Masters of Silence

by Kathy Kacer

  When the three of them were sitting together in a circle in front of Marcel, he said, “I have a better idea.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Henry

  “We’re going to do some mime,” the clown said with a smile.

  “Mime?” Helen asked. Henry could plainly see the look of confusion and exhaustion on her face.

  Albert seemed just as confused. “You mean right now?”

  “Why not?” the clown replied. “Is there something you’d rather be doing? Perhaps sleeping?”

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Henry offered. It was obvious that they were all too anxious to sleep. He heard his sister sigh.

  “There you go,” the clown said. “Henry understands that this can help take your mind off your worries, don’t you, my friend?”

  Henry nodded

  The clown’s eyes swept back over Helen and Albert. “So, are you willing to give this a try?”

  The two of them nodded weakly, and the clown struck a pose in front of them. “We’re all going to be waiters in an imaginary restaurant,” he said. “I am a customer who doesn’t like anything that he is being served.” With that, the clown plopped himself down on a tree stump. He pretended to open a napkin, which he stuffed into his shirt. Then he motioned for Henry and the others to come toward him as if they were about to serve him some food. He showed them how to keep one arm bent and in front of them, as if they had a towel dangling over that arm. Helen and Albert hesitated at first, so Henry took the lead. He bent his arm and strutted up to the clown, bowing in front of him and pretending to place a platter of some kind on a make-believe table. The clown leaned forward, sniffed, wrinkled his nose, and then shoved the plate off to one side. Henry held his hands up in the air and trotted away as if he was going to get something else to serve.

  It didn’t take long for him to pick up the flow of the story. Though it had been some time since he had practiced the skits that the clown had taught him back at the convent, the movements came back to him easily. He shifted his body in response to the clown’s actions. He reacted to every movement that the clown tossed his way with a flick of his eye, a raised brow, a startled look.

  After a couple of minutes, he turned to Helen and Albert and held out his hands, inviting them to join him as waiters trying to please this difficult customer. Neither of them looked as if they wanted to try. But finally, Helen stepped forward, raised an arm and bent it in front of her, and then walked toward the clown to offer him another make-believe dish. Henry could see how awkward she was at first, forgetting that she was holding a plate and dropping her arm. He reminded her to stand straight up and keep her arm bent, no matter what. After a couple of minutes, he could see that she was getting better at following the story. He smiled at her and she grinned back.

  As for Albert, he was as stiff as a post, and as clumsy as a baby learning to walk.

  “I can’t do this,” he moaned, slumping to the forest floor and hanging his head in defeat.

  “Try it again,” the clown urged, breaking out of his character to talk to Albert. “You’ll never get better if you give up.”

  Albert sighed, pulled himself to his feet, and dove back in.

  They continued the story for several more minutes. The clown rejected imaginary dish after imaginary dish until finally he agreed to try something. That was when his face lit up like someone who had just gotten the best present of his life. He jumped from the tree stump and danced around in a circle. He looked so silly, kicking his heels into the air and waving his arms around his head that finally Henry couldn’t control himself any longer. He fell on the ground, laughing hard and holding his sides. He could barely catch his breath. A few seconds later, Helen started to giggle. And soon after, Albert began chuckling as well. The three of them were soon howling uncontrollably, losing themselves in the silliness of the moment. Henry wasn’t even sure what was making him laugh until his stomach hurt. All he knew was that it felt as if he was laughing out every bit of worry he had been feeling.

  All the while, he could see that the clown was watching the three of them, a big grin on his face. Finally, Henry rolled over onto his side and sat up, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “You see?” the clown said. “It’s the best medicine. Maybe now you’ll be able to get some sleep. What do you think?”

  Henry nodded and looked over at Helen and Albert. Helen’s eyes, so sad before, were shining brightly.

  Without another word, the three of them lay their heads back down on the forest floor. It didn’t even matter that he was hungry and longing for something to eat. Henry was fast asleep within minutes. He must have slept through the rest of the day. When the clown finally woke him up, it was dark and he knew it was time to start walking again.

  CHAPTER 33

  Helen

  Helen stumbled over some big stones and quickly regained her footing. The terrain had grown increasingly steep and rocky in the last two days of trekking. Marcel had told her they would be skirting the Jura Mountains, a mountain range that separated this part of France from Switzerland. Sometimes, they seemed to be climbing straight up, and her legs burned so much that she thought she wouldn’t be able to climb anymore. But going down was even harder. Then the muscles in her thighs and calves felt like they might explode. She never said a word about how hard the hiking was, even when she felt as if she couldn’t take another step. If Albert and Henry could do it, then she knew she could as well. Besides, what good would complaining do? They had to get to the border, and Marcel seemed intent on getting them there quickly, more so since she and Albert had seen those soldiers.

  Thankfully, nothing bad had happened since then. The forest was peaceful, and the only sounds she heard were small animals that hunted close by and birds that flew overhead. Although the hiking was hard, Helen had even allowed herself to relax enough to imagine what it would be like when they made it to Switzerland. The first thing she would do would be to try and make contact with her mother. She didn’t know how that would happen, but she would do everything in her power to find Maman and then Papa. She imagined what a happy reunion they would have. She didn’t want to lose hope—couldn’t lose hope. It was one of the things that kept her going through the long and tiring nights of walking.

