Children of the Stars Page 12

  They went inside and walked to the back of the house to a large porch that faced the river. They could hear a piano in the background. The garden was full of flowers and lush trees, a veritable orchard.

  The two men sat at a light wooden table, and the children headed for the swings that hung from an enormous walnut tree.

  “I admit I’m surprised,” Bonnay began. “I see you’ve done very well for yourself.”

  “Raising cattle and crops is hard work, and it’s hard to find good help. We’ve got a lot of French, but most of our workers are Spaniards.”

  “Spaniards?” Bonnay asked, perplexed.

  Fabien nodded. “A lot of them came this way after the civil war. They were running from hunger and Franco’s regime. They’re hard workers, though not very disciplined. At first I wasn’t sure about them, some being communists and unionists, but all they care about is sending money to their families in Spain. It seems the situation is rather dire there.”

  “I’m not so sure things are much better here, at least not in the occupied zone,” Bonnay said.

  “You know the rain doesn’t fall to everyone’s liking. In Vichy, things don’t seem to be so bad. At least someone finally took control of the country. The Masons and the Jews were destroying France, but Marshal Pétain will get our glory back.”

  The maid arrived with a silver tray and placed several glasses and a crystal jar of lemonade on the table. Fabien served his brother-in-law and then took a glass for himself.

  Bonnay cleared his throat. “We may not see things eye to eye, but I haven’t come to discuss politics. I need to spend some time here. I can work anywhere you put me on the farm. You know I’m not afraid to work.” He picked up his glass and took a sip. The cool, sweet liquid revived him. He had not eaten since the night before, and it was nearly suppertime.

  “Of course you can work here, and your oldest boy too. He looks strong as an ox, just like his father. Paul looks to be more delicate, like our beloved Marguerite. How I miss her. She left us too soon. The world was robbed of an angel. By the time my doctor friend arrived, it was too late.” Fabien’s tone of reproach was not lost on Bonnay.

  “Your sister was too selfless. She thought only of us and nothing of herself. When the Germans came, everything was in chaos. We hardly had enough to eat, and we were helping the refugees that fled Paris. By the time I knew she was sick, the tuberculosis was already too far along.”

  “It’s true, my sister had a Christian heart of gold. I imagine that means nothing to a socialist like yourself, but to those of us who believe . . .”

  “But you were a socialist yourself!” Bonnay’s ire began to rise.

  “The key word there is were. We all change. Things are different now. With determination, a man can make a fortune and change his destiny,” Fabien said, watching the children play.

  “Are you part of the Rassemblement National Populaire now?”

  “Yes. Marcel Déat was once a socialist, too, but a long time ago he figured out that the future of the world held something else. Don’t you realize that everything has changed? Communism was leading us toward disaster. It all sounds so pretty, sharing everything equally, but human beings aren’t motivated by altruism. What really drives us is ambition.” As Fabien spoke, he gesticulated as if delivering a speech to a crowd.

  “There’s no doubt things have changed. You can tell that by just looking around.”

  Fabien’s children came out to the porch and stared at the strange, dirty man sitting with their father, then looked toward the children.

  “They are your cousins. Go say hello.”

  The girl smiled, but the boy stayed quiet and inexpressive. He hardly remembered the existence of cousins. The girl ran off to the big tree, then her brother reluctantly followed.

  When the four boys saw two children dressed in white running toward them, they halted their games, though Moses and Paul were still moving on the swings with the momentum of their brothers’ pushes.

  “Marcel? Paul? Don’t you remember me?” the girl asked. Alice was twelve years old. Her white skin was so thin that blue veins showed through. Her hands were delicate and her fingers long. Little Fabien was also pale, but his face was covered in freckles. His hair was a dark red, almost brown.

  “Hello, cousin,” Marcel said, though without much enthusiasm.

  Paul studied them as his swing kept moving, then he jumped off and went up to the boy. They were almost the same height, but that was the only similarity between them. Their clothing, facial expressions, and skin tone were in contrast. Paul smiled and asked, “So you’re Fabien?”

  The boy did not respond. Rather, he turned and walked toward the river.

  “What’s got into him?” Marcel asked.

  “He’s just shy, and he doesn’t remember you. You came to see us the summer before the war, when we lived in our old house. We had so much fun together. I sure do miss your mother,” Alice said, greeting her cousins with the three official kisses. When she took note of the other two boys, she stood expectantly before them.

  Marcel introduced them, using the fake names his father had given them. “These are our friends, Jean and Martin.”

  “Are you friends from school?” Alice asked, intrigued.

  “Nah, I don’t go anymore. I’ve got to help my father with the business. Times are hard,” the boy said, though he did not really understand his father’s oft-used expression.

  “Hard?” Alice was curious. “You mean because of the war? I’m sad about what’s happening because of the Russian communists, but it won’t last long. That’s what Father says.”

  “So what do you like to play here?” Jacob asked while Moses and Paul went to see what Fabien was doing by the river.

  “We ride horses, read, play the piano, swim in the river . . .”

  “You can swim in the river?” Marcel asked, as if it were the best news he had heard in weeks.

