The Keeper of the Walls Page 42

  One night, Lily felt compelled to have a talk with her son. ‘I’m worried,” she said, wetting her upper lip and feeling for the right words. “You and Trotti have become ... so attached. And there’s a war on. Who knows where you’ll end up—and where she will. Before you choose a bride, there will be many other Trottis, Nicky. Don’t fall too hard: cushion yourself by withdrawing now, just a little. She’s a compelling girl—a very strong, willful girl, who can turn a boy’s head and make him forget his common sense, his hopes for the future.”

  Brown eyes encountered their match, silent and expressive. “You don’t like her,” he remarked finally.

  “I have no reason not to like her. She comes from a good family, with good values. It’s you I’m worried about. You’re younger than she is. If you let yourself become carried away . . .”

  “You don’t have to be worried, Mama,” he countered gently. “It’s not that way between me and Trotti.” Seeing her relax, he looked thoughtful, then said, “And . . . there’s something else. Ever since I found out about Grandma, I’ve felt . . . differently about religion. I’ve been reading about the Jewish faith . . . and I like it. It makes sense to me. I think, Mama, that when the war ends, I’ll try to learn more about it. Catholicism was always too . . . well, mystical for me. Judaism’s more down-to-earth.”

  Lily nodded, speechless. “Trotti’s a devout Catholic. I don’t think I could be happy with a wife who put such faith into being granted absolution by a priest. She and I have discussed it, many times. To me, priests are just men, and I think that whole ritual is a bit ridiculous. One day, I’ll meet someone who’s going to share more than just a snack by the oceanfront. It isn’t just the bit with the priest . . . it’s all that it tells me about Trotti. She needs someone who’ll understand her ways, and I need . . .”

  Laughing, he shook his head in self-mockery. “I need to finish my homework.”

  That night, Lily lay in bed thinking of her children. How different they were! Nicky had a deep understanding of human nature, but, like all young people, he tended to go to extremes. He soared in his beliefs, in his altruism . . . even in his newly formed religious convictions. She, at eighteen, as sure as she’d felt about her unshakable faith, hadn’t thought to exclude either Mark or Misha as a possible husband, though one had been Protestant and the other, Russian Orthodox. But in Catholicism, as long as one promised to rear the children in the faith, it wasn’t so important that one marry within it. Among Jews, there tended to be more of a community feeling . . . Wolf had called it the sense of “the unbroken chain.” And her son had become imbued with this feeling. In spite of his conditioning, in spite of her own efforts to the contrary—in spite, even, of his father’s ardent anti-Semitism—the essential spirit in his family’s ancestral archetypes had pierced triumphantly through aversion, deception, and even religious education. He had known who and what he was.

  Kira was a different matter. She would love according to her flights of fancy, and according to the call of the flesh. She would never, like Nicky, be able to “cushion her fall.” Even now, at fourteen and a half, she still clung, fiercely, to the memory of Pierre Rublon—and Lily knew that unless Pierre deceived her, broke her illusions, or otherwise forgot her, she would pledge her heart and soul to him. Unless, of course, somebody else came out of the blue yonder to completely captivate her, canceling out each and every previous emotion. Kira was like Misha: vulnerable through the tender parts of her being, parts that so few people even knew existed, seeing only the hard carapace that covered them.

  At least, Lily thought, beginning to drift off to sleep, she wouldn’t have to worry about Nicky and Trotti—or not as much as she’d been doing.

  “Mama,” Nicolas announced. “The time has come to leave. We don’t have a moment to lose. You; you, and Kira; and Raïssa Markovna will leave at six a.m. tomorrow, and I shall make the trip by bicycle. This will mean one less person on the trains, which are packed like sardine cans.”

  It was June 11, 1940. Just last night, they’d heard, in horrified silence, that Italy had declared war on the French and British. For some time now, the Germans had been advancing into France. Some Belgians, and some inhabitants of the Department of the North, had passed through Saint-Aubin in motorcars jammed with people and baggage, with several mattresses heaped one on top of the other, tied with rope to the tops of their cars. Some had found lodgings there and stayed.

  But now they were leaving again. And the citizens of Saint-Aubin, both permanent and seasonal, were also speaking of leaving town, and were preparing their luggage. Even Lily’s landlady had moved to the home of some relatives in Brittany.

