4. Drancy

Chapter four

Drancy

"Everyone, line up," announces a policeman holding a gray metal megaphone to his mouth. His voice sounds strange coming from the metal tube that looks like an ice cream cone. "Madame, put the girl down," he turns to me. "Everyone lines up."

"Get down, the man wants you to get down," I say to Rebecca, but she holds me tightly and refuses to do so. I have no choice, so I put the suitcase on the ground and force her down. Where are we? I look around.

We're standing in front of a large four-story gray concrete building in the shape of the letter n , each side about 200-feet long. It was built in a modern style, with square lines and large windows. But it looks as if it has not yet been finished. The concrete is exposed, and the windows are just gaping holes without glass. In many of them, people are standing and watching us.

A high barbed wire fence and guard towers surround the large concrete building, and outside the fence stand two wooden huts. Policemen and German soldiers are standing next to them and watching us. What is this place? Will they send us to the border from here?

"Everyone, follow me," the policeman with the megaphone announces, and all the people who got off the buses begin to follow him through a gate in the fence, and into the yard at the center of the building. People are standing in the yard and watching us. Is everyone here Jewish? Most of them have a yellow badge on their clothes. My body is tense as we walk inside. While walking, I look back and see two policemen slamming the wire gate behind us. I've never been locked up like this. I feel pressure in my chest while walking among everyone in our group, looking around and trying to understand where we are.

The two buses that brought us here are moving away back towards the city with a monotonous rattle as if they want to escape this place. Driving slowly, they leave behind a cloud of bluish smoke and a stinking smell of gasoline that disappears into the air. For a moment, I envy the young man in the white shirt who ran away from the bus.

"It'll be fine, don't worry," I lean in and tell Rebecca, even though she walks by my side in silence as we follow one of the men who got off the bus. He wears a tattered blue suit, beret, and a backpack over his shoulder. Step by step, we move toward one of the entrances. There is a sign labeled ‘Office' above the door.

"Name and certificates," a woman in a brown dress asks me once my turn arrives. She is sitting behind a simple table in the empty room. Only one simple lamp hanging from the ceiling illuminates her hands holding an open notebook .

"There was a mistake. My daughter and I need to get permits to cross into the Free Zone. We're both German, not French," I tell her while standing in front of the desk. I purposely let everyone pass before me in line so I could talk to the person in charge and explain our situation.

"Name and certificates," she repeats. "I'm sorry, I can't help you," she adds and reaches for our passports.

"Who can help us?"

"The French police, but are you sure you want their help?" She looks at me for a moment before lowering her gaze and writing our names in her notebook. I look at the yellow badge on her simple brown dress.

"What shall I do?" I ask her when she returns our passports.

"Find a place to sleep in one of the rooms in the building. The daily food distribution will arrive soon; don't miss it," she closes the notebook. "I'm sorry you arrived at this place," she adds. "We're all sorry we arrived at this place."

"Thank you," I tell her and walk away, leaving the room in tears. I shouldn't have come here.

"Let's go, Rebecca, let's find us a place to sleep," I pick her up, and we enter one of the entrances of the big building and start climbing the stairs.

"Mommy, when do we leave this place?" Rebecca asks later when I put her to sleep in one of the rooms we found. It is already dark outside, and a cool night wind penetrates through the missing window in the wall.

"Are you comfortable?" I stroke her hair. She's lying on a piece of cardboard and some straw I spread on the floor. A woman on the other side of the room gave it to us.

"My back hurts," she answers .

"I'll try to arrange something better for us," I try to open the suitcase of the man who ran from the bus, even though it's not mine. Maybe it has something to keep us warm, but it's locked, and I can't open it. "Tomorrow, I'll try to get us something softer to sleep on," I tell her and place the suitcase between us and a group of women sleeping on the other side, trying to give us some privacy. At least we ate something today. Earlier, we all received the daily meal of bread and soup.

"When are we going back to Angelina?"

"Try to sleep," I stroke her hair. Everything is dark outside; even the city of Paris is dark. Occasionally, I notice the beam of light from the searchlight placed on the guard tower outside the camp, scanning the barbed wire fences repeatedly.

"I want us to go to Dad."

"Me too," I whisper to her. I long to write him a letter so he'll come and get us, but I don't even have paper or a pen.

"I don't like this place."