  The sky was just beginning to lighten, and she knew it was time to find a place to sleep and, hopefully, something to eat and drink. Any minute now, Marcel would raise his hand and then drop it, signaling that they could stop and rest. She couldn’t wait. Her body was begging for sleep. In the dawn light, she could just make out his form walking ahead of her on the trail when suddenly, he stopped and raised his hand. But instead of dropping it, he held it in the air. They all froze.

  It was then she noticed that the forest had grown quiet: no animals chucking and grunting, no birds beginning to squawk and swoop. The air felt strained and thick. Marcel seemed different as well, Helen thought—rigid, on alert, listening. Then, he turned sharply and twirled his finger in the air—a series of small, rapid circles. Helen knew what that meant. Danger!

  She hesitated for only a split second and then dove into a nearby bush, only then glancing up quickly and cautiously to see where the others were. Albert was in a bush next to her, and Henry in one just ahead. Marcel had trained them well, drilled into them the need to hide immediately if they saw his emergency signal. Helen could just make out his shadowy image, crouched behind a large tree trunk and peering around to see where they were.

  She heard the approaching soldiers before she saw them. There were branches crackling, a series of footsteps in a methodical marching pattern, and the unmistakable sound of German voices. Someone was barking orders.

  “Search the forest,” a man shouted. “There are reports of Jews in the woods. Look behind every tree and every bush. Do not overlook a thing.”

  Helen buried her head in her arms. Her heart was beating faster than she had ever felt before. The thumping rose into her
ears and the blood pounded behind her eyes. She tried to slow her breathing, knowing she would faint if she continued to gasp for air like this. She counted her breaths in and out until, ever so slowly, she felt her breathing slow down and her heartbeat along with it.

  When she lifted her head again, she looked for Albert in the bushes beside her. He glanced back at her and raised his eyebrows as if to ask if she was okay. She responded with a quick nod. Then her eyes sought out Henry in the bushes ahead of her. But instead of crouching in the undergrowth, instead of concealing himself like everyone else, instead of making himself small and undetected, Henry was up on his knees and stretching his head out toward the path where the soldiers were approaching.

  Helen’s heart rate began its quick climb again. Henry would be spotted if he didn’t hide. He was about to put himself and everyone else in the worst possible danger. Helen wanted to shout at him to get back, lay low, cover himself with branches. But there was no way she could call out to him. She watched, the dread rising, as Henry continued to move his body out of the bushes.

  But a moment later, Henry began to motion to Marcel, raising his hand with his fingers spread—four fingers, and then a movement like a rifle raised to his shoulder, and then more fingers in the air. Could he see the soldiers when no one else could? Was he signaling the number of guns that he could detect up ahead? Or the number of soldiers coming toward them? Helen wasn’t sure. But she could see that Marcel was watching Henry’s movements and nodding as if he understood. Then Marcel motioned back to Henry and Henry moved his hands forward as if to show the direction that the soldiers were walking. Marcel nodded once more while Helen continued to watch in amazement. Marcel and Henry were talking to one another—speaking with their hands as easily as if they had been shouting.

  The noises from the approaching soldiers grew louder. Dark shapes moved between the shadows of the trees. Helen caught a glimpse of a gray uniform, the flash of a red and black Nazi emblem, and the glint of a rifle butt. Branches snapped and the sound of stones being stepped on crunched in her ears. Any minute now, the soldiers would be on top of them, and then what? Would they be arrested? Shot? Tortured? The images of what might happen swirled through her head like a raging fire. Her last encounters with Nazi soldiers had frightened her. Now, she was on the brink of panic.

  Up ahead, Henry was still signaling to Marcel: a change of direction, a rifle that was lowered, a regrouping of the soldiers. Marcel signaled to Henry to move back into his bush. Suddenly, the regiment came to a stop. Now the forest was dead quiet. Helen held her breath, fearful of making even the smallest sound. That’s when one of the soldiers called out, “I think I hear something up ahead.” This is it, Helen thought. Our journey ends here. And then, Marcel stepped out from behind his tree and came face to face with the Nazi soldiers.

  CHAPTER 34

  Helen

  “Halt! Arms in the air! Don’t move!” The soldiers’ commands shattered the silence, tumbling one on top of another as Marcel was surrounded. Helen watched, dread rising up in her throat, as he raised his hands in front of the Nazi soldiers. And then he just stood there.

  “Who are you?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Answer us!”

  “Stay still!”

  The orders flew at him, and all the while, he just stood with his hands in the air, waiting. Finally, the noise and angry shouting died down, and one of the soldiers stepped forward to confront Marcel. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Answer me, now.”

  “Hello,” she heard Marcel reply. Helen was amazed at how calm and composed he sounded. “You surprised me, sir. I hadn’t expected to find anyone out in the woods at this early hour.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” the soldier replied. “Who are you?”

  “I’m a scoutmaster,” Marcel replied. “We’re from Éloise.” He gestured toward a town that must have been behind them. “I have a troop of young scouts with me. We’re on a hike.”

