“Oh no, forget that,” Marika said. She wanted to go to school, she said, because “I really, really true like American boys.”
Trudi began singing, her way of going past nervousness. “‘Who is Sylv … iaaa,’” she sang, “‘that all the swains adore her?’” She remembered the words to all the songs we sang in the rec hall.
“‘Swains’?” Marika said. “What is it?”
Trudi shook her head and kept singing.
“Pigs,” I said. “You know.” I made pig sounds.
Marika’s pointy chin quivered as she tried not to laugh. “‘Pigs,’ Karin?”
“Pigs,” I said firmly, the way Marc would.
“‘All the pigs adore her,’” Marika sang. “Sure. Okay.” We all sang it together. “‘Who is Sylv … iaaaa, that all the pigs adore her?’” Our arms were linked, we almost harmonized, and we kept breaking into laughter. I couldn’t help thinking we were acting just the way friends would—just like regular American kids.
One day Marika and I went to the fence, so I could listen to the people and so she could boy spot. A few minutes later, I saw Peggy across the street. She was riding a bike. I called to her. “Peggy! Hiii, Peggy.”
She hopped off the bike and walked it across the street. “Hi, Karin!”
I introduced her to Marika. “Beauty bike, Piggy,” Marika said.
“Peggy,” Peggy corrected. “Short e sound, Marika. Like this. Eh. Eh, eh, eh. Peggy.”
“‘Eh, eh, eh.’ Piggy,” Marika said.
Peggy laughed. “You guys want to ride my bike for a while?” She tried to lift it over the fence.
A man in a plaid shirt helped. “Catch, girls,” he said to me and Marika, and we managed to grab the bike before it fell.
“For us, true, Piggy?” Marika said, holding the handlebars.
“Yes,” Peggy said. “Go ahead, get on. Ride it.”
“I cannot,” Marika said. “No knowledge of bike.”
“What about you, Karin?”
I had never ridden a two-wheel bike, but I wanted to try. Papa had bicycled to work every day. I straddled the bike. I liked the feeling of the rubber grips on the handlebars. The moment I put my feet on the pedals, I started to fall.
“Balance yourself, Karin,” Peggy said.
I tried again, but the bike kept tipping. Marika held the seat, and I pushed off. The bike wobbled. Marika let go. I kept pedaling, wobbling but not falling. I was riding, almost flying. The wind rushed past my face. I never wanted to stop.
Dearest Maman,
Today, in the mail, we got a check for thirty dollars from Aunt Hannah! Mr. Stein said an American man has to work almost two weeks to earn that much money. Aunt Hannah said to spend it on anything we need. Marc and I are both a little dizzy with so much money all for ourselves. That’s not all, either. She said she wants us to come live with her! She’s all alone in her house and has plenty of room.
When I think that Aunt Hannah knew Papa as a little boy and that he was her favorite nephew (she said so in her letter), I already love her. If only we could go to her and stay with her until the war is over, but we can’t. None of us is allowed to live anywhere except right here, in Fort Ontario.
At least the quarantine is over. We still have to show our blue passes to go out and come back in, plus we children can’t be away from the fort for more than three hours at a time. The grown-ups can go away for six hours, but they can’t go more than thirty miles, and everyone has to be back by ten o’clock at night. I never saw Mr. Stein angry before. He said it’s humiliating to be treated like a child and told when to come and go and for how long. I guess a lot of the adults feel the way he does.
Even so, celebrating the end of the quarantine made yesterday like a big holiday. Practically the whole town of Oswego crowded in to see us. People had relatives visiting from all over the United States. My friend Marika’s uncle came from Chicago. Mr. and Mrs. Stein’s son, Thomas, hitchhiked from Fort Dix, in New Jersey. If only Aunt Hannah could have been here, but her doctor wouldn’t give her permission to travel so far.
Mr. and Mrs. Stein’s son was in his army uniform, with his cap tucked into a strap on his shoulder. He is very tall and handsome. Mrs. Stein couldn’t stop smiling and patting his arm. She said, “I sent away a boy, and here I have a man returned to me.”
