As you sow, so you shall reap

Galatians 6:7

Part 1

June, 1949, Afternoon

"Dad! Daddy! Look, I hit it, I hit it!"

His smile as wide as his opened arms, the tall, broad-shouldered man caught the lively child and whirled him around. "Geez, beginner's luck," another boy sneered, his hair of the same color like his brother's.

"Be proud of your brother! Remember how excited you were at your first home-run?" White teeth flashed through the bushy beard and, holding the smaller boy under one arm, he patted his other son's shoulder.

"Riiiight, you are just jealous, dumbass! Because you were older when youdid it!" His feet dangling in the air, the smaller child, not older than four or five, stuck his tongue out. His brother pulled a face as an answer and the father laughed, gently putting his boy back to the soft ground.

"Both of you are great, gifted, amazing, athletic young men! Now, run and ask Mom for some ice-cream before the Red Sox take you away! And leave some for me!" he shouted after them as they dashed away, smilingly picking up the baseball bat that had been thrown into the grass so carelessly by his youngest son.

Still smiling, he joined the group of the other men who attended the Church's picnic. The day couldn't have been more perfect. Yesterday's weather had been ugly with its persistent showers of rain and cold wind. But around the evening hours, the sky suddenly had cleared; and over night, the temperature had risen. Today was an early and mild summer day; the sun had dried the large meadow behind the community hall nicely, and a fresh, grassy scent lingered in the air, still speaking of spring, but already promising a hot, wonderful summer filled with garden parties, swimming and laughing children.

"...that's why I was against Truman's politic all the time," the gray-haired school principal was just declaring, nodding violently to stress his point.

"But you have to admit, Jonathan, that his decision to bomb Japan made an impressive example other nations won't forget about any time soon. And as long as the world is restoring its order..." the man next to him pointed out, but was interrupted.

"Nonsense! Mark my word, Harold, from Truman there's nothing good to expect in the long run. Hey Ben!" the principal greeted the young father, generously offering him a cigar the grinning man gratefully accepted. "Have you finally tired those boys of yours out? I daresay, those live wires will be the final nails to my coffin when their first year at school starts in a few weeks!"

"Don't worry, Jonathan, you'll only have to deal with one, so you can get used to it," Ben retorted good-naturedly, "Are you again talking about politics of a war that's long over? What's your opinion, Charles? Will Harry lead our nation into an early apocalypse? Or will he save the world from hunger and oblivion?"

Raising one disapproving eyebrow, Charles – an equally tall, bulky man in his late thirties – turned to the younger, red-haired man. "Benjamin, this is hardly the right place and time for your blasphemous jokes. But if you wish for my honest opinion – the Lord will see to it that things turn out right. If he chooses our president to be a worthy harbinger of peace or not is not in our influence." Frowning, Charles adjusted his square glasses and nodded stiffly at the other men before he turned around and left for one of the longish, wooden picnic tables standing under the wide, emerald green branches of a nearby poplar.

"I tell you, he's so grim and obstinate about..."

More he couldn't understand as he moved away from the group, not interested in their gossip and trivial, blaspheme chatter.

"Caroline!" he snapped as he sat down on the wooden bench before the clean, white plate his wife was just about to fill with potato salad. "I saw you talking with Ben's unruly brats a minute ago. I do not approve of you spoiling them."

"But Charles, they are cute little boys, I thought a piece of cake..." Her eyes were focused on her hands as she closed the lid of a big plastic bowl tightly. Her soft voice was drowned at once by her husband's snort.

"Cute! Obnoxious, loud devils! This red hair is suspicious enough! Red hair, as their father's, if you know what I mean," he added and laughed, his eyes staring at the dark-haired, small woman in front of him, and snorted again when she twitched at his last remark.

Grimly, without another word, he waited until she sat down, too, and in silence they emptied their plates. Behind him, he heard the sound of a ball being hit by a wooden bat, the cheerful yells of the smaller boy and the praising exclamations of the copper-headed father.

"Pack up, we go home." He reached for his jacket, looked around and when he found the priest of their little community, he joined him for a few parting words. Caroline stayed behind, stacking plates and bowls in the picnic basket, now and then glancing at the playing trio on the meadow, a melancholic smile on her lips when Ben hugged both his boys. She hurried to put on her jacket and fixed her hat when her husband returned.

Calling a few words of goodbye to a by-standing, merrily chatting group of women, they left the ground and began their walk home.

The housewives had stopped their talk and looked after the stiff pair - he being two heads taller and almost twice as wide as his delicate, pale wife. In the bright sunlight, their dark, almost black hair shone like polished ebony.

