9. The Summer of 1942

Chapter nine

The Summer of 1942

July 1942

"Mommy, look, another bus is coming," Rebecca stands by the fence and calls out excitedly, "and another bus, and another one," she points, reaching over the barbed wire fence, "Mommy, look how many buses."

"Try to count them. Let's see if you succeed," I tell her and watch the never-ending convoy of buses arriving at the road leading up to the camp. The buses' convoy is led by many black police cars, their fronts, with headlights on both sides, remind me of a bird of prey with wicked eyes and pointy beak. What's going on? Why do they bring so many buses here?

I put my hand on the barbed wire fence and look at the policemen coming out of their barracks, but I can't notice him .

I've been looking for him since that day, two weeks ago, when he brought me the medicine. I wanted to thank him, but each time I saw him, he stood at a distance and didn't come near the fence, even though I had stood and waited until the guards banished me.

"Seven, eight, nine, ten," Rebecca counts aloud, "Mommy, they keep coming."

What's going on here? Did they come to take us away from here and deport us to the Free Zone? I breathe anxiously. Could it be that the Red Cross came to free us? I'm searching for cars with a red cross symbol on them or a flag of the Red Cross. But no, the black police cars surround the buses outside the camp like a pack of wolves surrounding a herd of frightened sheep, and I see that the buses are full of people through their windows. They're not getting ready to send us from here to the Free Zone. They're filling this camp with more prisoners. Where do they get all these people from?

I look back. More people in the yard are approaching the fence and looking at the buses stopped outside the complex, and the policemen are now getting out of the police cars and standing around them.

"Everybody, move back," the large-bodied policeman with the thin mustache shouts to the people approaching the fence. "You too," he scolds Rebecca, and I hasten to pick her up and move a few steps back.

"Mommy, look, they're getting off the buses," Rebecca points. The newcomers get off the buses and gather, like a huge flock, directed by the policemen inside the registration office .

"Mommy, where will all these people live?" Rebecca asks and I think what to answer her. Where will they all stay? Other than the trains to the East, the camp is full.

"Each of them has a place waiting for them in the building, just like we do," I assure her, "the good policemen took care of everyone, and look, they're holding suitcases in their hands, unlike ours, which we forgot in Paris."

"Right, they have suitcases with pretty dresses and books and toys and chocolate," she says thoughtfully.

"And look," I point to two girls getting off one of the buses, holding on to their mother, "new girls are also coming, so you can play with them."

"Do you think they speak German and not just funny French?"

"I'm sure they'll speak German with you."

"Then maybe we should go and say hello to them? I'll tell Liza and Hilda to open the gate."

"Let's wait a bit. Let's let them come and settle in. They must be excited to come to a new place."

"Okay," Rebecca nods.

"Try to count the children who come in, but in French."

"Do I have to count in French?"

"Yes, those are the rules of the camp. Counting children is only allowed in French."

"Un, deux, trois, quatre..." Rebecca counts while I watch the people entering the camp holding on to their luggage, looking around in fear and shock.

"Water, do you have water?" A woman about my age with disheveled hair approaches us and points to a girl that a man is holding in his arms, "We haven't had any water for three days." She looks tired.

"Right away, I'll get you some," I put Rebecca down. "Rebecca, go to Charlotte and tell her to bring the bucket with the water to the yard."

"May I stop counting in French?"

"Yes, now go as fast as you can." I send her on her way and watch the deshelled woman. She has her Star of Life and Death on her dress. "Where are you from?" I ask her.

"From all around Paris," she replies. "Three days ago, we were gathered from all around Paris to the Winter Stadium, south of the Eiffel," she speaks quietly, "and we've been there since, without any water and food."

"Take it," I take the slice of bread I saved to give Rebecca later out of my dress pocket. I'll give her my dinner instead.

"Thank you," she holds the slice of bread and approaches the girl cradled in the man's arms, strokes her hair, and gives her the bread.

I look at the man holding the young girl and want to cry. I wish I had such a family.

"Sarah," Charlotte comes over, panting and holding the bucket of water. "Rebecca told me there are a lot of thirsty people here and that she couldn't count the children," she puts the bucket on the ground and hands the woman an enamel cup full of water. The woman first gives the young girl to drink, then the man, and finally drinks some herself.

More people gather around us and some other people from the camp bring buckets of water and hand them out. Some take food out and share it with them. What happened in Paris? I look at the new people's faces. They're all wearing a yellow badge, and most are healthier than us, but their faces express confusion and a lack of understanding.

"They knocked on our door at 6 a.m. and gave us ten minutes to get organized," a man of fifty or more tells another man standing next to him. He's wearing a business suit and tie with a hat, and his wife is standing next to him wearing a fur coat. "I bravely fought in the French Army in the previous war. All my life, I was a respectable banker, and now they imprisoned me like a criminal," he adds and reaches for the plain enamel cup.

