2. Sucked into the Swamp

Chapter two

Sucked into the Swamp

"Mommy, can we play too?" Rebecca asks me the next morning as we walk down the main avenue and stumble across a playground.

"No, we don't have time," I hold her hand and continue walking past the white wooden sign with big black letters, ‘Jews and dogs are not allowed.'

"Can we go later?" She stops and watches the children swinging and running in the park.

"Hands up. I'll shoot," shouts one of the boys at a girl in a cream-colored dress as he points a wooden stick at her.

"I'm not afraid of you," she shouts back and throws at him a bunch of leaves she picks up from the ground.

"Yes, later we can go to the playground if it won't be too late," I answer Rebecca, knowing I'll surely take a detour on our way back and tell her I'm sorry because I took a wrong turn .

"Good," Rebecca says as we continue walking, but she still looks back at the children playing in the park.

"Rebecca, watch where you're going," I scold her as she stumbles over a small rock. What will happen at the Spanish embassy? Will they agree to give us a temporary passport or visa allowing us to go south of Paris?

Rebecca doesn't reply. She gets up and continues walking, but after a few steps, I notice she scraped her knee and starts tearing up. I stop and open my purse, take out a handkerchief and wipe her eyes and then her bruised knee. I shouldn't have been angry at her. She's just a little girl.

"I promise we'll play in the playground," I hug her and whisper to her, knowing I'd break my promise.

We sweat in the August morning sun, and after we finish walking around the Place de la Concorde, I stop to rest. Rebecca is just a child, and we've already walked quite a lot. I look at the big square from a distance.

Barricades of barbed wire wrapped around diagonal wooden poles are spread across the square. Along the passages in the barricades, German soldiers stand behind sandbags, holding their weapons and carefully examining passersby. This is the Nazis' headquarters area, and huge red flags with swastikas wave along Rivoli Street.

At the newspaper stand on the side of the square, I notice the black newspaper headlines stating that the German army in Russia has captured Smolensk and that nothing will stop the Germans. What should we do? How do we get out of their clutches?

A German army car passes us by and drives along the wide Champs-élysées. The vehicle resembles a black beetle moving away towards the Arc de Triomphe among the French citizens. Some are walking on the empty road and move aside when they hear its engine approaching. There has been no gas for months, and people are walking or cycling everywhere. I watch from afar the German cars parked outside the Nazi headquarters building on the other side of the square. Only the Nazis have fuel, food, and flags that wave proudly.

"Mommy, look," Rebecca points to a band of German soldiers crossing the square while playing music. At the head of the orchestra walks an officer holding a conductor's baton. They march behind him in straight lines while playing German folk songs. The band's march serpentines between the military checkpoints and barbed wire fences in the square until they pass us and begin marching up the Champs-élysées in the center of the avenue. I hold Rebecca's hand and take a few steps back. We stand in the shade of a large tree as the sounds of the trombone and drums echo through the quiet street.

"...a little flower, and that means Erika..." Rebecca sings in German when she recognizes the song.

"Traitors," whispers a French woman passing by on the street and hears Rebecca. She looks at me angrily and spits on the sidewalk at our feet, and I cringe. How can I teach Rebecca what is allowed and what is not? She is only a five-year-old girl. How could she know?

"Mommy, did you hear how I sang the song? Why did the woman spit? You told me that spitting is not allowed."

"Rebecca," I kneel, pointing to the white signs in German in the square, directing the German soldiers. "Do you know what these signs say?" I ask her, grateful she can't read.

"What?" She looks at me with her big brown eyes .

"They say that since we're in France, all the people should speak only French."

"Do the soldiers also have to speak only French?"

"No, soldiers are allowed to speak German, but only soldiers."

"So when I grow up, I'll be a soldier. I don't like speaking French."

"When you grow up, I promise you that you'll love speaking French," I kiss her. "We have to keep walking. We're late and remember, at the Spanish embassy, you should be quiet and not speak French or German."

"Like yesterday at the police station?"

"Yes, just like yesterday."

"And you'll buy me another book on the way back?"

"No, but I promised you that you could play in the playground," I tell her, regretting it. It's so hard for me to be with her all the time. "Remember, we're getting close to the embassy. Now, you need to be quiet."

"Okay." She answers and runs beside me, trying to match her steps to mine as we approach the embassy.