"Tomorrow will be a better day, I promise. I'll go to the policeman, and he'll get us out of here," I whisper to her. I will go to one of the police officers and ask to meet with the commander. We are German citizens. We arrived here by mistake.

"The policeman of the good hunters, not the bad ones?" Rebecca asks in a sleepy voice.

"Yes, one of the good hunters."

"Where is my watch? Where did it go? I caress my bare arm. I get up in a panic and rub my eyes, looking around.

The morning sun penetrates through the window, and Rebecca is still sleeping on the floor. I search for my watch on the floor, maybe it fell during the night. With quick movements, I pick up the cardboard, move the straw, and search in every corner, but no, it's gone. I can't find it under the stranger's suitcase either. I keep stroking my arm, where the watch should be. What would I do without my gold watch? How will we survive without it? I feel my whole body tense with fear.

"Rebecca, wake up," I shake her.

"What?" She answers sleepily.

"Wake up, wake up," I pull her to her feet, checking where she slept and her dress. Maybe the watch fell when I hugged her at night, but it's not there. And where is the bread portion I saved for the morning? Where did it go? Did they take it from us too? How could I have been so careless?

I look at the French women sitting on the other side of the room. They're talking quietly to each other. Could it be that they stole my watch and bread?

"Excuse me, did you see if anyone walked around here at night?" I ask them.

"No," one of them shakes her head. "Did they take anything from you? You have to be careful here. There are thieves hanging around this place," she adds, turning her back to me. How does she know my things were stolen?

"Thank you," I reply and sit down, put my head in my hands, and start to cry. What will I do? Why didn't I hide the watch? How will I survive like this ?

"Mommy," Rebecca starts to cry too. Why is this happening to me?

"Don't cry, sweetie," I hug her. "Mommy was just sad for a moment; everything is fine," I comfort her.

"No crying here. This is not a place for tears," I hear one of the French women say. "And if you want to keep food for yourself for the morning, sleep on it," she adds from the other side of the room. I don't respond and continue to hug Rebecca. We must get out of here. We won't survive like this. What about the gold coins I sewed into the hidden pocket of my dress before we went to the smuggler? I reach for them and sigh with relief when I feel their hard touch through my dress's fabric. At least I have these left. I have to do something. I'll get us out of here.

"Enough, Rebecca, no more crying," I wipe her eyes. "Let's go wash our faces, and Mommy will get us out of here."

"And we'll go to Dad like you promised?"

"Yes, we'll go to Dad as I promised." I hold her hand, take the stranger's suitcase, and we go down the stairs, leaving behind us only the piece of cardboard we slept on at night. I'll get us out of here. I'm a German citizen. We don't belong here.

We walk among all the people strolling in the courtyard at the center of the building, enjoying the morning sun. Some men play pétanque with small stones.

"Rebecca," I stop and bend down. "Do you see the girls over there?" I point to a group of girls standing in the center of the yard. "Go play with them for a few minutes while Mommy goes to talk to the policeman."

"I want to come with you," she clings to my legs .

"Sweetie, stay with them for a few minutes. They are lovely girls, and you can be friends." I walk with her towards the girls. Four girls in simple brown and gray dresses are standing and arranging wooden sticks on the ground, preparing to play a game.

"I don't want to play with them," she says in German.

"You have to," I gently remove her little hands clinging to me. "It's only for a few minutes, and if you behave well, I'll read to you about Sylvie the lady bear later."

"But the book is at Angelina's hotel."

"They'll bring it to us, I promise," I tell her, even though I'm no longer sure of anything. She must learn to be with girls her age, and I must get us out of here, back to Paris, and escape to Spain.

Rebecca doesn't answer, but walks and takes hesitant steps toward the girls. I watch her get close to them, take my passport out of my handbag, and head toward the entrance gate to the complex. I'll demand to speak to the commander. I'll explain everything to him.

I walk towards the barbed wire gate, noticing some people in the yard watching me. Am I acting right? I've been under Nazi rule for several years now, and I already know how to fear them, but I don't see the swastika flag anywhere.

As I approach the gate, I feel that maybe I'm making a mistake and I need to turn around and go back. Keep walking, keep walking. I've already turned around once when you could have tried to escape from Paris. I keep walking even though as I get closer to the gate and the two policemen guarding it, my steps become slower and slower. They're standing on either side of the gate, looking at me while their guns are resting on their shoulders. They have French police uniforms.

