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CHAPTER FOUR: AGE SEVEN
It was the beginning of September and I was ready to start grade two. I had a new pencil case, a pencil with an eraser, a new slate, and a new name. On the first day of classes, Godfather walked with Jacques and me to the school. We went by a few dull streets that looked very much like ours. The houses were all soot-covered and it was difficult to tell them apart. They all resembled each other.
We stopped at the railroad tracks, and Godfather warned us about not trying to cross over to the other side when the gate was down because, he said, the trains came pretty fast and if we were hit we would be flattened like a pancake, or ground into minced meat.
After that warning, I looked cautiously in both directions before stepping over the tracks. We continued marching and we passed near a big black mountain of rocks and stones; it was called a slag heap. I had noticed it before in the distance, but I had never been so close. There was something very inviting about it, and I told myself that someday I would climb it right to the top.
Eventually, we arrived at the school. It looked like a sad building and quite different from the one I had gone to when I was in grade one. Instead of bright yellow walls, this one was made of old red bricks that were incrusted with a black dust, just like the houses in the neighbourhood. "It is because we are so near the coal mine," had explained Godfather when I asked him once why everything was covered with soot.
We went to see the director. Godfather introduced us as his god-children and said that our parents were somewhere in North Africa; that was why we did not have any school records. We were asked our names and I gave my new one for the first time. I could feel my heart beating fast when I spelled it out, but when the director wrote it down without any questions, I knew that I'd be pretty safe as long as I did not make any mistakes. He then gave me a book to read aloud. After I finished reading a page, he said that was enough. He just wanted to test my reading skills.
Jacques spelled his name out without any hesitation, but he was not quite as good with his reading. He was put in the same grade as me even though he was a year older.
We were taken to our classroom and given a place at a desk, but not together. I was seated next to a boy with a shaven head. Since we were not allowed to speak until recess, it was only then that I learned that his name was Pierre. All the other boys knew each other from last year, and at first they gathered around Jacques and me and got ready to start a fight with the "newcomers". It did not last long though, because Jacques was a bit of a bully himself and he gave back as much as he received. Then the teacher started yelling at us and after that everyone stopped fighting. I was relieved because I had never fought with anyone, and I was a bit scared. Later that day, Pierre became my friend when I helped him with his dictation.
Our teacher's name was Monsieur Cheval, although he had nothing that would make you think of a horse. He was short and squat and he never stopped smoking. When the cigarette in his mouth went down to a butt, he would use it to light the one that he had resting on his ear. He would then take a new one from a box on his desk and stick it on his ear to replace the one he had just taken. That way he was always sure to have one ready to be lit.
He distributed books, and we were given various assignments throughout the day which made it go very fast. Shortly before the class was to be let out, we were given work to be done at home. That was something new to me, and it was to become a daily occurrence.
I was glad the first day had gone fairly well and I was now looking forward to the next one. I hoped that it would be just like the previous one, without any unpleasant surprises. There had been too many of those for my taste during the past summer months.
After we had left the church with Godfather, we walked for a long time and I felt I was getting deeper and deeper into unknown territory. I didn't think I'd be able to find Bonne-maman's house again, on my own, if I had to. We came to a gray street, with gray houses. We stopped at one that looked just like the one next to it. I saw a curtain move in the window, and then the door was opened by a skinny lady with round thin-rimmed glasses. Her mouth was set in an unsmiling frown when she looked down at us.
"Say hello to your godmother," said Godfather.
"Hello, Godmother," said Jacques and I in unison.
"Come in," she said, "don't just stand there." She gave a worried look up and down the street before closing the door after us. "Lunch is ready, so you children better go and wash your hands and come and sit down. I'll show you where you can wash and where the toilet is, in case you have to go."
We followed her to the rear of the house and she asked us our names. Then she showed us where the sink was. The toilet was next door to it and I was glad to see that it was a real one. There was a chain that you had to pull to flush it and I went to the toilet just so that I could try it out.
When our hands were clean and dry, we were directed to the dining room for the Sunday dinner. Godfather was seated at the head of the table. To his right was a pleasant-looking young woman with rosy cheeks. She smiled at us and said her name was Lucienne. She was Godfather's daughter.