"Poor Caroline, how thin she has become!" One of the ladies finally broke the silence with a sigh; the others nodded.

"You are so right, dear. Wasn't she plump and pretty, with her rosy cheeks and her round belly..."

"I'm dying to know what happened. I mean, after all this time... What?" A third woman glanced challengingly at her friends when they gasped in shock at her words. "Admit it, it is strange. He was always a bit weird, but when she was finally blessed, he became almost amiable. And she looked so happy... I really wonder what happened. Was there an accident at the delivery? Was the child..."

"Amanda, that's enough!" A round, rosy woman interrupted her so vigorously that even the baby she was feeding at her breast stopped suckling. "Whatever happened, the little angel is in a better place now, and if Caroline needs more time to deal with the pain, we have to respect that!"

"I guess you are right... but seriously... five years... One should think that's enough..."

Unaware that they had become the main topic of the suburban gossip again, the couple walked along white fences and a row of lovingly cared for gardens and driveways. Several red and white cars – the pride of every upper middle-class – stood freshly washed before carefully painted garage doors and reflected the light of the evening sun.

Finally, they reached their destination – a pretty, almost new, wainscot white house, as neat and dainty as those of their neighbors along the street. The rose-bushes under the front windows bloomed with bright-red blossoms and the first bees of the year inspected them eagerly. The green branches had nearly covered half of the windows by now, but even the more fastidious residents agreed that it would be a shame to cut them down – this year, the bushes were extraordinarily beautiful.

Charles went ahead, searching for his keys. When he was just about to turn the doorknob, he frowned, his mouth twitching angrily.

"Oh, Charles, no! Please no! Not today!" Caroline's face turned paler than before, as it always did when her husband's features showed more than the angered frown. The disturbingly delighted gleam in his eyes never ceased to scare her.

And she, too, had heard the noises from inside – a crashing piece of pottery, followed by the sound of two pairs of small, limping feet hurriedly running away.

14th of February, 1944

"Charles, no! Please no!" the young woman cried, holding her red, burning cheek. Tears ran from her dark-rimmed eyes. An elderly nurse made a quick, polite excuse and left the upset pair alone. As she closed the door behind her, she suddenly remembered the reason for the ugly outburst, knowing she should return. But as she heard the angry, aggressive voice from inside, she sadly shook her head, took a deep breath and returned to the nurses' room. After all, if the husband complained about her because she intermingled with a patient's family affairs, shewould be the one in trouble. Soon, she would forget about the ugly incident anyway. There had been too many of them throughout her years at this hospital to remember them all.

"How could you! Caroline! After all I've done for you! Is thishow you respect the Lord and the sacred bond? Is thishow you respectme?" Scornfully, his face distorted in disgust, he pointed at the small bed next to his wife. Two newborn baby boys were sleeping peacefully. Their identical faces didn't even flinch at the man's harsh voice, the little hands touching – small, white and delicate like those of a doll – enough for a deceitful promise of security and warmth.

"I don't know what you are talking about, darling, they are your sons..." she stammered desperately, and cried out in pain when he slapped her for the second time today. His eyes glared menacingly at her and he lowered his voice to a hiss.

"Don't you dare to call these abominations my sons! Harlot! Whore of Babylon!" He raised his hand again and she turned away, covering her face with her arms. Then he halted, suddenly looking thoughtfully as he stared at the twins with narrowed eyes.

"I should throw you out of the house! But the devil himself planted his seed inside of you, and I won't let him win by putting myself into the wrong. No," he said firmly, "I will not answer your sin with another. I will think of something. No, you won't bring me down. Not you! The Lord will give me the strength I need to pass the trial." Mumbling a short prayer, he rushed out of the room, not deigning to look at his wife and the children.

Trembling, the young mother stared after him, expecting the door to open again any moment. After a while, she calmed down and the tears stopped flowing. Tenderly, she looked at the twins and smiled. "Everything will be okay, my little ones." Her fingertips slowly ran through the short, fluffy hair – flaxen, so unlike her own or that of her husband's. As if they wanted to show her that it didn't matter at all, both children yawned the toothless yawn of all babies, and lazily opened their eyes. A clear, cerulean blue gaze met hers. Carefully, she took one child after another out of the crib and held them close to her chest. As she began to rock back and forth, humming a soft, joyful tune, the nurse returned.

She smiled at the seemingly peaceful picture – another young mother with her newborns, not the first today. "Don't worry, my dear," she reassured her as she noticed the worried, amber-colored eyes. "Many children have blond hair and blue eyes when they are born. In a few years you won't recognize them again, you'll see!"

