by Kathy Kacer
At each performance, Henry was the first one in his seat and the last one to rise at the end of the show. After everyone else had left, the two of them would put the chairs back in place. Then the clown would say, “Come, mon petit muet. It’s time to get to work.” That was the name that the clown had given him, a name he didn’t mind at all. And that’s when the clown would begin to teach Henry all of his special movements.
Henry’s favorite was pretending to be stuck in a cage with no way out. He would reach his hands up to a make-believe ceiling and then move them against sides that didn’t exist. Then he would pretend that the walls of the cage were closing in on him and he would have to squeeze through an imaginary opening so that he could get free.
“Keep your hands very flat,” the clown instructed, extending his arms and bending his wrists so that his hands pointed straight up, as stiff as two wooden boards. “And keep your fingers wide open, like this.” The clown spread his fingers apart to demonstrate. “Now, hold your breath, squeeze your eyes shut, and lean forward. That way, your audience will think you are using all your energy to push against a real wall.”
Henry nodded and repeated the movement until the clown finally said, “Well done, petit muet. You’re becoming a real mime artist.”
That was the best moment of all! And when each session was over, Henry would run to his dorm room, pull out his code book, and draw pictures of the birds and butterflies and tightrope walkers he had just created. And then, at the bottom of the page, he wrote, I am a mime artist.
In between visits, Henry practiced the movements over and over, smoothing out any awkward or stiff actions and trying to make each scene as perfect as the clown’s. Even the way he moved his face was important—a look of surprise or fear to go along with whatever action he was performing. He knew that sometimes Helen watched him while he worked on his skits. He could sense she was nearby, hiding in the shadows of a dark hallway or peeking out from behind a door. He didn’t really mind that she spied on him, as long as she didn’t say anything about it to him. It would have been unbearable if she’d spoken to him or asked him what he was doing, or even complimented him. But watching from a distance was okay.
Maybe she could even see how happy he was these days. He didn’t mind so much that he had not made friends with any of the other children at the convent. He didn’t care if others looked at him strangely or stayed away from him completely because he didn’t speak. Who needed to speak when you could act out such wonderful scenes and everyone would know exactly what you were doing and what you were saying? Between his code book and these movements, maybe he’d never have to speak again.
But the arrival of this letter from Maman had once again made his heart feel heavy and full of pain—a pain that he couldn’t push away or think away or act away, no matter how hard he tried.
He stared down at the letter, wondering if he should even open it. Maybe whatever Maman had written would make him feel even worse! But finally, the urge became too strong. He pried the flap of the envelope open, pulled out the letter, unfolded it, and began to read. Maman wrote that she was doing well. She said she was still in Kronberg waiting to hear news about Papa. She asked how Henry was and said that she hoped he and Helen were taking care of one another. But as he reached the end of the letter, his grip on the paper tightened and he felt the blood rush up to his ears, pounding so hard he could hear nothing else.
I am sitting here remembering a time when the four of us went to the zoo back at home. Do you remember that day, my sweet boy? You were only five years old at the time. You wanted to see the lions more than any other animal. When we approached the lion cage, there was one enormous lion pacing back and forth at the front. You marched right up to the bars and tried to put your hand inside. Your Papa and I had to hold you back. You insisted that the lion didn’t scare you. You were fearless.
I know there are times now when you must be feeling afraid. Even though Helen is there to help you, I know you must worry about me and about your Papa. But I want you to always remember that brave little boy who stood in front of the lion cage and believed he could tame even the wildest beast. You are that little boy! I love you always and hold you in my heart.
