Children of the Stars

by Mario Escobar

  “Anna,” her mother said, “I don’t like the way you’re talking.”

  “I know, you’re right, but sometimes it seems like death is the best option, even though we never give up hope. France is no longer the nation of freedom and fraternity. It’s better that you’re getting out of the country, Jacob and Moses,” Anna said. An awkward silence followed. Jacob was sorry he had asked. Ms. Emdem changed the subject. She preferred that the few days her daughter would have in the company of other children would not be marked by such unpleasantness.

  The afternoon passed quietly. Moses and Anna played, but Jacob read a Dumas novel in French. For a few hours he could lose himself and all the fear, relax, and let his imagination unfold in the seventeenth century.

  After a frugal supper, they prepared for bed. By nightfall the women were in the bed, while the boys slept on a straw mattress on the floor.

  Around midnight, Jacob awoke and went to the skylight in the roof. The stars were shining so brightly they looked like they had been painted onto a black canvas.

  “Are you okay?” he heard in a whispered voice at his back. He turned and saw Anna. Her hair fell around her shoulders, spilling over her pink nightgown. In the starlight, the perfect features of her face seemed carved in marble.

  “I just couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I’m sorry about my questions earlier tonight. I didn’t mean to upset you. Really we’re just looking for a place like that, too, but I’ve given up on believing it might exist.”

  The girl nodded. “Sometimes faith is the only way forward.”

  “I don’t even know what faith is,” Jacob said, confused.

  “Having faith is trusting,” she explained.

  Jacob was at a loss. “Trusting who?”

  “In God, of course. Aren’t you a Jew?”

  “Well, my parents were Jews, but we never talked about things like that. My aunt was more religious, but the only things I know about being Jewish are what they taught me this summer in the synagogue, and I didn’t go for long. I know we’re a chosen race, that God set us apart from other nations and that we should worship him, that he’s the only true God . . . but I don’t understand any of that stuff. What did he choose us for? For other people to hunt us down and hate us? My father’s an atheist. He believes the world is just a beautiful coincidence and that we are just animals with powers of reason.”

  “It’s fine if your father thinks that, but I believe God is watching over us and taking care of us, though sometimes I don’t feel like he is. Come on, there’s somewhere I want to show you.”

  Anna led him down the spiral staircase to the theater stage. Despite the darkness, Jacob felt safe beside her. They went into a small room, and she heaved something up. Taking his hand, she led him back to the stage. The auditorium was completely lit up. The golden box seats with red curtains shimmered with magic. Rows of burgundy seats were lined up like an army on the main floor, and the curtain was fully opened. They walked right to center stage and looked up.

  “It’s beautiful!” Jacob exclaimed.

  “Beauty is one of the things that helps me keep believing. Humans are capable of creating something like this. Beauty is all around us, though we don’t always recognize it.”

  Jacob looked at her. The intense shining of her eyes again threatened to trap him forever. He brushed his cheek against hers and felt the warmth of her face. “You’re beautiful,” he said, “but what I like best about you is your desire to keep living. I mean, I hardly know you, but I don’t like the thought of leaving you.”

  “Come with us to Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. When the war is over, you can find your parents. They’re not giving out visas anymore in Marseille. It’s too dangerous.” Her tone was pleading.

  Jacob was quiet, just enjoying the moment, finally feeling like the protagonist of his own life.

  Chapter 19

  Valence

  August 8, 1942

  Anna and her mother left the day after Jacob and Moses had met them. A transport truck came by in the evening. They hardly had time to say goodbye, but Jacob grabbed the girl’s hand and promised they would see each other again. It was an impulsive promise, driven by the desire to make destiny bend to their preference for once, but when the brothers were alone again, Jacob broke down and wept. Moses tried to console him. He knew that their ups and downs were like free-falling into desperation only to rebound up with hope and anticipation.

