Part 14 (1/2)
”Good morning...good morning, children. Did you sleep well?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Good...good... Come along, there is hot food waiting to be eaten.”
The twins rolled out of their bed and stretched. They were only eight-years-old, but they stood at five feet four. They were growing very quickly for their age and were almost as tall as Patrice. Rubbing their eyes, the children sat at the table and waited for their guardian to join them. The short, white-haired man stood over a pot at the black wood-burning stove, stirring as he hummed a light song to himself.
”Did you sleep well?”
The children looked at each other and then back at Monsieur Ambroise.
”Yes, sir.”
Patrice looked back at the children with his eyebrows raised, then sighed, lifted the vessel from the burner, and turned to the table. He walked over and set the pot down in the center of the dishes and cups.
”You know, children, your thoughts are very loud.”
Their mouths dropped open as the old man sat down at the table.
”You can hear us, sir?” Eduard asked.
Patrice lifted a bowl to the pot and began to spoon out the porridge. He then handed the bowl to Eduard.
”Yes, I can hear your thoughts, my dears,” he said. ”You were thinking about your mother, yes?”
Sascha nodded her head, eyes wide and round.
”She's gone, sir...”
Eduard dropped his head and stared at the center of the table. Patrice spooned more porridge into another bowl and then handed it to Sascha.
”Yes, your mother is with G.o.d now.”
Sascha stared at the porridge. The small mounds of cream-colored mash reminded her of the clouds. The warmth permeated the wooden bowl and made her fingers tingle. She slowly set the bowl on the table and looked back at the old man, now eating his own bowl of food.
”How is it you can hear us, sir?”
Patrice was about to shovel a mound of porridge into his mouth, but instead sighed and set the spoon in the bowl.
”We have always been able to do so. It is one of the gifts given to our family.”
Eduard raised his head and looked at Patrice.
”Our family?”
The children looked at each other and then back at their benefactor. Patrice smiled-that glorious wide smile that made his face wrinkle everywhere.
”Yes...our family.”
”Who are you, sir?” Sascha asked.
”I am your grandfather,” Patrice replied. ”Did your mother ever tell you about me? Or your father?”
”Mama said her mama had died, but she had a papa, but that we couldn't see him. She showed us a picture of them when they were young,” said Sascha.
Patrice chuckled and rose from his chair. He walked across the small room and lifted a large black book off the shelf and carried it to his chair. Sitting down, he beckoned the children to come to him. They rose from their chairs and slowly walked to the old man. He motioned for them to sit on either side of him as he opened the book-a photo alb.u.m. He pointed to a young girl with pigtails-the resemblance to Sascha was uncanny.
”That is your mama when she was your age. She was very smart and very pretty.”
Sascha stared at the picture and the pendant around her mother's neck.
”Are those our pendants?”
”Yes, those pendants you each wear have been pa.s.sed down from generation to generation. Your grandmother and I gave them to your mama when she was your age. Two pendants. Your grandmother went to be with G.o.d when your mama was only a few years older than you. It was a hard time for us, but my Miriam and I, we found our way. It was a good life for us here... When your mama was sixteen, she met a man and fell in love. His name was Azar Engle... he was your father. She loved him, so I gave my blessing and they were married. He said they had to go to Germany.”
Patrice flipped the pages of the book, the edges worn with time and use, as the children watched their lives pa.s.s in front of them on black paper and sepia tones. He pointed to a picture of their mother and a handsome, very tall man.
”That is your papa. A good man. Very happy. Your mama never told me what happened to him.”
”You still talked to mama?”
Patrice laughed again.
”Yes, it is something our family can do. Your mama and I would talk every night,” Patrice said as he tapped the side of his head lightly before he let his smile fade. ”I heard her call to me the night they took her. She told me you would be coming and to be ready.”
”Why did you not tell us who you were, sir?” Eduard asked.
”You were so frightened. I wanted you to feel comfortable before I told you about our family-about your mama... about why we may have to leave here. Having said that... you must stop calling me sir... ”
”Yes,” said Sascha. ”I like... Mapapa... You are the papa of our mama, after all.”
”I like it,” said Eduard, smiling.
”So be it,” said Patrice. ”And in time, I will teach you how to hide your thoughts from one another, from me, and from anyone else like us. We should all have privacy.”
”Mapapa... Why do we have to leave?” Sascha asked.
”Because of him... the one who... the one who took your mama.”
Patrice closed the photo alb.u.m and laid it gently on his lap, several tears rolled down his cheeks, slipping in the deep wrinkles of his sad face. Sascha leaned over, pressed her face to her grandfather's, and closed her eyes. Eduard did the same and Patrice felt an overwhelming sense of relief and calm. Warmth spread through him and he was at peace. The hole that had been left by the death of his daughter was gone, filled with a new hope and love. The children released their grandfather and he smiled at them.
”How did you do that?” asked Patrice.
Eduard shrugged.
”Don't know-just always done it.”
Sascha smiled and rocked back and forth. Then she stopped and frowned.
”Mapapa? Why did they take our mama?”