Jacques and I were given our places to sit right across from Lucienne, and her mother sat at the other end. When everyone was seated, Godfather bent his head and closed his eyes. At the same time Lucienne and Godmother did the same and Godfather began to pray aloud. In doubt as to what we should do, Jacques and I looked at each other. Then, as if by common accord, we lowered our eyes like everyone else. When the prayer was finished, everyone said "amen", and then Godmother began to dish out the soup.
I was not very hungry and I nibbled at my bread while watching everyone around me. Godfather would pick up a slice of bread and, after dunking it in his soup, he would put the whole slice in his mouth. I was very impressed by this since to me a slice of bread was a whole meal; to him it was just a bite.
During the meal he explained to his wife and to his daughter what the story was to be about us. "We should be getting their identity cards in a couple of days," he told them, "and, with God's help, everything should go well." Lucienne did not ask any questions or make any comments. She just said that she would go upstairs to shift a few things around. I would have to share the big bed with her, and Jacques would sleep on a cot in the corner of her room.
Godmother did not look convinced. She looked distinctly unhappy about the situation but she remained silent. After lunch, she went to do the dishes in the kitchen with Lucienne, while we stayed in the dining room, not quite knowing what to do in this unfamiliar house. Godfather picked up a book and said he would read us a story from the bible.
"Just like the "talmud"" I said, "but written in French."
"Not quite. It is more than just a translation from the Hebrew Old Testament," said Godfather. "It also contains the New Testament, which tells us all about our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."
I had never heard about any of that before, and I listened with interest to this new story.
Godmother interrupted to say that she had looked into the bag we had brought and that there was very little in there. Since Jacques had not brought anything, we had almost no clothes at all between the two of us. Godfather told her not to worry; it had been better not to draw anyone's attention by carrying too much luggage, but during the week we could go and pick up a few more things. "There won't be anyone there, but their father said that the place would be open. All you have to do is take one of the kids with you and he can show you where it is exactly."
That night it took me a long time to fall asleep. I had not eaten much, the food just did not appeal to me. And it felt strange to be in a room with Jacques. I had not liked him when I first met him, but at least he knew Papa and we could talk, in a low voice so that no one would hear us, about the people with whom we were both familiar.
I had not heard Lucienne coming to bed, but she was there the next morning when I awakened. To see this stranger sleeping next to me added to the fantasy of what had happened, as if it had been a bad dream, but one from which you did not wake up.
For breakfast we had bread and jam, and a big bowl of coffee with some milk. I ate some bits of bread while staring from the corner of my eye at Godfather. Just as he had done in his soup, he would dip a whole slice of bread in his coffee and gobble it up in one large mouthful, like an ogre. It reminded me of Bon-Papa gobbling up his fish head.
After breakfast he left for work, and when Godmother had cleaned up, she took me by the hand and we went to get a streetcar that would take us to my street. I had never been in a streetcar, and I enjoyed sitting near a window and looking down at the pedestrians as we moved along on our metal tracks.
After a while, I started to recognize some familiar landmarks, and we got off at a stop not far from Bonne-maman's house. I knew she would not be home, but I was still excited to go there, and I looked forward to rummage among all my things.
As we came closer, I saw Madame Patrice coming towards us. I started smiling and I was prepared to greet her and to introduce her to Godmother, but she barely looked at me. Instead she looked sharply at Godmother as she went by us and whispered in an urgent voice: "Don't stop! Keep going! They are there!"
Godmother tightened her grip on my hand and, looking straight ahead, she kept walking until we got to the corner where we crossed the street. Just at that moment, a streetcar came to a stop. We climbed on without her saying anything and she paid the conductor. I saw that her face was all white and that her hands were shaking.
I was not sure what was going on, or why Madame Patrice had whispered that we should not stop. I stared out the window as the tram went by Bonne-maman's house, and I saw through the open front door someone in a dark leather coat shuffling through some papers. I only had time for a quick glance, but I noticed that there were also some soldiers in gray uniforms stepping over upturned drawers and smashed lamps. It was only then that I began to be afraid.
We did not speak until we got back to Godfather's house.
"So much for that!" said Godmother in a trembling voice. "We were darn lucky! It was by a sheer fluke that we escaped being arrested! If that woman had not warned us, it would have been the end!"
