Children of the Stars

by Mario Escobar

  It was Spain—and yet the mountains, the trees, and the horses grazing in a nearby field were the exact same as in France. The border, the only thing distinguishing one place from the other, had been imposed by humans alone. Adults were always judging one another based on appearance, religion, skin color, or wealth. Children were not like that. For them, everyone was equal, and they hardly noticed differences between peers.

  Jacob heard footsteps on the gravel behind him and turned quickly, assuming Moses had woken up and was hungry for breakfast. Instead, he found himself looking into the round face and small, square-framed glasses of a priest who was studying him with evident curiosity.

  “I’ve never found a sunrise as beautiful as in Molló,” the man said with a light, elegant voice.

  Jacob did not understand Spanish, though in Le Chambon-sur-Lignon he had picked up some basic phrases with the help of some Spanish-speaking friends.

  “I’m sorry, Father. I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Jacob answered in French.

  The priest switched to a very rudimentary French, but it was enough for Jacob to understand.

  “I saw the other boy sleeping. You are alone? You spent the night outside?”

  Jacob was not sure how he should answer. Could he trust this man, or would he go to the authorities?

  “I won’t do anything to you. I just want to help,” the priest said.

  Jacob crossed his arms. He knew they would need help getting to Barcelona but did not know how far away it was. Perhaps an entire day’s drive. Yet he intended for them to keep their distance from the Spaniards, who were likely to turn them in. Jacob had heard that Franco’s government was allied with the Germans and that the Spanish police had turned any number of Jews over to the French authorities.

  “We’re traveling to Barcelona. We need to catch a ship to Argentina,” he finally said, continuing in French.

  “And when does the ship sail?” the priest asked. He pulled a cap out of the pocket of his cassock and put it on, then checked his pocket watch.

  “In two days, from the port in Barcelona.”

  The priest was intrigued. “You don’t have much time. Why are you going to Argentina?”

  “Our parents are there,” Jacob said. He started to relax, sensing the man was sincere.

  “I can get you to Vic, and from there you can take a bus. I think they only leave in the mornings, so you’ll have to spend the night in the city. I know some nuns who would let you stay the night. I’d like to do more, but I need to get back by the afternoon, to celebrate the mass. There’s no one who can take my place.”

  Moses woke and stretched and rubbed his eyes, still dazed by sleep.

  “This is my brother, Marcel,” Jacob said, using the names on their passport.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Marcel. I’m Father Fermín.”

  Moses shook hands and then, with a moment’s pause, declared, “I’m hungry.”

  “Well, we can take care of that,” the priest said. He returned to the entryway of the church. The priest set their suitcases inside and then walked the boys to a nearby café.

  “Jordi, please bring breakfast for three,” he said in Spanish.

  A few minutes later the waiter brought two glasses of milk, one cup of coffee, and a tray of something that looked like long, fried sticks.

  “What’s that?” Moses asked.

  The priest smiled and said, “Churros.” Jacob and Moses soon discovered the universal appeal of churros and gobbled up every last one of them.

  The priest sipped his coffee, softened with cream. When the boys were satisfied, he led them to his car. “I’ll be right back,” he said, leaving them to wait in the car. He retrieved their suitcases, then locked the church, rolled up the sleeves of his cassock, and sat behind the wheel. The car was an old, beat-up 1927 Fiat that threatened to fall apart if its occupants breathed too deeply. It started with strange popping noises, black smoke billowing from the exhaust pipe.

  “She’s old and it’s hard to find gas for her, but don’t worry—she’ll get us to Vic. I don’t think she’d make it to Barcelona,” the priest said.

  The boys remained silent for the whole ride. The priest kept his word and took them to the convent in the middle of the city. He parked at the entrance and helped them with their suitcases, then knocked at the wooden door. It looked like it had been closed for centuries, but they heard footsteps, then the rattling of keys, and finally the heavy door creaked open.

