3. Into the Trap

Chapter three

Into the Trap

A pleasant morning sun illuminates the Pont Notre-Dame as Rebecca and I cross the bridge on our way to the police station on ?le de la Cité. A line of several people stands in front of the barrier spread across the bridge, while a soldier guards the checkpoint. He inspects each person who walks between the barricades and barbed wire fences that create a narrow passage on the bridge.

The soldier stands indifferently, his rifle resting on his shoulder as he smokes a cigarette. As we get closer, I can smell the cheap tobacco. Despite having passed through many such checkpoints in the past year, I still feel tense as the line of people moves towards the soldier. At least we are close to the police station and our transport permits. With these permits, the next barriers we face will be on our way to the Free Zone and Spain. In the distance, I can see the towers of Notre Dame Cathedral .

"Stop," the soldier yells as I try to pass in front of him. "Certificates," he continues, the cigarette still tucked in his mouth.

I take out my passport and hand it to him. Why today? Why when we're so close to leaving this city forever?

"Are you German?" He asks in German when he opens the brown passport and compares my face to the photo. A large red letter "J" is stamped next to an eagle holding a swastika.

"Yes," I reply.

"So why are you here and not in your homeland? We're at war," he looks into my eyes. Smoke rises from the cigarette tucked in his mouth, swirling in the morning sky. He gives me a penetrating look; his blue eyes almost disappear under the green helmet that covers his short, fair hair. What can I tell him to avoid being detained and missing our appointment at the police station?

"I'm on my way to the Institut Pasteur," I answer in German. "I'm a pharmacist, researching medicines for our army." I hope he doesn't know that Jews are not allowed to practice pharmacy in Germany since the Nazis came to power. Jews are prohibited from many professions. Fortunately, we had our shops until we had to close them and flee.

He continues to scrutinize me. Will he believe me? I smile politely, even though I can feel the sweat on my nape.

"You can go," he says finally, throwing my passport on the pavement. He continues to watch me with a smirk, the cigarette still in his mouth.

"Thank you," I respond as I bend down, clutching Rebecca's hand tightly. My brown passport lies next to his hobnailed boots. Will he kick me in the face? I close my eyes and become tense as I expect pain. But then I hear footsteps behind me.

"Madame, you dropped your passport," someone says, touching my shoulder. I open my eyes and stand up, looking at the hand of a stranger who's handing me the passport.

"Thank you," I take the passport. There are several men and women standing behind him, watching the soldier in silence with angry expressions.

"Keep moving forward," the German soldier says, turning his back to me.

"Rebecca, let's go," I breathe a sigh of relief as we continue walking. I search for the man who helped me just a moment ago, but I can't recognize him among the men in brown suits ahead of us on the bridge. Soon, I will once again have a husband who cares for me, and not a stranger. We will receive our documents shortly.

When we arrive in Spain, I swear to myself, I will never have to bow to anyone again.

"Mommy, who is Mr. Pasteur?" Rebecca asks when we reach the middle of the bridge.

"Why are you asking?"

"Because you told the soldier we were going there."

"There is a man at the police named Mr. Pasteur," I reply.

"We'll meet him, and then he'll let us go to Dad?"

"No, we're going to meet the policeman we met last time, before I bought you Mr. Sylvie the Bear's book. His name is Mr. Plessis. Do you remember that you need to be quiet during the meeting?"

"Sylvie is a girl. Will we then go to the bookstore with the woman who wrapped the book for me? "

"No, then we'll go to the hotel, and I'll read to you from the book. We'll pack up, and then we'll go meet Dad. But only if you stay quiet during the meeting with Mr. Plessis at the police station."

"I promise, I miss Daddy."

"Me too," I smile at her as we approach the entrance to the police station. Finally, after a year, we're going to leave this city. I miss Ervin so much. I want us to be a family again.

"Names, please?" Police Inspector Plessis leans over the thick notebook while holding a fountain pen.

"Sarah and Rebecca Bloch, we were here a few weeks ago, and yesterday we received a summons to report to the police station," I place our passports on his mahogany desk.

"Yes, of course. We were expecting you," he looks up and smiles at me briefly before leaning back over the binder full of names. Some of the names are crossed out with black lines. Are those names of people who have already received transit permits to leave Paris?

Mr. Plessis continues searching the binder, and when he finds our names, he crosses them out. "Please come with me," he rises from his chair and smiles at me. "What a cute girl," he bends down to Rebecca and tries to pinch her cheek, but she pulls away and clings to me.

"Follow me, please," he says, turning and walking down the hall.

"Mommy, he's not a nice man," Rebecca whispers to me in German as we walk down the hall. The police officers around us are either seated at their desks, or have lively discussions .