My fence friend, Peggy, found me in the crowd and said she wanted to see where we lived. I took her to our room. She looked all around. She looked at my doll, Betty Lou, on my bed, at Marc’s books, and at our clothes hanging on the hooks on the wall. “You don’t have anything,” she said. “Our neighbor says all of you here have new refrigerators, and stoves, too. My dad told her she was wrong, but she wouldn’t even listen.”
So, Maman, my first month in America is over. Now I can tell you: For a while, I was miserable. I’m much better. I’m used to being here. I have friends, and we’re going to be allowed to go to school soon. Plus, I know this is temporary and I’ll come home to you. Those are the good things.
But, Maman, I have to say there’s still something … like a dark place in my mind. Like a spot, or maybe it’s more like a tiny ticking, a sort of pulse that goes bip-bip-bip-bip.… I don’t know what that is. I don’t even know if I’m explaining it right. Sometimes I wake up feeling sick, as if I’d had a nightmare. Or sometimes I’m walking and I have to stop because this feeling comes. Just a bad feeling. I think it’s missing you. But sometimes it feels even worse than that.
Maman, I keep all my letters to you in my notebook under my pillow. One day, when we’re together again, I’ll give them to you, and we’ll sit and read them, and I know that bad feeling will be gone. All that will be left will be happiness.
Darling Maman, good night. Sweet, sweet dreams.
Your Karin
23
SCHOOL: DAY ONE
On the first day that we fort children went to school, a huge crowd of adults came to the gate to see us off and give us advice. “Work hard.” “Listen to the teachers.” “Be respectful.” Mrs. Stein fussed over me, smoothing my hair and straightening the collar of my blouse.
Marc was going with Tomas, Eva, and the other teenagers on a bus to the high school. Marika, Trudi, and I were going to Fitzhugh Park Junior High. We showed our passes and went through the gate. The wind blew off the lake. The sky was cloudy.
“Karin and Marika,” Trudi said, “I don’t want school. I feel sick in the stomach.”
“Oooh. Not me,” Marika said. But she kept licking her lips. My lips were dry, too.
Worried that we’d be late, we walked fast, checking street signs at every corner. Then, we were afraid that we’d be too early, and we slowed down.
Just as the school came into sight, Trudi bent toward me and whispered, “Karin, I’m too stupid. Too, too stupid!”
“No, Trudi, you’re not. You’re smart.”
She shook her head. She did look sick. I held her hand, and we went up the steps. We all stayed close. American boys and girls were everywhere, all of them holding armfuls of books.
“Hello, girls.” A teacher was waiting for us in the front hall. “I’m Mrs. Foster. Welcome to our school.” She asked our names and marked them off on her clipboard, then sent us up the stairs to a seventh-grade classroom.
When we walked in, all I could see at first was a blur of people. Then I saw Peggy, sharpening a pencil. She sat down at a desk near the windows. Trudi and Marika had found seats in back. I sat at a desk near Peggy. I was wearing my jumper and had pulled my hair into a pony-tail like her. I don’t think she recognized me.
“Hi. I’m Karin,” I said. “From the fort.”
“Karin! Wow. This is swell! You’re here in my class. Super!” She turned to another girl and said, “Zoey! This is the girl from the fort I’ve been telling you about. She’s in our class!”
“Oh, yeah?” Zoey said. Her eyes flicked over me. “What’s her name?”
“Karin,” Peggy said. “I told you. Karin Levi. She’s learning
English.”
“Well, la-di-da,” Zoey said.
Everyone in the room stared at me. I put my new notebook and pencil on the desk.
The teacher walked in. She was tall and wore her hair in rolls at the side of her face. “That’s Mrs. Druthy,” Peggy whispered. I stood up quickly, the way you should when a teacher enters.
“Yes, what is it?” Mrs. Druthy said, sitting down at her desk and looking at me. “Do you want something?”
I looked around. Marika and Trudi were also standing, but we were the only ones.
“You’re the new girls from the fort, aren’t you? Which one are you?” Mrs. Druthy said to me.
“Pardon?”
“Your name, dear.”
“Karin Levi.”
