"The beadle had other business, so we came right back. We'll be downstairs cleaning up," Sol announced.
His father nodded, gave him a cursory smile, and went back to his customer. A silver guillotine, Sol knew, would easily equal the value of whatever other products his father sold this day--or for the week, for that matter. Sol was angry with himself for having interrupted.
He went behind the curtain but paused at the cellar door. He wanted to go down there and yet he did not. If his papa or Herr Weisser caught them playing in the sewer, they would be punished and he would be right back where he had been for so many weeks--in his room--alone.
By the time he descended the steps into the cellar, however, he could hardly wait to push aside the crate they had left guarding the entrance to the sewer. Their magical place, fearful yet inviting...especially after all the months cooped up across the street.
While Erich stood holding and kissing the puppy, the dog squirming against the confinement, Sol heaved the crate away from the sewer's grate. It was blood-brown with corrosion and recessed into a limestone floor discolored by a century of cellar moisture seeping into the drain. Taking hold of the crowbar they had hidden there, he jammed it beneath the lip of the grate and, using the tool as a lever, pressed down on it with all his might. The grate did not budge.
"Hurry up!" Erich said, hopping from one foot to the other as though he needed to use a bathroom. "Get the thing open."
"I can't!"
"I always open it easily," Erich said.
"You do it, then! I'll hold the dog." Solomon was getting annoyed. He was confident of his brains but not his muscle, which was why he usually left feats of strength to Erich, even though Erich was the smaller of the two.
Footsteps sounded above them.
"The customer's leaving. Wonder if he bought the guillotine," Sol said.
"Someone else," Erich said. "Coming into the shop."
They kept quiet and listened. There was movement in the shop upstairs, more footsteps, the faint echo of raised voices.
"Your papa," Sol said. "Hope to doesn't come down here for supplies."
Erich glanced anxiously toward the cellar steps, then sharply nodded toward the crowbar. "Get it done." His lips looked tight.
Holding down the crowbar with his foot, Sol gripped the edge of the grate and, grunting with the effort, began to lift. This time the grate creaked open. He gave it one last push and it thudded back against the limestone wall. After making sure the wire stems of his glasses were snugged behind his ears, he lowered himself into the hole.
The cylindrical sewer was three meters deep--a long drop. The last time they had come down, the boys had worked two bricks loose from each side of the sewer wall, at midpoint, and jammed in a two-by-four to serve as a step. Still, it was further down than Sol remembered. His feet dangled in mid-air and panic seized him. What if--. His toes found the board and he reached for the dog. The action was premature. He lost his balance and had to jump onto the partially dismantled packing crates they had used to cover the slick sewer floor.
The blackness smelled stale. He stayed crouched, his ears keened to the sound of dripping water and his eyes searching the darkness for--
For what?
Chiding himself for being afraid, he climbed onto the board. Balancing precariously, he reached up for the dog. He smiled as he dropped back down and cradled the puppy against his cheek. It felt warm and alive and somehow reassuring. When it licked his nose, he laughed and scratched it behind the ear.
"Watch out below," Erich whispered. Quick-footed as he was quick-tempered, he lowered himself onto the two-by-four, dropped deftly, and sprang to his feet.
"Give me that." Erich took the dog. He kissed the puppy on the nose and held the animal up at eye level to admire it. "The pup doesn't like the dark," he said. "Why didn't you light the candle?"
"Haven't had a chance," Sol said, choosing to ignore Erich's supposed knowledge of the workings of puppies' minds.
Served Erich right if he had to wait! Who did he think he was, treating everything like a military operation, with each of them allotted specific, immutable tasks--assigned by Erich, of course.
Scowling, Sol grabbed the jar of matches from the shelf they had fashioned by attaching the bottom of a cardboard box to coat-hanger wire and jamming the ends into cracks between the mildewed bricks. The candle on the shelf was burned down to a wick and melted wax. Beneath the shelf hung a sailor's bag containing such treasures as some of Sol's books and his extra harmonica, the gunsight Erich had found, the dried frog Erich had put in Ursula Müller's hair. From the bag Sol reluctantly retrieved the glass-encased Yahrzeit candle he had hoped never to use.