"What do you want?" One of the guards asks me when I stand before him. He is a big man with a thin black mustache. Now, it's too late to regret and turn back.

"I'm a German citizen. I shouldn't be here," I hand him my passport.

"You were brought here, so you should be here," he replies, handing me back the passport.

I take a deep breath. "I want to talk to someone in charge." I have to do everything I can to get us out of here.

"No problem," the policeman smiles and opens the gate for me. I look at him in disbelief. "Go, you can talk to him," he points to a German officer standing in the distance near a barracks. The officer is wearing a black uniform and talking to two German soldiers standing upright in front of him.

Is he serious? Is he setting a trap for me? I look at him in disbelief but start to walk past the barbed wire gate. This is our chance; maybe they'll let us out of here and take us back to Paris.

"Please, go," he continues to smile at me, making no move to stop or grab the rifle hanging over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" I feel a strong hand grab my arm, pulling me back. I turn around and almost stumble. The suitcase in my hand falls to the ground. This is the other policeman. He's a little taller than me and thinner than his friend, who let me pass. He has brown hair and wears Windsor glasses with golden metal frames.

"Mathéo, let her through," the other policeman tells him. " She's German."

"Get out of here," Mathéo pushes me back into the yard, still holding my arm tightly. "Get out of here, and don't try to talk to the Germans," he releases me, turns around, and takes a few steps back.

I gasp and look at him as he picks up the suitcase and walks towards me, taking my hand and closing my fingers around the hard handle. "Don't do that again," he whispers to me and walks back to the gate.

I look at him for another moment, debating whether to argue with him. Is this policeman for me or against me?

"Get out of here, you dirty German," he yells at me, and I turn around and start walking down the yard, looking for Rebecca. She's playing with the other girls. What should I do?

"Go away, you're German, you're not French," I hear one of the girls shouting at Rebecca as she pulls one of them by the hair. I watch the girl scream in pain and start crying.

"Hit her," shouts another girl and pushes Rebecca, trying to pull her by the hair, but Rebecca escapes by running in the yard in a big circle. Her hair is wild and her brown dress swirls while the other girls chase her.

"Stop," I shout at them and start to approach them, but Rebecca doesn't notice me and runs to the group of men playing pétanque, bends to the ground, picks up some stones, and starts throwing them at the girls chasing her.

"Stop," I run towards them and see several other adults intervene and stop the girls from hitting each other.

"She's a dirty German, like all Germans," cries one of the girls, her face covered in tears.

"She said something mean," Rebecca runs to me, tearful and sobbing in German.

"We don't want Germans here," some women and men surround us. One woman hugs the crying girl.

"I'm sorry," I say to the girl's mother. "She doesn't speak French.

"Not only did you come here and conquer our country. Now your daughter is throwing stones at my daughter?" She yells at me. "Get out of here, go to a camp in Germany, not here."

"I can't go," I yell back at her as I start to cry. "Trust me, I want to."

"Transfer her to the Germans' camp," several women shout and approach me. A broad-bodied woman in a dirty beige dress snatches the suitcase from my hand.

"Give me back the suitcase," I yell at her and follow her while holding my sobbing Rebecca. I have no idea why I try so hard to guard the suitcase that isn't even mine. The people push us, and I feel their rough hands on my back.

"German woman, don't worry, no one wants your things. We have our own beautiful country," the woman answers, continuing to walk toward the building. I walk behind her, and several women follow me.

"This is your place," she throws the suitcase into one of the entrances. "Not in our area. There's a German woman like you," she adds. "And keep your misbehaved girl away from our children."

"Stay in your area," the other women mutter and walk away, leaving us in front of the empty stairs.

"I didn't do anything. They chased me, and I just pulled her hair, and she hit me," Rebecca continues to whine in German as I hug her, wiping away my tears .

"It's okay. You'll be friends in the end," I whisper to her and try to arrange her hair with my fingers. "Let's go upstairs. We'll find a room. Food will arrive soon."

We climb to the third floor, looking for a free room until we enter one of the rooms occupied by a woman who's slightly younger than me. She's twenty-four or twenty-five, has shoulder-length chestnut hair, and is leaning over a garment while holding a thread and needle.

"Excuse me, is there room here?" I ask her.