"The big stadium was full. There was no room to move," adds a woman wearing a blue summer dress. "And this morning, they started moving us here. They're going to bring everyone here, to this camp. There are no Jews left in Paris. They've arrested all of us."

I also hand her a cup of water and look at Charlotte. Is she thinking what I'm thinking? Are they preparing to move us all to the East? Where will they accommodate us all? What did the Germans decide regarding us?

"Rebecca, come on," I take her hand in mine and grab the empty water bucket, "we need to go back to our room."

"Can I say hello to the new girl?" She walks in her direction and starts talking to her in German. But the little girl remains in the man's arms and watches her without answering.

"Mommy, I think she doesn't know how to speak neither French nor German. Maybe she's still afraid of the hunters. I'll tell her there are good hunters too," Rebecca tells me as we walk hand in hand back to the big building with Charlotte. She gets stronger and talks more with every day that passes .

I see the first families, who've already registered, moving toward the building. They'll look for a place to sleep just like we did on our first night here.

"May I?" A man wearing a long, brown coat and carrying a suitcase enters our room later that day. He moves the sheet hanging on the door, which gives us a little privacy, and stands in the doorway.

"Yes, please," Charlotte and I rise to see him. Behind him stand two women with black, curly hair tied up in a ribbon. "I'm Sarah," I get up and reach out my hand, "come in." The women are about my age.

"I'm Charlotte," Charlotte also holds out her hand.

"Laurent Levy," he shakes our hands, "and this is my wife, Naomi, and her sister, Pauline," he introduces them as they smile awkwardly. "We're from the Paris' 3 rd arrondissement."

"Come in, welcome."

"So, this is where you live?" He carefully steps in, looking around the small room and the straw scattered on the floor.

"Yes, we have for a year now," Charlotte answers.

"Don't go into their room. They're German," I hear the voice of Alexandrine, our neighbor from the other side of the corridor, behind them.

"It's okay, we're Jewish, like you," I place my hand on my yellow badge. But they remain standing hesitantly at the door.

"Just so you know, there are some people among the residents who report to the Nazis. We don't trust them." Alexandrine keeps talking to them from the corridor.

For a moment, Mr. Levy stands and holds his suitcase, debating whether to put it on the floor, but then, his wife whispers something to him .

"I'm sorry," he says with an embarrassed smile and leaves the room after his wife and her sister, who disappeared down the corridor.

"She's dangerous to us," Charlotte whispers to me.

"At least they didn't move in with us," I answer.

"Do I have to give the man with the suitcase my bed? Where will I sleep?" Rebecca asks.

"No honey, you won't have to give up your bed," I caress her hair, knowing that Charlotte is right. Everyone here is afraid of what is going to happen, and when people are afraid, they search for traitors to blame.

"They're taking the teacher," someone says as we stand in the long line for water a few days later.

I look up and see two policemen walking behind Mr. Gaston, their hands resting on the leather holsters.

"What will happen to the children?" Some woman whispers.

I should look away, but I can't; I stare at him. Mr. Gaston walks in front of them slowly, wearing a beret hat and brown coat, holding a simple suitcase. For a split second, our eyes meet before he turns his gaze away and keeps walking towards the gate, to the collection point, where the people are going before heading towards the train. For a moment, he stops, takes his glasses off, and cleans them with a handkerchief he took out of his coat pocket. I watch his fingers slide gently over the glass before he examines it against the sun, and places them back on his nose. One of the policemen approaches and pushes him, and he keeps walking. Even though I hate him, I feel nauseated.

"Is that Mr. Gaston, the teacher?" Charlotte asks me.

"Yes," I nod, still following him with my eyes, watching his hunched back as he walks slowly to the gate.

"No one will return from the East," I hear one of the men say. "My neighbor, when I was in Paris, worked for the railway company. He said that the Nazis are sending all the Jews to one place by trains from all over Europe."

"Maybe they're settling them there," someone else replies.

"All the Jews? In one place?" The man answers.

"In his book, Mein Kampf, Hitler said he wanted to exterminate us, the Jews," a woman standing in line joins the conversation.

"He doesn't really mean it," someone replies.

"Doesn't he?" She turns to him, "What do you think this place is?" She points at the building surrounding us, "A holiday resort?"

"It's just a transit camp, it's temporary," he replies.

"If it's better in the East, then how is it that no one here received news from anyone who went there?" She asks him.

"They're not sending the ones of German origin to the East," I hear a woman say behind me. Is that Alexandrine, who hates us? I turn to look, but it's not her. It's some other woman that I don't know.

"They must have contacts with the Nazis," someone else tells her, also standing behind us.

