Immediately the thundering began again. This time the bombs were even more powerful. I felt no one had ever prayed as intensely as we did in that moment. “Dear God, please let us stay alive,” we prayed. Our small house vibrated, glass crashed, but it remained standing. Right away the first people came out of the burning Dresden, dragging themselves along [the streets]. Some wore nothing but the wet blankets that they had to protect themselves from the flames. Their faces were black with soot. Their clothes were tattered. Some were barefoot, even though it was cold. We saw a young woman who pressed a small bundle against herself under her wet blanket. Her hair showed that she’d run through the flames. We took her into our house. She couldn’t speak and was terribly confused. She kept holding the small bundle fast against her chest. It was her dead 10-day-old baby.
We lived on the outskirts of Dresden, about a 45-minute walk from the center. Two days after the attack Mama and I started toward downtown, where our friends lived. We walked because there were no more streetcars. The closer we got to the center the more acrid the air became. We covered our mouths and noses with moistened cloth. Suddenly we saw completely charred bodies in front of us. My God, everywhere there were bodies. I grabbed Mama tight. I felt very sick. There wasn’t a single house left standing, no streets, only mountains of smoldering rubble. It was dark and ghostly. We saw them cart off many of the bodies to the old market square, where they’d be piled up to make a high mountain. They told us they’d be covered with gasoline and burned. Two men came toward us and told us we couldn’t go any farther, because there were still explosions and collapsing rubble. Our friends’ street was completely gone. Our friends were all dead.
