Part 22 (1/2)
The woman came out, smiling, with a frying pan filled with not one but two eggs, their yolks golden as the sun, and said, ”Here you are,” in Italian, and poured them onto his plate. He couldn't speak. She stepped out again and returned with a gla.s.s of milk and two thick slices of bread. ”I'm sorry there's no b.u.t.ter.”
He stared at her.
”Eat.”
Tears were stinging behind his eyes. Eat. I'm sorry there's no b.u.t.ter. He picked up the fork, and his hand trembled. The smell of fried eggs was stronger than his tears.
He ate.
He had never tasted anything so good-so hot and fresh and golden, washed down with cool swallows of milk-and he could eat every bite and still not take food out of Niko's mouth-Niko had eaten ... He felt it flooding through his body, the joy of a full belly. The peace.
”I've given your brother some medicine, Gustav, but my friend has also gone for the doctor. And to get you ration cards. You'll need food. Both of you.”
”I can work, signora. If there is a job-”
”In your condition? No. We feed you first. You get healthy, then you work.”
”You are ...” He looked around helplessly, gesturing at the room they sat in, at the plate in front of him from which he had sc.r.a.ped all but the faintest traces of egg. ”You are helping us?”
”Yes. Of course.”
”The man ... the train man. With the hat.” He gestured to show her. ”He say no. He say n.o.body help us here. He say he give us ticket back to Lyon.”
”He what?” The woman was on her feet, black eyes blazing. Gustav drew back. ”He what! The ... the ... the liar! The RAT!” She hit the table, and the plates jumped and clattered as Gustav stared. ”The train man? Stationmaster? Brown hair-this tall-blue uniform, blue hat?”
”Yes, signora.”
”He lied.”
”I ...”
”He lied, I'm telling you!”
”Yes, signora. I believe you. Please. I am ... I am glad.” Glad. He looked at her, this fierce-eyed mother staring him down. Yes, signora, I see. He lied. He hadn't expected ... any of this. He was so tired.
”Child, I'm sorry. You need a bed. You and your brother. There's a room for guests-”
”Signora, we'll get everything dirty-”
”And a bath. Come with me.”
She went to where Niko lay. She was lost again in delirium, muttering to Father. ”She's gone, Father, I can't catch up to her, I tried. I tried so hard. Don't make me. Gustav made a campfire in the woods. He'll be okay. I'm going to sleep beside it, Father ...” Her eyes opened as the woman gathered her into her arms; she gazed at her as if to read some answer in her face. The woman looked at Gustav.
”Do you think it's all right if I bathe him?”
Gustav looked into her dark eyes. ”Yes,” he said.
”You're not Marita,” said Niko suddenly in clear Italian, and the woman paused at the foot of the stairs, looking at her. ”Help me,” said Niko, and then in Yiddish, ”Don't make me, Father. I need to sleep. I can't anymore, Father. I'm so tired.” Her green eyes filled with tears. ”I'm so tired, Father. I'm going to tell her.”
”Not Niko. No. Do you understand?” she said, looking up into the kind, black eyes. ”My name is Nina.”
Nina was asleep. Clean, and full, and asleep-Signora Losier had sung over her in Italian, sung her to sleep, the afternoon sun spilling light on her wet clean hair, her face relaxing into lines of peace. Gustav hugged his arms tight around himself, shaking his head in wonder. Nina. My name is Nina. She is going to live.
He lay on the couch where she had put him under a blanket, with instructions to sleep. But now that he was lying down, he could no more sleep than he could fly. He lay staring at the white ceiling, remembering the bare bulb in the train station, flickering, remembering the hardness of the concrete floor. The woman who had beaten Nina, her face ugly with rage-Signora Losier hitting the table, eyes blazing, shouting he lied ...
He heard the back door open, and voices in the kitchen. Frau Alexandre, the pastor's wife, was home. Speaking French in a low urgent tone. Signora Losier's voice answering her was soft with dismay.
He was on his feet in an instant. ”What is it?” He burst into the kitchen. ”What? Please, what is happening?” For a moment they said nothing. Both their faces were white.
”Frau Alexandre,” he said in German, ”what is happening?”
The tall woman looked at him and took a breath. ”I am sorry, Gustav. I have made a very bad mistake. I thought that the mayor would help me get you ration cards. I was wrong.”
”The mayor?”
”I am sorry, Gustav. I thought-he has normally ... listened to me.” Her face was strained. ”He says that you and your brother should be taken to a refugee camp. He says he understands you might not want this, and so you are free to leave town on your own if you prefer.”
”A camp-he-Frau Alexandre, my brother-”
”Frau Losier told me. Even if she was a boy she's not going to any camp. Those camps are not for refugees-they are for what those pigs in Vichy call undesirables, and they're h.e.l.lholes. My husband has seen them. Healthy people die in them.” The woman's face was grim. ”Gustav, I promise you this. You and your sister can stay here as long as you need. If we have to hide you, then we will.”
Gustav looked at her, and couldn't speak. She was turning to Signora Losier, saying something in French.
The two women looked at each other and nodded.
Julien walked out the gate of the school, his heart light, behind Benjamin and Jean-Pierre. He had organized the first soccer game of the year today and then hadn't even been there, and it had gone great. Dominique had scored two goals, and Gilles and Luc had each scored one, and they'd tied, which was perfect, and everyone wanted to do it again, and Antoine said he was in for tomorrow. And he had been at the station at just the right time to help Gustav and his brother and prevent Monsieur Bernard from running them off-we're winning. On every count. He grinned. No matter how n.a.z.i the rest of the country turned, Tanieux was going to be different. Henri and his father were going down.
”We should play with those same teams tomorrow,” said Roland. ”And then mix 'em up the next day. Don't you think?”
”Yeah. That'd be about right ...” They were at the bridge. ”a demain, alors,” said Roland, and held out his hand; but as they shook, Roland began to watch something behind Julien's back. He turned.
Mama was crossing the bridge. Her step was quick, her eyes flashed, and her face was very serious.
”Bonjour, Roland,” she said, coming up to them. ”Will you tell your parents I'll be down to their place in a few minutes? I have a favor to ask them. Don't wait for me.”
”Oui, madame,” said Roland. ”Um ... see you soon then.” He turned onto the south road and cast a curious glance behind him as Mama bent toward Julien and spoke in a lower voice.
”Julien,” she said, ”I need you to do something.”
Chapter 34.
The Sons of Saints Monsieur and Madame Rostin sat at a table strewn with spiky chestnut husks, splitting them open with knives and dropping the smooth dark chestnuts into a bowl. Julien sat across from them.
It was only the boy they were being asked to take, he explained. His sister needed to stay in town for the doctor. The boy wanted to work, but he was too weak yet, undernourished. He had no ration card. They were both sans-papiers, people without papers, without status, illegal aliens. That was why there had been a ... disagreement with the mayor.
His heart was beating; he lowered his eyes to his hands and kept them there. When he raised them, they were both looking at him. Madame wore a fierce frown.