The letter jogged the distant memory for Henry—that day at the zoo, the sun so bright in the sky, Maman and Papa smiling. And it reminded him of the skit the clown had performed on that first visit to the convent, when he had pretended to be a lion tamer. Maybe that was part of what had inspired Henry in the first place, the memory of his own urge to be brave that day at the zoo. But that feeling was gone. Henry barely noticed the tears that had begun to stream down his cheeks. When he finished reading, he lowered his head onto his pillow and cried, long and hard. He didn’t want to stop crying until he had cried every tear out of his body. Instead of making him feel better, the letter and the memory of that time had made him feel worse. It had opened a vault of feelings that he had tried to push away or keep so tightly bottled up that they didn’t overwhelm him. Everything that the clown had taught him about being confident and strong suddenly evaporated like drops of water on a hot, sunny day. He didn’t feel like a brave lion tamer at all, he thought. He felt as scared as the tiniest mouse.
CHAPTER 20
Henry
The day started like any other day. The morning bell woke him; he dressed and went for breakfast. Then Henry returned to his room to grab a few minutes of writing in his code book. He didn’t always have time to do this. Chores or classes or some other activity often pulled him away. But this morning, he wanted to draw pictures of his mother and father. After getting the letter from Maman, he had been feeling gloomier than ever. It was so hard to push away those sad feelings once they swept over him. Even the clown, on his last visit to the convent, had noticed how down Henry was.
“We all have bad days, mon petit muet,” the clown had said. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
But Henry hated the sad feelings. He knew drawing would help. He shaded in Papa’s mustache and carefully drew his round glasses. He was just beginning to outline Maman’s face when the bells began to chime, announcing that it was time to go for exercises.
Henry ignored the ringing. He needed to get the look on Maman’s face just right, and for that, he needed more time. But then Paul, the boy Henry had fought with weeks earlier, came into their room. There was an uneasy truce between the two boys. They stayed out of each other’s way, which worked fine.
Paul looked surprised to see Henry there. “You better get downstairs for exercises, or you’re going to be in trouble.” Paul pulled off the sweater he was wearing, threw it on his bed, and ran for the door before turning back to look at Henry. “Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, he bolted from the room.
Henry continued drawing, but Paul’s warning nagged at him. He knew Paul was doing him a favor. He would get in trouble if he didn’t show up.
Henry sighed. Reluctantly, he dropped his code book on the bed. Then he ran out the door and raced down the stairs into the courtyard.
Twice a week, the nuns marched the children outside to run around the yard and do squats and sit-ups. The exercises were usually led by mean Sister Agnes. She always started off by saying things like, “Strong bodies make strong minds” or “Moving slowly will get you nowhere.”
Henry didn’t mind the exercises, not like some of the other boys in his dorm room who moaned and complained and dragged their feet. He liked running and working his muscles. He didn’t even mind when Sister Agnes yelled at them to pick up the pace. He could run fast. He usually passed Helen, who jogged as slowly as a turtle while she talked to her friend Michelle. Helen could only talk to her friend when Sister Agnes wasn’t looking. Otherwise, the mean nun would also shout things like, “Less talking or I will keep you out here all day.” That would make everyone groan even more!
There were clouds overhead and the sky was dark. Everyone was waiting for the rain to come. A lot of the boys in his dorm were
probably hoping the rain would come fast, so that they wouldn’t have to exercise any more. But Henry didn’t even mind the gray day. It matched his mood. Maybe running would help lift his spirits, he thought. Maybe the harder he ran, the less he would think about Maman, and home, and how hard it was to be left here. And maybe, if he ran really fast, he’d finish all his laps ahead of the others and he’d still have time to go back to his room and finish the drawings of Maman and Papa. It was worth a try.
He was on his tenth lap, and his neck and back were feeling sweaty. He reached up to wipe his forehead when Mère Supérieure came running toward them. Henry had never seen the head nun run before, and it was almost funny to watch her long black robe flowing behind her and her feet tripping over the uneven grass. But his heart froze a second later when he heard her yell, “Nazis are at the gate. Inside! Everyone inside!”
He came to a dead stop, along with all the children around him, like statues that had been placed in the yard. And then Mère Supérieure called a second time, “Inside, now!” And that was all it took for all the children to head for the doors of the convent. This time, everyone was running as fast as they could.