Do they know us? Maybe these are mothers of girls who study with Rebecca ?

"They'll send us all to the East, eventually, and the German Jews will be left in this French camp," a third woman says.

"Don't answer them," Charlotte whispers to me, "they're looking to fight. That's all they want." And I turn my back to them and keep standing in line.

"I heard that they know who's being taken in advance and manage to get them removed from the lists," says another woman. I cannot recognize who she is.

"Come on, the line is moving," Charlotte whispers and takes my hand. I walk with her and clutch my hand around the heavy wooden bucket's handle until my fingers turn white. I can try and hit them with the bucket should a fight start.

"Some of the families who have children were taken, but not German woman's daughter, her mother must've taken care of that," says one of them, and I feel her words hit my back as if they were red-hot iron nails. Breathe, breathe, don't answer her. They're looking for a fight.

"Everyone in the camp is talking about it." the other woman says, "Maybe they pass information to the Nazis. How did they even get here? They should've been in the camp in Germany," She keeps talking. Charlotte's hand grips my arm.

"Maybe we should report them so the Nazis, have them take them first."

"I'm Jewish, just like you!" I turn around and shout at the women, showing them the yellow badge embroidered on my dress, almost tearing it off with my fingers, "and no one will touch my girl."

"We don't believe you," one of them says. She wears a black dress, and her dark eyes stare at me, "You get preferential treatment. "

"Do you really think we get preferential treatment?" I show her the empty bucket and point to the line, waiting for the water faucet, "Does this seem like preferential treatment to you?" I fight the tears, a lump in my throat.

"So why have you been here for a year and still haven't been taken to the trains?" Her friend asks me.

"How do you know how long we've been here? How long have you been here?" Charlotte responds.

"It's none of your business how long I've been here. I'm French. This is my country," she replies.

"Believe me that when the war is over, I'd love to leave France and never return, but I'm here now, and you'll have to get used to it," Charlotte shouts at her.

"We heard what women like you do at night with the German soldiers," another woman joins the conversation and yells at Charlotte. I look around at the women, their eyes watching us with hatred, like a pack of wolves surrounding its pray, waiting for it to make a mistake and stumble.

"Enough, enough, it's hard enough here without looking reasons to fight," a large man, wearing a blue shirt, steps in and stand between us. "Do you want the police to come here and see what's going on?"

"Never mind them," Charlotte grabs my arm again, and I return to the queue. But I'm still breathing heavily. Everyone here is looking for culprits.

"I don't believe them," I can still hear one of the women whispering to her friend.

I rub my forehead. I'm tired of being so different, hated by the Germans, hated by the French. The lump in my throat doesn't fade, like there's an invisible rope tightening around it.

"What's the name of this camp, the one all the Jews are being sent to?" Someone asks the man who started the conversation and led to the quarrel.

"Auschwitz," he answers. "Here, in the camp, you don't know what's going on outside. My neighbor, the one who works for the railway company, said that the Germans are killing the Russians as if they were mice, including all the Jews they find there."

"Mommy, I don't want to die," Rebecca bursts into our small room a few days later, her face drenched in tears.

"Of course, you won't die," I hug her, "I'm protecting you."

"But they said I'd die, that they'd take us all to the East, and we'll die there," she whines and refuses to relax.

"Who said that? Liza and Hilda, the German commander's daughters?" I wipe her tears with a handkerchief that I take out of my dress pocket. Charlotte stops drawing and watches us both. Do the daughters of the German commander know something they're not telling us? They'd taken Rebecca outside the fence on two more occasions since the first time she'd played with them. Even though I'm afraid of them and watch her from afar, I try to convince myself that Mathéo is right and it's better for her that they like her. Anyway, I can't tell her not to go. They're Captain Becker' s daughters.

"No, not Liza and Hilda, they make me laugh. They say I'm a German Shepherd that needs to pick up Sylvie in the field when she runs away and throw her to me so I can catch her, or they tell me to crawl on the ground like all the Jews."

"So, who told you that awful thing?" I ask her, holding myself from explaining the meaning of their behavior to her. It's better that she won't understand.

"One of the new French girls," she resumes crying, "we were playing catch, and I caught her by the hair, and she cried and said I was a stinky German and that her father said that soon they'd take me on a train to the East and kill me like they took Mr. Gaston, the teacher. Did they take Mr. Gaston, the teacher, on a train to the East?"

"Yes, they took Mr. Gaston to the East, but just because he wanted to go there. No one will take you to the East, I promise," I keep hugging her.

"So, I no longer need to go to his class and have him beat me with the ruler?" She wipes her tears.

"No, you don't have to go to his class anymore. Now, he'll teach children in the East," I turn my gaze to Charlotte. She's drawing a group of Jews leaving the camp toward the train. Has anything changed? Have the Germans decided to deport us all from here?