"Yes, of course," she answers in French with a German accent as she looks up at me.

"Nice to meet you, Sarah Bloch," I approach her and hold out my hand. "This is my daughter Rebecca."

"Nice to meet you, Charlotte Salomon," she puts down the garment and shakes my hand. "Is there a Mr. Bloch?" She looks at the empty door.

"No, there isn't," I answer, not wanting to tell her where he is.

"You are welcome in my humble place," she gestures with her hand, "a haven for German women without husbands who will protect them and give them a feeling of security."

I shiver in my sleep from the cold air and feel someone touch my hand. Is it Rebecca? I reach out to hug her, but it's not Rebecca. Who is it? I hold the hand tightly. Is someone trying to rob me again?

"It's okay, wake up," someone tells me. It's a woman .

"It's not okay," I shout at her and sit up while holding her hand. I won't let them steal from me again.

"Sarah, it's okay," she tries to reassure me. In the morning twilight, I notice her disheveled hair and the silhouette of her face. I reach out and pull her hair hard, hearing her scream.

"You won't steal from me. Enough! No more! Get out of here," I continue to pull her hair.

"Mommy!" Rebecca wakes up and shouts in tears. "What is she doing to you?"

"Sarah!" the woman shouts in pain. "It's me, Charlotte, your roommate. You're hurting me!"

"I don't care that you're my roommate. You won't steal from me," I release her hair and push her away. "Stay away from me!" I keep shouting, standing up and ignoring Rebecca's cries. Rebecca clings to the wall and watches us.

"Sarah, I woke you up so we could go together and get buckets of water. I'm not a thief!" Charlotte yells back at me.

"What is going on here?" Several women enter the room and ask in French. "Are you having problems with the German woman?" One of them asks me.

"Did you try to steal again?" Someone else asks.

"She tried to take something from me," I answer them, panting and pointing at Charlotte. "But I woke up." I carefully grope the fabric of my dress to make sure she didn't discover my hidden coins. Why is Rebecca crying so much?

"Once a thief, always a thief," says one of the women, thin and tall with curly hair.

"Come to me, Rebecca," I bend and hold her, trying to calm her down. No one will steal from me again. "And you, stay away from me," I tell Charlotte, feeling braver in the company of the other women standing at the door.

"I didn't steal from you. I tried to wake you up to go get water before the men took all the buckets and there wasn't any left," Charlotte takes a step back and shouts.

"Maybe we'll check her pockets to ensure she didn't steal anything. Show us your hands," says a large woman in a dark dress, approaching Charlotte.

"Get away from me," Charlotte screams and backs away, clinging to the wall, her voice sounding like a wounded animal. "Will you always hate me because I'm a stranger?"

"No, because you're a thief," the tall, curly-haired woman answers.

"Let's go, leave them alone; she's already learned her lesson," the big woman moves away from Charlotte. "And you," she turns to me, "don't be afraid of her. If she tries to take something from you, call us. We're on the other side of the corridor."

"Thank you," I say quietly and continue to caress Rebecca's back, taking her in my arms. "Shh... It's okay. Everything is okay. You can stop crying. Mommy is here protecting you."

"I won't wake you up again in the morning," Charlotte fixes her hair and dress and leaves the room. I hear her going down the stairs. Could it be that she wasn't trying to steal from me, and I blamed her for nothing? But the other women said she stole from them.

I put Rebecca down and look out the window. In the morning twilight, I see Charlotte standing among several men in the yard, holding a wooden bucket while waiting in line for the water tap.

"You can use the water," Charlotte later places the bucket of water in the center of the room. "Don't worry, I won't come near you. I'll stay in my corner," she says and sits down against the wall.

"Good," I respond, placing the stranger's suitcase between us to create a clear border. Why are they so angry with her?

"Why do they hate you?" I ask after a while. I mustn't trust her.

"Because everyone has to hate someone, and it's convenient for them to hate me." She looks up at the ceiling, and I think she has tears in her eyes.

"Did you steal from them?" I don't hold back and ask.

"It's none of your business." She wipes her eyes and looks away.

Two days later, the cold night's wind causes the raindrops to enter through the missing window. I hug Rebecca in the dark, trying to keep her warm. Her peaceful breathing calms me. Occasionally, the wind blows raindrops that hit me. Finally, I take the suitcase that stands as a borderline between me and Charlotte, place it between me and the window, and bend down as much as possible. I'll try to sleep.

