by Mary Finn
He noticed the music case then because it kept hitting against his leg. He stopped.
“What have you got there? Give it here.”
Music cases have a special bar. It’s a really simple thing but Pimply Arms had no idea how to work it, especially because he was using only one hand. He was keeping the other one fastened like a hook to my arm.
“Open it, you,” he snarled. “And don’t try anything or I’ll hand you over to our masters in pieces. Where’d you get a good leather bag like that anyway? You stole it. Look!”
I’d taken the case from the piano room but I hadn’t noticed the name printed in funny gold letters on the flap. Berthe Weiss. It had to be the Prof’s wife’s name. Just as well the German woman on the bridge hadn’t spotted that. She was so fond of music she might have known Berthe Weiss, the famous singer.
I opened the bar. Then, just like before, I flipped the case over and emptied the music all over the path. Pimply Arms thumped the side of my head, really hard.
“Pick those papers up, you filthy brat. On your knees.”
He let my arm go but that was only so he could knock me over, which he did. Then he kicked me until I was kneeling and he pressed his big booted foot hard on my back to keep me there. The ground wasn’t just freezing, it was covered with frozen lumps. Stones, I suppose, but they felt like pieces of ice cutting into me.
I sneaked a look around. There was still nobody much out walking. I guess the people who didn’t have to work were staying in bed to keep warm. At least there weren’t any soldiers anywhere near. There was very little traffic at the roundabout. We’d got quite close to the métro station entrance but it was still a street across from where we were. I didn’t think Pimply Arms planned to take the métro, because then he’d have to pay for me. He didn’t know about the money I had in my pocket. Not yet, anyway.
I picked up all the music sheets and put them sitting on top of the case, as if it was a tray. Then I stood up. My knees were skinned and cut. I could feel the blood trickling down into my socks, but the funny thing was how warm it felt. My blood was the warmest thing I had.
I held the case out to Pimply Arms. That way he’d need two hands to take it, even if it was only for a second. But he didn’t move to hold it. All the time I’d been picking up the music he’d kept one hand on his stick. Now he took it from his belt.
“Are you mocking me, you little piece of dirt?” he said.
“Look!” I shouted. “The parachute! Coming down over there!”
He stared at me and then, even though you could see he knew he shouldn’t, he turned all the way round, to look where I was pointing.
I dropped the case hard on his feet and ran.
UNDERWORLD
I suppose the salmon and the eels don’t worry too much about all the dangers in the Atlantic Ocean. Or all the fishermen waiting for them on the rivers. If they did worry they’d be too scared to set out at all and the whole Atlantic Ocean would get clogged up until they all died, and then there’d be none left. No, they just stick to what they know and off they go, with their fishy maps.
It’s not that easy for humans, though.
No. 1 – We don’t know exactly where we’re going most of the time.
No. 2 – We keep thinking about the bad things that can happen.
No. 3 – It’s easier to see a human running than something that’s covered up by the whole ocean.
But I was much faster at running than Pimply Arms was. He was a bit fat to start with, and you can bet his big coat was no help. He kept shouting for people to stop me but I don’t think they liked the sound of him because nobody lifted a hand to grab me. When I’d reached the bottom of the métro stairs there was still no sign of him arriving at the top. I didn’t worry about buying a ticket this time. I just wriggled under the bar and ran down one of the corridors, towards the platforms.
Nobody saw me dodging under, or if they did they didn’t care.
There’s a really small boy. He’s dead scared of something. Let’s leave him alone.
There was a train waiting, with all its doors open. The really strange thing was that it was exactly like a fairground Ghost Train because the very second I jumped into the carriage, the doors slid over and the train moved off. It was weird, but you couldn’t have asked for better help from a train.
I crouched down below the window and pretended to be fixing my shoe, so that Pimply Arms or the station men couldn’t see me if they made it as far as the platform. Then we were in the tunnel and I could stand up again. I didn’t care where the train was going. All I had to decide was where to get off. But definitely not the first station because that would still be too close to Nation.