Three days later

Nervously, Caroline chewed on her lip while she followed her husband into the house. The air of thrilled, happy anticipation the rooms had held only a few days ago when her labor had begun, had vanished. Dark and gloomy was the living room around her as she walked forward, careful not to bump into one of the furniture with the baby carrier she held in her hands.

Charles hadn't called or visited her and her children after he had stormed out of the hospital, and when he finally came to fetch her and the twins, she had been relieved. But by now it dawned on her that she had rejoiced too soon. His face was still angry, and unbearably cold whenever he stared at the babies. And although the fact that he arrived in the middle of the night should have warned her, she had chosen to ignore any negative assumptions. On the drive home, she had tried to talk to him, speaking and soothing him with the similar soft, gentle voice she used for her sons, but his eyes were focused on the road ahead, his lips tightly pressed together.

Now, the young woman rather resembled an insecure girl than a proud mother of two healthy twins. She knew her husband well enough - he had never been one for fancies and celebrations not related to the holidays of the church. Yet, against hope, she had secretly dreamed of a little surprise party, a warm, happy welcome celebration once she would return and bring their babies home. That had been her private, secret fancy during her pregnancy, never suspecting reality would turn out like this.

Once Charles had reached the cellar door and turned the key, his face absent and indifferent, even Caroline couldn't deny the truth anymore. At this moment, she knew it - they would never be a normal, happy family. One look at his face told her the proud, dark-haired man would never accept two little, fair boys as his. And if she didn't turn around now her little children would never live a happy life. Instead of sleeping and playing in the small, but bright children's room she and Charles had prepared over the last months with so much heart and love, they returned to their home in the dark, considered a shame and a disgrace to the family instead of the pride.

He gave her a sign to follow as he switched on the light and, bowing her head, she obliged, giving the napping babies an apologetic smile when her husband had turned his back on them.

At first, she hesitated, but when her husband's glare didn't change she did as she was told and put the twins on an old spare bed, wondering where he had gotten two old pieces of furniture like this, and how he had explained why he needed them. But she didn't dare to ask. Instead, she tugged the blanket around them, as safely and warmly as she could, so they wouldn't fall out of the bed if they moved too much.

"Have you fed them?" The lack of genuine worry and curiosity every father would show in his question hurt her, but she nodded, gently stroking the soft, pale cheeks of her baby boys. She hid a smile when the grips of the little hands tightened around each other as a reflex to her touch. At least she wouldn't leave one child all alone in this cold, moldy prison their cellar had become.

"Maybe... I should stay a while at my mother's place, with the boys. Until..." She didn't know how to finish her sentence, and it wasn't necessary. An indignant snort cut her short, telling her at once how much he valued her idea. Again, she gave her sons a silent, smiled apology – after more than six hours of labor to bring them into the world and the lonely, sorrowful wait for the return of her husband, she had used up all her strength and courage.

"Do you think I'd allow you to disgrace me again, woman?" His almost amused voice told her all too clearly that he'd make sure that anything like that would never happen. Whatever she might want to do, he would nip any nonsense in the bud. "My wife and two children leaving my house for weeks, just the kind of gossip the neighborhood is waiting for. I'll tell you this only once, so you better listen – no word will ever be said about these things." Frowning in disgust, he nodded at the slumbering children. For a moment, the young mother feared he would spit at them, but she didn't dare to block them from his view.

"For the rest of the world, they will never exist. If somebody asks, make something up. A miscarriage, whatever, I don't care. I repeat, they don't exist! When they are old enough, we'll find a convent school for them, far away from here. And there they will stay for the rest of their lives and we go on like nothing happened. Shut up!" he shouted when she couldn't suppress a sob. "And get away from these things!" At his raised voice, one of the little boys blinked. But the sleepy, clear-blue eyes were not prepared for the scornful glare of black eyes. The baby began to cry, waking up his brother, who, unaware what had upset his twin, joined him.

"SHUT UP, HELLSPAWN!" But his anger made them only cry more, and finally, he lifted his foot. When he was just about to stomp on the small, whining creatures, his wife reacted, throwing herself between the kick and her babies.

"DON'T, CHARLES! Don't sin against them!" All her pain and despair lay in her begging voice, and she joined the crying of her children, finally understanding the misery the birth of two innocent, blond boys had brought over her.

This time, Charles spit at them. Then he turned around and climbed up the stairs.