"Don't you have something warmer in the suitcase?" Charlotte's voice comes out of the darkness. She lies on the other side of the room, next to the inner wall .

"The suitcase isn't mine," I reply.

"Whose is it then? Did you take it from someone?"

"It belonged to a young man on the bus that brought us here."

"And where is the young man?"

"He ran away when the bus stopped briefly and left the suitcase behind," I answer her. "When everyone got off, I saw it was left and took it. I didn't steal it," I add.

Charlotte says nothing, and I listen to the wind whistling outside. She must think I should have left it there, especially after I called her a thief two days ago. From the window, I can see the searchlight beam from the guard's tower traveling in the darkness, reflecting the raindrops as if they were stars of gold. "I didn't see what happened to him; maybe he managed to escape," I say. "So I took his suitcase; in case they catch him and bring him here, he'll have something."

"I think you can open his suitcase. He won't come back."

"I know," I reply. I hope he managed to escape to the Free Zone. Still, I can't bring myself to open the suitcase and rummage through his personal belongings.

"A makeup brush and an eye pencil," Charlotte says quietly after a few minutes.

"What?"

"That's what I stole from them. A makeup brush and an eye pencil," she continues. "I needed them, and they didn't, but they found out, and they've hated me ever since."

"Why did you need them? You don't wear makeup."

"Never mind, you wouldn't understand," she says into the darkness .

"And they didn't forgive you?" I ask her after a while. I want her to tell me so I can understand.

"The fact that I'm German didn't help. Nobody likes foreigners. I think it didn't help you either," she says. "Where did they bring you from?"

"From the Paris police station. I thought they would give us permits to pass into the Free Zone."

"I was in the Free Zone," she laughs bitterly. "I thought I had managed to escape them when I arrived from Germany to Nice three years ago."

"And what happened?"

"It turned out that even in the Free Zone, there are policemen who hunt Jews, put them on buses, and send them to Drancy."

"Have you been here long?"

"Long enough to know how things work in this place."

"Do you think we'll be here much longer?"

"You're cold, aren't you? You're getting wet," she ignores my question.

"We're fine, thanks," I feel a wave of raindrops hit me.

"Come by my side; the rain doesn't get in here."

"We get along fine here," I answer her, even though the rain is wetting us. I don't trust her.

"You need to take care of your child, so she doesn't get sick. There are no doctors or medicine here to treat her."

"Thank you," I say after a while. She is right.

I pick up my sleeping Rebecca, feel my way through the dark, and sit close to Charlotte.

"That way, it will be more comfortable for you. You won't get wet," she whispers to me. "And I think you should open this man's suitcase; pretend it's yours. Maybe there's a coat in there."

"I'll open it," I tell her, but I know I won't. I can't. I continue to hug Rebecca and get a little closer to Charlotte until I feel her body warmth. I'll try to close my eyes and sleep. The women in the other room will help me if she tries anything.

"Everyone, get to the square," I hear the announcer the following morning. I sit on the floor, hugging Rebecca and looking at Charlotte. What's going on outside?

"Captain Carl Becker," Charlotte says as she gets up. The stairwell is filled with the sound of people going down the steps. "Let's go," she approaches the entrance, "we have to hurry."

"Who is Captain Carl Becker?" I ask her as I lift Rebecca in my arms, and we join the people going down. A feeling of apprehension runs through my back.

From all the entrances, people come out to the yard, dotted with puddles of water from last night's rain. Everyone hurries to the yard's center until we all look like a dark mass. I walk through the crowd with Rebecca in my arms. The mud seeps into my old shoes, and I am careful not to slip.

"Pull back," Charlotte says and pulls my hand, trying to drag us back as we make our way. But more and more people arrive and fill the place, and I am pushed by other people until I have to let go of Charlotte's hand. The crowd is too big and pushes me forward. All I can do is hold Rebecca tightly in my arms and keep her from being crushed by the people. I feel like a log moving in a river of people, uncontrollable by the current. Where is Charlotte? I look around for her. She's the only one I know. But I can't see her, and I turn my gaze forward. Rebecca and I are almost at the front of the crowd.

"Put her down. She stands out," I hear a whisper, and a hand touches my shoulder. I turn my gaze, and it's Charlotte. "Do it now," she whispers, and I rush to lower Rebecca into the mud.