“Do you want something, Karin? No? Then you should sit down. And you, too, girls.”
Mrs. Druthy rapped on the desk. “Attention, class!” She made some announcements, then everyone stood for the Pledge of Allegiance.
I put my hand on my heart like everyone else, and I looked at the American flag in the corner of the room, but I didn’t say the words. I didn’t think I should, because I wasn’t an American.
Mrs. Druthy took attendance, calling out each name and then making a mark in her book. She pronounced my last name “Leevee,” but that was pretty close. She had more trouble pronouncing Trudi’s and Marika’s last names.
Suddenly a bell rang. It sounded like the U-boat alert that had sent us all running to the lifeboats. My stomach clenched. But the Americans just started talking and gathering their books. The room was empty in moments.
Mrs. Druthy motioned for me to come to her desk. “You, too, Trudi and Marika,” she said. “This is your schedule, girls. You should learn it.” She gave us each a card with the time and room number for each class.
No one had told us that students went from classroom to classroom, while the teachers remained at their desks. In France, the students stayed in one room, while the teachers had the freedom of the hall.
“In my country, also,” Marika said.
“Me, too,” Trudi said. She was pale and taking deep breaths.
Peggy was waiting for us in the hall. “Karin, I’ll take you and your girlfriends to your next class. Let me see your cards. Where do you go? What room?”
“Thank you,” I said gratefully. “I mean, thanks! This is so, you know, hard on the head, very messy for the head.”
Peggy nodded. “Yeah, it’s confusing. Coming here from sixth grade, I felt the same way my first day.”
We followed her down the corridor, up another staircase, and around a corner. She stopped in front of a room. “Math class is here. I have music now. Gotta go! See you later.”
After that, we were on our own. We took most classes together, but not all. Somehow, we got through the day, hurrying down corridors, checking numbers on the doors, and doing our best to remember which staircase led where.
24
KARIN, FIGHTING GIRL
When Marc and I were together, we spoke French. We said everything we wanted without hesitation. I dreamed in French, too. But Trudi, Marika, and I had our own way of speaking, a mixture of Greek, French, Italian, and American. I always spoke American with Peggy, of course.
“Your accent is so cute,” Peggy said. But not everyone thought so, especially Peggy’s friend Zoey, who gave me long freezing looks.
Sometimes I made funny mistakes, sometimes stupid ones. One day I read a composition out loud in English class. “My brother, Marc, is my best fiend.”
“Stupid or funny, Peggy?” I asked afterward.
“Stupid,” Zoey said.
“Shut up, Zoey,” Peggy said. “It’s funny, Karin. Everybody laughed.”
“At me.”
“No! Don’t be so sensitive.” She grabbed me in a hug. “It’s okay. We think it’s cute!”
Everything was easier around Peggy. With other people, I had to concentrate more, work harder to get things right. Sometimes I couldn’t find the words I wanted, or I’d find the wrong ones. I knew I was as quick as anyone else, but that didn’t always help me.
Some boys followed Marika and me home one day, mimicking the way we talked. Marika flirted with them. “Cute boys,” she called out. “What you say, cute boys?”
“Stupid boys,” I said. I remembered jumping on the back of the boy who had attacked Marc in the hills in Italy. I didn’t want Marika to speak to the boys or even look at them. I showed her my hand in a fist.
“What, Karin, fighting girl? No!” she said. “The boys like this teasing, they like to see so mad a girl.”
Trudi wasn’t with us. She had been put back into third grade, in the elementary school. She was embarrassed and cried a lot. Marika and I tried to comfort her. We kept telling her she was as smart as anybody and not to be discouraged. She would catch up.
One day, someone called me a frog.
“That’s what we call the Frenchies,” Zoey said at lunch.
“It’s a dumb insult,” Peggy said. “Don’t feel bad, Karin.”
A few days later, I heard someone talk about being “Jewed down,” and Peggy explained that meant getting cheated by someone cheap.
“That’s what you think about me?” I asked.
“No, no! It’s just an expression.”
And then a few days later, two girls came up to me in the hall and said, “Dirty Jew.”