"Remember you promised to be quiet?" I scold her. "If you stay quiet, I'll read Sylvie to you when we get back to the hotel."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise," I hasten my pace to keep up with Mr. Plessis as he descends the stairs and heads toward the backyard. Where is he taking us? What about the transit papers we need to get to the free zone?

There's a large group of men and women in their forties in the courtyard. Some of them are holding suitcases. I notice that they all have a yellow badge on their clothes. What is going on here? Several police cars are parked on the other side of the parking lot, and in the center, there are two green buses with the Paris municipality symbol on the front. A policeman stands next to each of them.

"Please join the group. Mrs. Bloch, have a good voyage," Mr. Plessis smiles at me. "Have a good voyage, Rebecca," he turns to her but doesn't try to pinch her cheek again. I follow him with my gaze until he disappears at the entrance to the station.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I hear a voice and turn around to see another policeman standing in front of the group. He has a rifle slung over his shoulder. "Please board one of the two buses in the yard. Please do not push; there are seats for everyone."

Where are they taking us?

"Something is wrong," I whisper to myself as I turn around and start walking away from the people boarding the buses. I want to speak to Mr. Plessis. I didn't have time to pack or say goodbye to Angelina. Where are they taking us?

"Madame, please get on the bus with the girl," another policeman standing at the corner calls out to me. Only now do I notice that we're all surrounded by armed policemen.

"Sir, there's a mistake," I say as I pick up Rebecca and approach him. "We haven't prepared for the trip."

"Madame, it's all been taken care of," he blocks my way. "Please get on the bus now."

"You don't understand," I tell him. "I must return to the hotel and pack my luggage. Angelina is waiting for me."

But the policeman steps forward and forces me back towards the people boarding the buses. All around, there is chatter, but I don't listen.

"Madame, board the bus. Don't worry, everything is taken care of," he continues to slowly push me toward the other people. Rebecca clings tightly to me. What can I do? What choice do I have? There must be a misunderstanding. I need to explain this to someone.

"I need to talk to the inspector. Mr. Plessis. He knows me."

"They will speak to you later. Now, get on the bus. Do you need help with the girl?" He reaches out and tries to take Rebecca from me.

"Mommy," Rebecca shouts in German. But her voice is hardly audible amidst the noise of the crowd boarding the buses.

"She's my child; don't take her from me," I hold her tightly, feeling the policeman's rough uniform and his hands trying to take her .

"Get on the bus now and stop making trouble, you stinking German Jewess."

"I'll go; just don't touch my girl," I hold back the tears. Where is my husband when I need him most?

The policeman steps back and continues to watch me. I turn my back to him and hold Rebecca tightly as we huddle between the people climbing onto one of the buses. It will be fine. I mustn't worry; I'll find someone to talk to about this.

"Sweetie, sit by the window so you can see the road." I place Rebecca on the hard leather seat, but she refuses to sit alone, so I keep her on my lap and hold her close.

"Sweetie, everything is fine. We're going on a trip. That policeman was just not nice," I whisper to her and stroke her hair. "That's why he didn't get on the bus and won't join us on the trip."

"Where are we going to?" She keeps hugging me.

"It's a surprise," I whisper to her. "But riding the bus is fun."

"Where are they taking us?" Asks an older woman behind us. She's wearing a beige dress, and her black hair is neatly pulled up.

"They're deporting us," another fair-haired woman in a brown dress answers her.

"They can't deport us. We're French. They probably just want to register us at another police station," says a man in his fifties wearing a suit and sitting next to his wife. The yellow badge stands out on his tailored suit.

"I heard they're moving the Jews to the Free Zone to keep us safe," says the woman sitting behind me.

"I don't trust them," growled a young man in brown pants and a white shirt sitting across the aisle. He placed his suitcase next to him. "You saw what they did to the Jews in Germany on Kristallnacht."

"Mommy, what is a Kristallnacht?" Rebecca asks me.

"A crystal is a beautiful, sparkly glass," I explain and cover her ears with my palms, so she won't hear the conversation on the bus, "Now don't ask any more questions. Look around the bus; it's beautiful. Can you count how many seats there are on the bus?" I try to distract her.

"One, two, three, four..." Rebecca starts counting while pointing around, and I look at the people around me. Who should I believe? The woman who trusts them or the young man who mentioned Kristallnacht? I still remember that horrible night in Berlin when the Nazis marched through the streets. All our family's shop windows were shattered, and we had to hide because they beat every Jew they found outside.

The driver boards the bus and starts it, and a French policeman armed with a rifle boards with him. Another second passes, and the driver pulls the handle to close the door at the front of the bus. The bus begins to move slowly, its engine rumbling. Where are they taking us?

At the Pont Notre-Dame, the bus stops in front of the checkpoint, and the driver opens the door while the policeman shows the German sentry a piece of paper. He is the same soldier I passed through at the checkpoint just an hour ago.