She repeated the very same words that evening when Godfather came home from work. "We could all be shot!" she added, terrified, staring at her husband. "It was supposed to be safe to go there! Now what? All they have is the clothes on their backs. How are we going to cope? You should start thinking of your own family!"
She sounded scared and upset, even when Godfather reminded her about the money that aunt Rushka had left.
"That's not going to go very far. And it's easy to give promises," she added, "but how do we know she will keep them? And what about the danger to our lives? Haven't you seen the posters around town?"
We children were sent to bed, but we could hear the grown-ups talking downstairs for a long time, and we wondered what all this was going to mean for us.
Next day, Godfather went to work and nothing was mentioned about what had happened the day before. Jacques and I spent the day quietly around the house, trying to think of something to do. I looked at all the objects: vases, photographs, a tobacco container made from a coconut which was supported by three black elephants, a carved ivory tusk that came from Africa, and many more unusual things that made you think of far off adventures.
When Godfather came home, we had supper and then we settled down to what I thought would be an evening with more stories from the Bible. But we were in for surprise. Pastor Barbeza dropped in unexpectedly during the evening. He looked very serious. Godfather invited him in for coffee, but he said he could not stay. He just wanted to deliver a postcard.
"It arrived in the afternoon mail, and it is for you even though it was addressed to the church," he said. "I thought it would be important for you to see it as soon as possible." He then looked down at us as he left, and did his best to give a reassuring smile.
Godfather looked at the signature on the postcard. He seemed surprised. "It's from your father," he said glancing at me, and then he started reading it aloud.
Dear Sir,
I pray to God that you will get this card, I gave whatever was in my wallet to someone, hoping that he will drop it in a mailbox and that it will not go astray.
Just a few words to tell you that I'm boarding a train to an unknown destination. BEWARE of RenČ S. We were at his house for supper, and that "friend" went out to buy a pack of cigarettes. Five minutes later he came back with some gentlemen who put us on the train. I hope you understand, I cannot say more. R.S. does not know your address, but he does know the one from the grand-parents. Do not go back there!
Hoping to see you all some day. Farewell, Arthur.
There was a moment of silence when he finished reading the postcard.
"So that's why they were at the grand-parent's house!" exclaimed Godfather.
"Oh! My God! They were actually looking for them!" said Godmother with a frightened shudder.
"Can I have the card?" I asked, anxious to have something that had actually been written by Papa.
"You can have a look at it," answered Godfather, "but we must burn it right away. It is too dangerous to keep, it might fall into the wrong hands." He explained to me and to Jacques that our parents had been denounced by that so-called friend of his, who was a Judas, and that they had been arrested and sent away somewhere. We would all have to pray for their safety, wherever they might be. He then let me read the postcard.
After I finished reading it, Godfather lit a match and set fire to the card before dropping it in the kitchen stove.
Godmother was still upset. She had seen a poster that warned people about "lost or abandoned children of Jews". They were to be taken to a registration centre, an orphanage that had been set up especially for them. Anyone failing to report to this place for registration was passable of the death penalty. She urged Godfather to think of his own family. "And what about that aunt that was supposed to deliver their identity papers? Not a word from her!"
"She said it would take a few days...."' answered Godfather looking rather shaken himself.
"How do you know she has not been arrested as well? And being tortured somewhere to reveal the whereabouts of the rest of the family? Do you want us to be next?"
"We have to trust in God," he said wavering.
Jacques and I looked on silently from one to the other as our fate was being discussed. I felt more alone than ever now that I knew my father had been arrested, and that his best friend was not to be trusted. I was now totally at the mercy of Godfather who looked scared, in spite of his size, and uncertain as to what he should do.
We went to bed not knowing what was going to happen, but next morning we were told by a very subdued and ill-at-ease Godfather that it was dangerous for everyone if we did not register at that orphanage. He would take us there himself as soon as we finished our breakfast.
He put on his good Sunday clothes, picked up his Bible, and we set off first by streetcar to the station, and then by train to Brussels, the city where one had to be registered. Jacques and I did not speak very much. I looked out the window and tried to imagine where and with whom we would end up. Was I going to be left at that orphanage? Godfather looked pale and unhappy as he sat in a corner reading his Bible.
