To be safe, the boys on the beat had taken to escorting the ladies home from the office, for fear that the drills would become a reality. But who’d have thought it would threaten them on a Saturday-afternoon walk to the East End flower markets?
Kája stood with her back to the bricks, barely breathing.
Liam’s nearness gave her a sense of solidarity, that at the very least he’d know what to do if the worst happened. When he noticed that his hand was clenched tight around the shoulder of her dress, he looked at it, released her, and allowed the tense lines in his face to ease.
He offered the oh-so-soft caress of a look that in the moment did nothing to calm the speed of her already racing heart.
“Did I hurt you?” His tone was heavy, weighted by seriousness.
Kája met his glance and shook her head through the urgent screaming of sirens.
“No.” The tension was so thick, she could barely talk. She had to fight for the one-word answer that tumbled out.
People scurried in the background, their voices feeding into a nervous hum of shouts and chatter as frightened onlookers poured out into the streets. Car horns honked, crowds gathered. The streaming voices of operators could be heard over loudspeakers, directing people to proceed to the nearest shelter. Children cried out somewhere behind them as nervous Londoners picked up their speed and suddenly began running by.
Liam asked again, louder this time, with a directness that demanded an audible answer.
“Kája? You’re all right? Yes? I didn’t hurt you?”
She stared back, her eyes never breaking the connection with his.
Usually his nearness would have given her strength. But with those few words, her heart now beat wildly, thumping as if it demanded to break free from the confines of her chest. It made her knees feel weak, warning her she could drop at any second.
A shuddered breath escaped her lips. “No. You didn’t hurt me.”
“Good.”
His hand rose up and the softness of his palm met the heat of the skin at the back of her neck. He pulled her close. Fast. In a sudden kiss that she hadn’t time to process. As London threatened to explode around them, with sirens alive in the background and instability drawing a curtain down over the city, Kája sank deep into the shelter of his arms.
It was the audaciousness in him that drew her. The connection she needed in that moment. For something solid and alive. She relished giving in to a longed-for kiss from him and closed her eyes. She dropped her purse and wound her arms around his neck, melting into the brick behind her back.
“Liam!” A fervent voice behind them broke their momentary connection.
He drew away, still looking in her eyes, pupils darting slightly and shoulders raising with each indrawn breath. His arms dropped to his sides and he edged back.
“Liam.” A short lad in a white dirt-smudged oxford ran up. “There you are!”
Kája recognized Dory Sills, the war beat’s scrappy writer nicknamed Smalls because of his short stature, even shorter fuse, and rather high-pitched voice that took to squeaking when he was riled.
Either he hadn’t seen the pair in each other’s arms or he chose not to comment on it. She bowed her head and ran fingertips around her lips, hoping the soft red of her lipstick wasn’t mussed. She tried to remind herself that the man had probably seen many a secretary in Liam’s arms and almost immediately chided herself for being so reckless as to allow him to kiss her, and she to kiss him back in return.
Smalls ignored what he may have just seen and paused, hopping about as if his shoes were on fire.
“It’s happening everywhere. Coming in on the wire, it is—from the Fire Brigade. I called in to the Telegraph as soon as I heard. Got the scoop on it. There’s minor damage all over—shops and such missing roof tiles, small craters in roadways—that sort of business. But Harford Street’s had a three-story building knocked flat. They haven’t reported any casualties yet but we might expect some. A church is heavily damaged in Brockley and I hear tell there’s shrapnel raining down over on Brownhill Road.”
The ferocity with which he tossed out updates on what was happening around the city made Smalls sound like a mouse with its tail caught in a trap. Knowing what she did about Liam’s activities with British intelligence, she knew these reports had the power to change everything.
Liam’s eyes narrowed. “The Luftwaffe has bombed residential areas?”
“Looks like it. Along with the industrial ones. Woolrich has just been hit pretty hard.” The confirmation of bombs falling on innocent citizens sent her closer to Liam’s side.
“The Royal Arsenal?”
“Aye. All but demolished.”
Liam took an authoritative step toward Smalls. “And the Royal Dockyard?”
“Fire-bombed, mate.” He exhaled, looking to the ground, seeming especially sorry for the last bit of news. “Along with Surrey.”
“Surrey docks?” Liam hissed, frightening Kája even more. “You can’t be serious.”
“Look there. Timber yards on fire,” Smalls said, and pulled him out to the side of the street to point over the span of red brick buildings, in the direction of the Thames. “Still going on.”
Giant plumes of black smoke, choking and curling up to the tips of the powder-blue sky, marked the horizon. The tops of the buildings created a ghostly outline against the billowing cloud of black and a mountain of roaring orange and yellow, the snake-like flames licking upward in an evil trail of destruction.
“It doesn’t look real, eh? But it ‘tis, all of it. Burning like hell’s on fire down there.” Smalls motioned to a high point along the horizon. “The lumber yards were stocked. Everything’s ablaze. Factories. Docks. Anything that will hold a spark’s gone up. Gas lines broke and fire’s gone out of control. I heard tell that even our East End rats are running from it.” He started hopping again, each lifted foot taking him inches closer to the inferno. “Throwing themselves down into the water, they are. Miserable creatures drowning under oil slicks that have caught fire on the surface.”
