by Ruth Druart
The man stares at him. He’s tall and handsome; a mop of straight dark hair flops over his forehead, and his skin is tanned. David is drawn to his eyes; they’re chocolate brown, but specks of green twinkle as he opens his mouth. “Bonjour.”
David takes a step nearer.
“It’s me, it’s—”
“Sam-uel,” David whispers. The name feels like pearls on his tongue, and he can’t resist saying it again. “Sam-uel, Sam-uel.”
The young man smiles a lopsided smile. “Yes, it’s me.” A tiny laugh escapes his lips. “Sam-uel.” He walks toward his father, his arms open.
David finds himself enveloped by strong arms. As he lets himself be held, his limbs go limp. His energy saps away as he gives in to his tears.
The young man’s arms wrapped around him tighten their grip. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
David is vaguely aware of Sarah’s footsteps coming down the stairs. He feels the tight grip on him loosen as Samuel turns toward his mother. He watches as he takes Sarah’s hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss.
“Samuel?” she murmurs softly. “Is it you?” Her hands smother his face, stroking, wrapping themselves around his cheeks. “Is it really you?”
He laughs, kissing her again.
David can see he’s grown into a kind man, one who understands the pain of others. His heart fills with pride, and a feeling of peace spreads through him. This is all he ever wanted.
With Samuel holding on to them both, they make their way up the stairs. They sit down at the kitchen table, and David watches his son looking around, taking it all in, comparing his childhood memories with what he sees now.
“I’m so glad I came,” he starts in flawless French. “I wasn’t sure, but now that I’m here, I’m so glad.”
“I always knew you’d come back.” Sarah wipes her eyes. “We just had to wait till you were ready.” Reaching out her hand, she puts it up against his cheek, as if she can’t quite believe he’s real.
“Is that one of my drawings?” Samuel asks, looking at the wall.
They all turn to look at the framed drawing. “Yes,” David replies. “We like to look at it and think of you there in California.”
“It’s the Big Dipper. It actually looks like it.” Samuel smiles another lopsided smile, then his face grows serious. “I want to thank you both for letting me go.” He looks from one to the other. “I know what it must have cost you. How much you must have loved me.”
“Still love you.” Sarah smiles.
“Yes, your mother’s right. We didn’t stop loving you just because you weren’t here.”
“And I didn’t forget you.” He puts his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small wooden box.
David recognizes it immediately. Reaching over, he undoes the tiny hook and looks inside. He takes out the small colored stones, rolling them between his fingers. “Do you know where I got these?” He looks at Samuel. “I found them on the ground at Auschwitz, one day when we were digging.” He stops to wipe away a tear. “It was a sign from God. I knew that if I could find beauty like that among the dirt and the gravel, then I would find my son again.”
“I have something to tell you.” Samuel reaches his hands out to the middle of the table, palms up. Sarah and then David place their hands in his. He squeezes them tightly. “I know how much you loved me, because I know what it’s like now. To be a parent. I have a daughter. She’s three months old and she’s outside, waiting in the car with her mother, Lucy. Do you want to meet them?”
“Want to meet them? Of course we do! Waiting outside indeed. Bring them in.” David is already halfway out of the kitchen.
Samuel continues to talk as they walk down the stairs. “I couldn’t let you know by letter. I needed to see you to tell you this.”
“Thank you, Samuel.” David puts his hand on his shoulder.
“We’re not married either,” he continues. “I wouldn’t have gotten married, not without telling you.”
“Well, you can get married now then.” Sarah laughs, her heart overflowing with joy.
Lucy is blond, hair cascading over her shoulders in golden waves, and her eyes are a lively blue. How American she looks, Sarah can’t help thinking; like a Hollywood film star.
With the baby in her arms, the young mother leans forward to kiss Sarah and then David. The warmth of the infant burns through Sarah as she brushes up against the bundle, but she doesn’t look yet. She wants to save the moment for when they’re inside, in the privacy of their apartment.
“I’m so pleased to meet you.” Lucy is the first to speak. “Sam’s always talking about his French parents.”
Sarah pauses before answering, looking into the young woman’s blue eyes, relieved to find that they are warm.
“Your French is excellent,” David interrupts.
“Well, it should be,” Lucy says. “Didn’t Sam tell you? I’m half French.”
