Shattered Crystals, Mia Amalia Kanner [cat reading book txt] 📗

of the children. They either rushed past me or shuffled along, peering out windows, looking into corners, at furnishings, seeming to strain their eyes to store everything they saw in their memories.

I found Ruth and Eva and took them for a walk on the grounds. We reached a giant shade tree and sat on the grass beneath it. “You must listen to me very carefully, now,” I said. “You know that you are going away from here tomorrow.” I took a deep breath and said the words out loud for the first time. “I am not going with you.”

Ruth, always the direct and practical one, immediately asked, “Why not?”

“There is a problem with my papers.”

“Then I don’t want to go,” Eva said.

“The Germans are almost in Paris,” I said. “You have to go.”

Tears began to roll down Eva’s cheeks. I took Eva’s and Ruth’s hands in mine and said, “You must stay together. You much watch out for Lea, see that she does not get into difficulties, that she does not get lost. Ruth, you are the oldest. You are responsible for your sisters.”

Ruth’s eyes were solemn behind her steel-rimmed glasses. She pulled her hands away from me and began cracking her knuckles.

Eva began to cry. “I’m afraid,” she said.

“Crying will not help now,” I said. “You must be brave and grown-up and I will come to you when I can. I promise.” I hugged and kissed my children, first Ruth, then Eva, and then Ruth again and Eva again. “Remember. Stay together. Listen to the teachers. Be good big girls. Make sure Lea is all right at all times.”

At the entrance to the home, I hugged them once more. “I love you. Make sure all your clothes are packed. Take care of your things.” Then I left them. I did not want them to see that I was crying. When I was partly down the hill, I turned once and saw them staring after me.

Early the next morning, the young orphans of Frankfurt marched out of Eaubonne to meet the children of Helvetia and La Petite Colonie for the train journey south. I stood on the steps with the three young teachers who also lacked the documents that would permit them to travel legally through France. I imagined Ruth and Eva holding hands in a line of anxious children. I imagined children holding hands in the terminal, climbing onto the train, scrambling for window seats. All children loved trains. Would the excitement of the trip drive away the fear I had seen in their eyes? I prayed that Lea was not dragging along solemnly, but skipping happily, even if that made it difficult for the teacher.

“Dear God, please take care of them,” I prayed.

When the last child disappeared down the road, I turned to the three teachers and said, “I have some coffee left in the kitchen.”

We sat in the corner of the empty dining hall. “It’s so quiet in here,” Hilda said. A short, slender young woman, she might have been able to pass as one of the teenagers, now boarding the railroad car. “Until the last moment, I thought I would be able to go with the children. I even packed all my belongings.”

Peter pounded the table with his fist. “It’s that stupid, that ridiculous Germany mentality Lene and Ernst have!” he said. “Papers, always papers. Thousands and thousands of people traveling out of Paris, and they are worried about documents.”

“It is stupid,” Eugene said. “There are three hundred children in the group. Who’s going to examine the papers of the adults supervising them?

“I don’t know what to do now,” Hilda said. “I have no family in France.”

I had been so preoccupied with preparations for the journey and so concerned about parting from my own girls that I had given no thought for my own future. Hilda reminded me that I was not alone. “My sister lives here in Montmorency,” I said. “She and her family are going to a mountain village in the south. Villeneuve-sur-Lot. I think I could go with them.”

“How lucky for you,” Hilda said.

“I’ll leave after lunch,” I said and began to carry the cups to the sink.

“We’ll clean up here,” Peter offered. “Why don’t you get ready?”

A cover of gray clouds hung over the deserted streets of Montmorency. Shells were exploding in the distance. They were getting closer, I thought, and walked faster. But the effort was too great. I was tired. I had risen early and had not slept well. I never did when a momentous day lay ahead. The shelling continued. A few minutes would not make any difference, I decided, and resumed my normal pace.

Late in the afternoon, I entered Hannah’s familiar brick building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. No one answered the doorbell. I rang again. The house was strangely quiet, no radios playing, no children crying. I rang a neighbor’s bell. No one came to the door. Frantic now, I tried every apartment on the third floor and then on the floor below. There was no sound except for my footsteps on the stone floor. “Hello, hello,” I called. No answer came. “They’ve left, they’re gone, every one of them,” I said to myself and walked down the last flight of stairs.

