Lana's War

by Anita Abriel

  Natalia tapped her cigarette holder on the coffee table.

  “Let me tell you a story. Once there was a young woman in Saint Petersburg. She was so beautiful she could have any man she wanted, but there was only one who caught her eye. He was different from the young men at parties with their fair good looks and expensive wardrobes. This man had dark curly hair and large brown eyes. And he always wore the same frayed sweater and slacks.

  “A winter went by, and they fell in love.” Natalia paused. “She pretended that she sprained her ankle so her parents wouldn’t force her to attend balls. They spent their time in his university room. By the spring she was sure he was going to propose. She invited him to her family’s dacha on the Baltic Sea that summer. He said he’d follow her.

  “She waited for weeks, and he never came.” Natalia inhaled her cigarette. “In autumn, she returned to Saint Petersburg and he was gone. His room had been let, and there was no forwarding address.

  “She was so devastated that she married the next man who proposed: a cousin of the czar named Boris Petrikoff. But she never forgot the dark-haired student.”

  “What happened to him?” Lana asked curiously.

  Natalia started as if she had forgotten Lana was there.

  “I ran into him years later in Paris. He didn’t ask me to marry him because he was Jewish.”

  “Did you know?” Lana wondered.

  “I knew, but it never bothered me.” She shrugged. “If only I had told him it didn’t matter to me. Perhaps there’s a reason Guy hasn’t asked you to marry him.”

  “I don’t know what it could be.” Lana frowned.

  “Tell him how you feel,” Natalia instructed. “Love can conquer many obstacles, but you have to be honest. You don’t want to end up with a head full of memories when you can have the real thing.”

  Lana said goodbye and hurried to the car, where Giselle was crouched on the floor of the passenger seat. Lana drove away.

  “Did you get it?” she asked as they turned onto the road.

  Giselle sat up and produced the key.

  “You did!” Lana exclaimed as relief flooded through her. She pressed harder on the gas pedal, and the car sailed along the road.

  “You’re going to steal a yacht,” Giselle said gaily. Her scarf blew in the breeze and she held on to her hat.

  “I’m not stealing it; I’m borrowing it,” Lana corrected.

  “Whatever you’re doing, you made me feel as if I’m part of something,” Giselle said.

  Giselle seemed young and carefree, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  “You can’t know how happy that makes me.”

  * * *

  Lana walked back from Giselle’s to the villa. Guy still hadn’t returned, and she was growing anxious. What if it wasn’t just a new engine for the boat that was keeping him away; what if something happened to him?

  She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had decided she was going to tell Odette about the boat that would take her to England. The door to the attic was slightly open, and Lana hurried up the stairs.

  Odette was crouched in front of the little table. The lamp was on, and there was a stack of envelopes.

  “Lana, you’re here.” Odette glanced up. “I didn’t hear you come up the stairs.”

  “It looks like you’re busy.” Lana waved at the notepaper.

  “I’m writing to Bernadette. I didn’t think I’d have anything to say, but I can’t stop writing.”

  “What are you writing about?” Lana asked.

  “Lots of things. Mainly about being afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?” Lana asked.

  “People say that war makes you brave, but they’re wrong. My mother was afraid of everything—of my father getting arrested at work, of German soldiers knocking at our door, of me getting shot in the street.”

  “Your mother was afraid because she loved you and your father,” Lana corrected. “She couldn’t bear the idea of anything happening to you.”

  “Don’t you see, that makes it worse.” Odette pulled at her braids. “I can’t love anyone, because then I’ll be afraid of losing them.”

  “That’s not how life works,” Lana said. “Many things last forever. My neighbor in Paris and her husband have been married for forty years. They start each day the same way. Lisette makes omelets while Victor reads the newspaper out loud.”

  “It’s different during war. Everyone I love is gone.” Odette’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m only twelve years old. My parents will never know anything about the rest of my life; it will be as if they never existed.”