We arrived in the city and after asking for directions a few times, Godfather eventually found the building where we had to go. We were directed to a large room, on the second floor, that was jam-packed with children of all ages. It was hot and noisy, and some of the younger ones were crying. No one seemed to know what to do, and everyone looked very unhappy.
We made our way through the crowd and came close to a desk that was overflowing with papers. A tired-looking woman was writing in a big book. She raised her eyes and before anything could be said, she told us to sit down and wait our turn.
Godfather sat down on a wooden bench and we stayed very close, not daring to let go of him for an instant. He closed his eyes and and I knew he was praying. Then he opened his Bible and read a few verses which seemed to make up his mind.
"Come on children!" he said as he stood up. "Let's get out of here."
We pushed our way out as fast as we could, and just as we started to go down the stairs a woman holding a little boy grabbed Godfather's sleeve. In a desperate voice, she begged him to take her son with him.
"Please, I don't know who you are, but I have been watching you as you sat there with these two children. With you, I feel there is a hope he'll make it. We have some relatives in America, and after the war they will look for him. But here," she gestured at the the teeming room, "there is not a chance in hell... Please, for God's sake."
Godfather looked at her and the child. After a moment of hesitation he asked: "What's his name?"
"Daniel."
Looking suddenly strong and sure of himself, Godfather nodded his head, took the little boy by the hand, and the three of us left the building and made our way to the station. Daniel cried at first saying he wanted his Mummy, but once she was out of sight he became silent. In the train he quickly fell asleep and did not wake up until we reached Charleroi.
I was so happy that we had not been left at that horrible orphanage that I kept singing to myself the song Papa used to sing.
Tout va trĖs bien, madame la marquise,
Tout va trĖs bien, tout va trĖs bien...
It was late by the time we arrived at what was now home. When we walked into the house, I saw Godmother's mouth open in disbelief. There were now three children instead of two!
"Alright, woman," said Godfather before his wife could utter a word. "Before you say anything I want to make it clear that there will be no more talk about this. I may have faltered in a moment of weakness, but once we got there I prayed and asked God for guidance. The first thing I read when I opened the bible thereafter was "Trust in the Lord and you will be saved". That did it. It was the sign I had been waiting for."
"And what about him?" she pointed at Daniel who had been staring at this new stranger.
"God will protect us. His name is Daniel, and did Daniel not get saved from the lion's den and the fiery furnace because he put his trust in the Lord?"
That was the end of the discussion.
A few days later, after the Sunday service at the church, Pastor Barbeza handed an envelope to Godfather as we were leaving. When we got home, he opened it and found identity papers for us children, as well as some ration cards which would permit us to obtain some extra food at the grocery store. It had been delivered that very same week.
When we had first started to settle in after our return from Brussels, we had stayed in the house most of the time. There was a small garden with a pear tree in the back and we were allowed to play there, but not to go out in the street. Only after we had received our identity papers did Godmother allow us to step outside. We would accompany her to the grocery store, or to the bakery, and she introduced us as her god-children to the neighbours and the store keepers. Occasionally, she even sent us to the store on our own to buy something that she needed to prepare the meals.
Daniel was the youngest and he received a lot of attention. Jacques and I were left on our own to find something to do, which was not easy in the beginning. There were no toys, or games, or books except for the bible. We found out that most of the things we had been used to do were considered to be sinful. Such as playing cards, or going to the cinema, or listening to music.
There was no phonograph, but there was a piano which Lucienne played. I enjoyed listening to her. Her father was not pleased when she played anything other than church hymns, but when he was not at home she would sometimes sit down and play some other songs, or a piece she liked by Schumann.
I had brought some of my old comic books, but when I showed Godfather a notice in the last issue that encouraged the readers to inform the authorities if they knew of any Jews, he became angry and saw that as proof that it was sinful reading. They were immediately thrown out. I was a little bit upset, but not too much because I wanted to do anything to please him.
I learned to pray and to say amen like everyone else. On Sundays we attended the service at the Church, and we met some other children during Sunday School. It was fun there, because there always was someone there to read us a story. We could also borrow some books with lots of pictures, as long as we brought them back on the following week. Those books were not considered to be sinful, and there was always in them a moral to be learned. At home, Godfather would read us some beautiful tales from the Bible. One of my favourites was Noah and the Ark. I also learned all about Jesus, and many other people with strange and fascinating names, like Jeremiah, or Nebuchadnezzar.