"So, what will I do during school time?"

"Let's go out into the sun," I stand up and hold Rebecca's hand. "Let's see if Liza and Hilda are there, and you can play with them. Would you like that?"

"Yes," she nods and takes my hand, and we head for the stairs. How low have I sunk that I suggest she plays with the camp commander's daughters? I feel sick to my stomach, fearing I had made an unwise decision. I hope they're not out there today.

"They're not here," Rebecca says as we stand by the fence and look out. The grass in front of the German commander's barracks is empty. Only two German soldiers are standing on the road leading up to the camp. Their rifles are on their shoulders, and they're looking toward the houses surrounding the camp as if waiting for something to happen. The buses' parking lot is also empty.

"Maybe they'll arrive soon," I tell her. It's nice being outside in the sun and not inside a crowded building full of voices and smells of people all around.

"Mommy, there's a car coming. Maybe they're coming," Rebecca says and reaches her hand beyond the barbed wire fence.

"Maybe it's them," I say and look at the car, but I realize I'm wrong, a moment later. This isn't the usual military vehicle of the camp commander, Captain Becker. It's a larger and more luxurious, teal-colored military vehicle with an open top and small red swastika flag flying on both sides of its hood. While the car is approaching the camp, the two soldiers stand still and salute. I see the uniforms and the black caps of the Nazi officers' sitting in the car. Why did they come here?

"Let's go back to Charlotte and our room," I say to Rebecca.

"But you told me we'd wait to see when Hilda and Liza will arrive. Maybe they're in this car."

"We should go back. I forgot Charlotte told me she wanted to draw you. Would you like Charlotte to draw you?" I pick her up and start walking away from the fence, not waiting for her to reply .

"And what about Liza and the Hilda?"

"They're sick today. They'll come tomorrow," I'm ashamed of all the lies I tell her, but I have no other choice.

Far from the fence, among the people, I stop and turn around to look at the Nazi vehicle. Who are these commanders?

While the car approaches Captain Becker's barracks, I see him coming outside with several soldiers and standing in attention, waiting for the car to stop while he salutes.

Several German officers get out of the vehicle. One of them salutes back at Captain Becker and then shakes his hand. They all approach the camp barbed wire fence while talking, and Captain Becker explains something to him while pointing at us. What are they planning for us? Again, I feel that uneasy feeling in my stomach. Could the rumors be true?

"Mommy, you said Aunt Charlotte wanted to draw me, but now you just stand and look at the long German car with the little red flags."

"You're right, I forgot. Let's go back to Aunt Charlotte and she'll draw you," I tell her and turn around. On the way to our room, I pass other people in the yard, who are strolling as if enjoying the sun but are actually looking at the group of Nazi officers in black uniforms standing outside the fence and talking about us.

"I'm scared for Rebecca. I'm scared for us," I tell Charlotte later that night. We both stand and lean on the windowsill of our small room, feeling the warm summer breeze on my face while Rebecca sleeps quietly. "Today, I saw a group of Nazi officers in black SS uniforms outside the camp. They are planning something for us."

"Sometimes I think they sealed our fate," she says. "No one will succeed in defeating the Nazis, not even the Americans who joined the war. They're too far away. The British won't succeed either."

"I always believed that good will prevail over evil and light will defeat darkness," I caress the Star of Life and Death on my dress, "but I'm not sure about that anymore."

"Do you think they'll send us to the East?"

"Yes. I think you believe that too. We both know we're here on borrowed time."

"I really want to smoke a cigarette right now," she says quietly, "I earned two today, and I don't know whether to exchange one for two potatoes or a few moments of silent pleasure."

"What will happen to Rebecca?" I turn to her. I can see her silhouette in the dark as she sleeps on the straw. "I want to get her out of here so badly, hide her in a safe place, wrap her so nothing bad happens to her."

"For how long?"

"Until there's a miracle and the Nazis lose, until she grows up, I don't know how long; she's so small. A little girl like her shouldn't be in a place like this."

"Yes, little girls shouldn't be in a place like this, not even big girls. I'm afraid of the East. I believe the stories," Charlotte says.

"I want her to be saved should anything happen to me." I hold myself back from going over and hugging her. She'll wake up. "After the way she got sick, I'm afraid she won't survive the winter in the East."

"When I was in the south of France," Charlotte speaks slowly, "when the Nazis arrived and started banishing Jews, there was a family I knew there, the Hirschs. They smuggled their two children to a monastery to look after them until the war will end."

"And what happened to them? To the parents?"

"I don't know. One day they disappeared, the police probably caught them. I hadn't heard from them since."