There's a line of people patiently waiting outside the Spanish embassy, which is surrounded by a black metal fence. Two French policemen guard the gate on both sides, and a man in a suit stands at the entrance, questioning the people waiting in line. I notice two more men in brown suits standing on the side of the street in front of a parked black car, watching us. Who are they? Are they Germans from the Gestapo? Just thinking about them gives me chills. I take a step closer to the man standing in front of us in line, trying to hide the yellow badge on my dress. "Sweetie, move to my other side. You'll be more comfortable," I move Rebecca and try to hide her with my body. I don't want them to see her.

"Mommy, I'm hungry," she whispers to me.

"I have something for you," I take out of my pocket a small apple that I had brought especially for her. While waiting, I notice how quiet the avenue is. This silence is strange without the noise of the cars driving down the road. All I can hear are people whispering around me and Rebecca munching her apple. More and more people join the line behind me, and I lower my gaze and look at my shoes. I fight the urge to stand at the end of the line like Jews are required to do at the grocery store. I make sure to move forward behind the man in front of me. I hope the policeman won't order us to go back. Just a few years ago, I was a proud young woman married to a wealthy businessman in Berlin. We had some shops and a lovely apartment. What happened to my honor? How did they manage to terrify me?

I try not to look at the two men standing next to the black car, but I feel like the yellow badge on my chest is shining like a target duck in an amusement park booth. Will they pull us out of the line? I keep my eyes on the ground.

"Madame," the man at the gate calls me, and we advance towards him. I smile politely. My heart pounds in my chest as he checks our documents.

"What do you need?" He asks while comparing my face to the passport photo in his hands.

"The consular section."

"Second floor, on the left," he hands me back the passport.

"Let's go," I say quietly to Rebecca. "What about the apple? Have you finished it? "

"Yes."

"Where's the core?"

"I ate it," she answers as we climb the stairs to the second floor.

"Good girl," I stroke her hair, feeling sorry she didn't leave some of it for me.

"How can I help you?" the clerk asks us when we sit down in front of him. Even though he's wearing a suit and not a uniform, when he looks at my passport with the word ‘Jew' printed on it, he reminds me of the police officer from yesterday. This word is engraved like a mark of Cain on my clothes and every document I carry.

"We're requesting a visa to visit Spain," I politely smile at him. If he grants us a visa, we can ask again for permission to move to the free zone and leave Paris.

"Madame," he smiles at me politely, "I understand you're a German citizen."

"Yes sir, we left Germany for France."

"And thanks to the Führer, the Third Reich rules all of Europe," he smiles at me, and I cringe.

"We would love to visit Spain, my daughter and I," I answer him quietly.

"Why do you want to leave the territories of the Third Reich?" He scrutinizes me. What should I tell him? I'm afraid to reveal that I long to reach my husband and never return to the territories of the Third Reich. I'm afraid to admit that I'm terrified of the Nazis. I'm afraid to say that I'm weary of fearing so much for my daughter and myself.

"We want to visit Spain for a short trip, and that's why we're applying for a visa," I reply, almost whispering.

"Madame, you are a citizen of the Third Reich. You should return to Germany, not go to Spain."

"Please," I take all the bills out of my wallet, reach forward, and place them in his hand, "We're requesting a visa to Spain."

The clerk remains silent for a few seconds, and I put my hand back on my lap. What if he sends me away because I tried to bribe him or calls the police outside? I feel imprisoned by the German Reich.

"Wait a minute, I'll see what I can do," he finally says, getting up and leaving the office. What would I do without the money I gave him? I'll have to eat less next month.

Rebecca and I sit silently, with only the sound of her shoes hitting the chair as she swings her legs being heard in the room.

"He'll be back soon," I tell her, "and then we'll return to the hotel."

"And go to the playground, you promised."

"And got to the playground," I smile at her. My stomach grumbles; I'm hungry.

"Madame," the clerk reenters his office after a few moments, escorted by another man in a suit. Is this one of those people who stood outside the embassy watching us? I can't remember.

"Yes, sir," I reply quietly. Was it a mistake to come here?

"Unfortunately, your request is currently impossible," he says, "but if you come back next month, we'll try to review your request again."

"Thank you," I smile at him and exhale. Who is the other man in the suit? Why is he whispering something to the clerk ?