“Which half?” David asks.
“My better half.” She laughs. “My mother is French and my father is American. They met at the end of the war, here in Paris. But I’ve never lived here. I was brought up in San Francisco.”
“Come on. Come on in.” David puts his arm around Sarah, directing the little gathering back toward the apartment building.
The baby doesn’t wake as they walk up the stairs. They go through to the kitchen and arrange themselves around the table. David, sitting next to Lucy, leans over to stroke the baby’s cheek. “She has the same long eyelashes as Samuel.”
Sarah, sitting on the other side of Lucy, is finally ready to look at her grandchild. Her heart beats hard as she gazes down, seeing eyelashes curling up onto soft cheeks, dark silky hair. She plants a kiss on the baby’s forehead.
“I didn’t realize,” Samuel starts. He clears his throat. “I didn’t know what you’d gone through. I was only a child, and I didn’t understand, or I wasn’t listening. I can’t remember now. But I didn’t know.”
They both look up from the baby. “You were only a child. It was too much to ask of you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Samuel, you have nothing to be sorry for. You came back.”
“Well, we might be staying. We’d like to spend some time here. You know, experience both our cultures.”
David’s eyes glisten. “This is more than I ever dared to dream of.”
“Thank you, both of you.” Sarah smiles at the young mother. “May I?” She holds out her arms.
Lucy passes the baby over without the slightest hesitation.
The gesture, the handing-over of the infant, brings it all flooding back, and she’s overcome with a feeling of protectiveness toward this new child. Quietly she starts to hum as she gently rocks the baby.
Samuel leans down over his daughter, placing a kiss on her silky head. Then he looks at his mother and whispers, “Her name is Sarah.”
Acknowledgments
When I arrived in Paris in 1993, I had no inkling of the impact it would have on my life. As I wandered around the city in the first few months, I was surprised and moved by the large number of plaques and monuments in remembrance of those who were killed during World War II, with lists of names that went on and on, and sometimes even fresh flowers laid nearby. Outside a school in Le Marais (the Jewish quarter of Paris) there is a simple plaque, telling of the 260 pupils who were arrested during World War II. Not one of them survived.
It shocked me deeply and made me want to learn more about this dark time in our history. I began to ask anyone I met over the age of sixty what it was like to have lived through the occupation, and I began to read up on the subject.
One of the people I met was Dora Blaufoux, a wonderful, sprightly lady in her late eighties. Dora was only thirteen when she was deported to Auschwitz. When I wrote the chapters on Auschwitz, I used some of her memories, as well as personal accounts I took from books. I must admit, I felt like something of an impostor when I wrote these chapters. I don’t know, and I can ba
rely imagine the horror of Auschwitz. But that isn’t what this story is about.
Writing this book has been an exciting, eventful journey, and along the way I have met many interesting, sometimes crazy, often wonderful people. Writing is essentially a solitary occupation, but I have found invaluable support in various writing groups here in Paris. One such group has been especially important to me—Scriptorium, founded by Hazel Manuel. Her positive criticism, gentle guidance, and enthusiasm kept me going when I doubted myself. Different writers have passed through and still attend this group, and my gratitude goes to you all, in particular Rachel, Carol, Nancy, Kass, Cris, Shelley, Connie, Anne, Melissa, and Deborah.
A special thanks goes to my friends Marilyn Smith, Ian Hobbs, and Hazel for being with me in La Loire, Les Alpes, and India, for sitting in the heat and the cold, listening to my chapters. Thanks for the laughs too! And then I would like to thank my friend Lucy for letting me do the rewrites in her beach shack, and Christian for checking my French.
When researching this book, I was lucky enough to have some guidance from Stefan Martens, Vice-Director of the German Historical Institute in Paris. His knowledge and dedication to the subject of World War II provided me with a wealth of information, and I would like to thank him for the time he spent helping me work through some of the finer details.
Finally, my deep gratitude goes to Abbie Greaves at Curtis Brown for making all this possible when she picked out my manuscript from the many she must have received. And then to my wonderful agent, Sheila Crowley, for believing in it and understanding what I was trying to do, and for helping me get there. I would also like to thank the lovely team at Headline for making it all such a wonderful experience: Nathaniel Alcaraz-Stapleton, Rebecca Folland, and Hannah Geranio in the translation and foreign rights department; copyeditor Jane Selley, for her attention to detail; and my editor Sherise Hobbs, who helped me add those vital, final touches. My thanks also go to Karen Kosztolnyik, editor-in-chief at Grand Central Publishing in the USA, for working so hard on getting it all just right.