The roar of fire engines blared out then, punctuating Smalls’s frenzied words.
“Well, there they go,” he echoed as a fire engine roared past. “Looks like the bells have gone down—all the fire chaps are being called out. A group of us are headed down to see if we can help, and I knew I’d find you down at the markets today so I came to fetch you straightaway.”
An odd whirring beyond the pulse of activity drew Kája’s attention.
She looked up and in a rush of horror saw them: giant black birds in the expanse of blue overhead. Bold flocks of hundreds it seemed, hovering above them in formation, darting through the clouds of smoke as if weaving a horrid death dance in the sky.
Kája’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Dear God . . .” She pointed to the swarm of planes overhead. “Liam, look!”
They stared up at the sky in unison—she, with shuddering breaths of terror, and Liam, with a terse set to his jaw that made her wonder if he was breathing at all. He looked about as angry as she’d ever seen him.
The planes dropped black specks—bombs. And not just one or two. Kája’s body trembled with each load that was released. Over and over, down they fell, chasing every soul in London like the pitter-patter of raindrops from the sky. And though the sight alone would have been terrifying enough, the sound of falling bombs—the odd screeches and shrill whistles that sounded almost otherworldly, and the dreadful crashes and booms that followed—fairly stopped her heart.
“Come on, Marshall.” Smalls waved his hands wildly. “We’ve got to go. The docks, eh? The Germans have bombed sites all over the city! We’ve got to report on it.”
“Not now. I can’t just leave—”
Liam looked to Kája.
A curtain of darkness had fallen over his face; it was unmistakable. His eyes that were always so soft and open when they greeted her had turned hard. Cold. Somehow they’d grown almost as black as the smoke swirling into the sky ab
ove them.
“Go,” she urged him with a gentle press of the shoulder. “I know you have to. I’ll be okay.”
“You hear that?” Smalls danced forward a few steps. He craned his neck toward the bustle of chaotic activity down the street. “She’ll be fine. Makovský here is sturdy and smart; she can take care of herself. Come on, mate!”
Liam ignored Smalls and gazed into Kája’s eyes, not breaking the connection. He shook his head and took a measured step closer to her.
“No. I’m not leaving you.”
Kája pushed him back slightly, with a light touch to his upper arm.
“There must be a shelter near here. I’ll be looked after. Go.”
He shook his head again, in a firm denial.
“Kája. It’s not the reporting,” he tore out, a harshness in his voice. He swept his hands through his hair, agitation evident in the action. “I need you to know that I would never leave you. Even if I have a duty beyond myself . . . you know I couldn’t just abandon you here.”
She nodded. “I know that. But you needn’t worry about me. I understand who you are and why you have to go.”
The sirens continued, this time directly behind them, with deafening cries from the crowds to punctuate the fear that had been so quick to overtake them. Children howled out in the street, the sound more terrifying than the pulse of frequent booms in the distance. A piercing whistle tore through the sky behind them—were the bombs getting closer?
God, help us.
A loud burst of energy shook the building behind them. First a loud boom, then another. And another. Kája caught a shrill scream in her throat as Liam grabbed her round the waist and knelt to cover her, dust and dirt floating down to curtain them with each fresh blast.
A pile of bricks splintered the sky not far down the street in front of them. She could hear their harsh patter as they rained down upon the pavement.
Liam looked up at Smalls then, who had taken cover by crouching against the side of the building nearest them.
“Go. I’ll catch up.” He waved Smalls to take off in the direction of the Thames.
“’Twas luck, mate,” he shouted back, referring to the bombs that had just pounded barely a street over. “Won’t be that way for long. Looks like this whole area’s going to be under fire before nightfall—if the flames don’t catch us first. Best to get her under cover!”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Liam shouted to the young reporter, who didn’t wait.
Smalls nodded understanding, then skipped forward on his jittery feet and ran in the direction of the smoke plumes, looking up at the sky as debris continued to fall.
Liam turned to Kája and grabbed her shoulders.
“I promise—I’ll get you to safety,” he shouted over the roar of the sirens in the background. “There’s an ARP shelter on Columbia Road. It’s not far. I know they’ll take you in. You’ll be safe there for the night, if need be. It’s properly outfitted to care for hundreds.”
Kája looked around, the full weight of the carnage nearly shocking her clean out of her shoes. Her hair had come loose in half-braided waves, with tendrils that breezed about the back of her neck. She was conscious of the gentle caress but able to focus on little else and found herself mumbling, not even sure of the words coming out of her mouth.
“I need to go home to my flat. My neighbors . . .”
“Kája, the Germans are bombing us out. Do you hear me? You might not have a flat left. And I can’t take the chance of you running all over the city with bombs falling down. Do you understand me? I need to know you’re safe or I can’t go.”
Even as her body began trembling, Kája nodded, feeling a surge of energy as she looked around. She heard cries and the whirring of fire engines somewhere in the distance, felt the pungent smoke burn the inside of her nostrils with each painfully indrawn breath.