"But if you leave us your details," the clerk continues, "and your address, we can contact you if we can resolve your problem sooner." He smiles at me politely and sits down. I look at the other man, who nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. What should I do? Can I trust him?

"Thank you," I get up from the chair, and take my passport from the table. "We'll be back in a month. Thank you very much," I take Rebecca's hand, and we both leave his office without even shaking his hand.

"Mommy, you're hurting me," Rebecca says as we descend the stairs leading to the first floor and leave the embassy.

"Sorry," I respond and loosen my grip slightly. We must escape. What if the other man was a Gestapo agent? I feel like I'm sinking deeper into a swamp and can't escape. I need a lifeline. What if they stop me in a month when I try to return?

Leaving the embassy, I avert my gaze from the men standing next to the black car and hurry away in the opposite direction. I'm tense and afraid they will call out to stop me. Only when we're far from the building do I slow down my pace, but the sound of a car makes me alert again, and I watch the green truck full of soldiers speeding by on the boulevard. I turn my back to the vehicle and wait quietly. The Star of Life and Death on my dress is prominent. Only after the German truck drives away and the street is quiet again, do I take out a handkerchief and wipe my eyes. I have to decide what to do next.

"How was your visit to the Spanish embassy?" Angelina asks me in the afternoon when we return to the hotel. We're both hungry and tired after walking around the Nazi headquarters in Concord Square on the way back .

"We tried to avoid the German army checkpoints, all day" I whisper to her. "The Spanish embassy won't help us. I'll go up with her to rest for a while."

"We saw an orchestra playing, and I'm not allowed to speak German because I'm not a soldier, and Mommy lost her way and couldn't find the playground," Rebecca summarizes for Angelina.

The rays of the afternoon sun penetrate through the curtain and shine on my face. I feel their warmth and keep my eyes closed, wanting a few minutes to myself. I need to banish the scary thoughts and let my mind rest a little.

The room is quiet. Rebecca must have fallen asleep as well or is reading from Sylvie the bear's book, which she decided is a girl bear. I'll try to sleep a little more, but then I hear a faint metallic screeching noise. What is this noise? I open my eyes and look around.

Rebecca is sitting with her back to me, wearing nothing but underwear and a tank top. She is concentrating on something, and the metallic noise continues.

"Rebecca, what are you doing?" I sit up.

"I fixed the yellow badge," she turns to me with a smile. She has scissors in one hand and the yellow badge she cut out of her dress in the other .

"Rebecca, what did you do?" I get up quickly and take her dress, looking in horror at the hole where the yellow badge was sewn.

"I don't want it," she hands it to me.

"You can't do that," I raise my voice and hit her hand with force, taking the scissors from her and watching her burst into tears. "You're not allowed to take mommy's things without permission," I shout at her. What did she do? How will I fix her dress?

"I don't want it watching over me. I hate it," she cries and throws the yellow badge on the floor.

"You have to. You must never be without your yellow badge," I slap her. Her crying intensifies, and she looks at me in shock as tears roll down her cheeks. What have I done? I've never hit her before. I cover my face with my hands and start to cry. This room feels like a trap closing in on us. This city looks at us as if we were trapped animals on display.

"Rebecca," I hold her shoulders, "look at me."

"What, Mommy?" She raises her eyes and continues to cry.

"Promise me that you will never take off the yellow badge again. Do you remember I told you that the yellow star protects you?"

"Yes," she nods.

"Then you mustn't take it off, ever," I take out a handkerchief and wipe her eyes. "Promise me you'll never take it off."

"Okay, Mommy," she nods and hiccups.

"Now I'll sew it back onto the dress, and it will be as good as new," I smile at her, even though I want to sit in the corner of the room and burst into tears. I hate the Star of Life and Death .

"Okay, Mommy," she sniffles and goes to sit on the bed with the book. I open the suitcase and take out a thread and a needle.

My fingers are shaking as I silently sew the hole and the patch back. From time to time, I hear Rebecca sniffle, but she doesn't say anything, and only the rustling of the pages disturbs the silence. In another world, I would have appreciated this silence. But I want to scream and cry at the same time.

Later, after Rebecca falls asleep, I leave the room and quietly close the door behind me. I have to do something. The hotel is quiet, and I follow the light at the bottom of the stairs to find Angelina. She is sitting, as she does every night, in her armchair at the entrance, reading a book by candlelight.