"And if the war doesn't end? Will she grow up as a Christian girl?" I caress my Star of Life and Death again. What is Rebecca's Star of Life and Death?

"At least she'll grow up," Charlotte bends down and lights herself a cigarette, sitting on the room's floor so the flicker of the cigarette won't be seen outside; only the acrid smell of smoke wafts through the space and out of the open window, into the dark night. I look out the window at the stars in the sky. What's more important to me? To stay together or to try and get her out of here and maybe save her? What's riskier?

"Do you think getting a girl out of here is possible? Without them noticing?" I ask her. I can hardly get those words out of my mouth. I feel like I'm breaking down just thinking about it. What would I do without her?

"I don't know," she inhales from the cigarette again, and the light flickers for a moment, "maybe the police can; maybe that one you went to back then."

"Mathéo? He works for them. Even if he helped me, would you entrust your daughter's life in his hands?" I ask her and regret it. I shouldn't have said that to her. "I'm sorry," I add, "I know Rebecca is important to you, and you treat her as if she is your own daughter."

"You know, when I was a rebellious girl and would run away from the outside world into painting, I thought I wouldn't be a good mother, that something was wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you," I tell her.

"And I convinced myself that I didn't need a family and that I'd manage with my paintings, which are my family," she keeps speaking, "Until you came along."

"At first, I didn't trust you. I was wrong."

"I know," she inhales from her cigarette, "but there was that time Rebecca called me Aunt Charlotte. That was the moment I realized you're not afraid of me anymore. I love that she calls me Aunt Charlotte."

"You're her aunt," I move away from the window and sit beside her on the floor, placing my hands on hers.

"Sarah, I've wanted to have a daughter like Rebecca ever since I've met you, but I now know it's too late," she says quietly.

"It'll happen, I promise."

"No, you can't promise me that. I'm not a six-year-old like Rebecca," she smiles at me, "and that's okay. I've accepted that I'll never have a child of my own," she inhales from her cigarette again. "But you must protect your daughter, you need to get her out of here, ask your policeman, your dealer, whoever will get her out of here; that's what I'd do if she were my daughter. That's what you need to do."

"Angelina," I whisper.

"What? "

"Angelina is the owner of the hotel we stayed at in Paris for a year. She's the only one who might take care of her," I spit the words out, looking to get them out so I won't be able to regret having said them. "I have no other place to take her to. I'm Jewish, and I'm a foreigner. I don't know a priest, or anyone connected to the church or the monastery. I have no idea where her father is. Only God knows where her father is, whether in Madrid or elsewhere. He didn't come to help us, that's for sure. I'm a stranger here, in this country, just like you. Angelina's the only one I know outside of this camp who I can somewhat trust." I stop talking, feeling both relief and fear after having said those words, as if they took on a meaning and a life of their own.

"And will she accept her?"

"She won't accept her for free. She may be nice, but no one will risk their lives to hide Jews for free, especially after everything that those who arrived here in the last few days have told us about." I get up and go back to look out the window at the dark night outside.

"So, what will you do?"

"I'll pay her with the last thing I have left to pay with," I caress my wedding ring.

"And how do you know she'll accept Rebecca?"

"I don't know. I have no way of checking. I don't even know if I can get her out of here," I say quickly, before regretting my thoughts. Is it right to get her out of here? Why don't I have the right answer? What if I'm wrong?

"The policeman or the dealer?" Charlotte puts out her cigarette and stands up, joining me by the window .

"I don't trust either one of them, but I have to choose between the one who'll sell anything for money and the one who works with the Nazis and might throw her on the train without me knowing."

"You're doing the right thing," she places her hand on mine.

"Thanks," I say. I'm not sure that I'm doing the right thing at all. "Can you watch her for a few minutes?" I ask her after a while.

"Yes," she replies, and I leave for the stairwell before I regret it. I have to take the risk and get her out of here. Deep down, I know she won't be able to survive if they take us to the East. And I must choose who I trust more.

"What do you want now?" Charpak raises his gaze from the deck of cards he's holding and asks me as he notices me standing in the doorway. He and several other men I'd never seen here before sit around the improvised table. The crowded room is stifled with cigarette smoke and the smell of sweat. I look at the table full of coins, bills, and cigarettes. Where does all this money come from?

"Who's she?" A man in a blue jacket turns and examines me, his hair carefully styled with gel and his blue pin-striped tie matches his tailored jacket. Only the yellow badge stands out against his fancy outfit. The other men, who had stopped playing and are looking at me, are also well-dressed. I feel embarrassed in my simple dress. It's the only one I've had since we got here .

"Leave her alone," Charpak says to the man who asked, crushing his cigarette, and placing his cards on the table, "Continue without me. I'm done. I've got bad ones anyway," he gets up and approaches me. Of all the men around the table, he's the only one wearing a plain, dirty, white tank top.

