the
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