My parents brought me up to believe anything was possible; all I had to do was put my mind to it, and for this I am eternally grateful.
If you are interested in this time in history, I have included a list of some of the books I read while doing my research:
Berr, Hélène, Journal 1942–1944 (2008, Tallandier)
Haffner, Sebastian, Defying Hitler—A Memoir (2002, Weidenfeld and Nicolson)
Humbert, Agnès, Résistance—Memoirs of Occupied France (2008, Bloomsbury)
Moorehead, Caroline, A Train in Winter (2011, Chatto and Windus)
Ousby, Ian, Occupation—The Ordeal of France (1999, Pimlico)
Sebba, Anne, Les Parisiennes (2017, Weidenfeld and Nicolson)
Vinen, Richard, The Unfree French—Life under the Occupation (2007, Penguin)
Wiesel, Elie, Night (1958, Les Éditions de Minuit)
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Poem for an Adopted Child
Not flesh of my flesh
nor bone of my bone
but still, miraculous,
my own.
Never forget
for a single moment,
you didn’t grow under my heart
but in it.
Anon
About the Author
Ruth Druart grew up on the Isle of Wight, moving away at eighteen to study psychology at Leicester University. She has lived in Paris since 1993, where she has followed a career in teaching. She has recently taken a sabbatical, so that she can follow her dream of writing full-time.
Reading Group Guide
Discussion Questions
1. Charlotte and Sarah are both Sam’s mother, in different ways, and each woman experiences immense emotional turmoil when it comes to losing and reclaiming Sam as her son. Do you empathize with one woman more than the other?
2. What do you think of Charlotte and Jean-Luc’s decision not to speak French to Sam? Do you feel Charlotte and Jean-Luc would have made the same decision if they had moved to California in the present day?
3. Sam has a crisis of identity when he’s taken to France to live with his biological parents. In Sam’s heart, he is American. Do you think David and Sarah should have tried harder to get to know Sam through his American culture?
4. In the novel, both Jean-Luc and Charlotte worry about collaborating with the enemy. In times of war, if collaborating means feeding your family and protecting yourself from violence, can it be justified? Does an individual have a duty to survive for the people who can’t?
5. In chapter four, Jean-Luc speaks of silence as a weapon and an act of defiance. Many people today, however, view silence as an act of complicity. How do you feel about Jean-Luc’s characterization of silence?
6. In chapter ten, Jean-Luc’s fellow patient at the hospital says it’s “amazing how quickly people learn when taught with fear.” How true do you think this is?
7. Despite living in California for many years, Charlotte still has moments of homesickness. Jean-Luc, however, doesn’t grapple with homesickness in the same way. How do think their different personalities affected the way they adapted to living in America?
8. The concept of the “prisoner” is explored in While Paris Slept. The French people were prisoners in their own country after the German invasion. The Jewish people were held prisoner in work camps. Jean-Luc becomes a prisoner in Paris. Sarah calls Sam a prisoner in chapter eighty-five: “I can’t stand by any longer, watching his despair, his misery. He’s given up, David. He’s behaving like a prisoner who can’t see a way out. He’s losing his will, and he’s only a child.” How do you imagine prison, or being a prisoner, affects one’s sense of identity and self?
9. In chapter twenty-four, Jean-Luc references a line from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince: “On ne voit bien qu’avec le cœur,” or “You only see well with the heart.” What do you think this means? At the end of The Little Prince, the prince realizes that only by exploring the world and one’s own feelings can someone truly understand their place in the world. Do you think Sam, as he is portrayed as an adult at the end of the book, embodies this idea?
10. In chapter eighty-four, Jean-Luc asks Sarah if she could put Sam’s happiness before her own, even if it meant giving him up a second time. Do you think she and David made the right decision, sending Sam back to America to live with Charlotte?
11. At the end of the novel, you learn that Sam named his baby girl Sarah, after his biological mother. Were you surprised by this decision? Why or why not? How did the news make you feel?