  Over the next few days, Perrot’s kindnesses and visits from Vipond made them feel at least a little less lost. But being shut indoors was wearisome. Though they ventured out at night to explore the building and dress up as cowboys, soldiers, or ancient Romans, each day felt longer and more exasperating.

  One night, when August had already doled out a few days of its suffocating heat, their two benefactors met with them. They brought a nice dinner, as if celebrating a special occasion.

  “Well, this will be your last night in the city,” Perrot said, unable to hide the reason for the dinner any longer.

  Jacob’s face lit up. “Have you gotten the visas?” Moses, seated, started bouncing at the foot of the bed, until they understood from the look on Vipond’s face that their celebration was premature.

  “Marseille is besieged with gendarmes and immigration police. Even the Gestapo is combing the city. The politics of tolerance in the unoccupied zone has apparently come to an end. We hear news of raids everywhere, and even some of the ambassadors are scared. It is utterly impossible to get a visa in these circumstances,” Perrot said, his face downcast.

  “Don’t worry about it. At least you tried. We’ll go to Spain, then. We might have better luck there,” Jacob offered.

  “You wouldn’t even make it to Avignon. The roads are pockmarked with checkpoints. We don’t want you to end up in a concentration camp. We’ve heard reports of the horrendous conditions at the camps, and the authorities are sending the Jews to Germany. We’ll keep trying to find a way to get you to Argentina, but in the meantime, we’ve got to get you somewhere safe, somewhere you can be outside and breathe fresh air, play with other children, and live peacefully. The Nazis might kill us all, but we’re not going to just lie down and let them step on our necks. Each day you spend here, the Nazis are winning in a way. Early tomorrow morning you’ll leave for the valley region in south-central France,” Vipond explained.

  Jacob frowned and crossed his arms. He would rather fall into the hands of the Nazis than give up searching for his parents.

  Perrot read Jacob’s face. “We promise we will keep trying. Perhaps before the year is over, you’ll be sailing to South America. But to try it now would be suicide,” he said.

  Moses looked at Jacob and waited to see how he would respond. Moses would do whatever Jacob said. They would never be separated.

  “So where is this wonderful place?” Jacob said.

  “The village of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, where Anna and Mrs. Emdem went. They’ve been there over a week and seem happy,” Vipond said.

  At that, a surprised little half smile crept over Jacob’s face. They could be with Anna. He had been thinking about her every day, unable to forget her. “Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, you say?” he asked, to make sure.

  “Yes. There’s a Protestant pastor there, André Trocmé. We’ve spoken with him, and you boys can stay in the village for a few months. Jacob, you’ll be staying in the Maison des Roches with other boys your age. Moses, you’ll stay with a farmer’s family,” Perrot said.

  “You want to separate us? But I promised my parents I’d take care of Moses.” Jacob was distraught again.

  “You’ll see each other every week, especially on Saturdays and Sundays. He’ll be just fine. It’s better this way, and we haven’t found any other solutions. This is just a provisional step, for a few weeks, a few months at the most,” Perrot said, hoping to console him.

  Moses grabbed Jacob’s hand. “We should go there. We can’t stay locked up here anymore. Plus, it
’s dangerous. Mr. Vipond and Mr. Perrot will get us out of France as soon as they can.”

  Jacob studied Moses’s face. He knew his brother was right. “Okay, we’ll go to Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. But if you don’t think you can get us out of the country before the end of the year, we’ll try to find our own way.”

  The men smiled at Jacob’s determination, his brave commitment to keep his word.

  “Then let’s finish supper before it’s all cold,” Vipond said. It would be hard to say goodbye to the boys, but it was not safe for them in Valence.

  They finished eating, chatting pleasantly enough, then the men bid the boys goodnight. It took Jacob and Moses a long time to fall asleep. Partly they ached to get outside the four walls of what had become a quaint, comfortable prison, but the thought of being in danger again was terrifying.

  “I just really want to see Mother and Father,” Moses groaned, knowing that the impending journey would further cement the separation.