I stayed standing, near the doors, but there was a woman sitting opposite who kept staring, first at my knees and then at all the rest of me because I was still breathing so fast. The blood had got all crusty now and I suppose that made my knees look even worse.
“I fell down the steps,” I said to the woman. “I’m late for my music exam.”
Then I remembered I didn’t have the music case any more. But the woman didn’t seem to notice that.
“Oh dear,” she said. “Here, use this.” She gave me a handkerchief. “Spit on it and rub,” she said. “Sit down. It’ll be easier.”
So I sat beside her and cleaned up my knees as best I could. They were getting stiff now. I wasn’t sure I could run if I had to, even though my breathing was nearly normal again.
“I’m sorry about the handkerchief,” I said.
She got up. “You can keep it, but take better care of yourself next time. Remember, being late is much better than being dead.”
I was sorry to see her go because it had looked like we were together, even if it was only for a short time.
I didn’t recognize any of the station names until we came to the stop for the cemetery. My Granny Berlioz is buried there. One time, when we still lived in rue de la Harpe, Mama brought Nadia and me there. Not Jean-Paul, though he really wanted to come. It was for Granny’s birthday, even though she was dead. Mama brought sandwiches and some peaches in a bag and we sat on one of the seats to have our picnic. Then Nadia spent ages following a black cat around and I had a good look at the really old gravestones. The best one had a statue of a man who was killed in a duel. He was lying flat with his pistol beside him, and his hat that had fallen off when he was shot. The hat and the pistol were all part of the statue. I told Jean-Paul about it when we got back but he said I was making it up.
A lot of people got on the train at that stop. Two German soldiers all in black pushed their way on, ahead of everyone. They squeezed themselves beside an old woman but she mustn’t have liked that one little bit because she got up and came down to stand near me. I didn’t want the soldiers to notice me but I got up and gave the woman my seat because it would have looked worse if I hadn’t. Anyway, the soldiers didn’t even notice.
I had my scarf tight around my face again. I didn’t even have to pretend I was cold because I was shivering so much. Everyone else kept their heads down or looked at the dark windows.
I got off at the first station that had another line going through it. There was a bit of a wait for the next train on that line, which was not good. I didn’t think Pimply Arms could know where I was now but he might have got a message to all the métro people. Stop the boy in the brown suit and the grey scarf. And I had no ticket either, if anyone came along checking for them.
I stood behind the tallest people I could find. They were two nuns wearing long robes and huge stiff white hats with two peaks. From where I was the hats looked like albatross wings. I bet people thought I was an orphan, standing there behind the nuns, but that would be a good thing. I just hoped they would continue travelling in the same direction as me and not go somewhere peculiar.
The platform was the warmest place I’d been since I left the Prof’s kitchen. The more people that crowded onto it, the warmer it got. Everyone got pressed together. I hadn’t seen a
nybody except the Prof for so long that it was a bit strange to see so many other people, and all at once too. I didn’t want anyone to touch me, even by accident. I pulled in my shoulders and kept my hands in my pockets.
I kept staring hard at the nuns’ backs. One of them had a tear in her robe that was sewn up with yellow thread, exactly the colour of the stars Jews had to wear. There were ten and a half tiny stitches. 10a. Our address in rue des Lions. Somebody shoved me to the side but I got back again, standing behind the nuns. I really didn’t want to catch anybody’s eye because even if they’re not looking for you people can be bossy. But if they thought I was with the nuns, and if the nuns didn’t know I was standing behind them, I’d be all right.
I just wished there were some other children around to take people’s minds off me. There was only one other boy that I could see, standing near the edge of the platform, but he was older, maybe fourteen, and he had long pants and a school bag.