  Lana remembered her mother saying that she had kept Nicolai in her life by eating his favorite cakes at the Russian tearoom. Would it help Odette to tell her that she lost her own father?

  “My father died before I was born,” Lana said. “He was killed by the Bolsheviks during the Russian Civil War.”

  Odette was quiet, letting the revelation sink in.

  “You never had a father?” She looked at Lana.

  “My mother escaped to Paris when she was pregnant. But she talked about him and showed me pictures,” Lana answered. “I always felt he was part of my life. My mother is married again now, but she still does things to remember him. His presence never goes away.”

  Odette seemed to look at Lana with a new respect.

  “My father and I did everything together. Every Sunday before the occupation, we’d go to a patisserie and try a different dessert. He always made me take the first bite so I could give him my opinion.” She rolled her eyes. “As if it mattered. He was a pastry chef, and I was a child.”

  “Sylvie and Jacob will always be with you.” Lana hugged her.

  “I was feeling sorry for myself,” Odette said thoughtfully. “But I had years with my parents; you didn’t have any time with your father.”

  “I knew he would have loved me, and I loved him back,” Lana said. “You can’t be afraid of love. Whether it lasts a few hours or decades, it’s the greatest part of life.”

  Lana’s mind drifted to her wedding with Frederic: her bouquet of lilies and the wedding lunch with her mother and Jacques. For a moment she thought about Guy—not his easy charm or even his body on top of hers, but the way he made her feel bright and alive. It almost came as a shock. Could she be falling in love with Guy?

  Odette looked up at Lana. Her eyes were clear, and her skin didn’t seem so pale.

  “Thank you for bringing me here,” Odette said. “Guy says he has a phonograph with lots of records. Maybe he will bring it to the attic so I can listen to my mother’s favorite songs. And one day if the Germans leave, I can go downstairs and see the kitchen. The kitchen was my father’s favorite room; he said that’s where people were happiest.”

  Lana couldn’t tell Odette about the boat now. Odette was just learning how to live without her parents. Guy was being kind to her, and she felt safe and secure in the attic. It would make her feel as if she was losing everything. Lana couldn’t bear seeing Odette unhappy again so soon. It wouldn’t do any harm to tell her tomorrow.

  “Why don’t I prepare a snack while you finish your letter?” Lana waved at Odette’s writing utensils. “All the talk about cakes made me hungry.”

  Lana and Odette ate fruit and cheese, and then Lana went to her room. Odette had given her the latest letter and she unfolded it.

  Dear Bernadette,

  I have some terrible news. A few days ago, my mother was shot and killed. I’m an orphan now. When I was younger sometimes I’d see orphans from the convent shopping with the nuns in the outdoor market. I thought it must be fun, to sleep in a dormitory with all your friends, to eat meals around a big noisy table. But I’ve only been an orphan for a few days, and I already know I was wrong.

  Being an orphan means there is no one to love you. Do you think that’s why Hitler keeps killing the Jews? So that the children left behind become starved of love? You need love to survive. The plants in the living room died
when I forgot to water them, and my father said they need love and attention to thrive. I said I wasn’t afraid of dying, but I was wrong. There’s so much I want to see and do, and being dead is forever.

  For now I’m staying with Lana, but I can’t live here because the Germans might find me. I suppose I’ll go to an orphanage, but I bet it won’t be the fun that I imagined. I hope I can write to you from there. You’re one of the few people I’m still in contact with who knew me before the war. From now on I’ll be poor Odette Wasserstein, whose parents were shot by the Germans.

  Your friend, Odette

  Lana folded the letter. She wished Frederic were here to tell her how to ease Odette’s pain.

  “I’m doing the best I can, Frederic,” she said out loud.

  She thought again of Odette arriving in England all alone. But there was nothing else Lana could do. She slipped the letter into the envelope.