It took five matches before one of them yielded a flame. When he finally got the candle lit, it guttered and flickered. He had not wanted to bring it down here in the first place; a Yahrzeit candle was only meant to be used to commemorate the anniversary of the death of a close family member. That was its purpose. That, and that alone; to burn until there was no more candle. To mourn the dead. But because it was encased in a glass holder and fatter than an ordinary candle, Erich insisted it was far more practical for their purposes than the skinny Christmas candles at his house. True, a single Yahrzeit candle burned for a whole night and day--but Sol, for one, had no intention of being down here that long.
He stared beyond the small circle of light he had created, into the sewer's nether realms where anything could be lurking. He could not see the walls or the sewer's other entrance, which was a padlocked grate that led into the furrier's sub-basement.
"Erich?"
"What!"
"I--" Solomon, about to share his feelings about the darkness, changed his mind. "Will the puppy be all right here?"
"Why shouldn't he be?" Erich stooped and righted one of the packing crates. He lined it with the blanket and set the puppy inside. "We'll stuff some old rags in the grates so if he whines no one will hear. We'll visit him every day." He stroked the puppy's head. The dog was standing with its forepaws on the edge of the box, its tiny tail wagging. "Won't we, boy!"
"What if we can't get down to see him every day or if our papas see--"
"They won't be able to see anything. We'll put the boxes back over the grate." Erich pursed his lips and made little kissy sounds in front of the dog. "He'll be a real scrapper when he grows up. Like me. Right, Bull?" He scratched the puppy under the chin. "Better bring our own collar with you next time we come down."
"If we're staying down here for a while, we'd better close the grate," Sol said, conceding the argument. "If one of our papas comes down to the cellar--"
"I guess you're right." Erich stopped playing with the puppy. "Give me a boost."
Solomon braced himself and cupped his hands in readiness. He was not enjoying himself. The Yahrzeit candle bothered him, Erich's attitude bothered him, and he felt bad about leaving the puppy alone in the sewer. The candle would go out eventually and the little thing would be scared. Hungry, too. What if they came back and found it dead and stiff and covered with mildew?
Eyeing the open drain like an acrobat about to somersault toward an oncoming trapeze bar, Erich placed one foot in Sol's hands and hoisted himself onto the two-by-four. With Sol holding his legs to steady him, he poked his head and shoulders through the hole in the cellar floor. Then, snaking his hand through, he patted around for the crowbar.
"Whatever you do, don't let go, Spatz."
"Maybe you'll grow longer if I leave you hanging for a while. Maybe then you'll stop calling me 'Sparrow.'"
"I might do that if you ever stop feeding the little buggers." Erich inserted the crowbar through the slats of the grate, and tugged.
The grate creaked but did not move.
"Damn this! What did you do to it?" He tugged harder, his body straining with the effort.
"Do to it? Nothing," Sol said. He had developed a crick in his neck from trying to see upward. "There! You've got it! No! Wait--something's wrong!"
Something was wrong--Sol could feel it. But what? He watched the grate come away from the wall and move to an upright position. As it teetered, he saw the problem.
Erich was balancing himself by holding onto the lip of the hole. His hand--
"Let go!"
Even as Sol yelled, he knew it was too late. The grate clunked down, followed a split-second later by the thud of the crowbar hitting the boards on the sewer floor.
Erich's scream died to a choking gurgle as he pawed at the grate. Light, slanting through the bars, cast pale stripes across his face, and blood curled down his arm. He kicked spastically.
"Erich!" Not knowing what else to do, Solomon held onto Erich's legs.
"Help me!" Erich screamed hysterically.
"Papa!" Sol shouted, as Erich stopped to take a breath between convulsive sobs. "Papa, help us!"
He waited, listening for footsteps, for a voice. At his feet, the puppy softly whimpered.
"Papa!"
A woman's voice answered him, floating out of the sewer's darkness.
Oh God, let me die. I did not know...I did not know.