"Good evening, Sarah," she looks up at me. "Come, join me. Is everything alright?"

"I want to talk to the Appelbaums," I whisper to her. "I want to join them when they leave Paris for the Free Zone."

A few days later, a warm summer night breeze enters the room from the open window as I gaze into the dark night. The city outside is quiet. I look at my watch, close the curtain, sit on the floor, and light a candle. There's still some time before we have to go. Although I try to relax, my whole body is tense. Rebecca is sleeping in her bed. I'll wake her up soon. I breathe slowly and try to calm myself down. Our suitcase is packed and ready. Everything is ready; we are ready.

On the spur of the moment, I open my suitcase and take out my small makeup bag, the one I haven't used in a year. I take out a thread and a needle, and start working. Every once in a while, I look at the watch on my wrist, checking the time.

"Rebecca, sweetie, time to get up," I gently nudge her when I finish.

"Mommy, no..." she speaks in her sleep, but I touch her again. We have to hurry. I return the thread and needle to the makeup bag and close the suitcase. "What did you do?" She asks me as she sits up in bed, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

"I fixed the dress; it was torn. Come on, I'll help you get dressed. Put your arms up," I take her dress from the chair and help her get dressed and tie her shoelaces. She still can't do it on her own, even though I tried to teach her.

I hear the German patrol hobnailed boots through the open window, marching down the street. I look at my watch. It's 11:40. That's our sign to come down.

"Let's leave quietly," I whisper to her as I hold the candle in one hand and the suitcase in the other. I put it down on the floor in order to open the door and let Rebecca step outside first. I linger and look back at the small hotel room that had been our home for a year and four months before I close the door for the last time. "Come down the stairs quietly. Don't make any noise. All the guests are asleep," I whisper to her.

Angelina and the Appelbaums are already waiting for us at the entrance. Mr. Appelbaum, Walter, has a fancy long, thin, brown summer coat and a fedora hat that hides his face in the dim candlelight. He's standing next to his wife, Fosette, as if protecting her. He's taller than her and me. Fosette also has a luxurious long coat, and her black hair is tied up. They're holding their suitcases and looking at Rebecca and me as we descend the stairs.

"Are you ready?" Angelina asks me in a hushed voice.

"Yes, we're ready," I place the candle I held on the counter and take Rebecca's hand.

"She's a little girl. She'll get in the way," Fosette whispers to Angelina while looking at Rebecca. I feel Rebecca clinging to me and holding my hand tightly, even though Mrs. Appelbaum speaks French, and I'm not sure Rebecca understands everything she is saying.

"She's not a little girl; she's five years old, and she's quiet," I reply.

"Fosette, it's fine, they're like us. We agreed they'll join," Mr. Appelbaum puts his hand on her shoulder, approaches, and whispers something to her. I can't hear what he's saying to her.

"You agreed, I didn't," she turns to him.

"We both agreed, you too, we need them," he continues speaking softly.

Fosette brushes Mr. Appelbaum's hand off her shoulder and turns to Angelina. "Did she bring what we agreed upon?"

"Yes," Angelina answers and turns to me.

I take out of my handbag the gold bracelet I prepared earlier; the very same Ervin had given me for Rebecca's birth. "It's yours," I place it in Mrs. Appelbaum's outstretched hand, watching it sparkle for another moment before her brown leather gloved fingers close over it.

"Then everything is fine," Mr. Appelbaum says softly, "as agreed. "

"Goodbye, God bless you," Angelina shakes the Appelbaums' hands.

"Goodbye, Rebecca, promise you'll be quiet," she bends down and hugs Rebecca.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Angelina," Rebecca answers and smiles.

"Goodbye, Sarah, may God protect you," she hugs me tightly. "Every guest leaves something at my hotel. Someone forgot this," she hands me a block of hard cheese wrapped in parchment paper. "Take it for the road."

"I can't take it, it's yours."

"I don't need it, and you have a little girl," she whispers to me. "Take it. You'll need it."

"Thank you for everything you did for me. Your husband will be back soon, I'm sure," I hug her back. Why is she so kind to me?

"We must hurry. We have to leave before the next patrol," Mr. Appelbaum says softly.

"Leave, leave," Angelina breaks away from me, approaches the counter and blows out the candle. After a moment in the darkness, I hear the key turning in the hotel door and feel the wind coming in from the street.