"Make them shut up. And come upstairs when you are done. Don't take too long, or I'll come and see to it myself." Among the sobs and cries of the woman and the two baby boys mixed his lowly spoken prayer,asking his Lord for forgiveness. He shouldn't have given into the provoking tears of the devil's whore and their spawn. Thanking him for the strength the Lord has granted him to realize his mistakes.

The next morning

During their first night at their new home, nobody had known when they were sleeping or crying, they had been left alone in the basement, with a father who didn't care to look after them, and a mother who didn't dare.

The first noises heard in the small, white house were Caroline's hurried steps as she rushed into the kitchen. She was late, and before the smell of fresh brewed coffee could fill the living room, her husband arrived. As his wife, the lack of sleep was evident in his face, yet the haunted, nervous look Caroline showed was missing. He appeared to be in an visibly good mood this morning. Although he had to wait longer than usual for his coffee and the egg, he didn't say a word. Like every morning, he picked up the newspaper and began to read the feuilleton. From the radio a variety of soft and jaunty Jazz songs were played in turns; only occasionally the hisses of the old coffee machine were louder. When Caroline finally arrived at the table, holding the coffee pot, she couldn't stop her hands from trembling while she tried to fill her husband's cup. Chinaware clashed against chinaware and a few drops of coffee missed their destination, spoiling the white, new tablecloth. Scared, she glanced at her husband, shrinking in size even more, but he only shook his head, without looking up from the article he was reading.

"Caroline, you surprise me. Usually, you are not that careless. Well, be that as it may." The newspaper rustled as he turned the pages. "Sit down now, I have to go to work soon."

Once she sat, he put his reading away and focused on the hard boiled egg standing in front of him. After a little while, he pointed his spoon reproachfully at his wife. "You were negligent with your make-up today. Your eye looks ugly. Fix that before you leave the house." Self-consciously, her fingertips touched the blackened skin under her left eye. "I'm sorry, darling," she meekly apologized. "I don't have the right kind of camouflage to make this kind of... flaw disappear. But I'll try again after cleaning up the table and the kitchen, don't worry," she hurried to add when she saw her husband's disapproving face.

"Good," he grumbled, and took a sip of coffee. "For a second I thought you would try a trick to squeeze money out of me, for your womanish frippery. Not the best timing." They finished their breakfast in silence. Only once in a while he complained about the music they played - modern Jazz would never be an acceptable distraction. Unfortunately, this radio station still offered the best newscast, otherwise he'd demand to change it. As he more or less spoke to himself, Caroline refrained from answering or commenting his rants. After the last night, she was glad he behaved like he always did, like nothing had ever happened or changed in their life. However, the burning pain of her eyes made it impossible to push the new family secret out of her mind, and as her husband was occupied by other matters, she dared to let her thoughts wander to the little children lying in the basement.

Finishing his breakfast by shoving the plate away from him, Charles picked up the newspaper to finish reading. After that, he would go to work. Like every day.

As quiet as possible, she cleared the table and refilled his cup with the remaining coffee. Back in the kitchen, she cleaned the dishes and put them away. Just when Charles had finished reading, she returned, two feeding bottles in her hands.

His face turned crimson the instant he saw her, and the chair was shoved under the table with more violence than necessary.

"Ungrateful woman! You couldn't wait until I'm gone! Are you mocking me? Me, your provider?" His fist slammed on the table and she almost dropped the bottles.

"I'm... I'm sorry... darling, it's just... I prepared these and didn't think... and Michael and Gabriel... they..." As so often before, she didn't have the opportunity to finish her explanation.

"Michael? Gabriel?Are you completely... I thought I hit your eye and not your ears last night!" he bellowed, and for a moment she feared he would leap at her and knock her down again. "No names, I said! NO NAMES for these things! How DARE you naming them, names of the archangels of all things!" A thick vein on his forehead swelled dangerously and she backed off, her back hitting against one of the bookshelves. She gulped and took a deep breath, the bottles pressed to her chest like she were protecting her children.

"Charles, they need names, they are human beings! Please, I beg you, you have decided about their life already, please allow me to choose names for them!" His features neither altered nor softened as he glared at her, and finally, she went down on her knees, crying. "Charles, I beg you. Allow me to name them! They are our... my babies, I must name them, please... I promise, I do anything you want, but please...!" Her gaze focused on the floor, she waited for an answer, surrounded by an awful, hostile silence. A few minutes passed, then she heard him turn away and leave. "Charles?"