CHAPTER FIVE
"It hurts! Sol, help me!" Erich tried to take a deep breath between sobs, but the pain was too great. "M-my hand. It's st-stuck! The crowbar! Open the grate. It hurts--it hurts!"
Sol let go of his legs. Erich could vaguely hear Sol rummaging around below. His own body weight was dragging him down, wrenching at his armpit. Oh God, he thought. What if my hand busts right off and my fingers stay up there and--
He heard himself screaming again. His heart was beating so hard, he knew it was about to burst open and fly right out of his body. He forced himself to stop screaming.
"Erich? Are you alive? Answer me!"
Sol's voice came from somewhere outside of Erich's cocoon of pain.
"I'll get there!" Sol was yelling desperately. "I'm trying to pull myself up!"
Why is he crying! Erich wondered, feeling a strange numbness creep over him. Why doesn't he just reach up here and help me? He doesn't have the strength and balance to get past you and shift the grate, some other part of him answered.
"Papa!" Sol shouted again.
Erich could hear him clawing at the slimy walls of the cellar. "Papa!" he screamed, in unison with his friend.
"Solomon? Erich? For God's sake, boys, where are you? What's happened?"
"Papa! Down here!" Sol shouted. "Erich's hurt!"
"Herr Freund! Help me, please!"
"Gott in Himmel!" Jacob's voice pleading for God's help came from directly above Erich's head. "I have to find something heavy to pry open this grate. I'll be as quick as I can, boys!"
There was the sound of running footsteps up and down the stairs. Then Herr Freund's voice again. "A moment and you'll be out."
Within seconds, he pried open the grate and hauled Erich out of the sewer like a sack of potatoes. "My hand!" Sobbing, he cupped his injured hand with his good one and blew on it. The ridge where the edge of the grate had flattened his fingers was like raw meat after his mama pounded it in the kitchen. The flesh around the ridge was puffed and red and swollen. He felt sick to his stomach.
"Friedrich!" Jacob Freund called. "Come down here. Your son has been hurt."
He cradled Erich gently and led him to the stairs.
"Wait!" Erich said. "Sol n-needs help getting out."
Herr Freund set Erich down gingerly on the bottom step and went back to the grating. "Here, take hold of me," he told Sol.
He reached into the drain and pulled Sol up through the hole. Sol collapsed onto his knees beside Erich. "You're alive--you're alive!" He was crying.
"He's alive," Jacob said quietly.
"Thank you, Papa!" Sol said. "Thank you. Oh God...what if Erich had died...and nobody knew where we were...and--!"
Jacob put his arm around his son. "Did you think I didn't know about this place? And the dog?"
"You saw?" Erich whispered.
Jacob nodded. "I didn't have the heart to say anything--"
"Erich! What have you done now?" Erich's papa shouted, charging down the stairs and almost tripping over his son. "Mein Gott, your hand! Did Solomon do this? I'll--"
"The boys got into the sewer--"
"The sewer!" Breathing hard, his papa bent over Erich. "Idiot! This will break your mama's heart!" He turned to Jacob. "It's all your fault. You should have sealed the drain!"
"Calm down, Friedrich. It was an accident," Jacob Freund said. "Let's leave recriminations for later, shall we, and attend to your son. We must get him to the hospital."
"It hurts, Papa," Erich said, trying not to cry and keeping a tight grip on his injured hand.
His father helped him to his feet. "Let's go," he said. "But I promise you, when I get back I'm going to seal that place so tight not even a cockroach will be able to get in!"
"I'll take care of it," Jacob said softly. "Now go. And don't worry about the dog, Erich, I'll--"
"Dog? What dog!"
Erich cringed at the look on his papa's face.
"A puppy," Herr Freund said matter-of-factly. "The boys have a puppy down--"
"You insist on disobeying me!" Erich's father shouted.
"Friedrich! This is not the time for anger! I told you, I will take care of everything."
"No!" Erich's father shouted. "No! No! No! You take him to the hospital. I'm going to take care of this grate, right now, this minute--"
"Sol! Don't let him seal Bull in there!"
Erich had begun to shake uncontrollably.
"The boy's going into shock," Herr Freund said. "He must be kept warm."
