We began in a room with a video about Jews in Holland and the Nazi invasion and the Frank family.
Then we walked upstairs into the canal house where Otto Frank’s business had been.
The stairs were slow, for me and Augustus both, but I felt strong.
Soon I was staring at the famous bookcase that had hid Anne Frank, her family, and four others.
The bookcase was half open, and behind it was an even steeper set of stairs, only wide enough for one person.
There were fellow visitors all around us, and I didn’t want to hold up the procession, but Lidewij said,
“If everyone could be patient, please,” and I began the walk up, Lidewij carrying the cart behind me, Gus behind her.
It was fourteen steps. I kept thinking about the people behind me—they were mostly adults speaking a variety of languages—
and feeling embarrassed or whatever, feeling like a ghost that both comforts and haunts, but finally I made it up,
and then I was in an eerily empty room, leaning against the wall, my brain telling my lungs it’s okay it’s okay calm down
it’s okay and my lungs telling my brain oh, God, we’re dying here.
I didn’t even see Augustus come upstairs, but he came over and wiped his brow with the back of his hand like whew and said,
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