The big iron barrier clanged across the passageway, to stop any more people running onto the platform. That gave me a fright because I’d forgotten how loud a noise it makes, like something in a dungeon. Then I could hear wheels humming, getting louder, and smell the wind and the sparks, and the train rushed out of the tunnel, all in a mad hurry to get to Châtelet. That was the station I’d picked, to come up out of the métro. It was near the river and I knew how to find my way back to the Prof’s house from there.
Châtelet was the station that always hurt Nadia’s ears the most because it was so huge and had so many different passages. There was always more noise and more wind there than anywhere else. Even Mama could get lost down there. She said you always had to keep your wits about you at Châtelet, and mind your purse too.
I stuck with those nuns, even though they got seats on the train and I had to stand. I stood beside them, all the way. They didn’t look at me and they didn’t speak to each other. I suppose they were praying hard, with their arms folded inside their long robes. Just like the old priest we used to see, walking around in the church behind rue de la Harpe. Where Mama had made me promise to bring Nadia, if anything ever happened to her and Papa.
Oh, Mama, I tried my best. I really tried, but it didn’t work.
HOME
It was starting to snow by the time I reached rue Cuvier. That made the whole sky dark, even though I knew it couldn’t really be very late. It didn’t feel as cold as it had been earlier but I had to keep brushing the flakes off my hair and my shoulders or else I would have turned into a snowman. I wrapped the scarf around my head but it didn’t take long before it got as wet as a dishcloth.
There was no guard outside Prussian-Boots’s house this time.
I gave a little tap on the door of No. 12. Nothing happened. I felt terrible. The park would be a really scary place to have to wait in now. Why is that boy standing under the trees in the snow? Has he no home to go to? Besides, the park people would probably lock up the gates so they could get back to their own homes before the snow got worse. I’d have to keep walking around and around outside, just like I’d said in my note. And I was starving.
I peeked through the letterbox. Nothing, just darkness. I’d forgotten the Prof had nailed a black cloth across it after the day with the firemen. I tried to poke the cloth out of the way but it wasn’t easy.
I was so busy doing that I nearly fell on my face when the door opened wide. The Prof grabbed me by the arm and pulled me inside. He closed the door and leaned back against it, breathing very hard. His face was as white as the ceiling.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m really, really sorry, but I had to do it. I couldn’t tell you beforehand because you wouldn’t have let me go. I’m all right, I promise. It didn’t work out but I had to try.”
He still said nothing, just put one hand on my cheek, as if he was petting me.
“You’re frozen,” he said. “My God in heaven, but I prayed for you, Jonas Alber. It’s a long time since I prayed for anybody in that way.”
Then he just grabbed me in a big clutch with both hands and held me to him. He said nothing more. His clothes smelled of the kitchen, steamy and damp.
“Come down,” he said. “We have a visitor.”
The kitchen was bright and warm. I’d never realized a room could be so warm, not since we lost our home. The little flame on the gas felt like a blazing campfire. There was a pot of something on top, boiling away, and a big loaf cut into slices on the table.
There was a woman sitting in the seat I usually sat in. Her coat was draped over the table, covering my encyclopedias. She reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who it was. I’d never seen her before. I’d never seen anybody in the Prof’s house all the time I’d been here.
I didn’t want anyone to be there on my last night with the Prof.
“This is Jonas, Nadia’s brother,” the Prof said to the woman. “Jonas, say hello to Madame Picard, who has very kindly come here to give us some information.”
Nadia’s brother? I was still trying to figure out why he had said that when he reminded me to shake hands.
“My goodness, but your hands are frozen, young man,” the woman said. She shook her head and looked cross. “Going out like that was very unwise. This poor man was driven wild with worry. And though I haven’t been in the house for long I was getting that way too. You see, I have somebody else to think about.”
Then she did something very peculiar. She lifted her hands up and signed to me. When she’d finished I kept staring, not because I’d forgotten how to read the signs but because of what she’d said. The Prof hadn’t noticed.
