by Olivia Lara
She shook her head. ‘Not doing it. Stop asking.’ Then she gave him a long look. ‘If you’re that desperate, why don’t you ask Vincent? He’s a senior.’
He was desperate. He would’ve done anything to get back to Colmar. But Vincent?
‘Let’s see how much you’re willing to do for this girl,’ she said through her teeth.
Leon sighed. ‘Vincent. This should go well,’ he mumbled.
*
Later that day, after repeating his speech ten times, he knocked on Vincent’s door.
‘Do you have five minutes? I want to talk to you,’ started Leon.
‘Talk then.’
He didn’t invite Leon in and stood in the doorway, playing with a pencil.
‘I want to ask you for a favor. A big favor.’
Vincent started laughing, as if on cue. ‘A favor? Let’s hear it.’
‘I heard there is a field trip next week and I was wondering if you knew which senior classes are going.’
‘I sure do. But what’s it to you?’
‘I need to be on that trip,’ said Leon.
‘You do?’ asked Vincent with a straight face, although it seemed like he was about to burst into laughter again.
‘Yes. It’s very important to me, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.’
‘And why, might I ask, do you need to be on the trip?’
Leon sighed. ‘Because I want to go see Zara.’
‘Oh,’ said Vincent rolling his eyes. ‘Zara. The mysterious French girl. She must be something else, for you to be so stuck on her.’
Leon smiled, though he tried not to.
‘Come on in, don’t just stand there. Always happy to help a friend in love.’
‘I’m just trying to find out which classes are going, and which of the boys won’t be there, to take someone’s place.’
Vincent frowned. ‘That’s risky business, trouble.’
‘Oh, don’t you start as well. I’ve had enough of this from Nicole.’
He studied Leon for a moment. ‘Yes, she seems particularly set against this girl of yours. I keep wondering why—’ He stopped and stared out the window. ‘You know what? I’ll help you. My class is going. And one more. There’s about fifty of us, and as far as I know, at least four won’t be there.’
Leon smiled excitedly. ‘So I can go. I can go see her.’
‘Calm down. Make sure you wear the dark winter coat and the hat. That’s what we were instructed to have on. That way you’ll blend in.’ Vincent looked him up and down. ‘You’re tall enough. It should be fine.’
Leon’s smile widened even more and now his cheeks hurt. He was so excited he almost hugged Vincent. Almost.
‘Come to me in the morning, after we leave. I’ll find you an empty train car, so you don’t risk anyone recognizing you. You do know we’re going to Strasbourg, not Colmar, right?’
Leon nodded. ‘The train passes through Colmar on its way there. I’ll just get off.’
‘You’ve thought of everything. You really like this girl, don’t you?’
‘Very much.’
‘I’m happy to hear that.’
‘You are?’
‘You’re surprised. Why? Do I seem like such a heartless guy?’
‘No, but—’
‘Look, Leon, I have nothing against you. I never have. I just don’t like to lose. And I don’t like to share either, if you know what I mean.’
Leon smiled distractedly. He wasn’t really sure he knew what Vincent meant.
He was about to see Zara. Finally. After months of dreaming about it.
‘Thank you,’ he said, the excitement obvious in his voice. ‘I owe you one. A big one. Huge.’
‘I’ll hold you to it,’ said Vincent with a mischievous smile.
ZARA
14 MARCH 1955
COLMAR
As time went by, Zara controlled her insecurities and instead focused on the time they would spend together. She was eagerly counting the days and making plans.
‘Zara, hurry up, come inside,’ her mother said one afternoon, a few days before Leon’s return to Colmar. ‘I have great news!’ she said.
‘What happened, Mama?’
‘I received a letter inviting me for an interview in Paris. A teaching assistant position.’
‘That is amazing news! When are you going?’
‘The interview is in two days.’
Zara’s smile faded.
‘Tuesday? But that’s the day before Leon is coming.’
‘I know,’ her mother said.
‘Will we make it back in time?’
‘I’ll spend the night at your cousin Constance’s place then take the 7 a.m. bus; I’ll be back around three.’
‘You’ll be back? Am I not going?’
‘There’s no point in you missing school and spending sixteen hours on a bus.’
‘But we always do everything together,’ said Zara sadly.
‘Oh, wonderful child,’ her mother said and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. ‘We are always together, even when we are apart – don’t forget that.’
‘Are you sure about this, Mama?’
‘Absolutely. I have a feeling it is better for you to stay home this time, angel.’
*
‘Her mother sounds like a special person.’
I stop reading.
‘She was magic. Pure magic. She was strong and beautiful and smart. She never gave up. Even after her husband died, even when they had nothing to eat – literally nothing but a week-old loaf of bread, she would put on the stove to dry and keep it going longer. She did laundry, mended neighbors’ clothes and cleaned other people’s houses after she lost her teaching job in Romania. She would’ve done anything to keep Zara safe. The money she got was barely enough for them to survive from one day to the next. But she always kept her daughter clean and made her go to school.’
‘It’s sad to imagine such an unhappy childhood.’