I was glad when the time arrived to go back to school, because it meant that I was not going to be sent anywhere else. There had been no more talk of registering at an orphanage, or of any other upset or catastrophe. I kept hoping that I would get another postcard from my father, and every night I prayed very hard for God to keep him safe, as Godfather had taught me to do.
I liked going to school. Every morning after breakfast I would take my satchel, check that I had not forgotten my homework, and Jacques and I would set off on our own. Sometimes we had a fight, and because he was bigger than me I was always a bit fearful of him. But I would threaten not to help him with his homework, and that was sufficient to keep him in line. For the most part, we tolerated each other, and he would even come to my defense in the school yard if I was bullied by some of the bigger boys.
At recess we played soldier, or talked about the war. Someone said that he heard over the radio that Canadian troops had staged a landing on the French coast, in a place called Dieppe. Everyone got excited but it turned out that the Germans had beaten them back. They were invincible.
When the autumn leaves began to turn yellow and fall down from the trees in the schoolyard, Monsieur Cheval gathered bagfulls of them and hung them to dry all over the classroom. They looked like colourful laundry drying on strings that crisscrossed the ceiling. When they began to dry and turn brown, he would give us some assignment to work on, while he picked the dry leaves and crumpled them up to make his tobacco. He would then roll his supply of cigarettes for the week.
On the way home there was always some rough stuff among the boys. If you ended up tumbling on the ground, your clothes always got dirty or ripped, and Godmother would become angry at that. A few times we had to stop at the railroad tracks because the gate was down and the lights were flashing, which meant that a train was approaching. It usually consisted of innumerable wagons loaded with coal that rumbled on for a long time before the gate went up again. The ground shook and the noise was overpowering when the locomotive thundered by, spewing smoke like a gigantic unleashed dragon.
I had often a nightmare that included such a locomotive. It would be chasing me along the tracks, coming closer and closer, while I found myself unable to move, as if my feet were stuck in molasses. I was completely terrified, and just as I was about to be crushed by the steel monster, I'd wake up in a sweat, my heart pounding wildly away.
Sometimes I thought about Bonne-maman. I missed her. And when Godfather told us a story about one of the prophets, I always saw in my mind a picture of Bon-papa wrapped in his praying shawl. I told Godfather about the time I danced around the table with the other men while holding a torah, and he had a good laugh. He called it a pagan rite. I asked him what pagan meant, and he explained that it was the sort of thing that primitive savages did in the jungle in Africa because they did not know any better. They needed to receive the word of Jesus Christ to become civilized. They believed in magic and in statues, instead of Our Lord.
He showed me a black wood sculpture that he had brought back from the Congo, and I instantly fell in love with it. It had been carved by his "boy" who always called him "Bwana" and who remembered his father eating human flesh. That story made the statue all the more bewitching to me.
And then I discovered Christmas. For weeks before, we had been practicing for a pageant at Sunday School. I was to be a Wise Man, and my face would be blackened with a burnt cork. I liked disguises and having to be someone else: it felt safe to be unrecognizable.
I had memorized the lines that I would have to recite, and I was all ready for the big day, although I was not sure exactly what else was supposed to happen besides appearing on a stage and facing the whole congregation. On the day before Christmas, we all had our bath, just as we did every Saturday night. Godmother would heat kettles of water on the stove and empty them in a big wooden tub which had been brought in the middle of the kitchen. Then Daniel would have his bath first since he was the youngest. I would be next, and then Jacques. Then it would be Godfather's turn, at which point we children would be sent up to bed. It always felt good to be clean. For a while, you did not have the impression of being covered by the gray and black dust that seemed to be everywhere.
The next morning, I had a surprise waiting for me downstairs; this time, a pleasant surprise. A little fir-tree had been set up in the dining room, and there were candies, cookies and glass balls of all colours dangling from it. There were also candles in small candle holders attached to the branches and a big silver star right at the top. When the candles had been lit the previous evening, I was sure that it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But this morning, something had been added. There were three mysterious packages lying under the tree. A bright red ribbon was tied around their multi-coloured wrappings. They were presents, we were told, for each one of us, from Saint Nicholas.