  “Look, it feels like the moment of joining them again is moving farther away, but really, each day we’re a bit closer. Mr. Perrot told me the Germans are starting to lose in North Africa and that they haven’t been able to advance in Russia for a long time. They’re going to lose the war. It won’t be long before we’ll be able to travel again.” Jacob was feeling more optimistic than usual, and he wanted to cheer Moses up. He knew his little brother’s hold on their parents was growing more and more tenuous and that it would not be long before it would feel to him as if they had never existed at all.

  “I hope so. I hope the Allies give the Boche a good thrashing,” Moses said with all seriousness.

  Jacob cracked up at the comment. After all, they themselves were German. “Go to sleep,” Jacob said.

  Moses turned over, but Jacob stayed faceup, thinking about Anna. He noticed how his heart thumped louder when she crossed his mind. So he would get to see her again after all, as he had promised. The journey would be worth it, even if he only spent the briefest second by her side. Somewhere between waking and sleeping he dreamed of coming back to France after the war and bringing Anna to Argentina with his family. They would be happy in Buenos Aires, a land of freedom and plenty. Nobody would care if they were Jewish, German, or Dutch. With the dying embers of lucidity, he understood that happiness was comprised of small decisions that move you closer to your dreams. Before you could be happy, you had to imagine life as an exciting novel with a happy ending.

  Chapter 20

  Le Chambon-sur-Lignon

  August 9, 1942

  The next morning, a man dressed in a work uniform was waiting for them at the door of the theater beside an idling, old Renault van. Before they left, Perrot came up and put his hands on their shoulders. “Be patient, my boys. You’ll be hearing from us soon. We’ll do everything we can to get you to your parents in South America.”

  Vipond was there as well. He knelt down with difficulty to be level with Moses. “You’re a brave dreamer, Moses. Don’t ever forget that you’ll always be able to accomplish what you put your mind to.”

  He slowly got back to his feet and met Jacob’s eyes. “Take care of your brother. Don’t make any rash decisions. Trust us and be patient. Sometimes, we have to wait a long time for the best things in life.”

  Jacob smiled, knowing he was right. Vipond kissed their cheeks several times and swallowed back his tears. “May God watch over you,” he said, then put his hand over his mouth.

  Vipond and Perrot walked the boys to the car. Jacob crawled into the front seat and Moses into the back. The old van was rusty but still had patches of its original gray paint. The driver remained silent as he shifted into gear and headed east. It would take them a few hours to reach Le Chambon-sur-Lignon from Valence. The roads were in poor shape, full of curves and drop-offs. In winter, the route they traveled would be nearly impassible. The people of the region were used to being isolated, and they spent summers storing the firewood and food they would need for their long winters.

  The van driver was a hard, unexpressive local. He was fulfilling his duty but showed neither satisfaction nor displeasure regarding his task. After centuries of persecution and living isolated in a harsh, poor land, the Protestants of the region had developed a very thick protective layer. It was not easy to get through to them, to fit in and become one of them. But once they accepted an outsider, that small group of minimalists would put their lives on the line for what they considered just or for those who were persecuted outcasts.

  The landscape slowly changed. The forests scattered around Valence grew into giant green waves that washed over everything. It looked like the van was charting its own course through the vegetation growing on either side of the road. The undergrowth was so thick and the trees so robust that little light got through. The sunny August day felt more like a late fall afternoon.

  They went through very few towns, saw only a handful of farms, and counted on one hand the number of houses surrounded by clearings in the monotonous green blanket. Some time before reaching Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, the first meadows started opening up the countryside and allowed them a bit more perspective. Cows grazed indifferently as the noisy vehicle momentarily altered the encompassing peace that reigned in the valley region.