I sat on the bench in front of the house. I was sweating and felt my heart pounding against my chest. Perhaps they are in the shops around the corner, I thought. But the patisserie was closed, and the tailor could tell me nothing. “Mme. Felber has not been here for several days.”

Hannah and Herman must have assumed I would go south with the OSE. They had no reason to expect otherwise. I wandered aimlessly in the empty streets, feeling totally alone. Sal must already be in Bordeaux, where the French government had transferred internees. Hannah and Herman were in Villeneuve-sur-Lot. The children must be on the train by now. I’m the only one left here, I thought. No, that wasn’t true. Eugene and Peter and Hilda were not gone.

I started walking back to Eaubonne, worrying that perhaps the three teachers had already left. I was tired from the earlier hour-long walk, and my feet hurt. The way back was uphill, and it would take me close to two hours to climb the steep streets. Along the way, the houses were dark. Not a single light shone from a window. Was it the blackout, or had everyone fled? Trudging up the darkening roads, I felt my breathing become more rapid. I should not have stopped and asked questions in the stores. The familiar, awful feeling of terror that had plagued me during my final weeks in Germany was with me again.

It was already night when I reached Eaubonne. The house was pitch black and appeared deserted. Were all the blackout shades pulled down? I was not sure, and was afraid to turn on a light. I walked through familiar rooms and corridors, all empty now. The silence was oppressive. In the past, there had always been another human being I could turn to. Now I was totally alone. I felt numb, unable to make plans, although I realized that the Nazis must be advancing. I had not eaten since noon, but it was not food I wanted. Standing in the middle of Lene’s office, I felt overwhelmingly tired. I moved slowly toward the couch I knew stood against the wall, with my arms in front of me to avoid bumping into the desk.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps. Someone was walking in one of the classrooms. I sank to the floor, convinced that German soldiers had entered the building. I crawled under the desk on my hands and knees and listened. Had I imagined the footsteps? No, there they were again.

“Hallo?” A man’s voice.

I squeezed my eyes closed.

“Hallo. Is that you, Amalia? Are you there?”

Eugene! It was Eugene calling me.

“Here, in the office,” I shouted and crawled out of my hiding place. “I heard you walking and thought it was the Nazis. Oh, Eugene!”

Now the young teacher was silhouetted in the doorway. “The three of us were in the attic,” he said. “We decided to hide there for the night and take turns as lookout. Peter thought it was you walking up to the house, but he wasn’t sure. We waited a while, and then decided to come down here and see.”

Slowly, Eugene and I climbed to the top floor. There was no furniture in the attic. It was little more than a crawl space, with a small window. The moon provided our only light. Hilda sat on a blanket spread out on the floor, her back against the wall. “Sit down, Amalia, and tell us what happened.”

“Everyone is gone,” I said. “Not just the Jews, the French too. The shops are closed, except for the tailor, and he was planning to leave by six o’clock. He said it was his last day there, and he was going to his brother’s farm.”

“Montmorency is on the main route to Paris,” Eugene said. “The armies will come through here. That’s why everyone’s fled.”

“We can’t stay here,” Peter said. “We should head for Paris. If we start early in the morning, we have a chance of staying ahead of the Germans. I have a friend there, a fellow named Phillipe. If I can find him, maybe he’ll help us.”

“It gets light by six,” Hilda said. “If we’re going to leave early tomorrow, we should get some sleep.”

Early the next morning, we ate a breakfast of day-old bread with marmalade and coffee. I had no idea what would happen to Eaubonne, but I refused to leave a mess in what had been my kitchen. Hilda and I washed cups and plates, dried them and put them in the cupboard. Then we packed a change of underwear, toothbrush and toothpaste, and shirts in musettes, canvas knapsacks. The three young teachers rolled up blankets and strapped them to their musette. I took my wool coat with a gold piece in its lining. After I had pawned my fox stole and my father’s watch in Paris, Herman urged me to let him convert part of the cash into gold. “Paper is paper,” he said. “But gold will always have value.”

For a moment, the four of us stood silently on the same steps where we had stood the day before as we watched the children leave. Then Peter slammed the door. Eaubonne was abandoned.