“Form lines! Remain calm,” Sister Agnes shouted. But her face looked anything but calm. She was as white as the sheet on Henry’s bed and breathing hard, as if she was the one who had done all the exercises.
“Follow Sister Agnes into the great hall!” Mère Supérieure instructed, standing by the door to help usher the children inside.
Henry ran up behind Helen, who had reached the door and stopped beside Mère Supérieure.
“Why are the Nazis here?” Henry heard her ask. He hadn’t seen his sister look this scared since that day in town.
“They’ve asked to search your rooms,” she said. Even Mère Supérieure’s face was white.
“What are they searching for?” Helen asked the question that was pounding in Henry’s mind.
Mère Supérieure shook her head. “We don’t know. It’s never happened before. But no need to worry.” She said this last part loudly, so that all the children passing by could hear. “Just remain strong. And remember who you are.”
Helen and Henry followed the last of the children into the convent, followed finally by Mère Supérieure. “Everyone to the great hall,” she called. “Move quickly but in an orderly manner. We will wait there for instructions.”
Helen turned and Henry locked eyes with hers, just as the skies outside opened up and the rain began to fall in fat drops. Don’t forget what happened in the store, his stare said. He had to rely on Helen to remember their new names if the Nazis started asking questions. He knew he wouldn’t be able to speak if they questioned him. Helen nodded and turned away, quickening her pace to catch up with the others as Henry felt a wave of relief sweep over him.
But a moment later, he remembered something, something that scared him enough to make his teeth chatter: his code book! In his rush to leave his dorm room and get to the courtyard for exercises, he had left the book uncovered on his bed. In it, he had written his real name. He had written about what he missed in Frankfurt and about his life before being left here. He had drawn that Star of David. Everything in that book pointed to him being a Jewish boy who was hiding here in the convent. If the Nazi soldiers searched the dorm rooms, they were bound to find it. They were bound to find him! And if they found out about him, then it wouldn’t take much for them to find out about Helen and all the other children hiding here. That code book, which had helped him so much in the weeks since being here, was the thing that could now ruin everything.
There was only one thing to do.
The nuns were leading all the children toward the great hall, telling them to stay in line, stay calm, and move forward. Henry needed to get to his room, retrieve the book, and find a safer place to hide it. He had to think of a way to do that, and think fast! And then he saw his chance.
The group rounded a corner and was about to walk by a closet that was usually used to store mops and pails to clean the convent floors. The door to the closet was usually shut tight. Today, it was wide open. Maybe the Nazis had already searched in there, Henry thought. Whatever the reason, he knew this was his one and only opportunity to get out of the line that was getting closer and closer to the great hall.
He didn’t look around and didn’t notice if anyone saw him. As he passed by the closet, he leapt from the line and dove in, pressing himself into the back corner. The children’s footsteps disappeared. So far, his plan seemed to be working. But Henry knew that he wasn’t in the clear yet.
His mouth was dry; his heart was pounding loud and hard. Along with the fear of being discovered in the mop closet, Henry was also terrified someone would notice that he wasn’t with the others in the great hall. He already imagined Helen looking around and seeing that he wasn’t there. He knew how much that would scare her. But he also knew he had to push away all those thoughts along with his own fear, and move. He could hear that the drizzle outside had turned into a downpour. Rain was pounding on the roof of the convent like a thousand horses’ hooves. Taking a deep breath, Henry poked his head from the closet. No one was around. And a second later, he bolted up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and glancing over his shoulder all the while. The coast was still clear.
He ran the length of the hallway and ducked into his room. He had no idea how much time he had before the soldiers would make their way upstairs to begin searching through the dorms. Rain was hammering against the window as he made a beeline for his bed and grabbed his code book, hugging it to his chest, all the while listening for footsteps signaling the approaching Nazis. And that was when the biggest problem of all came crashing down on him. Where could he possibly hide his book? Where would it be safe? There was no secret cave or locked safe to throw the book into. Under the bed? Out the window? They were all terrible ideas.