He took off his jacket and wrapped it around Erich.
"He's having one of his seizures, Papa," Erich heard Sol say.
Suddenly Erich felt as if a giant fist had punched him in the small of his back. He heard himself scream as his head jerked back tautly and his body arched into a hard bow. He heard his teeth chattering, felt something soft being wedged between his lips. Pinpoints of light exploded in his head and he saw trees layered upon more trees, thick and lush, like a jungle, and a moon--yellow and full and round. The edges of the moon began to melt, coating the leaves in moon-wax....
He lay in a tumbled heap at the bottom of the stairs. There was pain coming from somewhere; he could feel it, yet it was distanced from him as if it belonged to somebody else. He could not understand why he was lying there, when he felt so strong. He tried to get up but the energy was trapped in his body--
"Erich?" Solomon bent over him.
"A moon," Erich whispered. "I saw a moon...melting like a candle. And trees...everywhere." He tried to reach for Sol. "I was scared--"
Sol pressed his wrist against Erich's. "Blood brothers," he said, sobbing.
CHAPTER SIX
As if he had momentarily forgotten that Erich's father was standing right there, Jacob Freund took the boy in his arms and rocked him. For a moment, Erich appeared to relax. Then he arched his back again, and shuddered convulsively. His eyes were wide open, his pupils so small that Sol expected them to disappear altogether. Instead, his eyes rolled upward. All Sol could see were the whites before they closed and Erich passed out.
Still Herr Weisser stood by, doing nothing.
"Either get help, or hold your boy and I will get help," Sol's father said. "Your son is in shock. He must be taken to the hospital."
"Is he going to be all right, Papa?" Solomon asked.
His father nodded. "I told you already, Solomon. He is going to be fine. Fine."
"May I go to the hospital with him?"
"You not only may," his father said, "you must." He laid Erich down on the floor and headed up the stairs. "I'll find help," he called down. "The two of you bring Erich up here. Keep him covered until I get back."
Sol and Herr Weisser labored up the stairs with their inert burden. They placed him on the floor with one jacket over him and another under his head like a pillow. After a few minutes of pacing, Erich's father grew impatient.
"You stupid boys," he said. To Sol's horror, he appeared to be working himself up into one of his tempers. "You have no sense, either of you." He paused for a second, then went on, voice rising as it grew louder. "You watch Erich. I'm going downstairs. I'll make sure this never happens again, you can be certain of that."
He stomped downstairs. Sol heard the yelping of the puppy, punctuated by the scraping of a large crates being moved, until, what seemed like hours later, his father returned to the shop. He was followed inside by two burly men. One was shouldering a stretcher, the other carried two blankets and a medical bag.
"There was a shooting near the Reichstag, so there was no ambulance available. No taxis either when you need one." Jacob clutched the door jamb for support while he struggled to catch his breath. "We had run halfway back from the hospital before--" He stopped and looked around, frowning as if he had just noticed that Friedrich was nowhere to be seen. "Where's Herr Weisser?"
"Down there," Sol said, pointing toward the cellar steps. "He...he's sealing up the sewer."
His father sighed loudly and shook his head. Marching to the top of the stairs, he yelled down to his partner to come upstairs at once.
Face red from whatever physical effort he had been making, Herr Weisser appeared at the top of the stairs. "Well, Freund, you certainly took your time," he said ungraciously.
Jacob's own face reddened, and he opened his mouth as if to make an angry retort, but apparently thought better of it. "There were no taxis or ambulances available," he said quietly. "Herr Wohmann kindly stopped and brought us here on his wagon. He is waiting to take us to the hospital."
Sol looked up. Through the open doorway, he saw horses pawing uneasily. The closer nag had her head turned back, trying to look around her blinders at the leather-vested vegetable dealer on the back of the wagon, rearranging baskets, apparently making room for them.
"A hamster wagon!" Friedrich Weisser sounded outraged. His eyes had narrowed in a look of compressed fury. "I'm not going anywhere on a damn hamster wagon." He glanced toward the cellar curtain. "You take him, Jacob. I'll tend to...matters...here."
Child of the Light Page 3