"Come on, don't be shy, open it!" said Lucienne as she watched us holding the enticing parcels, unwilling to disturb this unexpected gift, for fear that it might vanish.
I finally dared to undo the bow and to start unwrapping the paper. When I saw what was inside, I was completely ecstatic: a colouring book and a box of crayons! We all had received similar gifts, and pretty soon we were spread out on the floor with our crayons, comparing the colours and deciding how to best fill in our respective black and white images. Pretty soon, I started to draw my own pictures on any paper that I could find around the house, until it was time to get dressed in our good clothes and to set off for the temple for the Christmas performance.
It was a very exciting day. Everyone applauded after we had finished our presentation on the stage. There was a lot of singing, and all the children received small presents, pictures, or books with bible stories, but I could not wait to get back to my own crayons.
There was a special dinner that day, and for dessert Godmother opened a can of pineapple which, she said, was still from before the war. She had kept it for an occasion such as this, and it was the last can in her cupboard. It was shared by the whole family, and I savoured for a long time the half a slice which I received, eating it slowly and making it last as long as possible.
The wonderful Christmas holidays were almost over, but there was another pleasant surprise: snow! I had never seen snow before, and I woke up one morning to the magic sight of big white flakes coming down from the sky. When you caught one on your hand, you could see a little star before it started to melt. It was like millions of stars coming down and covering everything. Instead of a drab gray, the streets, the houses, and even the slag heap were now a sharp contrast of black and white.
The only problem to spoil the event was that in no time at all our shoes and socks were completely soaked. Godfather had repaired our shoes when the soles had worn down. He had an old tire in the basement, and I had watched him using a frighteningly sharp instrument to cut out the shape of a sole to the right size. He had then turned the shoe over, put it on an anvil shaped to receive it, and nailed the sole to it with a hammer. It had lasted well until now, but our feet had grown, and it was getting tighter and tighter to put the shoes on, particularly when they were wet.
Our socks were also getting worn out. Godmother had a wooden egg with which she used to darn the holes. She would put the egg in the sock so that the hole was stretched over it. Then she would weave back and forth a thick woolen thread that was attached to a needle, until the hole was completely covered. But there were now more repairs over the repairs and she complained that it was getting impossible to fix. It was decided that we needed desperately a few new things to put on our feet, and so, one morning, we all went to the market.
I had not been there since the time that I had been living with Bonne-maman. We had been there quite often and I was certain that I would recognize some of the people, but I was disappointed. I did not encounter a single face that I knew. Where could they all be? Had they also been arrested or gone into hiding? It was as if all the people that I remembered had existed solely in my imagination. The only thing that remained the same was the noise and the haggling. There were a lot of stands with old things for sale, but I did not see much food, and no chickens at all.
After wandering for awhile through the crowded market-place, we ended up trying out wooden shoes for size until we each had found a pair that fitted. Godfather paid for them, and after purchasing a few pairs of socks at another stall, we went home eager to try out our new footwear.
Before we could actually use them, a leather strap had to be nailed across the top, so that your foot would not slip out when you walked. When that was done, we were shown how to stuff in some straw, to keep your feet warm when it was cold outside. It took some getting used to, but when school started, we clumped proudly to the classroom thinking that we would be the only ones with such distinguishable shoes.
Far from it! Almost everyone in the class wore the same, and since they inevitably ended up getting wet by the time we got there, we had to take them off and put them near the stove so they would be dry by the time we were ready to go home. Since they all looked about the same, it would have been impossible to sort out which belonged to whom had we not written down our name on the inside of each shoe. The stove was in the middle of the classroom, and Monsieur Cheval had to keep it going by shoveling in some coal every so often. It was the only way to heat the classroom and we envied the boys who had been lucky to get a desk near the centre.
There was a lot of excitement on the first day back, and Monsieur Cheval had to shout a lot to keep us quiet. The director came to the class to tell us that it was dangerous to put a stone in a snowball. Someone could get blinded, and anyone getting caught doing such a thing would be immediately expelled.
At recess we tried to make a snowman by rolling a big ball of snow, but we did not have enough time to finish it. After school we had a lot of fun throwing snowballs at each other. By the time we got home, we were cold, wet, and happy.
