This week, for Six Sentence Sunday, I’d like to introduce you to Lazarus von Hinderburg, a very resourceful, cunning, daring young man a little bit shy of fourteen. It’s now September of 1944, and he’s been slowly, secretively trekking his way from Poland back to Holland since February, when he escaped a concentration camp. The city he’s passing through now, Kassel, had its inner section reduced to rubble and was nearly bombed into oblivion by numerous Allied bombing raids during WWII. During his time in the city, several of those bombing raids are going to occur.
Lazarus was now passing through the city of Kassel, and had an increasingly sneaking suspicion that he was being followed. He ducked into a small side street, hoping to pass unnoticed through this neighborhood, but the suspicion continued. Before he could wait around to see if anyone were behind him, he ran to the nearest house and squeezed under the front veranda, which had a small latticework door that lifted up, and proceeded to bury himself under the leaves which the owners had apparently been sweeping in there.
The next thing he knew, he heard a growling barking dog and loud thudding goose-stepping. For the next few hours he listened as they barged into every house in the neighborhood and searched all of them.
Finally, they got to the house where he was hiding.