"Let's go," he holds my arm and leads me over to the wall, "They're still new here," he says. "They arrived in the last batch from Paris with all the Jews the Nazis had banned," he points at the men behind the wall, "they don't yet understand that they'll need this money and cigarettes to buy food. And that a nice jacket and tie are worth as much as an old tank top here," he smiles at me. "Why did you come here now? Is your daughter okay? Have you made up with the other women who're angry at you?"

"Yes, she's fine," I answer, ignoring his second question. I didn't come here to talk about myself. "Have you ever gotten anyone out of this camp?" I look into his eyes in the weak light.

"I won't answer that question," he looks back at me, his brown eyes studying me while his bald head sweats from the summer heat.

"Can you do it?"

"Depends on the price. Getting someone out of here isn't a small thing. It's not like getting a few slices of bread, oil, or potatoes. It's also not like smuggling shoes or a coat inside the camp. It's getting someone out under the watchful eyes of the Nazis as well as passing the checkpoints on the roads."

"I want you to get my girl out of here."

"The one who was sick?"

"I almost lost her. I'm afraid she won't survive the journey to the East and whatever they have prepared for us there. "

Charpak says nothing. But keeps watching me.

"Can you do it?" I ask him after a moment. I'm afraid to go to Mathéo, he's on the Nazis' side.

"You're a smart woman, unlike them," Charpak signals at the men playing cards. I can hear their laughter beyond the wall.

"I'm a woman alone. I have to be smart," I keep looking into his eyes, even though he's standing too close. His body smells unpleasantly sour.

"Will you pay me what I want?" He reaches out and takes my hand, stroking the wedding ring I'm wearing on my finger, "I want that."

"You won't get it," I breathe deeply. The touch of his hand makes me feel uncomfortable, but I don't move his fingers away. I'm going to offer him much more than a touch, "You'll get this. I already know how things work in this place," I hold his hand and place it on my chest, breathing deeply. He's already touched them the previous time, and Mathéo also touched them as well. I'm a woman, and this is the only currency I have to pay for my daughter's life. I hear his breaths and see his smile, fighting my urge not to flinch or run away from the small room.

"What happened?" His hand forcefully squeezes my breasts through my dress, "You keep the ring because you still believe in marriage, but you don't believe in fidelity?" He keeps holding on to my breasts, crushing them as if they were dough.

"I don't believe in anything anymore," I take a deep breath and take his hand off my breasts, "You get my daughter out, and I'll pay you. And now you know exactly what payment you'll receive." I get the words out of my mouth, knowing I won't be able to take them back. I won't take them back. I need him to get my daughter out of here.

"And where shall I take her?" He continues to hold my hand, "You know the Nazis are still looking for Jews all over Paris. Even if I get her out, she'll be like an abandoned, stray cat to them, an easy target to collect."

"I'll give you an address in Paris. You'll make sure she gets there," I answer.

"Give me an advance."

"This is your downpayment," I unbutton the top three buttons of my dress and pull the camisole aside, showing him my breasts. Despite the warm evening air, I tremble before him. I hate myself for what I do, feeling small, low, like an object. I'm an object to him, an object to Mathéo when I stood before him in the rain, begging for medicine for Rebecca, and an object to my husband who had to watch over us. My body is a currency that passes to whoever's willing to give me something I desperately need. I forcefully hold his hands with mine, so that he won't try to touch my bare breasts.

"In four days, on Tuesday, bring her to me at noon. I'll wait for you," he says after a moment.

"How will you get her out?" I cover my breasts and button up my dress, breathing slowly.

"It's none of your business. I have my ways."

"Have you done this before?"

"That's also none of your business."

"She's my daughter, so it is my business." I insist. I must be sure that I can trust him.

"You bring her to me. There's a bread and potatoes truck that comes over every day. I'll take care of her. I'll put her in an empty potato sack, and they'll get her out. They'll bribe whoever needs to be bribed."

"She'll have a note in her dress pocket with the address."

"They'll take her there."

"In four days, I'll bring her to you," I repeat his words, starting to realize their meaning. "You can go back to your friends," I gesture at the men who continue to play cards in the main room. Standing in front of him makes me nervous.

"They're not my friends, they think they'll make money here, and they don't realize they'll lose their lives."

"Four more days," I turn to leave the room; I want to return to my daughter.

"Wait," he puts his hand on my arm.

"What?" I once again turn to him. Did he change his mind?

"You never told me your name," he looks at me.

"Does it matter to you?" I want to get out of this stifling room.

"I'm asking."

"Sarah. My name is Sarah."

"Sarah, you're a good mother. You're doing the right thing," he looks into my eyes, serious.

