every house; too many faces, too many mouths. An old man gives them sour milk and swaps their potatoes for eggs. Liesel throws up again in the main square, by the church. Jüri fills the cups from the well, and Jochen finds the church door ajar.
Inside it is vast and dim, and smells of damp and dust. The twins scout for places to sleep while Lore unpacks the baby carriage.
—It’s all hard benches.
—And they’re too narrow.
Lore wheels the carriage along the rows of pews until she comes to an alcove. Two or three candles burn low on a shelf covered with dark stubs of wax. Above them stands a robed statue. The twins help Lore spread the oilskins on the floor and gather cushions from the pews for their heads. Liesel sits with Peter at the foot of the statue and yawns. They don’t speak, but every movement sets off hissing echoes under the high stone roof. Lore pours half the milk into a cup for Peter and gives Liesel the bottle. She and the twins eat an egg each, raw. The boys giggle, egg white glinting wet on their chins.
Peter won’t sleep in the baby carriage, so Lore lays him down on one of the cushions. Liesel sleeps and the twins whisper with each other while Lore sorts through their things again. Folding the clothes, tying the bundles neatly, lining them up next to her, ready for the morning. She blows out the candles and sleeps.
Liesel throws up once more in the night and helps Lore mop up the mess with her blouse. She says she feels a lot better and Lore strokes her little sister’s hair, tells her she is brave. Liesel didn’t once ask for Mutti, and Lore is glad, knows that must have been hard. They sleep on into the morning. When they wake up, the baby carriage is gone, with their spare shoes still tied to the sides.
They walk on a few more days, sometimes with people, but Lore still prefers it alone. They don’t ask for lifts and rest frequently, avoiding towns. Lore pays for butter to smear on their cracked lips. They dig turnips out of the fields and buy bread in the houses and villages along the way. Their bag of coins grows light.
They can carry less now, without the baby carriage. Lore trades Liesel’s doll for an empty bottle with a lid. No one wants the twins’ chessmen, or her book, so she throws them away. They wear both sets of clothes although it is still very hot. Lore’s coat buys them a night in a bed, and Liesel’s second skirt a wash in warm water in the morning. She puts what remains of their things in one bag and one bundle, which they share between them.
They reach Nuremberg within a week.
The schoolhouse is already filling up when they arrive. The old man at the door gives Lore two straw mattresses, and they make themselves a bed near the middle of the room. Lore would rather be by the wall, or even better in a corner, but all the spaces at the edges of the room have already been filled. Mothers with children, elderly ladies. No men are allowed in, although some come to the door and ask. It is dark outside now and two lamps burn by the long window. Lore spreads their blankets over the thin mattresses, and the children lay their coats on top. She cuts them a slice of bread each, and the twins fill the cup with water from the barrel outside the door. Lore tells them to chew slowly and take small sips. They are all very quiet.
More people come in as they eat, and gradually the floor fills up. There are no more mattresses left, so people make the best of it with their coats and bags on the floor. Lore puts Peter in the middle of their nest with the twins on either side, and she and Liesel take the two outer edges. Lore takes off the twins’ boots, but leaves their socks on. They shift and fidget under the blankets and coats while Lore packs away their shoes. She lies down with them, though she is not sleepy, with the bag by her head where she can keep an eye on it.
Even after the lamps are put out, more people arrive, black shapes shuffling in the dark. Lore keeps her eyes
Inside it is vast and dim, and smells of damp and dust. The twins scout for places to sleep while Lore unpacks the baby carriage.
—It’s all hard benches.
—And they’re too narrow.
Lore wheels the carriage along the rows of pews until she comes to an alcove. Two or three candles burn low on a shelf covered with dark stubs of wax. Above them stands a robed statue. The twins help Lore spread the oilskins on the floor and gather cushions from the pews for their heads. Liesel sits with Peter at the foot of the statue and yawns. They don’t speak, but every movement sets off hissing echoes under the high stone roof. Lore pours half the milk into a cup for Peter and gives Liesel the bottle. She and the twins eat an egg each, raw. The boys giggle, egg white glinting wet on their chins.
Peter won’t sleep in the baby carriage, so Lore lays him down on one of the cushions. Liesel sleeps and the twins whisper with each other while Lore sorts through their things again. Folding the clothes, tying the bundles neatly, lining them up next to her, ready for the morning. She blows out the candles and sleeps.
Liesel throws up once more in the night and helps Lore mop up the mess with her blouse. She says she feels a lot better and Lore strokes her little sister’s hair, tells her she is brave. Liesel didn’t once ask for Mutti, and Lore is glad, knows that must have been hard. They sleep on into the morning. When they wake up, the baby carriage is gone, with their spare shoes still tied to the sides.
They walk on a few more days, sometimes with people, but Lore still prefers it alone. They don’t ask for lifts and rest frequently, avoiding towns. Lore pays for butter to smear on their cracked lips. They dig turnips out of the fields and buy bread in the houses and villages along the way. Their bag of coins grows light.
They can carry less now, without the baby carriage. Lore trades Liesel’s doll for an empty bottle with a lid. No one wants the twins’ chessmen, or her book, so she throws them away. They wear both sets of clothes although it is still very hot. Lore’s coat buys them a night in a bed, and Liesel’s second skirt a wash in warm water in the morning. She puts what remains of their things in one bag and one bundle, which they share between them.
They reach Nuremberg within a week.
The schoolhouse is already filling up when they arrive. The old man at the door gives Lore two straw mattresses, and they make themselves a bed near the middle of the room. Lore would rather be by the wall, or even better in a corner, but all the spaces at the edges of the room have already been filled. Mothers with children, elderly ladies. No men are allowed in, although some come to the door and ask. It is dark outside now and two lamps burn by the long window. Lore spreads their blankets over the thin mattresses, and the children lay their coats on top. She cuts them a slice of bread each, and the twins fill the cup with water from the barrel outside the door. Lore tells them to chew slowly and take small sips. They are all very quiet.
More people come in as they eat, and gradually the floor fills up. There are no more mattresses left, so people make the best of it with their coats and bags on the floor. Lore puts Peter in the middle of their nest with the twins on either side, and she and Liesel take the two outer edges. Lore takes off the twins’ boots, but leaves their socks on. They shift and fidget under the blankets and coats while Lore packs away their shoes. She lies down with them, though she is not sleepy, with the bag by her head where she can keep an eye on it.
Even after the lamps are put out, more people arrive, black shapes shuffling in the dark. Lore keeps her eyes
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