‘I never said Zara was unhappy. She was not unhappy. There were moments when she was sad for her mother, sad she couldn’t help. But most of the time, she had that innocent take on life most children her age have. She would not go hungry; she was loved, taken care of. Her mother told her stories every night at bedtime, magical stories she made up. So what if they couldn’t afford books? Or a house of their own? It didn’t matter. Somehow, her mother always found a way to make it work. Even after they lost everything in the war, packed all their belongings in a few bags and left the country in the middle of the night, not knowing where they would end up, she still smiled. “It will all work out, angel,” she used to say to Zara. “This is not how your story is supposed to end.”’ I smile. ‘She was magic.’
LEON
15 MARCH 1955
VAUD
Leon asked around to find out which teacher was in charge of the trip to Strasbourg. He hoped it was his art teacher. As much as he had been upset with him for what happened in Colmar, he was his mentor and JJ’s friend, and he would not willingly get Leon into trouble.
But it wasn’t him. It was a substitute teacher. All the better. The sub would have no idea who was who. It was all going to work out.
Nicole kept trying to persuade him to change his mind and give up his plan.
‘I don’t want you to go.’
‘Why?’
‘I just don’t. You don’t even know her. Is she worth all of this trouble?’
‘Yes,’ he said shortly and ended the conversation.
He was getting tired of constantly having to defend his feelings in front of Nicole. He thought she would give in and support him, but instead, she became colder and colder, barely speaking to him in the days before the trip.
‘You will regret this,’ she warned him the night before.
‘I will regret it more if I don’t go.’
*
The next day, after breakfast, they all gathered in front of the school and walked to the station. The heavy snow and strong gusts of wind
made everyone walk with their heads down. All the boys were wearing their long, dark school coats, and had their fur hats on to keep their ears warm. No one noticed Leon didn’t belong.
ZARA
16 MARCH 1955
COLMAR
Zara barely paid any attention in class that day. When the school bell rang, she grabbed her books and ran home, trying not to think about how nervous she was, but just about finally being face to face with Leon. Finally looking into his eyes and seeing his smile.
She put on the black-and-white wool dress her mother had made for her to wear for Christmas mass – this was a special occasion too – her only pair of winter boots, and the long coat she wore on Sundays before rushing to the Unterlinden to wait for him. She looked at herself in the mirror ten times, arranging her short hair as best she could. She put on a warm hat, changed her mind, then changed her mind again. She put it back on, thinking she would take it off when she saw him. What would she say to him? How would he react when he saw her?
What if he didn’t like her? After all, nobody else did. No, he would. He had to. In the short time they had spent together, she already felt closer to him than anyone else before. And with each letter, and each passing day, she felt she could tell him anything because he would understand. Because he was just like her.
Zara kept checking the clock in the sitting room. Her mother was late. She’d said she would be coming back with the three o’clock bus. Maybe it had gotten delayed, she thought. It had snowed all day and the snow slowed everything, especially on the winding roads close to Colmar.
She couldn’t wait any longer. It was fifteen minutes before four o’clock when she left the house. If she made it in time, she planned to hide behind one of the great oaks in front of the museum. Just so she could get a peek.
Four o’clock came and there was no sign of him.
A group of boys walking her way gave her hope, but when they passed and she recognized them from school, her heart sank.
More time passed, and Zara started getting anxious and cold.
He is late, she thought, but he will be here. He promised.
She hoped her mother was back already. She’d promised she would cook something special for them that evening. Soup a l’oignon and cassoulet and perhaps some sauerkraut so he could have the best of both French and German cuisines.
The clock tower at Saint Martin’s church announced five o’clock.
Zara sat on the sidewalk, looking both ways every few seconds. Listening. Hoping.
Six o’clock.
It was so cold.
Seven.
She pulled the hat lower on her head and tried to stay warm, but she was already shivering. Even her feet were frozen. As much as she tried to think positively, she had a bad feeling. He wasn’t coming. Maybe something had happened or maybe he’d never planned to come in the first place, and it had been just something he said. But if her mother was right, and the dreams were real, didn’t that mean he was the one? Or was her mother wrong? Countless questions went through her mind.
She felt ridiculous. Foolish. Tears pooled in her eyes.
All for a boy she had not even seen. A boy she would probably never see.
So naïve. To believe in her grandmother’s stories. She knew better. There was no fated soulmate. No reverie. The dream meant nothing. Just like meeting her that evening obviously meant nothing to him. If he was the one, he would’ve been there that day, no matter what.
With her head down, Zara walked back home.
In front of the house, she suddenly had a bad feeling. The lights were off.
She pushed the handle on the gate when she heard the baker’s wife behind her.
‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. There’s been an accident, we have to hurry.’
Zara’s heart beat out of control. ‘What accident?’
‘The bus from Paris skidded off an icy road and hit the side of the mountain.’
‘Is it Mama? Where is she? Is she alright?’
‘I’ll take you to the hospital,’ said the baker’s wife and took her hand.
*
A thin and pale doctor approached them.
‘Are you Zahara Ionesco’s family?’