"In four days, she'll be here at noon," I say to him quickly and leave the room, heading for the stairwell. Did he tell me these things so I'd trust him and not regret it? Was I right to choose him and not Mathéo?

"Deal the cards," I can still hear Charpak saying to the other men before I go down the stairs. I feel nauseous, and as I go down the stairs, the nausea increases.

What if I'm wrong? What if Angelina is no longer at the hotel? What if she doesn't accept Rebecca or throws her out on the street? A year has passed since we left her hotel. What if he's cheating me? What choice do I have in choosing someone else? What mother sends her daughter away like that? I stop at the bottom of the stairwell and throw up.

"Are you okay? Are you sick?" A strange man entering the stairwell asks me.

"Yes, I'm fine, I'm not sick," I wipe my mouth with my hand, ignoring the sour taste in my mouth. I'm not telling him that I'm a mother who has to say goodbye to her daughter.

"Rebecca, sit down. I need to talk to you," I tell her the following day.

"Mommy, look what I drew," she shows me a sheet of paper with three women painted on it, two big ones with hands like broomsticks, and a small girl standing between them, with wild hair, and smiling.

"It's a lovely painting. Can I keep it?" I look at the smiling girl.

"Yes, but wait, I still need to add Sylvie and also chocolate, because Sylvie loves chocolate very much and Aunt Charlotte hasn't given me brown color yet, because she said she uses it, but she will soon."

"I'll give it to you right away," Charlotte tells her as she bends down on the floor and draws the building and the people standing in line for the water .

"Rebecca, come on, sit next to me. I need you to listen to me and do everything I tell you to." I hold her hand, trying to concentrate on the words I'm about to say to her.

"Mr. Gaston is back from the train to the East, and I have to go back to school?" She remains standing and watches me.

"No, Mr. Gaston didn't come back from the train to the East," I take a deep breath. How will I tell her that no one is returning from the train to the East and that I have to leave her? "Rebecca, do you like to play?"

"Yes," she nods.

"And do you like to play hide and seek?"

"Yes," she nods again.

"And do you love Angelina?"

"Aunt Angelina, who smells like flowers?"

"Yes," I smile at her.

"She gave me chocolate, Mommy. Does she still have the suitcase with the book? Didn't she send it on the bus?" She asks excitedly.

"Yes, she has the suitcase," I smile at her, "and in three days, we'll have a surprise."

"What kind of surprise?"

"I'll take you to a nice man, named Mr. Charpak, who likes to play hide and seek, and he'll hide you in a big canvas sack," I say, trying to choose my words so as not to scare her off, "Do you agree?"

"Can I hide Sylvie in there with me? She also wants to play."

"Of course, she loves to play hide-and-seek. It'll be fun for you both inside the sack. But you must be quiet and not move until they open the sack."

"And what if they find us in the sack? "

"You'll be quiet, and no one will find you. They'll put you on a truck, and no one will discover you, and then, they'll take you to Angelina."

"Who, Mr. Chambu?"

"Mr. Charpak or someone else who will take you, but the most important thing is that you have to do whatever he tells you until they bring you to Angelina. You won't be allowed to leave the sack until they open it."

"And the bad hunters will look for me like they searched for Sylvie in the forest?"

"No, the bad hunters won't be looking for you. They'll be taking their noon nap. And the good hunters will be watching over you."

"Like the good hunter with the glasses?" She keeps asking.

"Yes, like the good hunter with the glasses, but not him. There'll be another good hunter watching over you. Even if you can't see him."

"Where will he be?"

"He'll hide in the bushes or a tree, like hunters do, but you mustn't look for him. Just know that he's watching over you and that they'll take you to Angelina."

"And where will you be?" She asks me, and I gasp. What should I tell her?

"I'll look after Aunt Charlotte, and in a few days, I'll join you at Angelina's, and we'll be there until the war is over."

"And will Aunt Charlotte come with you to Angelina?"

"Sure. Do you want her to come too?"

"Yes," Rebecca nods, "and Dad will also come?"

"Yes, Dad will come too," I promise her, knowing that nothing I promise her will ever come true .

"And we'll all be at Angelina's until the bad hunters leave?"

"Yes, exactly like that," I caress her hair, scared of what will happen.

"Dear Angelina," I write on a piece of paper later at night, watching my tears get the thin paper wet.

"...I am sending you Rebecca, my dearest daughter. I had no other choice.

I'll come to get her when I can.

Check her dress, there's a hidden payment for you there.

Thanks,

Sarah"

I then take the wedding ring off. It easily slips off my thin finger.

"Three more days," Charlotte whispers to me.

"Yes, three more days," I watch Rebecca as she's sleeping. I carefully sew a hidden pocket in her dress and hide the ring there. I'll miss her so much.