Still kneeling on the carpet, she listened how he put on his jacket, took his briefcase and keys. But instead of leaving the house, he returned, looking at his wife with contempt. "Listen, Caroline. Name your brood if you must. I will allow it. In return, you won't talk back anymore. This is my house, my household, I will not tolerate any more disrespect from you. I decide what happens to those things. They stay downstairs, as long as they are allowed to stay in my house, I don't want to see or hear them. We don't talk about them. They are not my concern." She lifted her head, her eyes wide open, about to say something, but one stern glare and she closed her mouth before saying anything.

"You've just promised it a minute ago, Caroline. You gave them names, now you follow my orders. For dinner, I want roast and potatoes. Don't cook them too long, you know I hate them when they are too soft." With that, he left and a moment later, she heard how the door was opened and closed again. She was alone. Quickly, she stood up, sighing with relief. However, she began to understand how high the price was she had to pay, for the names of her children. But she refused to worry. She would have a few, precious hours with her babies, feed them, cuddle them, sing to them, calling them Gabriel and Michael as often as she wanted. Even if she already felt that nothing good would come from the bargain she had made with her husband, no sane person could have guessed how the future would be for two little creatures whose voices had grown weak after hours of crying.

June, 1949, Evening

"Let his hand go!"

But the boy didn't listen. Again, the belt came down, smacking against the child's bare legs. As so many evenings before, the twins were lying across one of the beds on their stomachs. They had become used to the smacking sound when the sturdy leather lashed against soft skin. Sometimes it was a belt, sometimes a thin strap, sometimes one of the old dog leashes. Whatever the man thought appropriate. A few days ago, they had been really naughty. That was what he said. They didn't understand what they had done, even their mother couldn't explain it to them. Maybe nothing would have happened if Michael hadn't asked why the man yelled at them. Neither he nor his brother could know that whenever they looked at the man with their blue eyes wide open, they gave him the ultimate reason to punish them. That day, he had thought a thin iron chain was a good choice.

The wounds had just begun to heal. But now, under the impact of the leather belt, they were opened again and after a few blows, blood ran down their legs. Yet, Michael refused to let Gabriel's hand go. He had promised.

The thin boy didn't have to turn his head to know what was happening behind them. The man was raising his arm again, and in the corner stood their mother and watched them, silently. She had told them that they had to obey. Father was always right. He gave them food and the place to sleep. She had said so, often, since he and his brother could remember. And they believed her. She was their mother.

Michael didn't know how often he had counted to ten since the man had yelled at them, and ordered them to lie down on the bed. Finally, his legs began to feel numb, now he wouldn't feel the following blows anymore, and his sobs grew weaker. Next to him, he heard his brother. He wished he could see him, but with the dim light and his eyes flooded with tears the world was blurry. But he felt the warm hand in his, how it twitched and trembled whenever the belt hit Gabriel's legs. His brother's sobs grew louder.

"Michael!" The stern voice echoed in his little head, but he didn't dare to answer. Even if he wanted to, tears were blocking his throat - all he could have managed would be coughing. "Let the hand go!"

The small boy winced at the shrill sound of the belt as it cut through the air. Yet, the impact didn't happen, not on his legs.

Instead, his twin howled in pain. " . !" With every word, another strong blow hit the other boy's calves, making a sickening, squishy sound. He felt small, wet drops splattering against his own skin. The numbness of his own body already left him and the burning pain flashed through his limbs. Violently, he blinked the tears away, trying as hard as he could to catch a look of his brother's face. Half-buried in the mattress, only one tearful eye gazed back at him, the boy's cheek as wet as the fabric underneath. From afar, Michael thought he heard someone sobbing, too, but he didn't care. The pleading look of his brother confused him, why was he expected to do something. What was he expected to do? Finally, his young mind understood what was happening. If he didn't obey the man's order, not he would be hit. Gabriel would have to take the pain instead.

But he had promised him!

He couldn't remember which was the first of the many dark, cold nights down here when they had huddled against each other in one bed, wrapped up in two thin blankets while they listened to the sounds of darkness. Mother had said they should care for each other. Gabriel had begged him to never leave him alone. And after one evening similar to today, he had promised his brother – even if there was nothing else he could do, he would never let his hand go.

Another violent sob came from his throat. He didn't know what to do. Maybe the man would leave his brother alone if he did as he was told. But... he had promised! One drop of his brother's blood splashed on his face. Slowly, he loosened his grip around Gabriel's small hand.