  “Sister Clara, I’ve brought two boys who need somewhere to stay tonight. Early tomorrow they need to take the bus to Barcelona.”

  “Father Fermín, how wonderful to see you again. God bless you. The Mother Superior will be delighted you’ve come to visit.”

  They followed the nun into the building, walked along the cloister, and through the archways saw the inner courtyard with a well in the center. They reached another building and went up a stone staircase, at the top of which the nun stopped before a door. She knocked and entered without waiting for an answer.

  Jacob and Moses were surprised to see the Mother Superior was rather young and pleasant-looking. She received them with a smile, clucked over the boys affectionately, and asked them to have a seat. The priest briefly explained what the boys needed, and she agreed to house them.

  “Tomorrow morning we’ll take them to the bus station,” she said.

  “They don’t speak Spanish,” the priest warned.

  “What do they speak?” she asked with her pretty smile.

  “French, though the older one understands a bit of Spanish.”

  “How fortunate. I speak a bit of French, and we have a French sister among us.”

  “Thank you so much, Reverend Mother,” Fermín said. He turned to the boys. “Be good now, my boys. The sisters are not in the habit of receiving strangers.”

  Jacob nodded seriously. Father Fermín bid them farewell and left the room, leaving Jacob and Moses alone with the Mother Superior.

  “You can share one of our cells,” she said in French.

  “Thank you . . . Mother,” Jacob said, unsure how to address her.

  “Reverend Mother,” she corrected him gently. Jacob smiled, and her heart melted to see the helpless boys. She wondered how much they had been through to get where they were and what all lay ahead of them.

  “Why don’t you go out to the courtyard and play, and we’ll call you when it’s time for supper.”

  They left their suitcases in her office, but Jacob kept their documents, tickets, and money on him. He would never part with the precious pieces of paper that would allow them to escape the continent.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the courtyard and the buildings around it. They found a fountain and had a drink. While they were sitting down to rest, a nun came up to them. She was hardly more than a girl.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Sister Ruth,” she said in French.

  “Good afternoon, Sister,” Jacob answered.

  “It’s time for supper. Please follow me.”

  The boys received the news happily, as it had been a long time since the churros that morning. They followed Sister Ruth down several hallways to the cafeteria. It was a large room with an intricately painted dome and columns built into the wall.

  “We take our meals in silence,” Sister Ruth explained, “and one of the sisters reads from that book.” She pointed to a lectern.

  They were the first to arrive. Sister Ruth sat them at one end of a long table. “What part of France are you from?” she asked.

  “Paris,” Moses answered.

  Jacob gave his brother’s leg a squeeze under the table. They had to be careful, being a long way from the boat still.

  “I’ve never been to Paris. I grew up in a small town called Roussillon. I’ve been in Spain for two years. My order sent me here. After the civil war in Spain, many convents were practically empty, and they’re trying to fill them again.”

  “We really appreciate your hospitali
ty,” Jacob said.

  “It’s our Christian duty,” Sister Ruth answered. Her hair was hidden beneath the habit, but from her freckles and red eyebrows, Jacob figured she was a redhead.

  “I’m really hungry,” Moses said in his frank way.

  “It won’t be long now. Then you can go right to bed, and I’ll take you to the bus station early in the morning. I think it’ll take about three hours to get to Barcelona. It’s a big city. You’d better go right to the ship and speak to the captain to see if you can stay on the ship tomorrow night. I doubt that would be a problem.”

  Over a hundred nuns filed into the cafeteria and, without saying a word, all sat down at the same time around the table. One of the sisters went to a large lectern, prayed over the meal, and then started reading with a tired, chantlike voice. As the novices served the water, the bread, and the rest of the meal, the reader’s monotonous voice was the only sound to be heard in the enormous hall.

  Jacob and Moses gobbled up everything they were served, then waited patiently for the sisters to finish. Every now and then a nun would look over at them and smile, but no one came up to them after the meal.