  “I’m afraid it’s not enough.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nice, December 1943

  Lana stared at the bowl of soup she made for herself, and knew she wouldn’t be able to eat. She remembered the morning of the last escape when Guy prepared eggs and toast. How did he have an appetite when her stomach felt like lead? She ate one spoonful and pushed the bowl away.

  Pierre had been shocked when she delivered the key to the Natalia. The yacht was so big, she was afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle it. But Pierre had puffed out his chest and insisted that he could drive any boat.

  After she left Pierre’s flat, she walked through Old Town. The streets were waking up, and the smell of coffee and warm bread drifted from a bakery. It all looked so peaceful and calm; for a moment she forgot about the night’s escape. Then she heard heavy footsteps and quickened her steps. Brunner’s men could be lurking at any corner. She got back into Giselle’s car and drove to the villa.

  She glanced around the kitchen and felt a catch in her throat. Guy’s newspaper was folded on the counter next to a bowl of fruit. It would all be here the next day but it might not be the same. At best, the mission would be successful, which meant Odette would be gone. At worst, they would all be captured or killed.

  She moved into the living room and glanced at the flowers she had arranged in a vase. An empty glass and Guy’s jazz album sat on the phonograph. It looked like the living room of an ordinary family instead of that of three strangers thrown together by war.

  Now she understood why Guy said working in the Resistance was lonely. She and Guy never talked about the future. She had grown so close to Odette, but in a few hours she would deliver her to the dock and wave goodbye.

  It wasn’t fair to put off telling Odette any longer. She dreaded breaking the news after their conversation the day before. But time was running out. She walked upstairs to the attic and found Odette curled on a cushion. She had a small book and a piece of writing paper open in front of her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s an English dictionary. I found it on the bookshelf.” Odette pointed to a dusty shelf. “I’m teaching myself English so I can write to Bernadette. She’ll be surprised because I told her I’m not going to school anymore.”

  Lana crouched down beside her and inspected the book.

  “What if you could go to school and learn English at the same time?” she asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Odette wondered.

  “A good friend drives a boat that takes refugees to Algiers, and from there they get to England. Families in England are waiting for children like you. They want to take care of them.”

  Odette closed the book and crossed her arms.

  “You mean Jewish children who don’t have anyone,” she said stiffly.

  “Well, yes.” Lana wavered. “Guy has a contact in England, and he’s made some inquiries. He found a family with a house in the countryside. You could sleep in a proper bedroom and attend school. You need a home and to be around other children; you can’t stay in the attic forever.”

  “You want to send me away to live with strangers.” Odette’s voice was cold. “I told you I was going to ask Guy to bring up a phonograph yesterday, and you didn’t say a word.”

  “I came to tell you, but we started talking and it didn’t seem the right time.” Lana felt guilty. “A new family wouldn’t be strangers for long; I was a stranger only a month ago. You’ll meet new friends.”

  “Then come with me,” Odette challenged.

  “I can’t, I have responsibilities here.” Lana shook her head.

  Odette’s bottom lip wobbled, and she pulled on her braids.

  “My mother said you cared about us, but you want to get rid of me.”

  “I’d do anything to keep you here, but it’s too dangerous,” Lana pleaded. “After the war, you can come back to France.”

  “And live with you?”

  Lana studied Odette’s thin shoulders. Odette had lost so much; she had to give her something to cling to. And who knew what the future held?

  “Yes, live with me,” she answered.

  Odette seemed to consider it.

  “Why can’t I write to Bernadette and ask if I can live with her?”

  “There isn’t time for that. A letter could take weeks to arrive.” She shook her head. “And we don’t know Bernadette’s situation.”

  “But I could write to Bernadette from England?” Odette said hopefully. “Maybe we could meet.”

  “You could definitely write to her,” Lana agreed.

  “It would be nice to meet; I’m sure we’d be friends. And I suppose it would be better than an orphanage.” Odette fiddled with the pages of the dictionary. “If the war ever ends, I’m not going to become a silly teenager who only cares about clothes and boys. My father wanted me to go to university, so I have to start preparing now.” She looked at Lana. “Do schools in England really accept Jewish children?”