"Let's go," Mr. Appelbaum whispers, and we all walk out into the dark street. I hold Rebecca's hand tightly.

Behind me, I hear the front door close and the metallic click of the lock.

The dark city houses loom threateningly as we walk down the dimly lit street. There is no moon in the sky, and black clouds obscure the stars. In the distance, I can hear the growl of a car; it must be a German army vehicle. I feel sweat on my back despite the night wind.

Mr. Appelbaum leads us down the street, followed by his wife and me holding Rebecca's hand behind them. Rebecca is forced to run, and I hear her shoes hitting the pavement. We have no choice but to keep up; we can't slow down and risk losing them. I don't know where the smuggler is waiting to take us to the Free Zone and from there to Spain.

"Shhh..." Mr. Appelbaum stops at a street corner and whispers to us. We remain silent as he checks for German patrols nearby. I hear Rebecca gasp and I place a hand on the back of her head. She, too, is sweating. We're close to Les Halles, the city's central market. Although I don't recognize the streets, the smell of rotting vegetables and occasional squeal of a rat are unmistakable.

We continue walking, and after a while, Mr. Appelbaum stops. I hear him passing the closed metal store doors and counting softly. "One, two, three, four..." When he reaches the fourth door, he stands and knocks on it several times.

After a moment, the door creaks open. Mrs. Appelbaum rushes in, followed by Mr. Appelbaum, but when I try to enter, a man stops me and blocks my way.

"Who are you?" he asks. I can hardly make out his face; the street is completely dark, and there is only a faint light inside the store behind him. He is a big man, and his clothes smell of sweat. I notice the scent of Pastis liquor on his breath as he speaks to me.

"I'm with them. I also need to get out of Paris," I whisper to him, hurrying to wedge my shoe in the doorway so he can't close it and leave us in the deserted street.

"Does she have money?" He turns to Mr. Appelbaum, his large hand still holding the door almost closed, "We agreed on two. Why did you bring her?"

"I have a way to pay you," I reply. I need him to let us in. I can hear a vehicle in the distance.

The stranger at the door opens it a little wider after a moment. "Come in," he whispers. I push in, holding my suitcase tightly and pulling Rebecca after me.

"Who's this?" He stands in front of me and points at Rebecca.

"She's with me," I reply. In the dim candlelight in the room, I notice we're in a butcher's shop, although now the shelves are empty. Only the knives hanging around serve as a reminder of its former use. The man blocking our path is wearing a beret and a dirty white shirt.

"You can come, but she can't. Get out of here," he tries to move past me to the closed door.

"I told you she couldn't come," Mrs. Appelbaum says quietly to her husband as she watches me. They stand together in the corner of the shop. I have to think of something.

"She's with me. She's my daughter, please," I lean back against the door so he can't open it.

"You're healthy and young, but she's small and weak. She can't climb mountains. She doesn't have the strength," he says, his face close to mine. The smell of Pastis and sweat is overpowering.

"I'll carry her on my back," I whisper to him.

"You don't seem strong enough to me," he reaches out and grips my arm forcefully. "You won't be able to carry her in the mountains. She's a burden." His hand tightens around my arm, making me flinch. The cold metal door rivets hurt my back.

Where is my husband to protect us like Mr. Appelbaum watches over his wife? Why am I alone?

"We'll manage. We won't be a burden on you, you'll see." I answer. I need him, his cooperation.

"Really?" He comes even closer. "What if she makes a noise when we cross a German roadblock and we all get caught? We have to hide in the truck and be quiet as mice, not making a sound. What if she starts crying? Girl," he turns to Rebecca and grabs her hand, "Do you want to be killed by a German bullet?"

Rebecca doesn't respond but tries to free herself from his grip, kicking him with her little leg.

"She'll be fine," I lean down and pull his hand away from Rebecca. "I told you she's a strong girl, trust me." I keep talking to him, hoping Rebecca doesn't understand what he's asking. From the corner of my eye, I see Mr. and Mrs. Appelbaum watching us, as if observing a play. "I have a way to pay you," I add. I have no one else to trust but him.

"You do?" He releases Rebecca and stands up. I feel her clinging to me, her small hand hugging my legs under my dress.

