Chapter Text
The basement of the Hubermanns’ house on Himmel Strasse 33 was far too shallow. Ilse noticed it right away, before having descended half the creaking steps down into the cool darkness. She ducked under an old beam and reached out to try it, only causing dust and bits of worm-eaten wood to fall into her face. She brushed it off her uniform. No, this wouldn’t do: it wasn’t deep enough to stop the bombs from tearing apart everyting that happened to be in their way - brick, stone, human. Ilse sighed. This far, none of the houses on Himmel Strasse had had a basement fit for an air raid shelter, and if she didn’t find one soon, the street’s inhabitants would have to run very far under the falling bombs to have any hope of survival. But she tried to will away the tight knot of worry that formed in her chest: she would find a basement that fit the requirements. She had to.
It was just past noon and there was no one home in Ilse’s uncle's house at number 33, so she had let herself in, thinking that it was best to get this over with instead of having to bother them about it later.
She noticed a few books stacked in a neat pile under a row of letters painted on the bare stone wall and smiled to herself. Liesel was learning to read. She could only pray that her uncle’s family would have time to find shelter if — no, when, she corrected herself and felt the knot in her stomach tighten — the air raid came.
Ilse started walking back to the stairs to leave the basement and continue her search when she was stopped dead in her tracks by a soft voice.
”Liesel?” A man's voice.
There was a shuffling sound from the other side of the basement and Ilse turned in alarm, her heart in her mouth.
By a yellow sun painted on the wall there stood a shadow of a man. Ilse wasn’t sure if she would have noticed him emerge from the darkness had he not spoken, so much was his thin silhouette engulfed by shadows and clothes that were too big for him. The darkness of his eyes seemed made from the same thing as the basement’s dust and dim corners and his youthful face was gaunt and sickly pale.
It was naked with fear.
For a moment they stood staring at each other in stunned shock. Then a paintbrush fell from the man’s grip, clattering to the floor and splattering paint all over his shoes as he cowered away from Ilse.
She stumbled backwards in sheer surprise at his reaction. Her first thought was that he might be a friend of the Hubermanns who was helping them fix something in the house, but the terror in his dark eyes said otherwise.
She took a step towards him. ”Who are you?” The fright had made her voice harsh.
The man scrambled backwards until his back was pressed against the cool stone wall.
”What are you doing here?” she continued. ”Are you a thief?”
His eyes were wide like those of a trapped animal and they flickered between her face, her uniform, the symbol on her upper arm. He was fighting the urge to scream, to call for help although he knew that no one was home. That was a selfish impulse and even in the midst of his terror, he hated himself for it.
This was it.
He could run, but the girl was blocking the stairs and looked much stronger than him: despite his pushups, his body was weak from disuse. And even if he escaped, questions would be raised as to how he came to be in the basement of Himmel Strasse 33. He could fight her, he would fight for his freedom, but what would it take to stop her from reporting the Hubermanns? He would have to kill her. On the other hand, he was sure that she wouldn’t hesitate to send him to his death if she found out what he was.
He was running out of options. If this truly was the moment when he was going to be caught, he didn’t want the Hubermanns to be associated with him.
”Yes,” he choked out in answer to her question, knowing that in dooming himself, he was saving the Hubermanns’ lives. ”I broke into this house, but please, I had no choice. I have no food, I’m starving.” The lie stumbled over itself in his haste to get it out. If he could convince her that he had no connection to the family, he could still make an escape and save both them and himself.
Ilse, who knew nothing of the internal conflict that had taken place before her eyes, couldn’t help but pity the man in front of her, absolutely terrified and so very thin, but another voice in her head silenced out all other thoughts: she had to turn him in. He had stolen from the Hubermanns, who barely had food enough for the three of them. Fury burned in the pit of Ilse’s stomach.
The sound of the front door slamming shut came from above, accompanied by voices that Ilse instantly recognized as her uncle and cousin.
”Hans!” she shouted, ”It’s me, come down here!”
”Ilse?” Hans sounded surprised, urgent.
”Papa!” Liesel, horrified.
Hans’s hurried footsteps came down the stairs but when he saw the situation in the basement, he faltered. ”Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he breathed, his face succumbing to weariness and grief.
Ilse, misinterpreting his reaction, met him by the bottom of the staircase and began to explain, urgently. ”I’m inspecting basements for our new bomb shelters and I let myself in, I didn’t want to bother you, but I found this-” She pointed furiously to the strange man. ”This thief in your basement-”
”Ilse.” Hans held up a hand to silence her.
He looked so weary that Ilse stopped short. This was not what she had expected.
”Listen to me. He is no thief.” Hans heaved a deep sigh and glanced worriedly towards the man, who had slumped against the far wall, pressing a hand to his heart. His eyes were still wide and terrified. There were tears in them now and his jaw was clenched tightly.
Hans hesitated as if he didn’t know what to do, then appeared to come to a decision.
”Can I trust you, Ilse?” he said.
His niece blinked, taken aback, but nodded. ”Yes"
”Gut. Then please, just listen. His name is Max Vandenburg and he lives with us.”
Ilse stared at him, bewildered. She visited them every weekend — she would have known if someone was staying with them.
”Max is a jew,” Hans continued grimly. ”His father was a good friend of mine. He saved my life. I was not able to return the favour to him, so the least I can do is to help his son, in any way that i can.”
Ilse’s mind was racing to comprehend what she had just heard. ”You- you are hiding a jew.”
Hans simply looked at her warily, trying to read her response.
”But this is dangerous!”
Her uncle closed his eyes and nodded. ”I know. But we have no other choice.”
From the other side of the basement came a weak, terrified voice. ”Hans, she’s going to report me!” Somewhere amidst the terror, Max’s mind was scrambling to wrap itself around what was happening before his eyes. Hans seemed to think that the whole situation would resolve itself, but he wasn’t so sure. Still, he realized that the name Ilse was familiar to him — she was the cousin that visited every weekend, that Liesel talked so much about.
”I trust her,” Hans said calmly to Max. ”And we have to pray to Jesus, Mary and Joeph that she is to be relied upon.” He shifted his gaze to Ilse. ”I trust that you won’t report him. And you will not tell a soul.”
The initial shock of finding out that her uncle was hiding a jew in his basement had faded slightly and Ilse was struck by her position in the situation. This man’s life depended on her silence. She wasn’t sure whether or not she supported her uncle’s decision to take him in, but either way, this man was not going to be taken away because of her.
She looked into the dark pools of Max’s eyes. ”Nein,” she said softly. ”Of course not.”
Max looked towards Hans, who nodded reassuringly. The jew closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, breathing deeply.
Ilse was studying him with an increasing sense of guilt. Finally, she mustered up the courage to adress him.
”I am so sorry,” she piped up. As soon as the words had left her mouth, she knew that they could never compensate for what she had put him through. She felt ashamed of herself.
Max’s eyes opened and he looked at her, his gaze unreadable. ”I thought you were going to kill me.”
Ilse was stunned by the sheer absurdity of it. ”It was not my meaning to scare you,” she said sheepishly as soon as she had regained her ability to speak. ”Again, I am sorry. For everything.”