Shattered Crystals - Mia Amalia Kanner (that summer book TXT) 📗
- Author: Mia Amalia Kanner
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I had looked forward to Shabbos services at the rabbi’s shul, to the comfort of familiar prayers. We stayed away, however, because the police could be watching for anyone unfamiliar going in and out.
Each day seemed colder and shorter than the last. Night came earlier and earlier. Walking along the darkening streets, I watched the lights come on in the houses we passed. “People live in these homes, Sal, but we have no place. We are chased like the mongrel dog that nobody wants.”
I paused in front of a lit-up basement apartment. The windows were uncurtained, and I thought the inhabitant of that little room must be very poor. The only furniture I could see was an uncovered wooden table. On it stood a lamp without a shade, the bare bulb casting a harsh white light. In all my life I had never felt as envious of anyone as I did of that French woman who was too poor to afford curtains.
“Look, Sal, look,” I said. “Those people have a home, a bed to sleep in, the same bed every night. If only we had a little, little place where we could stay.”
We came to a rooming house. Someone we recognized from one of the cafes entered the building. “I think that place must be safe,” Sal said. “Come on.”
Sal showed the concierge the identification card Levy had given him. “Please, a room for me and my wife,” he said. “Just for one night.”
The concierge adjusted his glasses. A stubble of hair covered his cheeks and chin. “Two francs, Monsieur, the same as I’ve always charged,” he said. “But you must agree to leave by six o’clock tomorrow morning. Just use the back staircase. No, don’t bother to sign the register. You will be gone when the police come to check it.”
The room was clean. The floorboards were painted gray, and the dresser was scratched. The curtain was torn, but a wooden shutter covered the window. I was completely indifferent to the shabbiness of the room. We had a whole night of privacy to look forward to. How fine to sleep on a soft mattress, how pleasant the soft blanket covering me.
Pounding woke me. Quickly, I looked at my watch and made out the time—four o’clock. “Sal, the police,” I whispered. “Knocking outside. Don’t you hear it? Boom, boom! Boom, boom!”
We dressed hurriedly. Sal opened the door of our room and listened. Then he grabbed our musette, and we ran silently down the back staircase. The street was dead and deserted. We slipped into a doorway across from the boarding house and looked up at the window of our room. The wind was blowing the shutter of the window against its frame. Boom, boom! Boom, boom!
We huddled in the doorway until it was light. When people appeared on the street, we started to walk and continued until we came to a bistro that was on Rabbi Deutsch’s list. We ordered some rolls and coffee and accepted the substitute. Like everyone else, we continued to say coffee without meaning it. What counted now was that the drink was hot. I picked up the roll and put it down. I was too upset to eat. We lingered as long as it was safe and rose. Before leaving, Sal handed me the roll. I hid it in my coat pocket.
We went outside into the cold and walked. Living in the forest, I had imagined it would be better in Limoges, but the city had turned out to be more dangerous. All I had wanted was to be secure for one whole night. Now I saw there was no safe place for us. Walking past a shoe repair shop, a pharmacy, another bistro, I tried to work out a way to get through the winter, but it was hopeless. I could find no answer.
We came to a store Nazis were using as a recruiting center. A poster in the window said, “Enroll now for work in Germany. Sign up for high pay.”
It would be a mindless routine. I could work from one day to the next—work, eat, sleep, work.
“That’s it, Sal. I’m going to sign up.”
“What! Go back to Germany?”
“Why not? They want people to work in their factories,” I said. “I’ve cooked. I’ve cleaned. I can do anything now. With the papers I have now, I shall pass.”
Sal stared at me. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Certainly I do. In Germany, I shall speak only French. I shall be Amelie Kaville from Loudeac.”
“Mia, those papers get you past a French policeman only if he gives them a quick glance. That’s all. Even the people at Chateau Ponponiere thought they looked phony. What makes you think the Germans won’t spot them as forgeries?”
“They’re too anxious for workers to notice,” I said. “I’m tired of wandering around this city when I know I may be arrested at any moment. I’m afraid all the time. I don’t trust anyone. I start each day without knowing where I will spend the night. I can’t continue like this. I am going in there.”
“My God, Mia, have you taken leave of your senses? Don’t you see that picture of Hitler inside?” He was steering me away from the recruiting store. “You’re still upset because we had to run out of the room in the middle of the night. This is the worst time we’ve had, but we can’t give up. We’ll get through this.”