  Sister Ruth led them to their cell. There were two beds with white sheets and a rough brown blanket. The only decoration on the bare walls was a crucifix. Their suitcases were waiting at the foot of the beds.

  “I hope you rest well. We’ll get an early start tomorrow. We won’t have time to eat breakfast, but I’ll pack you something for the road,” the nun said before turning off the light and locking the door with a key.

  As soon as they heard her footsteps die away, Moses sat up and started talking. “This place gives me the creeps. Can I sleep in your bed?”

  “Of course.” Jacob pulled his blanket back.

  “One more day and we start our journey for South America,” Moses said, sighing. He could not stand the waiting.

  “I’m impatient for it too,” Jacob said, hugging Moses to him. Despite the heat of the day, it was quite cold in the cell—yet the boys were glad to get cooled off. The silence of the convent was as complete as the darkness. Jacob had the sensation of being in a tomb. This made him think of Vipond. He presumed the authorities had found Vipond’s body by now and had, he hoped, buried him. No one would ever know where the man’s tomb was, but Jacob vowed to come back when he was older to visit the spot where the actor had died. He felt weariness slowly and pleasantly stealing through his body and mind until he was fully asleep.

  They woke at the sound of keys jingling. It was still dark, and when the sister turned on the light, they were momentarily blinded. They had slept in their clothes and only had to put on their shoes and follow the nun in silence. They walked back down the cloister to the big wooden door and out to the street. Moses let out a deep breath. He had not liked the feeling of being locked up in the convent. After a few minutes of walking, they came to a small vacant lot where some people were gathered around two old buses.

  Sister Ruth made sure all the details were correct, bought their tickets, helped them load their luggage, and took them to their seats.

  “The bus goes straight to Barcelona. Then you’ll walk to the port. It isn’t too far.”

  “Thank you, Sister Ruth.”

  The nun smiled at them, stroked their hair, and made her way out of the bus. Jacob and Moses remained sitting while the rest of the passengers filed in. Fifteen minutes later, the vehicle eased out of the vacant lot and headed down the main road. By the time the sun could be seen on the horizon, they had left Vic behind.

  The bus rumbled leisurely through the mountains, taking the tight curves slowly. The landscape gradually changed from mountains to an endless succession of pine forests, croplands, grapevines, and small red-roofed villages.

  Within two hours, the bus stopped in a town called La Garriga. The rest of the passengers got out to stretch their legs, but Moses and Jacob stayed glued to their seats. They pulled out the sandwiches the nuns had prepared for them and started to eat. The sandwiches tasted good, and the boys were enjoying them when they heard voices behind them. Two older teenage boys were talking to them, and Jacob turned around to look.

  “Can I have a bite?” one of the boys asked.

  Jacob made a sign to show he did not understand what he had said.

  “Eat. Hungry,” the boy said slowly, touching his mouth and rubbing his stomach.

  Jacob nodded and gave him a bite of the sandwich, and the two older boys came closer to them. “Where are you going?” they asked.

  Jacob could understand that much and replied, “Barcelona.”

  “Yeah, we’re all going to Barcelona. I mean where exactly?”

  “To Barcelona. Boat . . .” That was as far as Jacob could explain in Spanish.

  “Ah ha, you’re going to take a ship. Did you hear that, Ramón? The French boys are going to hop on a boat,” one of the teenagers said.

  “We can take you there when we get to Barcelona,” Ramón offered. “We’re not in any hurry, and you might get lost.”

  Jacob could guess more or less what they were saying. At first he shook his head, but then he shrugged. Perhaps, he thought while finishing his sandwich, the teenagers might be able to help them after all.

  The rest of the passengers returned to the bus, but when the driver turned the key, the motor gave no sign of life. He tried starting several times, but to no good end. He shouted something and motioned toward town. The teenager who had tried Jacob’s sandwich said, “He’s going to get another battery. We have to wait.”