"Yes, I do," I take out a pearl necklace from my handbag. It's the last piece of jewelry I have left. I show it to him but hold it tightly, so he won't snatch it. I don't trust him, but I have no other choice.

"Come with me for a moment," he looks into my eyes and smiles. "This journey is dangerous. I want to examine the necklace closely, in the light." He breaks away from me and walks into the back room, turning on a dim electric lamp. "Are you coming?"

"Rebecca, stay here with Mrs. Appelbaum," I instruct quietly and follow him, clutching the necklace in my hand. Under the weak light of the lamp, I notice a scar on his neck and a half-broken tooth.

"It's a dangerous journey. Your payment is sufficient for one person. Choose: either you or the girl," he approaches me again.

"I can't pay you more, please. We need to leave," I whisper to him. I mustn't tell him about the gold coins I've sewn into the hidden pocket of the dress. I need them for the rest of the journey in Spain – if he doesn't betray us on the way. "I'll pay you when we get to Spain. My husband is waiting for us there." I try to smile, even though my entire body tenses in his presence.

"I think you're lying. I don't think anyone is waiting for you in Spain," he reaches out and grabs the pearl necklace. "I'll take this for you," he whispers, "and this for the girl." He reaches out his other hand and grabs my breast, squeezing it over my dress. "It seems fair."

My body freezes with shock and tension. His touch disgusts me. What should I do? I'm afraid to scare Rebecca and I need him to take us. "I'm a married woman. I can't do that. I have a wedding ring," I manage to say after a moment .

"I don't see a husband who cares for you. I'll take care of you," he continues to squeeze my breasts forcefully and tries to kiss me, his mouth reeking of alcohol.

"Enough, no," I come to my senses and whisper, pushing him off. In the midst of the struggle, I feel the pearl necklace break, and I hear the pearls scattering across the small room like raindrops. What have I done?

"Now you only have one payment left to make," he whispers angrily. "You can start paying now or take the little girl and go outside into the night, where ravenous German wolves wait to hunt her." He grins and grabs my hand, trying to pull it between his legs. What choice do I have? I feel tears filling my eyes.

"Mommy?" I hear Rebecca call from the other room.

"It's okay, honey," I answer. "I'll be right back." I see him smiling with satisfaction. But then I push him away with all my might. I can't do what he wants. I'm a married woman. A feeling of suffocation and nausea rises in my throat.

"Mr. Appelbaum," I call out, and that stops him for a moment. I manage to free myself from his grasp and rush back into the store. I feel the crunch of the pearls scattered on the floor under my shoes, but I know I lost them. "Rebecca, let's go," I take her hand and pick up my suitcase.

"Get out of here," he calls from the back room, straightening his shirt, tucking it into his pants. He goes to the store door, cracks it open and whispers, "The Germans are waiting for you," as I pass him and exit the store into the dark night.

"I told you that we shouldn't trust her," I hear Mrs. Appelbaum say to her husband before the door slams behind us, leaving us alone in the dark street.

"Are you okay?" I ask Rebecca as we hide behind a pile of empty vegetable boxes.

"He hurt me," she whispers.

"When he held your hand?" I gently caress her hand.

"Yes," she nods. "He's not a nice man."

"He didn't mean to hurt you," I say as I hug her. I look around, trying to get a sense of where we are. I'm scared. How will we get back to the hotel? How will we avoid the German patrols?

"What did he ask me?" Rebecca whispers.

"He didn't mean to scare you," I try to think of some answer. "He asked you if you knew any hunters," I tell her after a moment. How can I protect her from getting scared?

"Hunters like in Sylvie's book?"

"Yes, like in Sylvie's book," I smile at her in the darkness.

"And they shot at us?" She asks, and I shudder.

"No, these are different hunters. They're good hunters."

"But he said they shot at us," she says.

"He got confused. He didn't read Sylvie's book," I continue to hug her. "Now we'll go back to Angelina's hotel and go to sleep. Do you want to sleep?"

"Yes," she answers and leans on me.

"So now we'll quietly go to the hotel. We'll take off our shoes so the hunters won't hear us," I whisper to her.

In the distance, I hear a car driving and I cringe, protecting Rebecca with my body amid the empty wooden crates.

"Mommy, you're crushing me," she whispers.

