Let Me Whisper You My Story Read Online Free PDF Page B

was the best feeling in the world. ‘You’ll still find room to snuggle up in the wardrobe,’ she told me softly.
    ‘What does she do in the wardrobe?’ Aunty Gitta asked.
    ‘Sometimes she just wants to escape into her own world,’ Mama responded, and my aunt nodded as if she understood perfectly.

Chapter Five
    ‘O NE DAY I’ LL be tall and not so skinny and I’ll sit on you,’ I told Agnes, who had a permanent smirk on her face and seemed to hang around every corner pulling faces at me.
    ‘But you’ll always be the baby, Rachel. Always,’ she said.
    Erich removed his violin from its case. He opened the case so carefully, you would have thought it was filled with gold. He took out the old instrument, which had belonged to his great-grandfather and plucked at the strings.
    He held his violin under his chin, extended his bow and played something sad. Papa listened to Erich, his hands in his pockets. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes.
    ‘Papa?’ I asked. Papa quickly put his handkerchief away.
    ‘Dust, Rachel. I’ve been cleaning the inside of cupboards. You should see the dust.’
    ‘I can help,’ I said.
    ‘No, listen to Erich. Play something cheerful, Erich.’
    Erich didn’t seem to hear Papa. He heard only the music in his head and heart and continued to play until he was satisfied, then he put the bow and violin carefully away. Agnes took out a board-game and the two of them sat on the floor and played. I sat beside them, watching.
    At the same time, I listened to the adults talking. They’d finished their unpacking and were sitting on the couch. ‘We shall manage,’ Uncle Ernst said bravely, although the lines on his face were like question marks. Uncle Ernst was a tailor. This was handy, I thought. As our clothing wore out, he could repair it. That thought made me feel very dismal. How long were we meant to stay here?
    Papa and Uncle Ernst discussed a way to make the apartment comfortable. There were two bedrooms with thin mattresses and beds in them. Aunty Gitta and Mama decided that each couple should have a bedroom and the children should sleep in the lounge room, on the mouldy, hard-cushioned armchairs. Except for me. At eight and a half, and small for my age, I would sleep with Mama and Papa.
    I listened carefully as my parents and aunt and uncle talked, their voices soft, as they sat bunched together on the couch. Erich and Agnes were concentrating on their board-game. Miri was writing. I sat on the threadbare carpet and flicked through the pages of a book Miri had found for me to read. I tried to catch the adults’ words, to understand. It reminded me of the quiet way my parents spoke to each other about Kristallnacht , the night everyone’s windows were broken and Jews were hurt.Now the words were also like broken glass, shards that by themselves did not answer any questions I had.
    Why?…keep calm…the children…What to do?…escape?…impossible.
    What did their words mean? I began to feel sleepy. I curled up on the carpet and dozed off. When I awoke Agnes and Erich had finished their game. Mama was sitting on the carpet with my head in her lap and was stroking my hair. Erich had begun to play the violin again.
    F ROM TIME TO time soldiers came and took people away. We never knew where they were going or why.
    I wished Erich wouldn’t play such sad music. He was the same age as Miri, almost sixteen, but he looked about twelve, with his skinny legs and his short trousers down to his knees and long uneven socks. His fair hair was combed to one side and his blue eyes were miserable. When he wasn’t playing the violin he read books.
    He didn’t speak much to Miri. They had been close cousins, almost like sister and brother. They’d taken off their yellow stars and gone out together on a dangerous adventure. But Erich had changed. He seemed to have curled up inside himself, like a snail retreating into its shell. Miri had also become snail-like, although she still