"Rebecca, sweetie," I whisper to her, "now stand up and don't talk. We all must be quiet, do you understand?" It seems to me that she is so frightened that there is no way she will speak. She looks at me with big eyes, and I am afraid she will burst into tears. I have to calm her down. "Everything is fine," I bend down and say to her while caressing her hair. "You will stand behind me and hold my leg tightly, and as soon as the policeman is done talking, we will go back to the room with Charlotte. Do you agree?"

Rebecca nods, and I get up and look forward, feeling her hands holding my dress from behind.

Several policemen stand before the crowd, their guns on their shoulders. I can distinguish between them the two I talked to at the gate that day, the big one with the thin black mustache and the slimmer one with the Windsor glasses. It seems to me that he surveys the crowd, and his gaze stops when he recognizes me. I cringe. I must be wrong. There are so many people here.

Suddenly, the audience falls silent.

I look to the sides and see that everyone is looking towards the entrance gate to the complex. The two policemen by the gate open it and salute a German officer in a black uniform who passes through it. He briefly salutes them back and enters the yard. Is he Captain Carl Becker? I look at Charlotte. She says nothing but points her finger at me to signal me to stay quiet and look ahead. The Nazi officer is tall and thin, his hair a dark wheat color, almost brown, and his chin is sharp and narrow. I can't see his eyes, which are almost hidden under his black visor hat.

One of the policemen, who is holding a megaphone in his hand, turns to the German officer, stands tall, and salutes while the Nazi officer walks slowly, his eyes scanning us. I shudder as he stands up, salutes back to the policeman, and motions to him with a slight movement of his hand covered in a black leather glove.

"Recently," the policeman picks up the megaphone and begins to speak, "new people have arrived here. These individuals do not fit and no longer deserve to be free citizens in the French National Socialist society that we established in cooperation with the Third Reich," he pauses and moves along the crowd, examining us. "We have decided that this is the right place for people like you..." He continues with the camp regulations, "... and by the grace of the Third Reich, you will receive one meal a day. You should appreciate the German people, who are at war against the English and Russian enemies, and are still ready to provide you with food." He finishes, taking the megaphone away from his mouth, and returns to the yard's center, careful not to step in a large puddle with his boots.

"How long will we be here?" Someone asks from the crowd, and murmurs are heard from every direction.

"Don't say a word," I hear Charlotte whisper as her hand holds mine behind my back.

"Come, come out, don't be shy about the question; it's an important one," the policeman calls out. After a moment, a woman emerges from the crowd and walks toward him hesitantly. She is about forty years old and wears a long blue dress. "Repeat the question," he addresses her.

"How long will we be here?" She asks quietly, her feet stepping in the puddle.

The French policeman looks at the Nazi officer, and he signals him with a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his head.

"Go to him. He will answer your question," he tells the woman, turning his head toward the Nazi officer.

In the silence, I hear the gusts of wind and the sounds of her steps in the mud as she walks slowly towards the Nazi. We all watch her.

A slight cough is heard as she stands before him and looks down. What will he do to her? How foolish was I a few days ago to try to talk to him? I can feel Rebecca's hands holding my legs tightly and Charlotte's holding my hand.

The Nazi officer waits a second, then raises his hand and strikes the woman with a small whip he holds. She screams and falls into the mud. Everyone around me is silent, and no one moves.

"Does anyone have any more questions?" The policeman raises the megaphone to his mouth and asks us. Only the sound of the wind answers him with a soft whimper.

"In this camp, you are guests of the Third Reich, and only he will decide how long you will be here," he speaks into the megaphone and then turns and salutes the Nazi officer, who salutes him back and walks towards the exit gate, passing the guards on his way out.

Only after he disappears into the wooden shack outside the fences does the policeman turn around and leave the gate, and the people slowly start to disperse. I pick up Rebecca and hug her, ignoring the mud from her shoes that stains my dress. My feet are frozen from standing in the puddle for so long.

"Let's go back to the room," Charlotte tells me quietly, and I nod. But before we start walking, I turn and look towards the gate. Most of the policemen had already left the yard. Only the policeman with the round glasses who shouted at me at the gate remained standing. It seems to me that he's watching me, but I'm not sure. There are so many people around me. Why did he protect me that day?