A Coming Evil (2 page)

Three Germans came into their coach.

"Papers," one demanded, speaking French after all.

One of the others started looking through their luggage. The third man said and did nothing. Apparently his job was simply to stand there and look menacing.

"What are all these books?" the second soldier asked.

"School books," Papa explained. "My daughter is going to be spending some months at my sister's farm, outside of Sibourne"—he winced as the man held up
Lisette's mathematics book by the covers and shook it with the pages hanging down—"That's arithmetic, history there on the floor, grammar still in the bag."

The soldier gave him an ill-tempered look, as though suspecting he was somehow being made fun of. He poked at Lisette's clothing, including her spare brassiere, which was lying on top of her panties. She felt her cheeks go red.

"Sibourne is on the border of the unoccupied zone," said the one who was holding their identification papers and travel permits. He sounded convinced that they were going to try something illegal. "What's this sister's name?" he asked. "
You!
"

Lisette jumped, realizing he was addressing her.

"You answer."

"Josephine LePage," Lisette said.

"And how old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"Birthday?"

Lisette squirmed. "Today. September first."

He was checking to make sure her answers matched those on her papers. Then he smiled, which did nothing to make him look friendlier. "Happy birthday," he told her.

She didn't have any answer for that.

He handed the papers back to her father and turned to the other family.

The other father handed over their papers.

The soldier didn't ask them any questions.
"
Juden,
" he said to his compatriots. Then, to the family, "You will come with us."

"We have done nothing," the grandfather said. It was the first time Lisette heard him say anything. The voice was low and firm and had a slight accent.

The soldier folded the family's identification papers away into his own pocket. "It will be easiest for everyone if you come along quietly," he said. He took the arm of the younger of the two girls and pulled her up.

The girl looked from the soldier to her mother as though trying to decide whether to be frightened. The mother swept to her feet, bringing the older girl with her. More slowly, the father and the grandfather stood. Two of the German soldiers marched them out. The last, the one who had looked through their suitcases, stayed only long enough to open the window and toss the family's luggage out onto the platform.

Now that Lisette looked, she could see other piles of suitcases under other windows. There was a whole group of people, maybe two dozen, standing in a huddle surrounded by German soldiers. The family from their coach was brought there, too, then a single young man from another car. Jews, she realized.
Juden
meant Jews. Everybody knew the Germans didn't like Jews.

One of the soldiers must have given a signal, for the train blew its whistle and a few seconds later jerked into motion.

Papa leaned over her to pull the window shut. By
the time he sat back down, the train had moved beyond the station, leaving the platform behind. He put his arm around her, and it was only from his holding her that she realized she was shaking.

"What are they going to do to them?" she asked.

"Put them into work camps," Papa said. "They'll be all right."

"They weren't doing anything wrong. They weren't hurting anyone."

"I know," he said. And again he assured her, "They'll be all right."

But it took a long time for her shaking to stop.

Uncle Raymond was with the Free French Army somewhere in England or the unoccupied south—at least that's what everyone hoped, for he had not been heard from since May—so Aunt Josephine had arranged for Lisette and her father to be picked up at the train station in Bordeaux by a neighbor. The man introduced himself as Maurice—Lisette wasn't sure if it was his first name or his last—and he was driving a horse-drawn cart. Maurice looked to be at least a hundred years old, but his horse looked even older. This turned out to be a lucky thing, for the cart seat was wooden and unpadded and if they'd been going any faster, the ride would have felt even more like a spanking.

They drove past miles of fields, though most of the fruits and vegetables were being sent to Germany. The countryside was very hilly, and by the time they pulled up the long driveway, full of weeds and holes, Lisette had decided that it was riding in the cart that had made Maurice look so old.

Maurice had a bicycle horn mounted on the seat next to him and he started honking at the foot of the driveway and kept it up until they reached the top, up behind the house.

Aunt Josephine came running out to hug Lisette and her father both. "Oh, Lisette, you've grown so tall since last summer," she said as Lisette climbed stiffly down. "And you won't believe how grown-up Cecile is since the last time you saw her. She's been so eager to have you here. She's been asking about you all day."