The grown-ups complained that there was more snow and that it stayed longer than anyone could remember, but we children did not mind, even though at times it became uncomfortably chilly and damp when we ran out of coal. We just had to add a few more layers of clothes. Eventually, it started to get warmer. A pale sun broke through the haze that hovered permanently overhead. The snow melted and everything turned back to its normal grayness. One day in February, someone came in at school with big news. The Germans had taken quite a beating on the Eastern Front in a place called Stalingrad. No one was supposed to know about it, since it was illegal to listen to the radio -- except for the local news which always spoke of German victories or of football scores. We did not even have a radio at home, but one of the children in my class had an uncle who listened to the BBC, a program that came all the way from England. We thought at first that it was impossible and that he was just boasting, but he swore that he had not made it up. He had heard it himself when he went to his uncle's house.
So! The Germans were not invincible after all!
Spring was not far away. The leaves started opening on the trees, we could stop putting straw in our shoes, and we looked forward to play outside whenever we could. Beside the weather, there was another interesting change: we started to have air-raid alerts. A siren would start screaming, and it was the signal for everyone to go down to the basement. Godfather said that it would be dangerous to be trapped inside if ever there was a bombardment here, and the next day he took a big shovel and started to dig a shelter in the back of the garden. He had been a soldier during the First World War and that is where he had learned to dig trenches. He scooped out a big hole and made some steps to make it easy to go down into it. The hole was then covered with some wooden boards and an old sheet of corrugated metal. Finally, he shoveled earth on top of the whole thing, and we had not only a shelter but also a secret house where we could go and play, even when there was no air raid.
Occasionally, we would hear from far away the deep droning sound of airplanes way up in the sky. It looked like there were hundreds of them. We knew that they were American squadrons of B-29 bombers on their way to Germany. They looked like tiny toys, and you could barely see them as they flew overhead while little puffs of smoke appeared all around them. Those were the German anti-aircraft guns shooting at them, but they were so high that they just couldn't be hit. If we happened to be at school during an alert, Monsieur Cheval had to interrupt the class and we all had to get under the desk until the all-clear signal was given.
Like everyone else in my class, I knew how to distinguish between the Americans and the British. The Americans always came in large numbers and flew very high, while the British would suddenly appear out of nowhere, flying so low that you could see the pilot in the cockpit. A Spitfire flew by one day with a couple of other planes. They dropped some bombs and we could see that the target they were aiming for had been hit because there was a big explosion. A "dog fight" ensued and one of the German planes was shot down. The pilot jumped out and I watched, mesmerized, as his parachute opened. It had been me in that Spitfire, swerving and making loops, and shooting up the enemy. Suddenly I was hit, and my arm was almost pulled out of its socket.
"Are you crazy?" screamed Godmother as she hit me again. "Do you want to be killed? Get into the shelter immediately and stay there until the all-clear signal!"
I went down into the shelter, smiling. I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up: a fighter pilot, so I could be way up there in the sky, like a bird, plunging down with all my guns blazing. I also knew that Godmother liked me: she had been worried enough about my safety to hit me.
The Easter holidays arrived, and I learned all about the crucifixion of Jesus after he was denounced to the Romans by Judas. I also learned about His Resurrection, and about eternal life after death, unless you were such a sinner that you went straight to Hell for eternity.
Godmother said that there should have been a nice dinner for Easter, but that it was getting harder to manage because food was getting more and more rationed. We used to go with her to the store to help carry what she bought, but there was no need for it any longer since there was so little that one could get. She could carry it it all by herself, and sometimes she sent one of us on our own to pick up a few things.
There was a field not too far from the house that could be used for growing your own food. Jacques and I went one day with Godfather to help him plant potatoes. He turned over the soil with his shovel, and then Jacques went ahead with a stick to make a hole in the ground, while I followed behind him with some potatoes which I dropped into the hole he had made. We would go back to that field every week to do some weeding, and Godfather explained that, God willing, there would be plenty of potatoes to eat next winter. I was very proud to have helped planting that food, and I was delighted a few weeks later when I saw the first shoots popping out of the ground.
The school year came to an end. We received our report cards, handed back our reading books, and, when the bell rang, everyone rushed out shrieking madly with joy, even those who had failed and who would have to do the year over again, for this marked the beginning of our long summer vacation.