“My neighbors. They own the building. They’re good people. Kind to all of us . . . They’ll be terrified.”
She shook her head, willing reality to fade to the back of her mind so she could focus on what she needed to do. Columbia Road was the nearest ARP shelter? It had to be safer than those tiny Anderson shelters half buried in the ground behind their building. Perhaps if she could get back there . . . convince them to come with her to the larger shelter . . .
“No. I have to find out if they’re okay.”
Liam patted a hand to her cheek.
“Kája?”
Her eyes flitted about, darting from the sight of fallen buildings to the crowds running for cover as the roaring of engines filled the sky. She tried to focus—Liam was saying something, wasn’t he? His eyes were searching, the side of his face now smudged with dirt.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” Kája answered, her mind still darting from one thought to the next. “There’s a shelter on Columbia Road.”
“Look at me.” Liam cupped her face in his hands, forcing her eyes to make solid contact with his. “I know you want to help, but it’s time to go. You can’t go back to your flat now. Do you understand?”
Kája nodded, then shifted her eyes over to a bustle of activity over his shoulder. She looked up the street. A hole had swallowed a bus in a tangled mess of concrete and twisted steel, with bricks strewn and smoke rising from the crater. Men and women blackened with soot had run to the site and were digging through rubble with their bare hands.
People were crying, shouting, pulling at piles of debris that had spilled into the street before them.
Liam pulled her attention back to focus on his eyes. “We’ll get you out of here. We’re going someplace safe.”
All Kája could think of as Liam led them along the street was that her parents had sent her away when things had begun to turn bad for the Jews in Prague. They wanted her safe and had risked everything for it. Did they know that in this moment, their daughter was smack-dab in the center of the most dangerous place in the world?
Kája choked when she tried to breathe.
The overpowering smoke burned her nose and tortured her lungs for attempting to take in fresh air. She tried to open her eyes but when she did, everything around her was still a haze of darkness.
“Hello?” she cried out, unsure whether anyone would be there to answer her.
Kája’s ears refused to stop ringing. She pounded a fist to the side of her head, trying to jar her senses awake. The effort did little, except to emphasize that her ability to hear had been all but completely cut off. With shaking hands, she ran her fingers across her temples and down over her ears, willing them to work. Her fingers met with a hot, sticky mess that warmed the left side of her cheek and neck.
She faltered and stumbled about on her feet. She tripped over something and instinctively looked down. It was a form—still and heavy—marring her path. A person sleeping? Had a bench overturned in the night?
Kája fell back against a wall, wondering where she was.
She remembered the bombs of the afternoon before, when they’d taken cover at the market and Liam had left her in the safety of the Columbia Road shelter. It was well known and close. He’d promised to come back for her after he’d gone to help at the docks. But hadn’t that been hours ago?
A lull in the sirens had signaled the all-clear later that evening but she couldn’t leave; she’d promised to stay until he came back for her. But when the sirens had started their fervent cries again two hours later, she’d been shut up in the market shelter with hundreds of other terrified strangers, all miserable as they tried to endure the sirens’ wails through the night.
Kája had meant to nap only for a few moments, knowing Liam would surely come for her soon. But she’d been jarred from a heavy sleep and remembrance was slow in coming back.
Where was he now? And why was everything so blurry, the edge of her mind so scattered?
The surroundings bled into focus and finally she heard something discernable: wretched wailing. The muddled sounds in the large shelter faded back into
her consciousness until she could deny the smoke and carnage no more.
Had they been hit?
Oh God . . . what is happening?
Men—grown men—cried.
There was coughing everywhere. Choking and sputtering. Kája looked around, the momentary lapse into tunnel-vision now easing her eyes into focus on the chaos of the horrific scene. The air was clouded with smoke and ash. Soot-covered figures darted before her. She glanced up and saw, with the little light there was, that the shelter lanterns still hung from the ceiling above her. Their glass hurricanes were broken and swinging from their wires. Any light they might have offered had been snuffed out.
“Over here!” She heard the sound of a man’s screams and turned toward the sound. “We need a doctor!”
Those nearby shouts were followed by the sound of high-pitched police whistles. And crying. More wailing and groans. From somewhere near her, she heard a woman’s sobbing cries. She turned to find her only steps away, weeping as she held a child to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around the lifeless bundle as if every bit of her world had been shattered.
It was too much.
Kája’s legs gave out and she fell back, hard, almost bouncing against the wall until her knees pounded down to the concrete floor. She choked again, unsure if she was even still breathing or if smoke had permanently charred her lungs. Her chest seared with pain as she fumbled about on all fours, grasping out in the thick air.
“Please.” She didn’t know what she was asking or who’d be there to help her, but she coughed out the words anyway. Her lips trembled as she tried to form words. “God . . . help me . . .”
Hands were on her then.
Firm, forcing hands. They patted her cheek and she tried to focus, but couldn’t. They pushed her down to the ground, frightening her, trying to force her to lie down. She slapped back at them, for they came from faceless beings, sending her into a frenzy to get away.
A Sparrow in Terezin Page 10