THE SOUND OF SIRENS

 
 With the small collection of money Hans had earned in the summer, he brought home a secondhand radio. This way, he said, we can hear when the raids are coming even before the sirens start. They make a cuckoo sound and then announce the regions at risk.
 
 He placed it on the kitchen table and switched it on. They also tried to make it work in the basement, for Max, but there was nothing but static and severed voices in the speakers.
 
 In September, they did not hear it as they slept.
 
 Either the radio was already half broken, or it was swallowed immediately by the crying sound of sirens.
 
 A hand was shoved gently at Liesels shoulder as she slept.
 
 Papas voice followed it in, afraid.
 
 Liesel, wake up. We have to go.
 
 There was the disorientation of interrupted sleep, and Liesel could barely decipher the outline of Papas face. The only thing truly visible was his voice.
 
 In the hallway, they stopped.
 
 Wait, said Rosa.
 
 Through the dark, they rushed to the basement.
 
 The lamp was lit.
 
 Max edged out from behind the paint cans and drop sheets. His face was tired and he hitched his thumbs nervously into his pants. Time to go, huh?
 
 Hans walked to him. Yes, time to go. He shook his hand and slapped his arm. Well see you when we get back, right?
 
 Of course.
 
 Rosa hugged him, as did Liesel.
 
 Goodbye, Max.
 
 Weeks earlier, theyd discussed whether they should all stay together in their own basement or if the three of them should go down the road, to a family by the name of Fiedler. It was Max who convinced them. They said its not deep enough here. Ive already put you in enough danger.
 
 Hans had nodded. Its a shame we cant take you with us. Its a disgrace.
 
 Its how it is.
 
 Outside, the sirens howled at the houses, and the people came running, hobbling, and recoiling as they exited their homes. Night watched. Some people watched it back, trying to find the tin-can planes as they drove across the sky.
 
 Himmel Street was a procession of tangled people, all wrestling with their most precious possessions. In some cases, it was a baby. In others, a stack of photo albums or a wooden box. Liesel carried her books, between her arm and her ribs. Frau Holtzapfel was heaving a suitcase, laboring on the footpath with bulbous eyes and small-stepped feet.
 
 Papa, whod forgotten everythingeven his accordionrushed back to her and rescued the suitcase from her grip. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what have you got in here? he asked. An anvil?
 
 Frau Holtzapfel advanced alongside him. The necessities.
 
 The Fiedlers lived six houses down. They were a family of four, all with wheat-colored hair and good German eyes. More important, they had a nice, deep basement. Twenty-two people crammed themselves into it, including the Steiner family, Frau Holtzapfel, Pfiffikus, a young man, and a family named Jenson. In the interest of a civil environment, Rosa Hubermann and Frau Holtzapfel were kept separated, though some things were above petty arguments.
 
 One light globe dangled from the ceiling and the room was dank and cold. Jagged walls jutted out and poked people in the back as they stood and spoke. The muffled sound of sirens leaked in from somewhere. They could hear a distorted version of them that somehow found a way inside. Although creating considerable apprehension about the quality of the shelter, at least they could hear the three sirens that would signal the end of the raid and safety. They didnt need a Luftschutzwartan air-raid supervisor.
 
 It wasnt long before Rudy found Liesel and was standing next to her. His hair was pointing at something on the ceiling. Isnt this great?
 
 She couldnt resist some sarcasm. Its lovely.
 
 Ah, come on, Liesel, dont be like that. Whats the worst that can happen, apart from all of us being flattened or fried or whatever bombs do?
 
 Liesel looked around, gauging the faces. She started compiling a list of who was most afraid.
 

THE HIT LIST

 
 Frau Holtzapfel
 
 Mr. Fiedler
 
 The young man
 
 Rosa Hubermann
 
 Frau Holtzapfels eyes were trapped open. Her wiry frame was stooped forward, and her mouth was a circle. Herr Fiedler busied himself by asking people, sometimes repeatedly, how they were feeling. The young man, Rolf Schultz, kept to himself in the corner, speaking silently at the air around him, castigating it. His hands were cemented into his pockets. Rosa rocked back and forth, ever so gently. Liesel, she whispered, come here. She held the girl from behind, tightening her grip. She sang a song, but it was so quiet that Liesel could not make it out. The notes were born on her breath, and they died at her lips. Next to them, Papa remained quiet and motionless. At one point, he placed his warm hand on Liesels cool skull. Youll live, it said, and it was right.
 
 To their left, Alex and Barbara Steiner stood with the younger of their children, Emma and Bettina. The two girls were attached to their mothers right leg. The oldest boy, Kurt, stared ahead in a perfect Hitler Youth stance, holding the hand of Karin, who was tiny, even for her seven years. The ten-year-old, Anna-Marie, played with the pulpy surface of the cement wall.
 
 On the other side of the Steiners were Pfiffikus and the Jenson family.
 