"No..." His heart ached when he heard the weak, almost inaudible voice that sounded so much like his own. He hesitated. Before he could make up his mind what would be right, his brother grabbed his hand, with a strength that surprised Michael. Biting his lip until the skin opened and he could taste his own blood on his tongue, he drew himself closer to his brother's body. Maybe he could shield him, maybe just a bit. He heard the scornful voice shouting angry orders and asking the man from the holy book for strength and forgiveness, but he couldn't understand half of the words. The whistling sound of the belt, the rushing of his own blood, the whimpers of his brother – all this deafened his ears for everything else that was happening around the two of them. In the end, he only heard how his brother had become quiet. Being desperate because every movement hurt so much that he couldn't even lift his head, he even failed to notice that the beating had stopped. The sound of a slammed door reminded him that there was more in this world than his twin.

"Mike, my darling..." A soft, soothing voice suddenly hovered over his head and a gentle hand stroked over his head and ran through his shaggy, light-brown hair. Mother. "Mom... Gabe..."

She helped him to turn around and cleaned his face with a handkerchief until he could finally see better. His legs hurt and he felt how blood was running down his ankles, but it wasn't so bad. Not worse than usual.

He looked at his brother, and shrieked. The boy's eyes were closed, and blood dried on his lips. They had both developed the habit to bite their lips when the pain in other body parts became too strong.

"Mom!" he yelled. "Gabe! Gabe! Mom! Wake him up! Gabe!" About to panic, he shook his twin by his shoulders, staring at the pale, wet face and the open, blood-covered gashes on Gabriel's legs in turns.

"Calm down, my boy, he will be alright. Let him rest a bit." She pulled the boy in an embrace and hugged him tightly, rocking him like a little baby, ignoring when he tried to struggle himself free. "Gabe..." When he thought he saw his brother's eyelids twitch, he sobbed again.

"CAROLINE!" a harsh, dominant voice shouted from upstairs. "Come and make dinner! I'm hungry!"

"Yes, darling!" She let the boy go at once and rushed to the stairs. But for a moment, she hesitated. Then she pulled a small key from the pocket of her skirt and hurried back, and pulled a small chest from under the boy's bed. Quickly, she opened it, took a dark-green bottle and a roll of bandages out and shut it close again. "Here, Mike." Nervously looking over her shoulder, like to make sure that her husband wasn't watching, she shoved the items in her son's arm. "You remember what I taught you a few days ago? After the chain? Good boy." She smiled faintly when he nodded. "Take care of your brother."

"CAROLINE!"

"Mommy loves you! Good night!" She bent over and kissed Michael's forehead and patted the unconscious Gabriel's back, then she dashed up the stairs. "Coming, darling!"

The boy didn't even wait until she was gone. He tore off a piece of the bandages with his teeth and opened the bottle. The strong smell of the iodine mixed with the scent of drying blood made him gag. Yet he tried not to flinch and began to clean his brother's wounds, careful to not let his tears fall on the opened skin. After a while, the legs began to twitch.

"He's gone?"

"Gabe!" He dropped the bottle to the ground and fell around his brother's neck. "I'm sorry, I couldn't stop him..." Gabriel lifted his head and small, identical noses touched.

"You liar!" the twin cried out, but hugged his brother back. "You promised! You wanted to leave me, but you promised!"

"I'm sorry, Gabe. I didn't want to! Never want to leave you! But he was so mean..."

"I don't care!" Sobbing again, he pushed Michael away from him and took his hands. "Promise again! Cross your heart and hope to die, if you ever leave Gabe alone again!"

Mike nodded gravely. It was unusual to hear his shy brother talking so much, so this was very, very important. With all the earnest solemnness only sad, five years old children could muster up, he put his and his brother's hand on his chest. "I cross my heart and hope to die if I ever leave Gabe alone again!"

With that, the matter was resolved and Michael carefully continued to bandage his brother's legs. Although his injuries weren't as bad as his twin's, Gabe insisted that Mike's legs were bandaged, too, or they wouldn't look like twins. Michael agreed. Both began to giggle when they told each other how they had sneaked out of their room when their mother and the man had left, and how funny it was to dare each other climbing the cupboard.

They fell silent at once when the door opened, but only the light was switched off. Giggling again, they climbed in Michael's bed. Gabriel's was still wet with blood and tears and began to smell funny. Like every night, the two small bodies huddled against each other, sharing their warmth, and finally fell asleep.

Another night

"I don't like mother," Gabe suddenly stated, his voice hoarse after crying and from throwing up earlier. Mike sneezed when his brother's wet hair tickled his nose. It was chilly tonight, his shivering twin was cold against his skin, and he tried to pull the blanket tighter around them. But he had to admit that Gabe's cold cheek felt good against his burning face. But the tiny water drops really tickled. He sneezed again.