That was exactly what Lisette had been dreading, but she smiled politely.

"Maurice," Aunt Josephine called, "come in the house. I still have enough coffee to make us each a cup."

"I'll just stay here and read the paper," Maurice said. But he took out his pocket watch as a reminder to Papa that he only had a few minutes before they'd have to go back to the station so Papa could catch the return train to Paris.

As soon as Lisette crossed the threshold, ten-year-old Cecile threw her arms around her and practically knocked her over. "Lisette! Lisette! Come and read to me," Cecile began chanting.

"Cecile," Aunt Josephine said, "say hello to Uncle Arnaud."

"Hello, Uncle Arnaud," Cecile said, never glancing at Papa but tugging on Lisette's sweater, pulling it all out of shape. "Lisette, come and read to me."

"Give her a chance to put her things away," Aunt Josephine said. "She'll have days and days to play with you later."

Lisette tried not to sigh. The handle of her suitcase hurt her hand, so she put the bag down. "Where will I be staying?" she asked. She had been to the farmhouse only once before; usually, she and her parents visited Aunt Josephine and Uncle Raymond at their apartment in Nice. But Nice was in the unoccupied zone, and people weren't allowed to cross the border. Still, she remembered that there were a lot of rooms here, and she hoped to get whichever one was at the farthest end of the house from Cecile's.

But, "With me!" Cecile squealed. "You'll be with me!"

Lisette assumed that was just wishful thinking on her cousin's part, but Aunt Josephine was nodding. "Yes, you'll be sharing Cecile's room. Won't that be a special treat?"

Lisette looked to her father for help. He knew how irritating Cecile could be; surely he would defend her.

But before Papa could say anything, a little girl of about three peeked around the corner from the kitchen. Her eyes were so dark, they were almost
black, and she wore tiny little earrings. As soon as she saw Lisette and her father, she ducked away.

"It's all right," Aunt Josephine called after her. "We're coming in."

"Who was that?" Papa asked.

"I'm not sure," Aunt Josephine admitted. "One of the twins, Emma or Anne."

Which didn't clarify matters one bit.

"Emma," Cecile said. "Anne spilled milk on her dress this morning and now she smells awful, like throw-up. Come up to my room, Lisette."

Aunt Josephine said, "Let's go in the kitchen first and meet the others."

"Others?" Lisette said.

"Others?" Papa said.

In the kitchen there were five children. The one Lisette noticed first was a boy who looked no more than five, who had a gas mask pushed up on top of his head like an ugly, lopsided hat. At the moment he was busy trying to fit himself into one of the cupboards. He had already pushed several of the pots and pans out onto the floor, and now he kicked aside a colander.

"Etienne, stop that," Aunt Josephine said.

The boy took her command to mean nothing else should be removed, so he climbed into the cupboard over the remaining pots and pulled the door shut behind him.

The girl Lisette had seen earlier was sitting on the floor with another girl, who looked just like her but
who did, indeed, smell awful. Both girls had pot lids on their heads.

"You know how you can tell Anne from Emma?" Cecile announced. "Anne cries if you make this face at her." Cecile rolled her eyes up so that only the whites showed, then pulled down on the skin beneath her eyes and stuck her tongue out.

One of the girls began to howl.

"Cecile!" Aunt Josephine said.

Cecile talked over Anne's noise. "And that's Louis Jerome, holding his sister, Rachel."

Louis Jerome looked seven or eight years old. He was holding what Lisette had taken for a baby doll, but as Anne continued to howl like an air raid siren, the baby woke up and began to scream also.
Wonderful,
Lisette thought. The one advantage she'd seen to leaving Paris was that there would be no babies. Now here there were five of them. Plus Cecile. Emma, the twin who wasn't yelling, started banging pots together and Etienne opened his cupboard to shout, "Quiet! Quiet! Too much noise!" He slammed the door shut then reopened it immediately to shout again for quiet. Then once more he slammed it shut. Open, shout, slam. Open, shout, slam.

Aunt Josephine clapped her hands, the way Lisette's teachers sometimes did to get everyone's attention. Lisette's teachers, however, never had a group like this.