  They went through Saint-Agrève, which seemed completely deserted even though it was near lunchtime. Dense forests reclaimed the landscape until, just beyond a tight curve, the first houses began to appear. They were spread out at first, granite structures with white shutters, then fell into rows that led to the main streets of the village where the buildings were somewhat taller, with stores on the ground floors. Unlike Saint-Agrève, the streets here were bustling. The well-dressed mixed with peasants selling their wares, and restaurants served food both inside and out on flower-filled terraces.

  People seemed to walk unhurriedly and smiling while banners boasting the colors of France waved overhead as if it were a national holiday. For the first time in their entire journey, the driver addressed the boys. “Tomorrow, the Vichy’s minister of youth, Georges Lamirand, and the prefect, Robert Bach, will be coming to visit. It seems the old marshal doesn’t dare venture beyond Le Puy-en-Velay. He visited the Black Madonna and hightailed it back to Vichy like the devil himself was after him. We’ve no use for folk like him around here.”

  The man’s harsh tone frightened Jacob and Moses a bit, but as he spoke, they realized he was just a simple, down-to-earth peasant worn-out by Pétain’s empty promises.

  “I’ll leave you in Pastor Trocmé’s house. He’ll see to you. Take care with your manners. He’s still got some of his mother’s German blood, and he doesn’t put up with insolence.”

  The boys’ faces grew serious, startled by the warning, which made the driver chuckle. They drove through town, then down a hill and parked in front of a simple granite church. The driver got out and retrieved the two suitcases Vipond had packed for the boys. Vipond had also included a sizable sum of money, in case things went poorly and they had to escape quickly.

  They all three walked toward the church. An inscription above the door read “Aimez-vous les uns les autres”: love one another. A round, unlit stained-glass window and gabled bell tower were the church’s only adornments. Two rounded windows on each side of the dark wooden door completed the simple, inviting look of the place.

  The driver went inside, removed his hat, and headed for the pastor’s office. Fearfully, the children followed. The church’s sober exterior was matched by the austere vestibule. They went up a couple stairs and entered a simple office. A small, dark table and bookshelves were the only furniture, while wall hangings of stylized Scripture verses hung on the walls. Piles of pamphlets and New Testaments rested on the table.

  Seated at the table was a thin man in a simple, clean, well-pressed suit. They walked in as he read and saw his thinning, blond hair starting to turn gray. When he looked up, his clear, expressive eyes instantly set Jacob and Moses at ease. He smiled, revealing two dimples in his pale cheeks and ma
king his round glasses bob up just a bit. The pastor set his pen down on the table.

  “Pastor Trocmé, I’ve brought the boys from Valence, sent by Mr. Perrot and Mr. Vipond,” the driver announced, his hat in his hands. The soft voice he used in the church was quite different from his loud, rough voice in the van.

  “Thank you, Marc,” the pastor responded quietly.

  The driver left them and Jacob and Moses stood alone before the pastor.

  “I can’t say I’m happy to see you. If you’re here, it’s because you’re running from something. Furthermore, I don’t see your parents. I think Mr. Vipond and Mr. Perrot mentioned they were in Argentina. I hope your stay in our humble village will help you forget just a bit about the war and the difficult things you’ve likely had to face. Please, have a seat,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir . . . pastor,” Jacob answered, unsure how to address the man.

  Trocmé smiled and asked them for some information about themselves, then stood and walked to the windows. It was cloudy, and inside the church it was cold. Trocmé was wearing his jacket and a little red bow tie, which added a splash of color to his somber suit. With his light, smooth gait he walked back toward the boys.

  “You know it will be necessary to live separately for a time. We don’t have any families that can take you both. The Arnauds will take care of you, Moses. They have two boys around your age and live about two miles outside of town on a lovely little farm. I’m sure you’ll enjoy living with them. Every day you’ll come into town for school and can see your brother on Saturdays at Boy Scout meetings and on Sundays at church.”

  Jacob was very nervous at the thought of separating from his brother. He tried to speak calmly. “Is there no other option? You can tell the family I’ll do anything. I’m strong, and I could help them out however they need.”