  “Of course! A little farther up there’s a small beach. The water is really cold, but with it being so hot outside, you’ll get warmed up soon enough.”

  “Could we go swimming now?” Jacob asked.

  “Sure. But we should leave the younger boys here. I don’t want to have to watch them.”

  The three of them started walking. Alice’s father owned about twenty-five acres along the wide river. There was an island just up from where the house sat and a lovely little beach surrounded by trees.

  “Nobody else comes here. It’s part of our farm,” Alice explained.

  The boys kicked off their shoes and dipped their toes in the water. Alice took off her white dress, revealing a black swimsuit that covered almost all of her back and shoulders and went down almost to her knees. Jacob pulled off his shirt and pants. He was about to take off his underwear when Alice cried out, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to swim,” he answered, perplexed.

  “Without your underwear?” she asked.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Marcel said, slapping Jacob’s neck.

  The boys jumped in with their long underwear and the girl with her swimsuit. Jacob went under time and time again, loving the sensation of quiet under the water. He wondered if this was what it had felt like to be in his mother’s womb, and he felt as if he were going back there somehow, becoming an indivisible part of her again. When he resurfaced, he saw Alice’s wet hair falling down her back, which stood out even paler against the black swimsuit.

  Jacob could not understand why some of his friends were so interested in girls. He found most of them to be boring, conceited, and too delicate to be any good at games. He tended to avoid them. Besides, since he only had a brother, girls were so foreign to him that he ended up treating them with indifference. He recalled how in the last school year, after he had been kicked out of public school and sent to the school for Jews, he’d met a black girl named Sophie. She had big dark eyes, and everyone teased him that Sophie was his girlfriend, even though they had never even spoken to each other. Som
e of the older girls even joked about having a wedding for them on the playground.

  “What’s up? You’re staring at my cousin,” Marcel said, jabbing his elbow into Jacob’s ribs. Without realizing it, Jacob had indeed been staring.

  “Don’t be stupid. I don’t even like girls.” Then Jacob dunked his friend.

  Marcel seemed to have gotten over his anger at Jacob’s stupidity for speaking in German to the German boys at the mill. The surprise journey had been fun and exciting for him. This was certainly better than hauling bags of coal and enduring the old ladies who pinched his cheeks with their bony fingers and gave him paltry tips.

  Alice stretched out on a rock while the boys continued to splash each other. On the porch, the men talked politics until Fabien’s wife arrived and it was time to prepare for supper.

  The maid had set the table in the formal dining room. Bonnay interpreted this as a display of his brother-in-law’s wealth and power rather than a gesture of hospitality.

  The men sat together at one end of the table with Clotilde, the mistress of the house. The children sat at the other end, closest to the yard. After saying grace, Fabien poured the adults a very expensive Bordeaux wine.

  Clotilde smiled and said, “I hope you enjoy the supper. We weren’t expecting you.”

  She was truly beautiful. She was still young enough that her youthful features won out over the lines and contours of the adult in her. Her well-proportioned body swayed beneath her elegant evening gown. Fabien had changed to a dark jacket, and Bonnay had put on his newer shirt, less-worn brown pants, and a vest.

  “Your hospitality is more than adequate,” Bonnay said, trying to be as kind as possible. He knew this would be the last time they sat at that table, being nothing more than lowly working-class people.

  They sipped the delicate consommé. “Fabien tells me you’ve come to Roanne looking for work. Are things that bad in the occupied zone?” Clotilde asked, taking a bite of the exquisite charbroiled duck.

  “The world is always hard for people who don’t go along with it. I don’t like the Germans or those who collaborate with them, though we all have to answer to our own consciences for our actions,” Bonnay answered curtly.

  “I understand. It’s a constant battle between adapting or dying,” the woman proffered.

  “I thought conscience was something only we believers had,” Fabien joked.

  “According to Hitler, conscience is something the Jews made up. I may be an atheist, but I’ve got a conscience, perhaps even more than the whole Vichy government that makes a show of religious bigotry while handing the Jews over to the Nazis. It’s Christian charity, you see,” Bonnay said. He regretted his words before they were even out of his mouth.

  “I’m sure the führer is right, as always,” Fabien slipped in, provocatively.

  Clotilde shifted. “Who are the other children?”

  “Just some kids that have lost their parents. I’m helping them out until they’re back with their family.” Suddenly Bonnay stood up and let his napkin drop to the table. “I . . . well, I believe I made a mistake by coming here. I apologize for the inconvenience. We’ll leave right away.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Fabien said. “You may be a miserable failure, a stuck-up, arrogant, socialist collier, but those are my nephews. I won’t let them go hungry or anything worse. Sit down. We don’t have to agree on politics in order to eat dinner in peace.”

  Bonnay looked at the children, who had all turned and looked at the adults at the sound of raised voices. They looked exhausted, especially the younger boys. It would be better for him to swallow his pride, keep his mouth shut, and work for a season in his brother-in-law’s estate until things calmed down. He sat back down.