"Why?" he finally asked. "She plays with us. She never hurt us. She says she loves us and he..." He talked fast and eagerly, too fast, too eager, desperate to convince himself – he knew what his brother was about to say.

"She's lying! You are lying! You are a liar, too!" Despite his angry, desperate tears, he crawled as close into his twins arms as he could.

"I am not!" Mike protested, hugging him. "Don't always say I am!" He shivered, too, and his face and legs hurt so much. And his twin was wrong. Their mother had said the truth. And he didn't lie, he just couldn't do anything. Hurting, freezing and helpless to deal with his brother's tears, he cried, too.

He couldn't understand why the day ended like this when it started so nice.

It was the first day since the incident with the broken china that they were allowed to come upstairs. Their mother had come down as soon as she had heard how her husband's car had left the driveway. Hurriedly, she had turned the key and softly called for them.

It was always a bit of an adventure when the door opened and all they could see at first was a bright, diffuse light telling them the night was definitely over. At this point, they never knew what would happen. Something good like food or fresh clothes. Or something bad and they would be yelled at and beaten. Today was one of the marvelous, funny days they spent together with their mother in the warm living room. The walls looked so different, and the floor – the carpet – felt soft under their feet. Even small things were fun, like climbing on a chair and letting their small legs dangle. Maybe their mother would sit down with them and switch on the TV and they could watch a show, together, and laugh like there was no monster lurking behind the big front door. Their mother had warned them since they started to walk – if they would go through that door, a monster would do things to them ten times worse than the man.

But for now, they had to sit at the table and Gabe, feeling bored, chewed at his pencil. He wanted to play with his brother, but it wasn't even easy to see his face, with the woman sitting between them. Flinching when his bandaged legs accidentally hit against the table, he began to rock his chair forward and backwards.

"Gabriel, my angel, what's wrong with you today?" He dived away when their mother's hand came closer. She smiled and stroke his cheek instead. Somehow, he had guessed something like this would happen. But he wanted to be careful. Suddenly moving hands often meant nothing good. In any case, maybe it was better to sit still for a moment, at least as long as she focused on him.

"That's better, dear. My, look at your hair." Gently, she ruffled through the unkempt strands. "You need a haircut. It's so long. And how nice and dark it has become." Gabe looked around her, at his brother, then at her. His brown head seemed pretty light to him, compared to his mother's almost black curls. However, as he didn't say anything, she turned back to the book, her fingertip following the words she read out to them.

For a minute or two, his eyes traced the written lines. He already knew the story. In the end, God would tell Abraham not to kill his son. She had read the story to them last year. Like the story from the week before. He wanted to read something new, but she didn't want to hear anything of it. Without a sound, only his lips moving, he counted the books resting on the shelf in front of him. At least two times ten.

"Gabe, stop rocking with your chair," the woman chided gently. "You always liked reading with me. Look at your brother, he pays attention." Again, she reached for his head, but before she could touch him, he jumped from his chair.

"He is stupid!" he cried, sticking his tongue out.

"I am not!" Mike protested, but when his twin laughed, he laughed, too.

"You are dumb!" Grinning mischievously, Gabe sprinted to his brother's chair and tried to knock both – boy and chair – over.

"You are silly," the twin retorted and was about to leap at him, but his mother caught him in the movement.

"Gabriel, Michael! Stop this nonsense!" They failed to notice the alarmed tone in her voice. How should they know that she was afraid a by-passing neighbor might hear the high-pitched yells of two over-excited, five years old boys? But Gabe only gave a triumphant shriek when she tried to catch him with one arm while she struggled to keep hold of the wriggly Mike.

Ignoring the pain in his legs, the small boy darted across the room and climbed over the backseat of the sofa. A second later he had buried himself under a pile of white cushions. He thought it funny that they had the same flowery pattern like the big, bulky furniture. Hiding under them was like being invisible. Only that his brother had disappeared from his view was something he didn't like. But the pillows and the sofa, they were soft and warm, and they smelled good.

"I wanna sleep here!" he suddenly declared, not seeing his mother's sad smile.

"Gabriel, baby, you already have a bed, you can't sleep here," she explained, hugging the other twin who still tried to escape her embrace.

"I wanna! This is nicer. The bed is cold and stupid. I sleep here!" His sulky voice was muffled as he had pulled a pillow over his face.

"Well..." She swallowed hard and patted her other son's hair. "If you want to... you can sleep here from now on. But it's not big enough for the two of you... Michael will sleep in your room. But you probably are big enough to sleep alone, and you can see each other in the morning..."