  The advance of the German troops had been stopped at the Seine River, where the French were fighting furiously. For several days, the Brasilovs had been hearing bombings over Le Hâvre. And two days before, from 11:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., total obscurity had fallen over the town, so that lamps had had to be turned on. Lily and Kira had gone to the seawall to watch the ship lights and the lighthouse beams, in the middle of the day, as if it had been in the dead of night. They’d thought it had been the battle of Dunkirk that had reached them, invading the entire skyline. But the next morning, they’d learned that the darkness had been caused by the bridges and kerosene vats that the French had set on fire in the city of Rouen, and which had been burning. It was rumored that the flaming oil spreading all over the Seine had made the immense river look as if it had been made of pure fire.

  On the morning of the eleventh, Nicky had gone to school as usual, but having heard that it was imperative to leave now, he’d scooped his sister from her class and run home to warn his mother to pack their bags. He’d waited until the last possible moment—hoping against hope that the Germans would be stopped. His plans for taking the bac later that month had had to be shelved: survival alone mattered.

  The night before, just in case, Lily and Sudarskaya had packed the things they knew they wouldn’t be needing: household pots and kitchen utensils, linens and towels. They’d stuck these crates in the attic, to be left there. For on the ninth, they’d received word from Claire that she had found a small house to rent in Arès, near Bordeaux, on the bay of Arcachon. In spite of the crowds pressing to buy tickets at the Gare d’Austerlitz in Paris, Jacques had found them room on a sleeper.

  Lily had decided that they would go to Arès, and had already sought an exit permit from the city hall, which had to be sent to be registered at the township of La Délivrande, several miles from Saint-Aubin and of which the latter was an administrative dependent. Nicky had gone to La Délivrande in the morning, but had returned empty-handed. So, at noon, Lily went to the city hall, and learned with dismay that as yet, no one had even bothered to send her permit to La Délivrande. And now time was of the essence. In the chaos of wartime travel, one felt a great deal less helpless with an official document on one’s person.

  After a quick lunch, Nicky went to Caen to buy himself a new bicycle saddle and to see how the trains looked and what people were up to. He took the permit with him, hoping to get it registered there. But the mayor of Saint-Aubin hadn’t signed it, and Lily barely had time to reach the city hall before it closed at five.

  She had packed all day, with the help of Kira and Sudarskaya. From the city hall, they made the rounds of the few friends who were left, and said their good-byes. At the Voizons’ house, Madame begged Lily to take her and Trotti and the grandmother with them, as her husband had gone on ahead to Royan, and since they were both going to the same area, she preferred to share the travel with some friends. Lily accepted; she was hardly thrilled at the prospect of traveling with an elderly person, who might complain; but she felt that she had no choice.

  Nicky’s account of what he had seen had been quick and to the point. “The main thing is going to be to leave the Caen train station. It’s like hell down there. Hundreds of families have settled there, waiting for their turn. Most have folding seats, hot plates, and pillows. Some have been stationed there for thre
e days already! Because all the people from the beaches, stretching from Deauville to Courseulles, have gathered at Caen. So you must inch your way to the platform, and under no circumstance stay in place—or you’ll be staying forever! You’ll get on the first train that comes, whatever its destination. It doesn’t matter where you’ll end up: the important thing is to leave Caen. And of course, no trains are going east.”

  Watching her son, Lily’s heart grew heavy. Fifteen, and with full responsibility for his family. As always when her thoughts took her in this direction, she became filled with rancor, remembering that Misha had left without even a word of farewell—or of explanation: leaving his former wife to explain it to Lily. Poor Nicky was so exhausted from his day’s pilgrimage that she sent him, along with his sister, early to bed.

  She and the little Russian piano teacher packed Nicky’s rucksack, the large suitcase that they would bring with them, and many bags. In the suitcase they put clothes and shoes; in a large plaid blanket, two smaller comforters and a change of personal linen for all three women; in one sack, food to eat on the way, in a second one, dry goods, and in a third, cans and cookie tins, as well as cutlery for everyone. In a small bag they put pharmaceutical products, in a paper sack some knitting wool, and finally, in Lily’s enormous purse, legal documents, stationery, and some sewing notions. The two women washed the dishes and cleaned up the pantry, but gave up on sweeping the floors. Too bad: the landlady would have to do it when she came home, and God only knew how many months ahead that would be! They finally tumbled into bed, falling into a dreamless sleep as thick as fog.

