In Its Right Place

The stairs to the basement are steep. Each step is made of poured concrete. Steel rebar runs through it all. There was a time when Daniela flew up and down the stairs. That time has passed. She cannot get down the stairs alone now and while the stairs have always led to safety and the possibility to continue life in the case of nuclear annihilation thanks to lead shielding in the foundation of the house that Daniela inherited from her parents the need to fly down the stairs has never been more urgent. Daniela cannot fly anymore.

The siren gets Daniela off her cushioned recliner. It comes from the town center and wails through the corridors of apartments bouncing and crying and peering in everyones windows and shouting with mock enthusiasm to get to cover get to cover get to cover did you hear me get to cover. Daniela reaches for her cane near her chair. It is aluminum with a metal stopper at the end that makes a dull knocking on every floor it touches. By the time she is on her two feet the siren has been crying for some time. It isn’t long before the first explosions begin. 

It isn’t the shockwaves that bother Daniela. She remembers the terror of both German and Soviet advances both and forth across her ancestral home. She remembers when soldiers came and cut down the apple trees that loosed blossoms across the steppes every April. She remembers her body telling her to leave telling her to run away with every ax chop every grunt every tired and weary glance to the window where she sat as a powerless child. She doesn’t feel that anymore. It takes the siren to tell her to go. And it takes her grandson, Olek, for her to go, too.

He comes to Daniela when she is making her first steps towards the stairs. He lives with her in her house. He wears a black beanie and has a yellow piece of linen tied around his left arm at all times. Even in his sleep. He hasn’t slept well since it all began. When he dreams he imagines the half of Baba’s house where she sleeps is vaporized in a surprise rocket strike. He imagines a commander targeting not just the house but only Baba’s side of the house where her bed lies to obliterate any trace of her and leave Olek without a trace of her existence. In the dream there’d be nothing left except his room teetering on the edge of a bomb crater. Alone.

Daniela reaches out to Olek when the next blasts fall.

“We have to hurry,” he says.

“If they wanted to kill us, they would have done it already.”

“Watch your step.”

“I see it.”

“You’re doing good so far.”

“So far?”

“We still have the stairs.”

“Yes.”

“Can you make it?”

“Can I make it.”

“Just making sure.”

“It is muscle memory now.”

“I know.”

“I used to jump down there.”

“I know.”

“Not because of fear. Because I could.”

“Would you jump now?”

“I don’t want to go anyways.”

“But you need to.”

“I need to?”

“Yes.”

Olek holds his Baba’s hand as they move. They plod through the living room side by side. He guides her across the wood to the linoleum tile with black and white diamonds in the kitchen. He pulls the free hand that isn’t holding the cane. He pushes gently with his arm cradling her back. She makes small steps shuffling and barely lifting a foot. The explosions shake dust from the cross beams in the ceiling. The sky of Daniela’s world holds. 

Olek goes down the stairs first. The rubber in his shoe’s souls slap the concrete steps. Daniela waits at the top of the stairs. She leans against her cane and follows Olek with her eyes. A light turns on. Olek comes back up. 

“Remember how to start, Baba?”

“How could I forget.”

Olek weaves his fingers from each hand forming a load-bearing basket. He stands hunched over on the third stair looking up to Daniela and offering his hand basket as a half step between the kitchen floor and the first step down. Daniela lifts her right foot an inch off the ground and places it on Oleks interlocked fingers. He feels her weight. There is screaming outside. Wailing.

“I’m here.”

“I know.”

“You’re doing good. Best step yet.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Can you hear that?”

“What?”

“Those noises outside?”

“The bombs?” Daniela takes her left foot and steps down on the cement step. 

“That’s right. Just bombs.”

“What kind of question is that?” Olek looks up at Daniela’s face. It is twisted into intense concentration. Her tongue pokes out the side of her mouth. He wonders when he last saw her hair. When she last bathed. When they ate a hot meal. What the last movie they saw together was. What his parents would think. He hadn’t heard an explosion in a while.

Then a knocking comes from the front door. Rapid. Urgent. Then a pause. Olek’s eyes are wide. He holds his gaze at Daniela’s face. She hasn’t registered that there is someone at the door. The knocking turns to pounding. Olek says nothing. He watches Daniela. 

They continue down the stairs. It is slow work. Olek tries not to think about the door. The person at the door. The threat. The guilt. The shades of gray between the two.

The knocking returns. This time closer. It comes from the backdoor. The door to the kitchen. The door that is next to the top of the basement stairs. The knocking escalates to pounding.

“You’re doing great, Baba.”

“Is there someone at the door?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t let them in.”

“What?”

“Don’t do it.”

“Why?”

“This is my house. I’ve done this before.” Daniela steps down on his interlocked hands. They are halfway down the stairs. “They could be robbers. Soldiers. You cannot let them in.”

Screaming came from the back door. A woman’s pleas for help. Anyone. Help me. Please. God. Help me. Please. Help. Help me.

“Don’t let them in.”

“Baba, can you hear her?

Please. I have no one. I have no where. Please God please help me. Anyone. God. Help.

The siren still cries.

“No.”

“She’s a woman. She needs help.” Daniela quickened her pace down the stairs. Her mouth was wide open. Olek could hear her wheezing.

“Women murder, too.”

“Wait here, Baba.” Olek righted himself from the stooped position and unlocked his fingers. He looked at his grandmother. She stared at him from above. His face was shrouded in darkness and backlit by the basement. 

Then the glass broke. Olek looks up the stairs. He sees a pistol poking through the lower-left pane of the broken window on the back door. The pistol withdraws. Then a hand wrapped in cloth enters the interior. It reaches for the deadbolt. 

“Stop!”

The hand retreats. 

“Let me in, please.”

“My Baba is here. Don’t shoot.”

“Let me in now.”

“I need to get her to the basement.”

“Just let me in. Please.”

“You must wait.”

“But the bombs.”

Olek scoops Daniela up over his shoulder. He knows she hates this. She hates being moved like a child. Like a body with no life. Daniela shrieks. She demands he put her down but he walks down the stairs backward. Her torso hangs over his shoulder. Down they go into the basement. In seconds he does the work that would take Daniela minutes. 

The basement is colder than the rest of the house. Daniela watches her breath flow out of her mouth and swirl in the LED halo of the lantern in the basement. For a moment, Olek sees Daniela as a child. Young and small watching her breath. There is almost a touch of wonder, of a respite. Another explosion, farther away than the others. 

“I’m letting her in.”

“What if she’s armed? She could kill us.”

“She is one of us.”

“How do you know?” Olek looks at his grandma and then goes up the stairs.