“Here,” he said. “Wrap this rug around you and I’ll go upstairs and get you some fresh clothes. Then we’ll have to get everything you’re wearing dry for tomorrow.”
He stopped at the door. “Madame Picard, would you mind serving Jonas some of the soup?”
Ten minutes ago I had been dreaming of eating something hot. Now all I could think about were the words she’d signed.
“I know what happened to Nadia.”
Who did this woman think she was – La Giaconda? I stared hard at her. She was ordinary. She couldn’t possibly know anything about Nadia. I’d spent all day dodging Pimply Arms and Germans, trying to pretend I was an orphan, trying not to freeze to death, and this woman had just called here and thought she knew something about my sister? She mustn’t know how to sign properly. She’d made a mistake.
She put a bowl of soup in front of me.
“I think you may have heard of me, Jonas,” she said. “My brother-in-law is a policeman. Not a bad one, but not the best either. Could do better. You know who I mean?”
I nodded.
“Take your soup. I won’t say another word till you’ve taken at least three spoonfuls.”
She was so bossy. Now I knew what she reminded me of. It wasn’t a who, it was a what. She definitely had to be a teacher.
“How did you know where to find me?” I said. But I wasn’t sure what I meant. Maybe – start at the beginning, go on to the middle and then get to the finish? She was the kind of person who could do that, no problem.
I started spooning the soup into my mouth.
“Let’s just say your kind friend, the Professor, sought me out. All right? Now, finish the lot of it.”
The Prof came back with a towel and some clothes and Madame Picard looked the other way while I changed into them. I was nearly warm all the way through now.
“Have you told him?” the Prof asked. She shook her head. “I’ve only started,” she said. “First things first.”
She waited until I had finished dressing and was sitting down again.
“Jonas, I teach in the school your sister went to, but I didn’t know her because she was much too young for my class. Madame Odile taught her. You know that lady?”
Of course I did. At the beginning of every year Madame Odile had sweets for everyone in her class. Even with the war on she’d managed to get sweets from somewhere. Madame Odile
had thought Nadia’s stories were great. She’d pinned them on the wall and stuck stars on them.
“When Ulysse, that’s my brother-in-law, told me about the round-up that was going to happen on that dreadful day in July, he nearly left it too late. Typical of the man. But I went straight to Madame Odile. There was no point in me fooling around, trying to figure out which girl was Nadia out of all the…” She stopped. “I’ll have another coffee, if you don’t mind, Professor.”
She looked at me exactly as if she knew what I was thinking. But not the way La Giaconda did. The way a teacher did, with eyebrows.
“Madame Odile isn’t usually bossy the way I am, but when she is, she’s far more terrifying. She gets things done. She got down to the Vél d’Hiv early that morning when the buses started coming in. She stood there, inspecting everybody, and nobody dared say boo to her, because she looks like everybody’s granny. Which was the whole point.”
She gulped down the coffee. “When she saw Nadia getting out of the bus with your parents, she went right over, lifted her up and kissed her. She told the policemen they’d made a monumental error – that was the phrase she used, she said. To scare them. She told them Nadia was her granddaughter and that your mother sometimes minded her. She told the police not to make fools of themselves. I wish I’d seen her.” She shook her head. “I really do. And your sister is cut from the same cloth, by all accounts. She knew exactly what to do.”
Nadia had gone with Madame Odile without making any fuss at all. She’d turned round at the street corner and waved to Mama and Papa. Then she’d taken Madame Odile’s hand again and they’d walked on, away from the vélodrome, all the way to Madame Odile’s apartment in Montparnasse. It was too early for ordinary buses.
“She had a safe place organized for Nadia by the end of the day. She’s not in Paris, Jonas, but she’s safe and well and she has new papers, just like you. And now I’ll be able to let her know that you’re safe too. Though I won’t say where you are. The Professor tells me you’re going somewhere in Normandy.”