It was Papa who took charge. He picked up baby
Rachel from Louis Jerome and began bouncing her. With his free hand, he took the pots away from Emma. The next time Etienne opened his cupboard, Papa wedged his foot in the door. "That's enough," he said. "Come out of there at once." Then he told Anne, "She's stopped making faces, now you can stop crying." It didn't work right away, but eventually, all five children were quiet once again.

Then Papa turned to Aunt Josephine. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded of her.

Aunt Josephine put on the same stubborn look Cecile usually wore. She was the youngest of the Beaucaire family siblings and was used to getting her own way. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"These children are all Jewish, aren't they?" Papa asked.

"Nonsense," Aunt Josephine said. "Anne and Emma are Gypsies, not Jews. And they're
all
the children of various friends."

Papa's voice was almost a whisper. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

Aunt Josephine shrugged. "Louis Jerome, come take your sister."

Papa handed the baby to the young boy.

Cecile said to Lisette, "Will you read to me now? Or should I read to you?"

Aunt Josephine swept out of the kitchen. Papa followed her and so did Cecile, with Lisette hurrying to catch up. Lisette wasn't going to remain behind with
all these children, even if she had to be with Cecile to get away from them.

"If the Germans find out—" Papa started.

Aunt Josephine interrupted, "Yes, I know. If the Germans find out. We've become afraid to do anything for fear the Germans will find out. Don't let the French fleet join the British or the Germans will occupy all of France instead of just the north. Don't fight back or the prisoners of war will be executed. Complain and your neighbors might suffer for it. I've seen enough of German tactics to understand."

"Josephine!" Papa said in exasperation.

"Arnaud!" she answered, sounding just as put out.

He shook his head.

Aunt Josephine said, "The Germans won't examine every single household. Arnaud, nobody knows about them, not even Maurice. Here they'll have food, and they'll stay out of the work camps."

Papa looked at Lisette.

"And it will be safer for her, too," Aunt Josephine said. "Between the German execution squads and the English bombing us while they're trying to hit the Germans, we'll be lucky if Paris is still standing by the end of all this."

Papa gave her one of his not-in-front-of-Lisette looks.

"It's up to you," Aunt Josephine said. "Leave her here or take her back to Paris, but I won't send the others away."

"How can you take care of all those children?" Papa demanded, just as Lisette began to wonder which had come first: her parents asking Aunt Josephine to take her, or Aunt Josephine offering.

But Aunt Josephine didn't mention her. She only said, "They're not that much trouble. And Cecile is a big help. She loves babies."

Eventually, after Maurice had begun honking the horn, Papa finally agreed. He kissed Lisette good-bye, told her to help Aunt Josephine with the children, and whispered into her ear not to let Cecile make her crazy. "Be careful," he told everyone. And then he was gone.

Cecile tugged on Lisette's sweater. "Do you want to put your things in my room?" she asked. "Then you can read to me."

Lisette wanted to be alone, to try to get rid of the empty feeling inside. But she followed Cecile up the stairs and down the hall. "Are those two little girls really Gypsies?" she asked.

Cecile nodded.

Lisette had never met any Gypsies. Once, on the way to school, she'd seen a wagon stopped under a bridge. Two Gypsy women wearing a multitude of long, bright-colored skirts were arguing with the police, who were trying to stop them from doing their laundry right there on the banks of the Seine in the middle of Paris. The women were yelling and waving their soapy hands and only occasionally using French.
That was the only time Lisette had ever seen Gypsies; all she'd ever heard of them was that they were dirty—which clearly wasn't true even if they didn't pick the best location to wash—and that Gypsy women told fortunes and Gypsy children begged. Obviously the twins she'd just seen were too young to do either.

In her room, Cecile opened the armoire and indicated the last two inches of the rod. "Maman made me clean out one whole drawer for you." She must have had seventeen others. But she said, "It was hard. I had to move my ballet outfits in with my party dresses. Don't I have a lot of nice clothes? Maman wouldn't let me wear my nicest things last time we went to visit your family. She said what's the use, since they'll only get cat hair on them. Do you still have your cat?"