A Night Divided: Chapters 34–47

My voice wavered, revealing too much of my fear of him.

The only exception that I could see was if Mama figured out we had gone to the tunnel in defiance of her orders.

Exposed rock jutted out overhead and to my left.

Endless liters of water had sprayed so powerfully here, we probably should’ve expected it to affect the ground’s stability overhead.

“There’s brick upstairs!” I said. “Maybe even a bag of mortar too.”

It wasn’t anger or fear or even disappointment—thank goodness for that, because I could withstand my mother’s anger and knew how to calm her fears.

Unless we dismantle our own doors at home, where would we get something like that?

I wasn’t sure how long she let us sleep, but it felt like hours. I only knew that when she called for us, we both sat up groggy and disoriented.

As soon as we felt it was appropriate, we ventured back onto the street.

The dour woman clearly wasn’t in a good mood this morning.

So Fritz relented and worked with me.

“I see that she is no less headstrong than the night I left. My wonderful, brave girl, I should’ve known.”

There are fissures in the earth where it’s begun to separate.

I was given the job of cleaning the front room, which I still thought was ridiculous, but I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t, because any complaint would be overheard, flagged, and reported. So I pretended to be cheery, but compensated by giving my mother irritated looks whenever she passed by.

Compared to most others, I wasn’t as good at reining in my feelings. Lately, I was a split of two strong emotions, each fighting the other to control my mood.

“...water pipes...leak...”
"...West German incompetence...”
“...investigate...”

The Stasi used those things to blame us for Peter’s escape attempt, and said my parents would be arrested for encouraging subversive behavior, and I would be taken away.

“So you’ll sacrifice my family to save yours?” My tone was icy, even though it shouldn’t have been. I was no saint and couldn’t pretend my choices would be any nobler if I were in her situation.

The approved Communist art on the sides of buildings inevitably depicted strength and power.

We are not animals who can be corralled behind a cement wall.

As quietly as possible, we raced through the apartment, destroying anything that made it look as if we were packing to leave. I tousled my bed, Mama put dishes in the sink, and we put away anything that had been left out as intended gifts or to take with us.

This time the Grenzers didn’t wait for courtesies before they barged in to search our home.

“Papa wanted to give the bricks as long as possible to dry and so we haven’t removed the final load of dirt yet. He figured once we did, even with our fortifications, it’s only a matter of time before it collapses.”

He greeted me with a solemn nod that seemed more respectful than in our first meeting.

Müller and Fritz went to work at our end, and from the other side I heard Papa and Dominic chiseling away at their dirt and rock.

Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor. It must be demanded by the oppressed.
—Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., American civil rights activist, 1963

Anna had saved the moment but, just as important, the baby had forced her to gather her own courage enough to go through the gap, an opening so small that it didn’t look like it should be able to accommodate her body, much less any of the rest of us.

Dirt cascaded over us, and a large rock fell at my feet, momentarily forcing Müller and me back.

Müller gave me a hard shove, forcing me toward the bend, then turned back and reached for the gun, evidently hoping to grab it before any damage was done.

“You did the impossible,” Mama said, cradling each of our faces with her hands one at a time.