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burning slowly on the upper corners, but the metal trimmings retarded the flames. The best way to burn an opening would be from the bottom up.
    “With the pruning shears, we picked up some of the burning lumber from the pavilion and set it under the gate. Time was running out. The smoke became more intense, and the house adjoining the garden was ready to cave in. It did not take long to set the gate on fire. It was already hot from the heat around it, so in seconds the entire gate was engulfed in flames. This was more than we counted on, and now there was no time to waste. But if we went through it at this point, it would mean our deaths. We had to wait until the opening became large enough for us to pass through without getting touched by fire.
    “The firestorm became stronger, sucking up loose debris and whirling it into the air. Then our glasses were sucked up by the vacuum.
    “We were about to give up again when another idea came to mind: the blankets. We found them in the last shelter and decided to take them with us. On our hands and knees, we crawled toward the cistern. Our eyes hurt from the smoke, and even breathing became hazardous. But only a few more inches and we reached the cistern in the ground. We dropped the blankets into the basin to let them soak up the manure. A swarm of flies burst aimlessly around us, hitting our faces. The blankets quickly soaked up the heavy liquid, and the weight of it had us struggling to retrieve them from their bath. The smell was sickening when we wrapped them around us.
    “Now we were ready to exit through the furiously burning gate. We could only open our eyes for seconds at a time, though even then we saw an endless blur. Without our glasses, we were blind. We crawled toward the gate. We could only hope that whatever was on the other side was more bearable. ‘Lord, be with us,’ we prayed before we rose from our hands and knees and blindly ran through the fire. Not a minute too soon did we reach the other side. The house caved in, sending huge stones and burning pieces of lumber into the garden. Our hair had burned away, and pain overcame us. With what little strength remained in us, we made our way to the plaza . . . ,” slowly my grandfather’s voice trailed off, “and that’s where you found us.” His tired voice now turned into a soft whisper. Seconds later he entered a deep and restful sleep.
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Chapter Ten
Friedhof
    The cemetery near the eastern edge of the city became the center of activity.
    We never noticed the sunny sky. Less pleasurable thoughts occupied our minds when we returned to the still-smoldering ruins of the city to pay one last tribute to those who had lost their lives a few nights before.
    The resting place of the dead had not been spared from destruction. Tombstones lay overturned, some broken into pieces, and grave markers were strewn about. Flowers and greenery that had formerly decked the graves were now wilted and forlorn, covering the aisles and paths.
    “Look!” my sister said, pointing at a piece of bone that stuck out from a pile of dirt. The bomb damage was heavy in this section. Deep craters caused by demolition bombs exposed the aged remains of skeletons. Entire graves had vanished.
    “Even the dead cannot rest in peace!” my mother lamented.
    “I hope ours is still there,” my father said doubtfully, referring to our family plot. The section where it was located was sealed off by ropes tied to the trees. A piece of cardboard with a hastily written message, GEFAHR! was nailed to a nearby tree.
    “What kind of danger?” I asked my father. He was spared an answer. A man with a shovel mounted over his shoulder like a rifle approached.
    “There are duds in there,” he informed us. “One of them went off this morning,” he added to convince us it was not safe beyond the ropes.
    “Let’s get out of here,” my mother said. The day before she had seen a wagon, drawn by a team of horses, set off such a bomb. A