  “I’m sure they do.” Lana gulped. “And they’d be lucky to have you.”

  “Good.” Odette nodded her head. “Because wherever I go I’ll still be Jewish. No matter what, I’ll always be Jacob and Sylvie Wasserstein’s daughter.”

  * * *

  Lana was preparing lunch for Odette when she heard the front door open. She glanced up and saw Guy standing in the hallway. His clothes were rumpled, and he hadn’t shaved, but his eyes danced when he saw her.

  “You’re the prettiest sight I’ve seen in days.” He kissed her. “That sandwich looks good too. What do I have to do to get a bite?”

  “You can kiss me again.” Lana laughed and realized how much she’d missed him.

  Guy kissed her deeply and pulled out a chair.

  “I couldn’t wait in Marseille forever.” He bit into the sandwich. “I’ll go back for the engine part when it’s ready. Right now I’d do anything for a hot bath, followed by a comfortable bed.”

  “What about the escape?” Lana asked.

  “Didn’t Pierre tell you? There’s nothing we can do without a boat.”

  “There is a boat.” Lana sat opposite him. “I delivered the key to Pierre this morning.”

  “What are you talking about?” Guy asked.

  Lana told him about Giselle’s help getting the key to Natalia’s yacht.

  “Pierre couldn’t have been more surprised if I told him he was going to drive a yacht owned by the prince of Monaco,” she finished.

  “I leave for two days and you become a high-class thief!” Guy said appreciatively.

  “We’re only borrowing the yacht. I’ll put the key back as soon as Pierre returns.”

  “I don’t care how you accomplished it, you saved our mission.” Guy jumped up. “I have to go.”

  “What about your sandwich?” Lana’s heart clenched. She didn’t want him to leave so soon. “And that hot bath.”

  Guy glanced at his watch. “You can run the bath in exactly nine hours and thirty-two minutes.”

  Guy turned around, and he had never looked so handsome.

  “Could
you do one more thing?” he asked.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a bottle of champagne in the cupboard that I saved for special occasions. Could you put it next to the bath?”

  “Of course.” She bit her lip. Lana wasn’t normally superstitious, but what if Guy was caught?

  “I forgot the most important part. Could you be waiting in the bath for me?”

  “Should I take off my clothes first?” She tried to laugh.

  Guy’s eyes traveled over her body as if he was remembering every curve.

  “You should definitely take off your clothes.”

  * * *

  Four hours later Lana hurried along the dock with Odette beside her. Guy was in Old Town, knocking on the doors of the houses. Guy hadn’t wanted them to leave the villa together in case they were being followed. And she didn’t want to wait for him. It would be safer to deliver Odette to Pierre before Guy and the refugees arrived. But the closer they came to the yacht, the more she dreaded letting Odette go.

  They stopped in front of a royal-blue yacht.

  “Is that the boat?” Odette gasped. Even in the dark, Lana could tell it was stunning. The yacht was the length of two fishing boats, and there was a wooden staircase that led to the lower level.

  “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Lana said, glad that Odette was excited.

  “It’s as big as a house.” Odette stared up at the boat. “Wait until I write and tell Bernadette, she won’t believe me.”

  “Odette, this is Pierre.” Lana introduced them when they climbed aboard. “Pierre is going to drive the boat.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Odette.” Pierre held out his hand. “I’m glad you’re joining us.”

  “I’ve seen you before.” Odette scrunched her nose. “You drive a yellow taxi. It has a meter on the dashboard,” she gushed. “I’ve always wanted to take a taxi.”

  “Perhaps after the war, I’ll take you for a ride.”

  Odette’s eyes widened. She disappeared down the staircase, and Lana set the suitcase on the floor. The sky and the sea were the same inky black and the yacht swayed gently on the water.