Free Let Me Whisper You My Story by Moya Simons

I knew it, I was being pushed out of the front door, Miri’s journal in one hand, the scarf trailing behind me.
    I turned to take one last look. This place, this scene of dancing and arguments, music and love, was empty now. I was empty also.
    My shoulder was gripped tightly by the woman. The man held Mama and Papa’s clothing and some blankets. Gertrude held my mama’s frying pan, Mama’s best coat with the fur-trimmed collar and my clothing.
    There were strange people all through the building rushing from one apartment to another. I didn’t see one person I knew. A man dashed past me holding a blanket. He paused to look down at me. Gertrude quickly took off my jacket with the yellow star sewn on it. ‘It isn’t hers,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s a good quality jacket. It belonged to a child who lived here.’
    The man nodded and ran on.
    I looked up at the man called Heinrich. He was much older than Papa, and had an angry face. The woman’s face was not angry, but her eyes darted around as if she was expecting trouble at any moment.
    There were people everywhere, all ignoring each other, rushing into the empty apartments, searching for anything that might be of use.
    Papa would say that this is what war did to you. He’d say it wasn’t really stealing when you were trying to stay alive, but it was my family. It was terrible to see what little possessions we and the other families had being robbed.
    Feeling great despair and loneliness, I stumbled along with the grumbling man and his wife to an apartment block just streets away. The woman, Gertrude, told me, ‘We have a grandchild. He is much taller than you. Nearly twelve. You will get used to each other. This war will end sooner or later.’
    We arrived at the building where they lived, a plain four-storey building stuck to other buildings along a street like any other in Leipzig. A few trees stood outside. They were sickly, their branches thin and the leaves diseased. They looked just how I felt.
    We entered a small, dark hallway and then walked upstairs to Gertrude and Heinrich’s apartment. I held onto the wooden bannister nervously.
    A boy opened the door. His hair was white-blond, his skin pale as milk and his eyes bright blue. When he saw me, his eyes widened.
    ‘Who is she? Where has she come from?’
    ‘Friedrich, her parents have been taken. We shall hide her. You must not talk of it. Ever.’
    Having been confined in an apartment filled with people for so long, the first thing I noticed when I looked around was the abundant space. I realised later that it was quite a small apartment but because only one family lived there, it appeared larger. An old floral carpet covered the floor. There was a brown sofa and two large armchairs, a curved glass cabinet containing small ornaments, glasses and photographs. A beige wireless sat on top of the cabinet. Gertrude put my jacket on a simple wooden chair.
    Friedrich looked at the yellow star sewn on it and scowled. In a crisp voice he said, ‘This is against the Führer. I must report you. My own grandparents! What would my father say?’
    ‘Friedrich, we are saving her life. She is a child, like you.’
    ‘She’s not even human.’
    Gertrude walked up to her grandson and slapped his cheek. The sound was like the crack of a whip. There were red marks left on his pale face. Friedrich lost his balance and fell sideways into an armchair. I jumped. His grandfather stared. Gertrude put her hand to her mouth, shocked at her action, but still angry.
    She leaned over Friedrich and touched the mark on his face gently. ‘Friedrich, these ideas don’t come from us. It’s that Hitler Youth movement you’re obliged to go to. It’s your school, and the newspapers and the wireless. Try to understand. Your father is Hitler’s donkey in this war. Your mother, my daughter, is dead. You will not report us. They will take us all away. Don’t you understand? They will lock us up and throw away the key. The people they