"Let's go, and if we hear hunters, we'll hide like we're hiding now," I say once the car noise fades. I take off our shoes, put them in the suitcase and we both start walking down the dark alley.

At first, I try to remember the way we came, but all the streets look similar, and after a while, I realize we are lost.

"Mommy, the hunters are coming," Rebecca whispers to me, and I freeze, listening. The sound of a patrol's hobnailed boots comes from a nearby street. I search for somewhere to hide. What will I do if we get caught? Maybe I should have given the smuggler what he wanted? I shake with fear, fatigue, and stress.

"Let's go," I hold her hand, and we turn and run in the dark to the other direction of the street and hide in an alley. I hug her and breathe in the darkness, hoping the patrol wouldn't find us in this street.

Only after dawn arrives and people begin to appear in the streets do I put on Rebecca's shoes and mine. We leave the alley, walk the main street, and head toward the hotel.

"What happened? Are you okay? Come in," Angelina opens the hotel door when she hears my knock.

"Thanks," I say as I walk in, gasping. I hold Rebecca in my arms while she sleeps on my shoulder, and with my other hand, I carry our suitcase. I am so tired from this night .

"What happened? Where are the Appelbaums?" She asks. "Come, sit," she takes the suitcase from my hand and leads me to the small armchair in the reception.

"They went with the smuggler," I say as I sit carefully in the armchair, supporting the sleeping Rebecca. My legs hurt so much.

"And why didn't you leave with him?"

"It didn't work out," is all I can say. I can still feel my breast aching from his unwelcome touch. All I want is to sleep. I didn't close my eyes all night while we hid in the alley.

"Are you fine?" She asks, touching my arm.

"Yes," I give her a tired smile, "I just need to breathe and relax a little."

Angelina says nothing; she goes to the back room and returns after a moment, holding a small glass of whiskey, "Drink it. It's what you need now."

I sip the drink in one gulp, feeling its burn in my throat, and tears fill my eyes. "He wanted a payment from me that I couldn't make," I tell her after a while, sighing. Rebecca continues to sleep peacefully on my shoulder.

"You can continue to use the same room. Go upstairs to rest," she takes the empty glass of whiskey from my hand.

I thank her and climb the stairs slowly with my sleeping child in my arms. I can't tell Angelina that I forgot to retrieve the gold bracelet from Mr. Appelbaum and that I lost my pearl necklace. I am left without jewelry. I have only the gold coins hidden in my dress and my wristwatch. What will I do the next time I have to pay her? And what about a month from now?

A few days later, I find myself standing at the end of the line at the grocery store on Rue des Gravilliers. Another Jewish woman is ahead of me, waiting patiently. My legs ache from standing for so long. I've been here since morning, consistently moving to the back of the line each time customers without yellow badges arrive. That's the law; Jews must always go to the end of the line. At least we're close to the store entrance now.

"We've run out of groceries for today. Come back tomorrow, I'm sorry," the shopkeeper announces, coming out the store and waving his hands helplessly. "Try the grocery store on Rue Meslay. Maybe there's something left there," he adds before he puts away the wooden sign announcing today's oil and flour.

"I'm going home. My children are waiting for me. I'll try tomorrow," the Jewish woman ahead of me says. "I've lost enough weight today standing in line," she adds with a bitter smile and walks away.

I turn around and begin walking toward Meslay Street. I'm out of flour, so I have to find a grocery store that might have some leftovers for the Jews at the end of the day. Rebecca stayed in the hotel room. She is too young to stand in line for so many hours.

The small streets are quiet at noon; only a few people walk around. Suddenly, I notice several elderly people with yellow badges attached to their clothes coming out of one of the buildings on the street .

The building's facade is different from the others around it; there is a large black door with an arched top.

"God bless you, my dear," one of the old men says to me as I stop walking and stand in front of the big door. "Do you want to come in?" He smiles at me. He has a long white beard, blue eyes, and wears a black suit.

"Yes, thank you," I reply. The men step aside as he slowly opens the heavy wooden door and kisses the mezuzah with his fingers.

I kiss the mezuzah as he did, feeling the cold metal on my fingertips, and enter the synagogue. Since leaving Berlin, I haven't been to a synagogue.

Step by step, I walk into the empty, large hall. There's nothing but dark wooden benches in straight rows in front of the Torah Ark at the end of the aisle. I lift my eyes to the women's gallery and the color-stained glass windows at the ceiling that cast a bluish tint.