I kept a blank face and kept going down the hall. I was surprised—shocked, really. I didn’t think Americans were like that. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t even think I was that upset.
After supper, I sat down at the table in our room and worked on my homework. I had to memorize ten spelling words and learn five vocabulary words: Mundane, mercenary, mammoth, formidable, frantic. Vocabulary was harder than spelling. Then I read one chapter in my history book and, hardest of all, outlined a story called “The Red Barn” from my English book. The last thing I did was math homework. Last, because Marc had told me I should always do the hardest things first, then the easy ones.
I got ready for bed. I went down the hall to the bathroom to change into my pajamas and brush my teeth. Marc was still reading when I returned. I put my doll on the pillow near me. “Good night, Marc.”
I closed my eyes and turned onto my favorite side, but I couldn’t fall asleep. For a long, long time, I tossed around. And, then, I started thinking. I thought about Paris and my friend Sarah Olinski. I remembered how we had loved each other, how we planned our lives together, how we were always going to be best friends. And I wondered where she was now. Was she alive?
Then I thought about Papa, and I shouldn’t have. My throat swelled. I buried my head in the pillow so Marc wouldn’t hear me cry.
After all you’ve been through, to let any of these people at school bother you … It was Maman’s voice. She was speaking to me. Why be upset, even for a moment, over such stupidity? No, darling, do as well as you can; be honest, be loving, and the rest will take care of itself.…
25
PEGGY’S HOUSE
“Oswego is like Paris, I think,” I said, as Peggy and I walked down Oak Street. It was after school, and I was going home with her.
“Paris! Paris is a big city, Karin. You’re nuts.”
“I mean, a little it’s the same. Both have rivers within the city, and bridges also, and streets named for trees. Yes?”
“How neat!” Peggy said.
“Yes. How neat!”
She linked her arm through mine. “I’m glad you came here, Karin. It’s fun having you. I really, really like knowing you.”
“I, also,” I said, “like knowing you. Thank you.”
“All you have to say when you agree is ‘Me, too.’”
“‘Me, too’?”
“Uh-huh. That means when I say I like you, you’re saying the same back to me. It saves a lot of words. Get it?”
“Okay. Get it!”
Peggy lived on Ash Street in a little house painted light green. It h
ad a square front porch and a garage, like a second tiny house at the end of the driveway. “Ma!” she yelled, when we went in. “I’m home. Ma, Karin is here. She’s from the fort.”
Her mother came down the stairs. “Karin? I’ve heard about you.” She looked me over carefully. “How do you like it here, dear?”
I smoothed my hair. “I like it very much. Thank you. This is my first American house.”
Mrs. Bradbury smiled. “Peggy can show you around.”
She showed me the living room first. Lace doilies on the arms of the couch, framed pictures of Peggy and her sisters, overstuffed chairs. Then the kitchen with its big refrigerator and the cat, Maypo, sleeping on a chair. And upstairs, the bedroom she shared with her sister, Mary. Twin maple beds, blue chenille bedspreads, a maple bureau with a mirror, a shelf for Peggy’s doll collection.
I smoothed out the white dress on a bride doll. All the dolls had shiny yellow curls, tiny noses, and little red mouths. “I had a doll. Name of Felice,” I said. “And also the stuffed dog, Maurice.”
And then we both shouted, “Maurice and Felice!”
“Okay, now we have to make a wish.” Peggy linked her pinkie with mine. “Ready? What goes up a chimney?”
“Smoke?”
“Right. What comes down a chimney?”
“Down a chimney? Chimney boy to clean?”
“Santa Claus, Karin!”
“Oh. Okay.”
“What goes through a needle? Come on, you know that one. Doesn’t your mother sew?”
“It’s the American word, I’m not sure. String?”
“No, thread.”
“Oh yes. Thread.”
“Now close your eyes and make a wish.”
“Will it come true?”
“Of course.”
I closed my eyes. There was only one wish.
“May your wish and mine come true,” Peggy chanted. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”
“When does the wish come true?” I asked.
“Oh no. It’s not serious. It’s just, you know, superstition. Do you like my room?”
Good Night, Maman Page 7