  “I don’t want you to misinterpret me. I’m very happy for you that things are going so well. But one day this war will be over, and it will not be pretty for the collaborators.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but money always wins. The Nazis may lose this war, especially now that the North Americans have joined the fray, but France is their ally. I’m not doing anything wrong. I just export beef, lamb, and chicken for the German army. I’m not making weapons like others in Roanne do. I’m just a merchant who sells his goods to the highest bidder,” Fabien said, regaining his composure.

  Clotilde took his hand and turned her earnest eyes toward Bonnay. “My husband is an honorable man and a wonderful father.”

  “Your sister loved you so much. You were her little brother. For her sake, it’s best we behave like civilized men,” Bonnay said to settle the matter.

  Fabien nodded. “The only thing I ask is that you be honest. Who are those children? With the times we’re living in, I don’t want undesirables under my roof. It could put my business at risk.”

  “I’ll take them away tomorrow, then I’ll come back and work on your farm for room and board for my boys. We’ll sleep with the rest of your workers, but don’t do anything to them. They’ve suffered enough already.” The resignation in his tone surprised Fabien and Clotilde.

  “We would never do anything to them, but we need to know who is staying in our house. You must understand. There are plenty of rooms in our home. You won’t stay with the other workers. We have the same blood as your children,” Clotilde answered.

  Bonnay was silent for a long moment, hesitating. Finally, he spoke. “They’re Jewish boys, looking for their parents. They fled from Paris. Now you know what’s happening all over occupied France.”

  “There have been raids here too,” Fabien said.

  “Here? The Vichy government is handing the Jews over to the Germans?” Bonnay asked, taken aback.

  “The government had no choice. The Germans have pressed them into it. But only the foreign Jews. And they turn a blind eye to those who take refuge at Marseille and the coast. Up to now, the authorities have let anyone who wanted to leave France go. But the war is entering a new phase, and they fear an invasion from the Mediterranean,” Fabien said.

  “What does that have to do with the Jews?” Bonnay asked.

  “The Nazis think they are potential enemies, dangerous communists. They won’t stop until they’re all locked up. There’s nothing we can do for the poor things,” Clotilde said.

  “Yes, we can do something for them. They’re people just like we are,” Bonnay protested.

  “Well, nothing’s going to happen just because a couple of kids spend a few nights here, but they can’t stay,” Fabien said. The discussion was over.

  They passed the rest of the meal in silence. After dessert, the children were shown to rooms, and the men found themselves alone again.

  “Cigar?” Fabien offered.

  Bonnay hesitated but finally took the fine Havana cigar. There had been precious few occasions when he had been able to enjoy any cigar at all.

  “All of this”—Fabien waved to indicate the house, the wealth, the land beyond the spacious yard—“I’ve gotten in two years’ time. My hands are clean, but I’ve known how to take advantage of opportunities.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “But there’s money to be made for you too. The Germans need loads of coal to transport their materials, not to speak of all the deportations. You’ve got the contacts and know how the business works. We could be partners in a new company that supplies raw materials. You wouldn’t have to cough up a single franc for start-up costs. Besides, you could keep thirty percent of all the earnings. It would be a good deal,” Fabien said, settling back into his chair on the wide porch.

  The idea took Bonnay by complete surprise. He remained standing. The cool breeze coming from the river cleared away the wine and the argument from dinner. His brother-in-law had always looked down on him, treated him like a nobody. The generous offer came as quite a shock.

  “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Just think about it tonight. Tomorrow you can give me an answer. Sometimes it’s best to consult with the pillow on these matters.”

  The
two men stared at the clear, dark sky for some time. The stars seemed brighter than ever, the universe indifferent to human miseries, as if all the wars and petty personal ambitions were tiny specks of dust.

  Bonnay got up, said goodnight, and headed to his room. His sons were in the room right beside him, joined by a bathroom. He let out a deep sigh, looking at the canopy bed with its gold curtains and silk sheets. All of this could be his. The boys could study, have a promising future, and his wife’s hopes would not have been for naught.

  Fully dressed, he fell onto the bed. The soft mattress, the silk cradling his skin . . . He could get used to this. Then his eyes closed, and Bonnay fell fast asleep.

  Chapter 14

  Roanne

  July 24, 1942

  Jacob woke with a start. He felt like his chest was about to explode. He panted, and flashes of scenes from his nightmare left him shaking. He slowly calmed down and told himself it was just a bad dream. He looked over, where Moses slept peacefully. It was still night, but it would be light soon. His throat was dry. He turned toward the nightstand, searching for a glass of water. Then he went to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and lapped up a few sips. Hearing voices, he went out to the hall.

  The voices came from one of the rooms at the back of the house. It sounded like an argument, which was odd at that time of the predawn morning.

  “You don’t understand. It could be dangerous,” a woman said.

  “It’s only for one more night. He promised he would take them away. We might be able to set up a good business. Later, we’ll see how to actually split the profits.”

  “You have to protect your interests. If anyone in the government or any of the Germans find out you’re hiding Jews, everything you’ve worked for will disappear in a snap,” the woman said.

  “No one’s going to find out,” the man said, clearly losing patience.

  A chill ran up Jacob’s spine. He slipped back to the room he shared with Moses and woke his brother.