Excerpt
The wall clock had just chimed 2am in the almost dark moonlit dinning room as the screech of burning tyres sounded below on the street. Two covered wagon loads of soldiers spilled onto the cobbles clutching their rifles. They lined up in front of their officer with breaths of white streaming in the breeze. Wolf like dogs strained at their leashes as orders were quickly issued in guttural voices. The soldiers quietly split up into smaller groups.
Above them like so many other families, the Zamenhof’s lay sound asleep lost in their dreams of a better life oblivious to the actions being taken below them.
The sudden sound of splintering wood echoed through the silent night. The front access door to the bottom stairs burst open under the onslaught of many rifle butts. It hung at an angle barely attached to its already rust ridden hinges as the soldiers surged in lashing out at anyone or anything that got in their way.
Szymon awoke with a start, it took him a split second to realise the Nazis had arrived. He shook his wife violently and swept out of bed. Panic gripped his body. “The Nazis are here!” He hissed quickly throwing on some clothes. He ran into his sons’ bedroom as Jakub was climbing out of his bed rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on father? What’s all that noise?”
“The Germans are here, get up into the loft.”
Rebecca quickly followed dragging Ruth by her arm. Szymon lifted her up upwards and into Jakub’s waiting hands. “Stay quite and wait until we return. You will find a few candles and a little food and water now close the hatch and bolt it.”
Rebecca quickly made their beds and checked around the rooms before running into the drawing room just as the apartment door almost burst open with the pounding. Szymon looked at his wife and waved her back. “Stay calm!” He hissed opening the door. He was almost thrown back as the door was wrenched from his grip. A cruel looking Waffen SS Officer stepped in and pushed him back into the drawing room towards his trembling wife followed by a number of armed soldiers carrying rifles. “Zamenhof!” He snarled. He glanced down at the papers he carried clipped to a board. “Are you Zamenhof or not?”