"Two more days," I whisper to myself as I look out the window in the morning - two more days of tension. I watch two policemen walking in the yard and pointing a gun at a man who's walking in front of them. He walks towards the gate and the train gathering area carrying a suitcase. I won't have to worry so much for my daughter in two more days.

Beyond the barbed wire fences, I see the camp commander's military vehicle arriving. The driver gets out and opens the back door for the camp commander's daughters. Maybe it's not a good idea for Rebecca to play with them? What if she tells them something regarding what I talked to her about yesterday?

I turn back and see her feeding Sylvie, the girl bear, a breakfast made of straws.

"Today we only have two slices of straw, but tomorrow you might get a potato, and for your birthday a piece of chocolate," she explains to the rag doll sitting next to her on an old blanket, "and if you behave, you can go play with Hilda and Liza in the yard in front of the barracks of the eagle with the sharp claws. We'll play hide and seek with them."

I want to ask her why she calls him the eagle with the sharp claws and why she mentions a game of hide and seek. Could it be that I was wrong and spoke to her too soon? I had to prepare her. I'm breathing slowly. There are only two more days to go, and I'll be able to get her out of this scary place. Charlotte sits in the corner of the room and draws one of her paintings: a woman raises her hands before a policeman pointing a gun at her. She focuses on painting while holding an extinguished cigarette in her mouth. Only once every few days does she allow herself to light a cigarette.

"Mommy, have they arrived yet?" Rebecca asks me.

"Who?" I ask back, knowing who she's waiting for. I hoped she'd forgotten about them.

"Hilda and Liza," Rebecca leaves breakfast with Sylvie and gets up, runs to the window, and looks outside. "They're here, let's go," she goes over and picks up the rag doll and holds my hand, "Bye Aunt Charlotte," she says to her .

"Bye, Rebecca, behave." Charlotte tells her without raising her eyes from the painting on the floor, her hands holding the brush and dipping it in the gouache colors.

A pleasant sun lights the yard as we walk toward the fence. Before we approach the gate, I stop and bend over to Rebecca, placing my hand on her shoulder.

"Rebecca, sweety, listen to me. It's very important," I look into her eyes.

"Yes, Mummy," she looks back at me, but after a moment, grabs Sylvie and takes out a piece of straw left over from breakfast out of her mouth.

"It's important that Sylvie also listens. Do you think she knows how to keep a secret?"

"Yes," Rebecca nods.

"And do you promise me she that won't tell the secret?"

"Secrets must not be told," Rebecca looks at me seriously.

"Exactly, no telling secrets," I smile at her. "So, do you remember what I talked to you about last night?"

"About Angelina, and the hide and seek and the man with the note?"

"Yes, exactly, so it's a secret you mustn't tell anyone, absolutely nobody, only you and Sylvie know about it. You mustn't tell anyone, not even Liza and Hilda," I keep holding on to her shoulder, making sure she listens to me. What will happen to her if she tells them?

"Even if they give me chocolate?"

"Even if they give you chocolate."

"Okay," she nods and looks towards the barbed wire fence and their direction. "Can we go?"

"Do you promise? And Sylvie mustn't tell them either. "

"Okay," she nods, "even if they offer her chocolate; she won't tell."

"Okay," I hug her tightly, desperately hoping that she understands that she has to keep the secret.

"Mommy, you're hurting me."

"Sorry, let's go to them," I stand up and take her hand, and we walk to the barbed wire fence so she can wave to them. On the side of the gate, the people on the way to the train and the policemen watching them are already gathered. I turn my eyes from them and look at Rebecca waving to Hilda and Liza, reaching her hand through the fence.

Two more policemen enter the yard. One of them examines Rebecca and me with his gaze. His eyes scan my face and body and move on to Rebecca. I feel that I'm all tense. But after a moment, they walk inside, and I breathe in relief. Just two more days.

"Bye, Mommy," Rebecca waves goodbye at me as another policeman approaches the gate and orders her to go out and to the camp commander's daughters. I examine him with my eyes. I don't know him. Will she be okay when she's out of the fence?

Slowly, I walk back toward our room, stopping now and then and looking back. Everything's fine. I'm just nervous about this place. Outside the fence, the camp commander's daughters throw Sylvie on the ground, and Rebecca crawls to their feet. The fact that they like to play with her guarantees she stays alive here for at least two more days.

The stairwell is quieter than usual as I climb up to our room, ignoring the woman peeking at me from one of the other apartments. But only as I move the sheet aside and go inside do I feel the cold wave down my back. Charlotte is standing against the wall with her hands above her head, the extinguished cigarette still stuck in her mouth, and a policeman standing in front of her pointing his gun at her, while the other policeman – the one who surveyed Rebecca and me earlier, at the gate – scatters her paintings all over the floor.