‘I am her daughter, yes. How is she, Doctor? Can I see her now, please?’
‘I’m really sorry,’ he said.
Zara kept thinking it was all a nightmare. ‘What do you mean? Why are you sorry?’
‘We did everything we could, but unfortunately your mother didn’t survive.’
‘No, no, this is a mistake,’ Zara insisted desperately. ‘You’re wrong. I want to see her.’
‘You should take her back,’ he said to the baker’s wife.
‘No, I don’t want to leave. I want to see my mother.’
‘Go home and rest and be with your loved ones.’
‘I don’t have a home. I don’t have anyone. Mama is all I have,’ she said, sobbing.
ZARA
28 MARCH 1955
COLMAR
For days, Zara was inconsolable. She sat in the middle of her bed, looking at photos and crying. Her mother was gone. She was never going to tell her she loved her again, never going to hold her in her arms and make her feel like nothing bad could happen to her. There would be no more Sunday strolls through Colmar, no stopping for hot cocoa and croissants at the small boulangerie in the square, no night-time stories about her magical childhood in Romania, no more theater plays on the radio on rainy evenings. No more singing and dancing in the living room, as the gramophone played old songs. No more of the clothes she made for her, no more Paris without her, no studio overlooking the Eiffel Tower.
She kept seeing her mother’s smile and hearing her warm voice as she left the house and the tears kept coming until there were no more left. She was never going to see her again.
Her cousin Constance came over from Paris as soon as the neighbors called her, but Zara didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to leave her room. She was so angry. At herself for not going to Paris with her mother, at Leon since she felt it all happened because of him, at her mother for leaving her. If she had only gone to Paris with her mother, things would be different.
The funeral was small. The priest, a few neighbors, the baker and his wife, Ivan the watchdog and Constance. It was an unusually cold day for early spring in Alsace. Even the sky was crying with freezing tears. Zara, wearing a long black dress Constance had bought her, stood still and silent by the grave. She couldn’t believe her mother was gone.
Zara had no idea what would become of her. Where would she live, what would she do?
‘Take me to Paris with you,’ pleaded Zara to Constance between tears.
‘I can’t. My husband doesn’t like children. I’m sorry. Really.’
‘Can I live here then?’
‘Here, alone? Of course not. You’re only fifteen. I wrote to my mother.’
‘Why? Will Aunt Lisa move back here and take care of me?’
‘No, silly. You will go live with her. That’s if she wants to take you.’
Zara’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Live with her in America? I don’t want to leave Colmar.’
‘We can’t always do what we want,’ said Constance, though not unkindly.
*
The next morning, a woman with short gray hair knocked on their door. The woman was Lisa. Apparently, she’d bought herself a plane ticket immediately after receiving Constance’s telegram.
‘I loved your mother very much and I’m so sorry this happened,’ she said. ‘Constance has her own life and I lost my husband years ago. I am alone like you. I would like to take care of you, make sure you have everything you need.’
Zara felt her guard slowly coming down.
‘This is what your mother would’ve wanted. I’m not rich, but I have a good job and my late husband’s farm. You will go to school there, learn a new language, make new friends.’
Lisa was a stranger, but she seemed nice and maybe, in time, Z
ara could learn to trust the delicate brown-eyed lady who smelled of cookies and spring flowers.
Her aunt helped her pack. It wasn’t much. Everything fit into a small wooden suitcase that belonged to her mother. A few photos, some clothes, and books. That was her life now.
Before leaving, Zara took one last walk through Colmar. Rue des Têtes, Rue Des Clefs, Rue des Marchands. She passed a street performer playing Edith Piaf’s ‘Tu es Partout’ on his violin. She gave him a coin and, wiping her tears, walked on. She stopped in front of the bakery with the three iron tables in front. She had been there many times with her mother and had wanted to take Leon there too. And now she’d never have the chance.
Head down, dragging her feet, she went back home and sat on the sidewalk in front of the house. She felt lost, alone, heartbroken.
The walk to the train station was the longest of her life. She was heading into the unknown, leaving everything she loved behind. On the platform, waiting for their Paris-bound train, Zara and Lisa stood in silence. The train to Strasbourg was pulling into the station, and they stepped back to let people out. A wave of busy, hurried men and women dressed in gray, brown and black walked towards the exits, pushing past them.
There was a moment. A fraction of a second when Zara felt a heaviness in her chest. A pressure, cutting her air off. She looked around like she was afraid she was about to miss something. Someone. From the corner of her eye, she saw the back of a man and a boy. The man had perfectly white hair, silver almost, and the boy wore a hat, like the Russian ones. Black, thick. She held her breath. Her heart pounded. Then she couldn’t see them anymore. And the moment passed her by. Whatever she had missed was gone. Her eyes filled with tears.
As if sensing her pain, Lisa took her hand. ‘Zara, I know how much it hurts right, but—’
‘Aunt Lisa, don’t call me Zara. It’s too painful. It reminds me of Mama and of… It’s a silly nickname and I’m not a child anymore.’
‘What should I call you then?’
‘Call me by my name. Dominique, simply Dominique.’