Children of the Stars Page 15
Chapter 17
Valence
July 25, 1942
Jacob’s and Moses’s legs were filled with sand as they made their slow way up to the attic. The stairway was clean. The black handrail was not dusty, and the stairs shone as if recently stained. It was a much nicer building than the apartment they had shared with Aunt Judith the last few years. The cities in the farther reaches of the country seemed less worn-out by the pressure of the war, as if the ugly cloud that stretched thickly over Paris and northern France had not yet arrived in full force farther south. Jacob briefly thought that Valence was more like the country his parents had fallen in love with and where they had hoped to make a fresh start and which, since the arrival of the Nazis with their threats and lies, had become gray and prosaic, like an endless, monotonous silent film.
They were out of breath when they reached the final landing. They stared at the dark wooden door, the huge golden peephole, and the round, black doorbell. They looked at each other, unsure of what to do. A soul can long so deeply for its happiness that it fears the truth will rear up and ruin the moment it has envisioned thousands of times. Finally, Joseph touched the doorbell lightly, almost caressing it. After the ringing noise, he drew his hand back quickly, waited with his arms behind his back, and then felt his brother’s sweaty hand grabbing his own.
The door opened slowly, and a soft light flowed out onto the dark landing. A tall, stocky figure appeared. The man wore an old red silk dressing gown, matching slippers, and white linen pants underneath.
The person leaned down a bit to study the visitors more closely, then took off his glasses and folded them over the pocket of his robe. “Who exactly are you?” he asked after a long silence, as if he had tried but failed to recognize them.
The children were speechless. Their eyes stung, and their skin grew redder by the second. Had they tried to speak, the words would have died before leaving their throats.
“Do you know what time it is? I’m having supper. I don’t know what you’re after. If you’re just going to stand there staring, I’m sorry, but I cannot waste any more time.” The man started to close the door, but Jacob’s arm shot out to keep it from latching. The man’s eyebrows lifted, more from curiosity than anger.
“We’re the children of Eleazar and Jana Stein. They sent us letters from this address. We’ve come from very far away to find them. Can you tell us where they are?”
The door swung back open, the man’s curiosity fully awakened now by the child’s words. He stared at the boys in shock as if they were ghosts. “Come in, good gracious, come in!” he urged. His shock had turned to worry.
The boys stepped into the small entryway, then followed the man down a hallway to a large living room with a sloped ceiling. The furniture seemed relatively new and gave off an intense smell of varnished wood.
“Oh my, oh my, oh my!” the man groaned. The weight of this news bubbled out of him but had no clear words of its own. He motioned for them to sit and brought them glasses of water and some cookies. They accepted eagerly, and the man watched the boys pick up and eat even the crumbs that fell to their dirty pants.
“So you are Jana and Eleazar’s boys. How did you get here? Did someone bring you?”
The fact that this man knew their parents was an enormous relief to Jacob and Moses. Lately they had begun to wonder if their parents really existed after all or if they were just two orphans who had made them up to keep them on a journey toward an impossible goal.
Moses asked the most natural question in the world: “Where are our parents?” The frustration he had felt when the man first opened the door started to abate, and at least Moses’s stomach was no longer rebelling loudly and he had received a soft and comfortable seat.
The old man studied the boys again. Their faces were blackened with filth, their hair a mess, their clothes stained, and their shoes ruined. But they were most certainly the same boys Jana had shown him in the little picture she always kept with her.
“Sweetheart, your mother is the sweetest, most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world. That’s why she has such adorable children. She has told me so much about you both. She missed you terribly every day. I’ve seen her weep countless tears sitting in the same spot where you’re sitting now. For her, living apart from you two was like having her heart cut out of her. It was different for your father. He surely suffered as much as she, but he was focused on a goal that did not allow him to show any feeling.”
The old man was quiet then. He bit his lips, swallowing back the emotion starting to block his throat. He stood abruptly and drew close to the boys. “Your parents adore you. You are the most important thing in the world to them. Never forget that.”
His words were so definite that they scared Jacob. He sensed the old man was trying to tell them something he dared not speak aloud, hoping for them to intuit it instead.
“They aren’t here?” Jacob asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.
“No, they aren’t here. For shame, it’s a misfortune—like a Greek tragedy. Tragedy, no, it’s an epic saga. They left two weeks ago. I was to send you a letter, but I’ve been unable to leave the house until just yesterday. As soon as they left, I fell gravely ill and nearly died. I moved here to be more comfortable and isolated. I manage this house. I was staying on the bottom floor, but the noise, the renters, everything got to me. I think it was your parents’ leaving that made me sick. I loved them as if they were my own children, you see. The children I never had.” The man’s eyes were wet.
“What did they say in the letter?” Jacob asked, impatient.
“I don’t have it anymore. I gave it to the theater director, who promised to send it, but I don’t know if he already has. I can call him,” he said, reaching for the phone. He dialed a number and waited.
The boys looked at each other. Moses grabbed Jacob’s hand.
“Mr. Perrot, please. I need to speak with him urgently.” The man cupped his hand over the receiver and looked back at the boys. He heard a sound and motioned for them to be calm, that it would be all right.