That afternoon, we agreed that we could not remain in Limoges any longer and decided to return to Le Couret. Just a few days ago, a Jewish man had pointed out that the number of arrests was dwindling. We knew that the village of La Jonchere had only a small police force of local men. They had grown up on nearby farms and were not very sophisticated. They would have forgotten about us by now.
We went to Levy and told him what we intended to do. “The OSE children’s home is deep in the country and is probably as safe as any place else,” he agreed. “It can be no worse for you than Limoges is now.”
We went to say goodbye to Gita. Simon was away, so we spent our last night at her house. We had a long, leisurely hot meal. Then came the wonderful luxury of a warm bath. Best of all, Gita led me to a clean bed. Suddenly, there was no Hitler. There was no war. I slept.
The next morning, we began our walk back to Le Couret. A farmer returning from market stopped and offered us a lift. We saw no reason not to accept and rode with him for five miles. We had been prepared to sleep outdoors for one night, but it was not necessary. Two other men offered to take us short distances, and we managed to complete the entire journey in one day.
We returned to Le Couret early in November. A few days later, on November 11, 1942, Hitler’s armies advanced into the Unoccupied Zone, and the Nazis seized control of all of France.
“A rat raced across the six-by-four-foot cell.”
As always when I arrived at an OSE home, I began work in the Le Couret kitchen almost at once. We came back late at night, slept in a room in the main house, and rose early to cook breakfast. It was as if we had never left. The only difference was that so many children were gone. They had been arrested in the August, 1942 roundup.
Madame Krakowski listed the names of those who had been saved by the Underground, but they were not many. “The raid was totally unexpected. They came in the middle of the night with their guns. They had a list with names. More than forty children were taken from us. Can you imagine so many, and so young? Some were not even ten years old. Those children were in my care and I could do nothing.” The directress stared into the distance. “I don’t know where they have been taken, but it can not go well.”
We sat in silence until she rose and said, “We must see to the children who still remain in our care.”
The calm lasted one month. The police came for Sal and me in January 1943. When it happened, I did not feel anything. The two officers came round the back of the house and found us both in the kitchen. They accompanied us to our summer house and stood by quietly while we packed a blanket and a change of clothing. They watched but did not rush us. The entire procedure was calm and orderly.
When we stepped outside, one of the policemen asked, “Do you have your ration cards?”
“No, the directress, Madame Krakowski, has them,” I said.
“Go back and get them, Madame,” he said. “We’ll be waiting for you on the road to La Jonchere.”
I walked back to the chateau and found Madame Krakowski sitting in her office. She rose quickly and took my hand. “What happened, my dear?”
“They sent me back to get our ration cards,” I said. “Can I have them, please?”
Madame Krakowski shook her head. “They don’t want your ration cards,” she said.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Don’t you see? The police are giving you a way out. They just want your husband.”
“That’s not what they told me,” I said.
“It is exactly like it was when they came looking for you this summer. It is what happened when they didn’t find you in the summer house in October. The police will report they found only Sal. It gives us a chance. We will hide you again.”
“No, I am going,” I said. “Give me the cards, Madame.”
“What is the matter with you? They will take you to a concentration camp!”
“I’m tired of being separated from my husband. For three months after Paris fell, I had no idea if he was even alive. I won’t go through that again. This time, I’m going with him.”
“You are mad, out of your mind to throw away this chance,” Madame Krakowski said.
“Give me the cards,” I said again.
“Think,” she pleaded.
I knew she meant well, but there was nothing for me to think about. My place was with my husband, wherever that would be. “I thank you, Madame, but I have decided. I am going with my husband.”
Wearily, she reached into the drawer and pulled out the ration cards. I took them and hurried down the path. The policeman had said they would wait on the road to La Jonchere. They were not at the junction. I looked in the direction of the village. The three men were already walking along the main road. I had to run to catch up with them.
Now Sal and I were in the middle between two armed policemen. I was tense but remained alert. Where were they taking us? That was the main question in my mind.
It took an hour to reach the prison in La Jonchere. We were led down a musty flight of stone steps. At the bottom was a heavy wooden door. Then Sal and I were inside the cell. There was the heavy clank of metal, and we were locked in.
The place appeared to have been built during the middle ages. The only word for it was dungeon. During the first minutes, a sliver of daylight filtered through the single small window, twenty feet above the floor. The six-by-four cell was empty except for a stone bench against the wall.
A rat raced across the floor. The cell was cold and dank. Water trickled down the old, stone walls. Sal and I sat huddled
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