“Der very next night the bombs began falling as they had never done. Massive explosions shook der whole city. Houses, apartments, whole buildings full of living souls who had never done harm to anyone were wiped out. It vas as if a giant foot had come out of the sky and stamped upon them. We huddled in the corner of der basement, clinging to each other. Outside der roar und clatter of death continued, mingled with der screams of the wounded und dying. Bombs do not care who they drop on. The next thing we heard vas the klaxon horn blaring out in der street. Air raid wardens, firemen, and police were herding folk into trucks und vehicles.
” ‘Come out, leave your homes, the whole district is being flattened. Hurry, we will take you to the countryside where it is safer.’
“We listened to the men shouting outside as we crouched in a corner, too scared to move. Mein papa and Uncle Wolfgang began urging us to leave. I can still hear Papa shouting to my mother over der noise of the air raid.
” ‘Schnell, schnell! Leave everything, take the children and get out!’
“There vas a mighty bang! Der basement windows vere blown out, frames and all; ve began screaming in panic. Papa pushed Uncle Wolfgang out of der basement window, and he started reaching in to help us out. A truck loaded with families vas hit, bodies lay everywhere, and the vehicles started to drive away. I dropped der egg. It rolled back down into der cellar, and Helga scrambled back down after it.
“I vas frightened, but angry too. I tried going in after her, but Papa held me back.
” ‘It is mine. Uncle Wolfgang made the egg for me!’ I screamed at him.
“Papa stroked my hair. ‘Helga will get it for you, liebling.’
“I struggled to get free from Papa. ‘Nein, nein, she wants it for herself!’
“Bang!
“A bomb struck the street and hit a main gas pipe. The whole area vas lit up by a blue and white light. I vas flung against der wall, unconscious.
“It vas daylight when I came to. A fireman vas wiping my face; I was still alive, though I don’t know how. Papa too, and Mother, we had been saved by some sort of miracle. Uncle Wolfgang and Aunt Kirsten were hugging each other and sobbing. They kept trying to go to der basement, but the wardens would not let them. Do you know what, der basement vas still unharmed— the bombs, explosions und falling rubble had not touched it. A fireman and a helper carried der body of mein cousin Helga out into the street. In her hand she still held mein lovely egg. I felt so ashamed, but I took it from her, because it was mine.
“The fireman said dat Helga vas dead, not from any injury, but from shock. The fright of being crouched alone in the basement without any of her family when the bomb hit the gas main, it had stopped the poor girl’s heart. There was no other explanation.”
Alma sat stunned by the dreadful tale.
Allie had heard none of it, she was gazing greedily at the egg.
Four days later the game started in earnest.
“Mrs. Struben, I remembered to get packet soup instead of the canned, though there’s no soft margarine in until tomorrow. I’ll put these things away and then we’ll have a nice cup of coffee. Mrs. Struben, what’s the matter?”
“Elma, mein egg is gone!”
“Egg, what egg? There’s eggs in the fridge.”
“Nein, nein, the egg mein uncle made for me in Koln.”
“There there now, don’t get so upset. I can hardly understand you when you get yourself in a state like this.”
“But it vas here only this morgen, mein egg. It’s gone, I’m telling you!”
“Look, let’s sit down and discuss this thing sensibly over coffee. Eggs can’t walk, you know. Don’t worry, we’ll find it.”
And so the game went on to its inevitable conclusion.
Leaving 14D Ferryview Towers Allie had a film of perspiration on her brow. Goodness knows how Alma would have handled that one—it had taken all of Allie’s skill, but she had won. They had argued and searched, debated and scoured the apartment from end to end, then argued some more. At one point Mrs. Struben came right out with it and accused her of stealing the egg. Alma got really frightened, but Allie didn’t; she gambled on a risky hunch that paid off well. Allie said she was going to phone for the police.
The old lady had become even more upset. She had an unreasoning terror of uniformed authority— well, perhaps not unreasoning, having lived in Nazi Germany.
“Nein, nein, Elma, not der polizei please, liebchen!”
It had all ended successfully. Allie cried until her face was red and puffy, offered to help from her meager school savings, accepted a tearful apology from Mrs. Struben and left with her now practiced farewell.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Struben, your egg will turn up. It’s only a question of time. You’ll probably find it in the least likely place, somewhere we wouldn’t have dreamed of looking.”
That night Allie lay in bed, thinking of her growing treasure stowed away in the box on the chimney ledge. The egg made a beautiful addition to her collection. Sleep did not come easily that night, but in the end dull old Alma took over and wafted her off to dreamland.
She slept for only a short time. Allie woke with a start, the noise in her dreams forcing her up to the surface of wakefulness. And the noise was still there now that she was wide awake, rumbling, roaring, whistling, screaming, crashing.
At first Allie thought it must be an old war movie on the television downstairs—her father often sat up late to watch such things. Half reassured, she lay back and tried to recapture sleep. That was when the noise grew louder and the dust began choking her mouth and nostrils.
Then the bombs started to drop. She could hear the whistle from far away overhead, getting closer. Both Allie and Alma lay rigid, petrified; the whole world seemed to be exploding. Allie managed to lift her hand, protecting her eyes from the grit and dust that was raining from the ceiling. Fear rose in her mouth, a sour-tasting bile, mixing with the dirt and powdered glass. Each time a bomb dropped Allie thought it was a direct hit. She tried to scream but no sound came from her constricted throat. She was all alone; Alma had gone, deserted her. Through a space in her fingers she saw the walls of the little basement room shake with each explosion; the group of matchstick people seated around the table, wooden, impassive, as outside the skies rained down death. Planes droned overhead, klaxons and sirens blared outside. Allie’s world was transformed into an Armageddon of fire, smoke, dust and choking rubble.
A gigantic bang shook the entire room. She could see the windows and frames had been blasted out, the matchstick folk who had sat at the table were no longer there.
“Elma, where are you?”
“Allie, please come out!”
Clawing hands of blue and white flame lit up the scene with an unearthly radiance. Allie shrunk against the wall, crouching there like a trapped animal, her mouth wide open in a silent scream that would not come forth. Two massive faces peered in through the burning window space - it was Alma and Mrs. Struben. They called to her over the roar of death and carnage.
“Gome out, Allie, oh please come out!”
“Elma, bring mein egg to me!”
They called louder and louder as Allie shrank further back into the basement. Suddenly the bombing stopped, the voices faded, and there was darkness and peace. Allie felt herself floating on a silent black sea of infinity.
The full staff of the Neighborhood Volunteer Help Junior Branch attended the service, as did some of the old people they served: Mrs. Carmichael, Miss Middleton, Mrs. Salten, Nannie Davidson, Miss Alice Blanchard and Mrs. Struben.