My mother yells from the front seat.
“They are coming again.”
Stunned and terror-stricken, we scramble out of the van and run into ditches on either side of the road. I land in the gritty mud on my belly, my father behind me, his weight pressing me into the muck. My breath is knocked out of me and my legs are bloodied by the stony earth. Tears begin to form in my eyes, but then an awful stench rises from the grime. I squint and cough and throw up the little bit of food in my belly. In front of me lies a well-dressed man in a brown suit and vest, his gold pocket-watch beside him in the mud. My father pulls himself up a little to cover more of my body. I can’t see farther than the still man who is just far enough so I couldn’t reach him with my hand if I tried.
Suddenly, my ears are deafened by the shriek of dive bombers and the thwack-thwack of bullets spraying the ground. I lift my head a little and see lines of brown grass swept as if a wind were blowing them.
“Get down,” my father yells from behind me.
I can hardly hear his voice above the explosions and the cries and screams coming from everywhere. A bomb explodes very close and clods of earth nearly bury me.
“Tatush!” I yell. “Tatush, I can’t breathe!”
I thrash until I get a mouthful of air. I turn toward him. We are both nearly covered...
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