 Pfiffikus kept himself from whistling.
 
 The bearded Mr. Jenson held his wife tightly, and their two kids drifted in and out of silence. Occasionally they pestered each other, but they held back when it came to the beginning of true argument.
 
 After ten minutes or so, what was most prominent in the cellar was a kind of nonmovement. Their bodies were welded together and only their feet changed position or pressure. Stillness was shackled to their faces. They watched each other and waited.
 

DUDEN DICTIONARY MEANING #3
 Angst Fear:
 An unpleasant, often strong
 emotion caused by anticipation
 or awareness of danger.
 Related words: terror, horror,
 panic, fright, alarm.
 

 
 From other shelters, there were stories of singing Deutschland ber Alles or of people arguing amid the staleness of their own breath. No such things happened in the Fiedler shelter. In that place, there was only fear and apprehension, and the dead song at Rosa Hubermanns cardboard lips.
 
 Not long before the sirens signaled the end, Alex Steinerthe man with the immovable, wooden facecoaxed the kids from his wifes legs. He was able to reach out and grapple for his sons free hand. Kurt, still stoic and full of stare, took it up and tightened his grip gently on the hand of his sister. Soon, everyone in the cellar was holding the hand of another, and the group of Germans stood in a lumpy circle. The cold hands melted into the warm ones, and in some cases, the feeling of another human pulse was transported. It came through the layers of pale, stiffened skin. Some of them closed their eyes, waiting for their final demise, or hoping for a sign that the raid was finally over.
 
 Did they deserve any better, these people?
 
 How many had actively persecuted others, high on the scent of Hitlers gaze, repeating his sentences, his paragraphs, his opus? Was Rosa Hubermann responsible? The hider of a Jew? Or Hans? Did they all deserve to die? The children?
 
 The answer to each of these questions interests me very much, though I cannot allow them to seduce me. I only know that all of those people would have sensed me that night, excluding the youngest of the children. I was the suggestion. I was the advice, my imagined feet walking into the kitchen and down the corridor.
 
 As is often the case with humans, when I read about them in the book thiefs words, I pitied them, though not as much as I felt for the ones I scooped up from various camps in that time. The Germans in basements were pitiable, surely, but at least they had a chance. That basement was not a washroom. They were not sent there for a shower. For those people, life was still achievable.
 
 In the uneven circle, the minutes soaked by.
 
 Liesel held Rudys hand, and her mamas.
 
 Only one thought saddened her.
 
 Max.
 
 How would Max survive if the bombs arrived on Himmel Street?
 
 Around her, she examined the Fiedlers basement. It was much sturdier and considerably deeper than the one at 33 Himmel Street.
 
 Silently, she asked her papa.
 
 Are you thinking about him, too?
 
 Whether the silent question registered or not, he gave the girl a quick nod. It was followed a few minutes later by the three sirens of temporary peace.
 
 The people at 45 Himmel Street sank with relief.
 
 Some clenched their eyes and opened them again.
 
 A cigarette was passed around.
 
 Just as it made its way to Rudy Steiners lips, it was snatched away by his father. Not you, Jesse Owens.
 
 The children hugged their parents, and it took many minutes for all of them to fully realize that they were alive, and that they were goingto be alive. Only then did their feet climb the stairs, to Herbert Fiedlers kitchen.
 
 Outside, a procession of people made its way silently along the street. Many of them looked up and thanked God for their lives.
 
 When the Hubermanns made it home, they headed directly to the basement, but it seemed that Max was not there. The lamp was small and orange and they could not see him or hear an answer.
 
 Max?
 
 Hes disappeared.
 
 Max, are you there?
 
 Im here.
 
 They originally thought the words had come from behind the drop sheets and paint cans, but Liesel was first to see him, in front of them. His jaded face was camouflaged among the painting materials and fabric. He was sitting there with stunned eyes and lips.
 
 When they walked across, he spoke again.
 
 I couldnt help it, he said.
 
 It was Rosa who replied. She crouched down to face him. What are you talking about, Max?
 
 I. . . He struggled to answer. When everything was quiet, I went up to the corridor and the curtain in the living room was open just a crack. . . . I could see outside. I watched, only for a few seconds. He had not seen the outside world for twenty-two months.
 
 There was no anger or reproach.
 
 It was Papa who spoke.
 
 How did it look?
 
 Max lifted his head, with great sorrow and great astonishment. There were stars, he said. They burned my eyes.
 
 Four of them.
 
 Two people on their feet. The other two remained seated.
 
 All had seen a thing or two that night.
 
 This place was the real basement. This was the real fear. Max gathered himself and stood to move back behind the sheets. He wished them good night, but he didnt make it beneath the stairs. With Mamas permission, Liesel stayed with him till morning, reading A Song in the Dark as he sketched and wrote in his book.
 
 From a Himmel Street window, he wrote, the stars set fire to my eyes.