"You're welcome to go up to the women's gallery," the old man points to the stairs, "but you can also stay down here and pray. So few people come here these days. To God, it doesn't matter where we pray." He smiles.

"Thank you," I smile back and head up the stairs to the women's gallery. It feels too strange for me to sit and pray where the men usually sit.

My hand brushes against the varnished wooden railing as I ascend to the second floor and the women's gallery. It's also empty. The wooden benches wait for women to accompany their praying husbands, looking on with pride.

I sit on one of the benches, taking out my husband's letter and holding it tightly .

"God," I whisper, "please help Rebecca and me get to my husband. Please make us a family again. Please give me a sign that I did the right thing with the smuggler who wanted to take advantage of me," I continue to whisper, still feeling my aching breasts. "God, please give me a sign for the right path, because I lost it." I nearly crush the letter between my fingers.

Then, I straighten the letter, kiss it, and tuck it back into my handbag before getting up and heading back down the stairs.

"I'm sure God listened to you, my dear," the old man says quietly as he escorts me back to the heavy black wooden door leading to the street.

"Thank you, Rabbi," I answer and walk away further down the street toward the grocery store. Only after a while do I realize that I forgot to ask his name, but when I turn and look for him, he's no longer there, and the narrow street is empty.

Later, when I return to the hotel with some flour and oil that I managed to get at the grocery store, Angelina informs me that a police officer arrived at the hotel at noon and requested that Rebecca and I come to the station.

"This is the sign," I whisper to myself as I put down the package of flour and the bottle of oil and hold the letter asking Rebecca and me to come the next day to the police station in the city center.

"What sign?" Angelina asks.

"We have permits. They summoned us to the police station because we have permits."

"Don't go, please, I don't trust the police," she says, placing her hand in mine .

"But it's the police; they know what they're doing," I look at her. "This is our chance to get out of Paris."

"I don't trust them. They work with the Nazis; since the Nazis occupied Paris, the police have collaborated with them. I don't trust the government anymore."

"But what can they do to us? There must be a reason they invited us to the police station after we asked for transit permits. There must be a reason they asked for our address," I hold the sheet of paper with the Paris police insignia printed on top. The swastika symbol embedded next to it makes me feel sick, but I should be used to it. Even in Berlin, swastikas appeared everywhere after the Nazis came to power.

"Sarah, please don't go. I can't explain it, but I have a bad feeling," she looks into my eyes.

"We have to," I look back at her. "The police will come looking for us here."

"We'll find another smuggler, or you can move to another hotel. You know I love Rebecca and you, but move to another hotel. I'll tell them you ran away. Please, don't go."

"I have to. I promised Erwin that I wouldn't act hastily," I still can't tell her what happened with the smuggler a few days ago and what he asked me to do.

"But he's not here, only you are."

"But he's my husband. Even if he's not here, you know how it works. We, women, must always listen to them. Even when they're not around."

"Maybe that's the problem," Angelina responds quietly. "That we always listen to our husbands. Do you know why I don't have children?" she asks after a moment. "No, I say, embarrassed," I always saw her treat Rebecca so nicely, I was ashamed to ask her about it.

"Because I listened to him, my husband," she says quietly. "A few years ago, we inherited this hotel, and we worked hard and didn't have much money. When I got pregnant, he said it would be a problem to raise the child," she sighs. "So I did what women know how to do, and I went to one of these doctors, because I listened to him," she continues, and I see her eyes watering. "And then we were no longer able to get pregnant, even though we tried. No doctor can say why," she pauses and takes a breath.

"Angelina, I'm so sorry," I put my hand on her and want to hug her.

"Then the war started," she continues, "and he volunteered to join the army, even though he didn't have to, but he convinced me that it was a patriotic act to fight for France, and I agreed. And look what happened to me?" She pauses for a moment. "He's probably a prisoner in Germany, and I haven't heard from him in a year. I have no idea what happened to him. Sarah, what's the point of listening to what men say?" She looks at me with tears in her eyes.

"You know we have to. You know we have no other option," I hug her. "You'll see that everything will be fine. You'll see that your husband will come back, and you'll have a baby, and you'll see that they prepared papers for Rebecca and me to cross to the Free Zone. They don't call us for nothing, you'll see." I continue to hug her.