Then, above the sound of the rain, he heard footsteps in the hallway. Still holding tightly on to his code book, he turned to face the door.
A second later, Helen walked into his room.
CHAPTER 21
Helen
Helen had lost track of her brother in the commotion of following everyone back into the convent. She had thought Henry was behind her, assumed he had followed the crowd back inside and was lining up in the great hall, just as Mère Supérieure had instructed. But when Helen entered the hall and looked around, she was terrified to find that Henry was nowhere to be seen.
The noise level in the hall was rising along with the sense of confusion and fear. Helen could see it on everyone’s faces. Many of the younger children were crying. Older ones were holding on to their hands. But the older boys and girls looked just as terrified as the little ones. The nuns walked among the children, giving orders and trying their best to control the chaos.
“Remain calm.” “Keep your voices down.” “No need to be afraid.” The nuns’ instructions rose above the racket. But it didn’t help that they themselves looked so afraid. The clamor would subside for a few seconds and then pick up again.
Helen’s heart hammered in her chest. She was terrified at the thought of facing Nazi soldiers again. But first, she had Henry to worry about. The soldiers had not yet entered the hall. They must be searching somewhere in the building, Helen imagined. She had to find her brother before they appeared and began questioning everyone. Was he hiding out in some corner of the convent? Did he not realize how dangerous this was for him and for everyone else?
Helen’s mind raced as her eyes darted around the room. The nuns were on the other side, surrounding the younger children and trying to help calm them. No one was looking her way. Pushing aside her own fears, Helen slipped out of the great hall. And in that same moment, she caught a glimpse of Henry running out of the mop closet and bolting up the staircase.
She followed, all the while looking over her shoulder to see if the nuns, or worse yet, the soldiers, were following her. So far,
no one was around. She could hear the nuns still trying to calm the children. Up the stairs she crept and then walked the length of the hallway, her footsteps keeping beat with the rain pounding on the convent roof.
She expected to find Henry cowering under his bed or sitting in a corner of his room or buried under his covers. What she never expected was to see him standing in the middle of his dorm room clutching a notebook up against his chest so tightly that his knuckles were white. Even though she had never seen it up close, she knew immediately that it was the book Henry wrote in—the one he would hide away whenever she entered his room. Henry’s body was rigid and his face streaked with fear.
“It’s okay, Henry,” she began, trying to keep her voice even as she approached him. “Just put the book away and come down to the hall.” She reached out to place a hand on her brother’s shoulder, but he shook her off. “I know the soldiers scare you”—she tried again—“they scare me, too. But we need to be downstairs with everyone else.” She had to get Henry out of the dorm room. Now was not the time to be writing in this book of his.
But instead of putting the book back under his covers, Henry held it out to her.
Helen was taken aback. “You want me to look at this?”
He nodded, his eyes wide with fright.
“You want me to look now?” There was no time for this. They had to get back downstairs before someone noticed their absence. But Henry pushed the book into her hands and pleaded with his eyes for her to look inside.
And then, Henry opened his mouth and spoke.
“You have to help me,” he said.
She had not heard Henry’s voice in weeks, and even though it sounded raspy and weak, a wave of relief washed over Helen. Her arms fell loose and a brief smile stretched across her face. Henry was talking! But a moment later, her body tightened and her face fell as another thought came crashing down on her. Henry must be in desperate trouble to choose this moment to begin to talk. Helen took the book from him and opened it. She gasped out loud when she looked at the first page. There was Henry’s real name, printed in big block letters, crossed out, and then written again. Beside the name was a small Star of David that Henry must have drawn. Flipping quickly through the pages, Helen read the list of things that he missed from home and the things he wanted to do when he returned to Frankfurt. On one of the pages, he had written, We got into trouble at a store. I helped Helen when she almost said my name—my real name. I miss you, Maman. I miss you, Papa.