At these words, a disheveled head emerged from behind the sofa, the eyes wide open and terrified.

"NO!" As quick as he had run away from his mother, he was back, pulling at his brother's arm. Finally, Mike had freed himself, not even realizing he had kicked her by accident, and before she could say another word, the twins hung around each other's necks. No way that one of them would leave the other alone at night, and certainly not in the basement.

Giving a sigh of relief, she stood up and joined them in their hug. For the first time since their arrival she was glad she had to hide two children instead of only one. Sometimes, their closeness was convenient. An only-child could have given her more trouble. Still – at moments like this she felt like she wasn't even welcome in their own separate world. She probably only had to give them food and clean clothes now and then, and they wouldn't even miss her much. The thought broke her heart, but she didn't want to spoil their few, happy hours together - when she could actually be their mother - with sinister ideas. It was silly anyway, to be jealous of her own little children. She inhaled deeply, and put a happy smile on her face.

"What do you think, my darlings? You both sit down on the couch, I'll make you a snack, and we watch TV together?" Shrill cries of excitement were the answer and before she could tell them to keep their voices down, the two boys had jumped on the sofa, bouncing happily on the bolsters.

Shaking her head in amusement, she got back to her feet. But when she reached the kitchen door, she turned pale with fear. Abruptly, she turned around and rushed back to the table, hurriedly gathering sheets of paper, pencils and two apple cores.

"Mom, what's wrong?" Mike asked; both twins leaned against the backseat and watched her.

"The children..." she whispered and ran over to them. "Quickly, stand up, now!"

As they sensed her anxiety, they refrained from protesting or acting up.

"Here, take this, and now down with you. Don't make a noise!" She shoved the things in their arms and shoved them towards the cellar door, almost pushing them down the stairs. "Hide the paper and the pencils under Michael's bed. And be quiet!" She closed the door, leaving her puzzled children to the darkness.

Not saying anything, they did as they were told and shoved paper, bible and eaten apples under the narrow spare bed. Mike reached for Gabe's hand, and they listened.

They heard the loud voice of the man. He sounded angry.

"Don't let go!"

"Darling, you are early!" Caroline exclaimed in surprise, nervously straightening her skirt. So she was right when she thought she had heard her husband's car in the driveway. Hectically, her eyes searched the living room for any treacherous signs. If he found anything... But everything seemed to be in perfect order. 'The cushions!' Suddenly remembering how the boys had jumped on the sofa, she walked across the room in pretended casualty, and began to fluff up the pillows like it was nothing extraordinary. Just being a housewife whose work never ended. She was lucky - he didn't pay her actions any attention.

"I know I'm early," he snapped. "Bring me a drink!" Keeping her head down, she left the sofa alone and turned to the liquor cabinet, quickly preparing a drink, adding more whiskey than usual. Maybe he wouldn't notice the guilty look in her eyes when he drank a bit more this evening. Meanwhile, he had already plunked down into his armchair; his feet - still in their heavy, dark-brown leather shoes - resting on the table. She opened her mouth, but shut it again when she saw the furious expression in his face. Silently, she offered him the small silver tablet with the drink, and he snatched the glass at once, emptying it in one go. "Another!"

The second one was emptied in the same fashion, but he took more time with the third.

She sat down on the edge of the sofa and waited. After a few minutes, he began to talk, cursing his work and his boss who had given an important commission to another, in Charles' eyes incapable colleague.

"He will regret it! If not in this life, then on the day of his judgment. The Lord knows, and the Lord will punish him!" His rant didn't stop anytime soon, and his wife listened faithfully, nodding and shaking her head, whatever she thought was appropriate. Despite all the bitter feelings, she felt sorry for him. She knew he was a good man, an earnest worker, and the injustice hurt her like she had been in his place herself.

After a while, he stopped and watched the dark liquid in his glass. Caroline knew that his wrath hadn't disappeared yet. In a minute or two he would continue, probably repeat most of his speech over and over again, but one or two drinks more and he would calm down.

He put the tumbler on the table.

"Bring me one of the boys," he commanded. The unexpected coldness in his voice startled her.

"What?"

"Are you deaf, woman? Stand up, move your tiny ass, open that door and bring me one of the boys!" The pure spitefulness those words carried sent a shiver down her spine and her hands were shaking more than before.

"Why...?" she whispered.

"DO IT!" he slammed his fist on the table, almost upsetting the remains of his drink, and with a jump, Caroline stood up.