“What’s happening?” Moses asked Jacob, scared. Jacob put his finger to his lips for Moses to keep quiet, though he, too, was anxious to know what was happening.
“Yes, I understand, I understand. Some boys will be dropping by in a bit for a letter. Thank you very much.”
The man hung up the phone and said, “I don’t think he’s taken the letter to the post office yet. It seems the director hasn’t left the theater all day. You’ll have to go get it there. It’s the building right in front. The director, Mr. Perrot, will give you the letter. Take it and come back here right away. Don’t speak to anyone, you understand?”
The boys nodded and stood up. The man walked them to the door and watched them dash down the stairs.
Out on the street, the afternoon light had begun to fade, and the street lamps were lighting up one by one. They saw the theater directly in front. It was not very big, but it was painted a pleasing light yellow and had a balcony and a gable roof supported by two columns that gave the building the feel of a classic temple. The red door looked to be closed, but Jacob and Moses went up the stairs and pushed it open without knocking.
A middle-aged man dressed in a blue usher’s uniform with gold buttons stopped them in the vestibule. “Where are you going, boys?” he asked, eyeing their disheveled appearance.
“Mr. Perrot has an envelope for us,” Moses answered.
“Mr. Perrot just left,” the usher responded.
“Where did he go?” Jacob could not keep the nerves out of his voice.
“I imagine he went home, though he had some errands to run first.”
“But they just called him,” Jacob protested.
“I know nothing more than what I’ve just said. The theater is closed, so you shouldn’t be in here,” he said, shooing them toward the door.
“Where does Mr. Perrot live? We have to find him right away!” Jacob insisted.
At those words, the boys were off in a flash. A little light remained in the sky, and only a few people walked the streets. They veered right without running into anyone and saw the symbol for the post office at the end of the way. Seconds later they were panting at the door. They burst inside and saw one older woman and one elderly man with a nice hat and a light brown suit.
“Mr. Perrot!” Jacob called, trying to catch his breath.
The man turned. He held a cane in one hand, and in the other, half a dozen letters. The post office employee eyed the children suspiciously and was about to send them out when the gentleman smiled and let the woman go ahead of him in line.
“Do tell me what I can do for you,” Perrot said, imagining that the children would not have run so fast to shout at him in the middle of the post office for no good reason.
“Eleazar and Jana Stein are our parents,” Jacob whispered.
“Oh dear me.” He took a step back. “Come, come, let’s be on our way.”
They all three walked out to the street and sat on a bench.
“I was just about to mail a letter to you and your aunt. Why aren’t you in Paris?” he asked, puzzled.
The boys were still trying to regain their breath, and they did not take their eyes off the letters held in the man’s gloved hand.
“There was a big raid, and we were picked up by accident. After we escaped, we couldn’t find our aunt, and we’ve traveled many days to get here.”
Perrot gestured in dismay. “But your parents left two weeks ago. They wrote you a letter, but poor Mr. Vipond has been too ill, and he finally asked me to send it. If you had come even five minutes later, I wouldn’t have been able to help you.” He sighed with relief and started thumbing through the letters. He handed them a long envelope trimmed in red and blue.
“You don’t know where they were going?” Jacob asked, opening the envelope.
“No, they didn’t want anyone to know, in case the police came looking for them. Until recently, things have been pretty calm here, but in the past few weeks the gendarmes have begun asking for identification from foreigners and have even detained some.”
Jacob opened the letter nervously and recognized his mother’s handwriting. He did not know if he should read it then or wait until he and Moses were alone.
“Your parents worked for the theater. Mr. Vipond introduced them to me several months ago. As soon as I heard your father’s name, I knew who he was. I was familiar with his work as a playwright. He helped me adapt a few plays, and your mother designed costumes, though I know she also wrote. I was so sad to see them go. Do you boys need help? How did you get here?”
“Lots of people have helped us along the way, though we had to make the last part of the journey on our own. We thought this would be the end of it, but we’ll have to keep searching.” Jacob let out a long sigh.
“I can give you some money. I imagine you can stay in Mr. Vipond’s building tonight. He’s a very interesting person. In his younger days he was a great actor, but he’ll tell you all about that. Allow me to walk you back to his home. It’s already nighttime, and it’s not good for two boys to be out alone. This is a small town, and people will talk.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jacob said. “We remember the way and don’t want to lose any more time.” But the director insisted. They were an odd trio on the way back to the plaza—one finely dressed gentleman with a mahogany cane and two dirty children with torn clothes. At the front door, Perrot took off his hat, revealing a bald head on top with just a ruffle of thin, white hair around the back.
“If you need anything,” he said, “you can usually find me at the theater. My house is very near the post office. Mr. Vipond can give you the address. I’m so pleased you’ve made it here safe and sound. These are very dangerous times.” He put his hat back on and bid them goodnight.
Jacob and Moses walked up the stairs slowly. They were eager to read the letter but wanted to wait until they were inside and could savor their parents’ words like a delicate treat. Then they would figure out how to continue their search.