  The soldier was once again on guard. “Troop? How many in your troop? Where are the others?” This command was rough and loud. The soldiers trained their guns on the forest where Helen and the others were hiding.

  “No need to be alarmed, sir,” Marcel continued. “As I said, these are young scouts—just three of them.” Then he turned and called out, “Come out of your positions. We need to talk to this soldier.”

  Helen couldn’t believe her ears. Were they really going to reveal their hiding places? Were they going to compromise their safety? She had to trust that Marcel knew what he was doing. He had told them that if they were ever questioned, they would have to pretend to be scouts, and Marcel their scoutmaster. But in this moment, the strategy made no sense to her. She glanced over at Albert and could see that he looked equally bewildered. But when she looked forward to Henry’s spot, she saw that he was already standing, had hoisted his backpack over his shoulders and was walking out of the bushes toward Marcel. Helen took a deep breath, rose, and followed.

  The three children were quickly surrounded by soldiers. Helen raised her hands in the air, trying to still the trembling that had overtaken her body. Marcel stepped forward to speak once again.

  “I’m teaching these young people how to survive in the elements—hunting for food, finding water and a place to sleep.”

  The soldier looked wary. “Why are you sneaking about this early in the morning?”

  Marcel was not deterred. “I get my scouts up at the crack of dawn. I’m sure you know what it’s like to teach inexperienced ones how to be strong.”

  The guard, who until this moment had looked intimidating and unreceptive, suddenly began to take interest in what Marcel was saying. He puffed out his chest and nodded his head. “It’s like training young soldiers,” he said.

  “Exactly!” Marcel exclaimed. “You understand what I’m saying, sir. Strong bodies make for strong minds.”

  By now, the guard had lowered his rifle and was staring curiously at Marcel and at Helen, Henry, and Albert.

  “I’ve still got a lot of work to do,” Marcel continued. “The work of a scoutmaster is never done, just as your work with your soldiers continues.”

  That brought a broad smile to the guard’s face. “I admire what you are doing,” he said. “Now, if you could just show me your papers, I will let you be on your way.”

  Helen was astonished. Marcel had actually convinced this Nazi guard that they were equals, engaged in the same work of training recruits. Now, all they had to do was show their fake papers and they would be free to go. One by one, the children reached into their backpacks and withdrew their documents, handing them over to the guard, who took them and read them, holding them up to the dim light and then lowering them to stare at the children. Helen held her breath. Would this work? Would this soldier detect that the papers were forged? She glanced at Marcel, who scratched behind his ear and shifted from one foot to the other. He looked almost bored, waiting for the examination to end. Henry’s face was passive and betrayed nothing. Meanwhile, Helen counted the seconds that passed until the guard finally lowered the papers and handed them back to the children.

  “These seem to be in order,” he said. Then he turned to Marcel. “If you’ll just permit me to search your bag.”

  Marcel glanced up at the brightening sky. “We really should be on our way,” he said. “We have a lot of ground to cover and I need to get these young scouts moving.”

  “Just a formality,” the soldier insisted.

  Helen’s chest constricted once more as Marcel handed his backpack to the soldier, who bent, untied the strings, and began to rummage through it, pulling out a couple of sweaters and a pair of trousers before digging down to the bottom. Finally, he extracted the sandwich that Marcel had wrapped days earlier. He held it up in the air as Helen gulped once more. This was the sandwich that contained their real identity documents, concealed in waxed paper and hidden in the layers of br
ead, cheese, and tomato. Helen could see Marcel’s hand move to the back of his belt, where he grasped the handle of the knife that he had placed there.

  Meanwhile, the soldier was still examining the sandwich. And as he turned it over in his hands, some juice from the tomatoes inside escaped from the wax wrapping and dripped down on the soldier’s uniform. He threw the sandwich onto the ground and rose, wiping furiously at the stain that was spreading across his trouser leg.

  “My apologies, sir,” Marcel said, releasing his grip on his knife. With that, he turned to Helen. “You didn’t wrap this very well,” he said. “Now look what you’ve done to this commander’s uniform.”

  Helen’s mouth gaped open. “I-I’m … sorry,” she stuttered.

  Marcel turned back to the soldier. “As I said, these young scouts still have a lot to learn. Is there something I can do to help?”

  The soldier was still rubbing at the stain on his uniform. He shooed away Marcel, who had taken another step forward.

  “Get away from me,” the soldier commanded. And then he muttered, “Disgusting,” under his breath.

  Marcel retreated and reached down to retrieve the sandwich. But just then, another soldier stepped forward and pushed him away. Helen froze once more as the soldier bent down and picked the soggy wrapped sandwich off the ground. He held it up in the air with one hand, careful to avoid the stream of tomato juice that was dripping from one corner. He sniffed at it, recoiled slightly, and then leaned forward to inspect it once more. Could he see the documents hidden inside? Would he unwrap the sandwich and reveal the true identities of the children? Helen’s heart began to pound even more. Her eyes sought out Marcel’s. His brow was knitted together and his hand once again reached behind him to grasp the handle of his knife. He stepped forward.