  Jacob understood “wait” and started to worry. He stayed pressed into the seat beside Moses while the rest of the passengers got back off the bus.

  Jacob didn’t know whether to stay or go. What would they do if the bus never started? They would miss the boat if they had to spend the night in La Garriga.

  They had to wait four hours total before leaving. Jacob and Moses let out their collectively held breath when the driver turned the key and the bus finally came to life.

  They entered the outskirts of Barcelona in the late afternoon. Jacob and Moses had not seen such a large city since they had left Lyon. Their faces were pressed up against the glass and their eyes drank in every building and street until they arrived at a large plaza in what must have been the heart of the city.

  The other passengers started gathering their things. Jacob and Moses got their suitcases and left the bus amid general confusion. They did not know which direction to go. The teenagers who had spoken with them earlier caught up with them.

  “We can carry your bags,” one of them said.

  Though the boy’s words were incomprehensible to Jacob, the meaning was clear enough. He shook his head and held the suitcase tightly to him.

  They headed down a narrow street. It was starting to get dark. There were still people on the streets, but things were slowing down, shops were beginning to close, and soon it would be night.

  “Where are you going to sleep?” one of the teenagers asked.

  Jacob was starting to get nervous. He could understand the Spanish word for “sleep” and shrugged the question off. He did not have a good feeling about these strangers.

  “You can stay with us. Uncle John would happy to have you. We don’t live far from here. The port’s about twenty minutes away, but it’s not the best place to spend the night.”

  They came to a wider street, full of women talking with sailors and bars with their doors open. At the end of that street they could see a bigger road ahead. Jacob decided that was where they should go. He motioned to Moses and started running. Moses followed, his suitcase in hand. The teenagers started shouting after them, but Jacob and Moses ignored them. Jacob sped up and reached a covered shopping arcade. He looked back and saw that Moses had fallen behind. The older boys had almost caught up to them. He ran to Moses and grabbed his hand.

  “Throw your suitcase down,” he said.

  “What?” Moses asked, still running.

  “Throw it!” he repea
ted, throwing his own suitcase in the middle of the street.

  The teenagers stopped to pick them up and started rummaging inside.

  Jacob’s heart was in his throat as they ran. It was not far ’til the bigger road. But Moses tripped and scraped his knee, whimpering at the pain.

  “Run, Moses!” Jacob said, seeing the teenagers resume the chase. Finally, they reached the wider avenue and ran down it. A few people milled about, but Jacob spotted a policeman and ran near to him. When the thieves saw where the boys had gone, they turned and ran back down the alley.

  “What’s going on, boys? Everything all right?” the policeman asked.

  “Mr. Policeman,” Jacob stuttered in very bad Spanish. “Bad boys. We run. They take things.”

  The policeman looked all around but saw no one suspicious. “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “France. Tomorrow boat Argentina. Mr. Policeman, please. Where boat?” Jacob answered.

  “The port’s not far. You can almost see the ocean from here,” he said. The boys just stared at him with their wide eyes. He sighed and shrugged. “Fine, I’ll take you, but we have to be quick. I’m on duty and can’t get far off my round.”

  Jacob understood enough to know they should follow him. They had no luggage, but Jacob still had their tickets, their identification, and their money. He hoped the captain would let them board.

  The sight of enormous ships announced their arrival. They shimmered in the lights of the port and cast their reflection over the dark water.

  “What’s the boat called?” the policeman asked.

  Jacob pulled out their tickets and read the name, La Habana.

  “The Spanish Line? It’s that big white one there,” the policeman said, pointing. He walked them up to the deserted gangway. “Go on up. I’ll wait here. If everything’s okay, look over the deck and give me a wave.” His hands pantomimed everything he said.

  Jacob and Moses made their way up the gangway to the main deck. Sailors were busy all around them and paid no attention to the boys.

  “Sir,” Jacob called to one, a very dark man with severe features. He wore a black-and-white striped uniform and a cap.