Vipond opened the door with a swoosh and pulled them inside urgently. “For heaven’s sake, I told you this was a Greek tragedy. Didn’t you see the men coming up the stairs?”
“No, who?” Moses answered. Vipond led them to the living room again, where it was dark. He turned on a light so dim it barely allowed them to see one another’s faces.
“Two inspectors came by. Someone reported you in Roanne. They traced you to Lyon and found some letters from your parents near the station, which led them to this address. They riddled me with questions, but I told them the truth, that your parents had left two weeks ago. They asked about you two, but I swore I’d never seen you. I’m sure they’ll be back. They did not seem convinced.”
Terror overtook them again. They thought they had thrown the gendarmes off their trail, but Marcel and Paul’s powerful relatives wanted to see them locked up.
“You can sleep here tonight,” Vipond said, “but tomorrow we’ll have to find somewhere safer. Thank God you didn’t run into them on your way back here.”
Moses’s legs were twitching. He had to go to the bathroom. Dipond noticed and said, “You’d better wash up. I’ll give you t-shirts to sleep in. I don’t have any other clothes that will fit you, but I can wash what you’re wearing. In this heat it’ll be dry by tomorrow.” He led them to the small bathroom and handed them towels, then picked up the clothes they tossed out to the hallway.
“Where are Mother and Father?” Moses asked, desperate, once they were finally alone.
“I have the letter, but let’s read it tonight in bed,” Jacob said.
“I can’t take it anymore. I’m so nervous.”
“Me, too, but I don’t want to read it in a bathroom while supper is waiting for us. Let’s be patient. Just another hour and we’ll know where they’ve gone,” Jacob said. The room filled with steam as he fixed a bath for his brother. Moses sank into the water and tried to relax. After the last few days of fleeing and being hunted, sleeping in the abandoned house or in a disgusting train car, Vipond’s apartment reminded him of the Magnés’ house in Nouan-le-Fuzelier.
“You’ve got to finish up, Moses. I need to go,” Jacob said. Moses took his time but finally dragged himself out and stood shivering until Jacob wrapped him in a towel. Moses sat on a white stool and waited for Jacob, thinking about their parents all the while. His parents had been in this apartment just two weeks ago. The boy did not understand why he could not simply transport himself to wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The limitations of time and space were absurd in the world of his mind. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself in the Far East, in a jungle, or climbing a snowy Tibetan mountain. He tried to remember his father’s face. They had no photograph of him, and his features were blurry in Moses’s mind. It grew harder and harder by the day to make out anything recognizable.
Jacob sank into the bathtub and stared at the white ceiling, then played with the suds awhile. He did not want to alarm his brother, but he did not think they could travel all over the rest of the country by themselves. The last stretches of their journey had been so difficult, and they had been in serious danger. Plus, now the police were looking for them. Jacob tried to relax his mind but failed. He was gripped by fear that something would happen to Moses. He groped for the prayers he had learned at the synagogue, but they were mere babbling on his tongue. He got out of the bath and dried off. When the boys threw on Vipond’s nightshirts, they cracked into laughter.
“Take a look at yourself!” Jacob told Moses.
They stood side by side facing the mirror. The nightshirts positively engulfed them. Still smiling, they went out to the hallway and were greete
d by the aroma of soup and beef. In the living room, they saw the table was already set, the soup steaming. The old man sat, forcing a smile.
“Have a seat or it’ll get cold. I thought something warm might calm your nerves. I imagine you’ve had quite a day,” Vipond said.
The boys sat and waited for Vipond to begin. As soon as the spoon reached his mouth, Jacob and Moses tore into their bowls. They spoke little during the meal, and when they had finished, Vipond retrieved some cheeses from the kitchen by way of dessert.
“So did you find Mr. Perrot? He’s a good man.”
“Yes, but he’d already left by the time we got there. Fortunately, he hadn’t put the letter in the post yet.”
“And if you’d found him at the theater, you likely would’ve run into the inspectors. It seems Providence is on your side,” Vipond said with a twinkle in his eye as he bit into one of the cheeses.
“Mr. Perrot told us you were an actor,” Moses said. Jacob kicked him under the table to shush him.
“Oh, yes. Sometimes one feels one has lived several different lives. When I was young, I went to Paris, full of dreams. I grew up in Lyon and ever since I was little I’d wanted to act on stage, but my father was a respected notary and demanded that I study law. I convinced him to send me to the Sorbonne in Paris, and I managed to fool him, because I never went to a single class. I joined a theater troupe at the university and then tried out for a play at the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin. It was a bit part, but I got the job. From that moment on, I knew I’d been born to be on stage. The applause, the spotlights, the jitters just before the curtain was raised . . . It was magical. I could be whoever I wanted to be. One day I was the king of France. The next, a beggar falling in love with a princess.”
Moses’s smile widened as the man talked. “How wonderful! I wish I were an actor!” he said.
“Well,” Vipond said, looking at the child, “it wasn’t all wonderful. Actors face plenty of hardships. We have our ups and downs. When I left the stage, people hated me. The world is an unpredictable place. One morning they treat you like a god, and by nightfall you’re the scum of the earth.”