The soldier reads the paper and nods. I look down and shield Rebecca with my hand, afraid he will board the bus and recognize us. But after a moment, I hear the bus door close, and when I look up and out of the window, I see the soldier open the wooden barrier and the barbed wire, allowing the bus to continue its journey .

After the bridge, the driver turns left and drives on the nearly empty streets.

"He's leaving Paris," one of the women says. "I told you they're taking us to the Free Zone."

"Mommy, what about Sylvie?" Rebecca asks. What should I tell her? I look at the people around me. Most of them have luggage. Why didn't I bring our suitcase? Why didn't I think they would immediately get us out of Paris? What will I do?

"Sylvie the bear is waiting for us at the hotel. Angelina is looking after her for us," I tell her after a moment. I look out the window as the bus passes through the city's suburbs. Are we saying goodbye to Paris? Has our year here come to an end? The boulevard becomes a road, and the surrounding houses become lower, with gardens in between. Some people walk along the side of the road, watching the bus with curiosity.

"But Mummy, I want to read the book. You promised."

"Rebecca, quiet now," I reply impatiently as I continue to look outside. I try again to make her sit on the seat next to me, but she refuses and hugs me tightly. A German army commander vehicle with an open roof passes us. I look at the officer sitting in the back seat. Next to him is a young woman with golden hair and a blue dress. He leans towards her while she holds a fashionable summer hat to her head.

"Finally, we're getting out of Paris, finally away from the Nazis," sighs the woman behind me. I slip my hand into my handbag, feeling our passports. I so want to believe her.

"It's a scam. They're going to do something to us," growls the young man in a white shirt sitting on the other side of the aisle. "We're heading north to the German border," he points to the sun. Which should I believe? I'm trying to calm myself and not frighten Rebecca, but I want to scream. What about our suitcase? How will we manage?

The bus suddenly stops, and I must hold Rebecca so she doesn't fall. Why did we stop? I look ahead. The policeman who guarded us also turns his gaze outside the bus.

Two cows are walking on the road, herded by a local farmer, blocking the road in front of the bus. Some people stand inside the bus and look out curiously.

"They won't take me back to Germany," I hear a whisper, and suddenly, I see the young man in the white shirt moving to the front of the bus. In one quick movement, he opens the bus door and escapes, running along the fence surrounding one of the houses.

"Stop!" the French policeman shouts at him, "Stop immediately!" He takes the weapon off his shoulder.

All the people on the bus are talking excitedly, and I can't understand who's saying what. "Mommy, why is that man running away?" I think I hear Rebecca asking me, but I don't answer her because I'm watching as the policeman aims his weapon and shoots.

The people on the bus around me shout, and I cringe and close my eyes while I hug Rebecca and cover her eyes. Another shot is heard, and there is screaming and shouting, and then silence.

"Sit down, everyone, be quiet," I open my eyes and see the policeman getting back on the bus, still holding his rifle in his hand and panting. "Let no one move," he continues, looking at us. "You," he turns to the driver, "start driving."

The bus continues to drive slowly, and I avert my gaze. I can't see if the young man in the white shirt was hit. Why did he run away? Why didn't he stay on the bus? Despite the warm sun, my whole body is shaking, and it's hard for me to breathe.

"Mommy, why did the man shoot him?" Rebecca asks me. Why didn't anyone prepare me for such questions? I take a deep breath and look at the policeman who is standing next to the driver, still holding his rifle.

"Because he was a bad man."

"Is that policeman a hunter too?"

"Yes, he's also a hunter, but a good hunter. He protects us." I answer and feel sick.

"Mommy, the bad guy forgot his suitcase," Rebecca points to the young man's suitcase, which was left on the bench.

"The hunters will give it to him, just like they'll bring us the suitcase from Mrs. Angelina's hotel," I stroke her hair and continue to hug her tightly. The people on the bus are quiet now under the policeman's angry gaze. Where are they taking us?

‘Drancy' is written in black on the white sign on the side of the road between the houses, and after a few more minutes of driving, the bus turns and stops in front of a huge building.

"Everybody, get off and line up outside the bus, and no one try to escape," the policeman instructs us and gets off the bus.

The people get up and start getting off the bus. I take Rebecca in my arms and, with a moment's decision, take the young man's suitcase with me. If he's not hurt and they catch him and bring him here, at least he'll have his suitcase.

"You, Jews, don't push. We don't hand out money here," the driver says to the people getting off the bus before me. I want to kiss the Star of Life and Death on my dress, but my hands are busy. What is this place ?

"Mommy, there are a lot of hunters here too," Rebecca says as we step off the bus with the other people.

"It's okay, honey, these are good hunters," I tell her, looking at the barbed wire fences surrounding a complex with many guards around.