  At 4:00 a.m. Lily arose, washed and dressed herself, and went downstairs to prepare Nicky’s breakfast. She awakened him fifteen minutes later, and when he had finished eating, he took his leave of his mother. Holding her to him, he steadied her with his young, virile strength. She started to ask: “When shall we see each other again, and shall we all be safe and sound?” but he placed his index finger over her dry lips, and shook his head. “When Kirotchka and Raïssa Markovna awake, kiss them for me,” he said. “And, Mama: bon voyage to you, too.” He closed up his rucksack, jumped on the saddle of his bicycle, turned to Lily and waved. He had begun his long journey, all alone.

  At five, she awakened Sudarskaya and Kira, fed them, and made the beds. Then they took as much luggage as possible to the railway station. The Voizon women were already there, the old lady more poised and cheerful than her daughter and granddaughter. “You stay here with the ladies,” Lily said to Sudarskaya. “Kira and I have one trip left to fetch the last of our baggage.”

  When they returned, the small local train to the city of Caen was already whistling its imminent departure. Kira and Lily jumped aboard, and found the Voizons and Sudarskaya sitting on their suitcases in the long corridor. But Lily knew that after they reached Caen, real troubles would begin. Nicky had forewarned them.

  But she had not pictured the enormity of the situation. The Caen station was swarming with a crowd of people that took up every square inch of space. Remembering Nicky’s advice, Lily took the lead, pushing herself through the pressed bodies toward the platform. There, a blessed quiet reigned. Few had possessed the audacity to burst forth without waiting for their turn. They found room on a bench, and sat down. “Kira and Trotti can go inside to buy our tickets,” Lily said, handing some bills to her daughter.

  “You’re quite bold, Madame Brasilova,” Madame Voizon remarked, with a smile. “I wouldn’t have dared to come this far, if you hadn’t been with us.”

  Twenty minutes later, Kira and Trotti returned, empty-handed and disheveled. Their cheeks glowed with perspiration. “The hall was full of people. We barely pushed our way to a ticket counter, only to find it closed. The ones next to it were, too. To return here, we both had to shove our elbows into the crowd, not caring whom we hit.”

  Lily shrugged. Turning to Trotti’s mother, she said, sighing: “It doesn’t matter, then. We’ll just have to travel without tickets.”

  “We heard somebody say that a train was half expected, on its way to Laval,” Kira ventured.

  Lily thought about her permit. “Well,” she said, “if we lose this train, we’ll wait for the next one. Maybe if I go to the police station here, I could change our permit for a safe-conduct.”

  But at the police station, a harried employee took a single look at the permit, and exploded. “Lady, what the hell do you think I can do to help you? This bloody paper’s not even been signed by the police station of La Délivrande! There isn’t a thing I can do!”

  She returned to the train station, where she was greeted with the news that there would be no train that day. “I’m going to go back to Saint-Aubin,” she announced wearily. “The local train leaves at eleven, and it’s almost that now. There, if I can find a car, I’ll hire it to take me to Lison; on the way, I’ll stop at La Délivrande and get my permit signed. In Caen, I’ll try to get it exchanged for a safe-conduct, and then I’ll stop here to pick you all up, and we’ll go to Lison in the car. Of course, there are so few cars left that it’s likely I won’t find one; if so, I’ll walk to La Délivrande and take the four p.m. local back to Caen.”

  She went then to the small train that was waiting, almost empty, to return to Saint-Aubin. She felt feverish, but it wasn’t the moment to admit illness. At least she was sitting down. Suddenly Kira appeared in the doorway. “Come quick, Mama!” she cried. “The train to Lison has just arrived, unexpectedly!”

  A train? So much, then, for the safe-conduct. In the chaos that reigned, perhaps there wouldn’t be such great need for it, though the French were notorious sticklers in matters of red tape. Lily gathered up her belongings and followed her daughter out of the small train.

  From the platform, they could observe the train. It consisted of a locomotive and two railway cars. The cars were crammed full of people, and not even a matchstick could have been squeezed in there. A railcar, however, was coming to the back, and it was being hooked on to the second car. Immediately, hundreds of people pushed forward. “There’s Trotti, getting on now,” Kira said. And she edged onward, straining, holding on tightly to her mother’s hand as Lily followed through the crowd.

  They were being propelled with the others toward the train. Just in time, they climbed onto the stepladder, and heard Trotti cry: “Look! Over there!”

  And they saw, on the platform, Sudarskaya immobile by the luggage. “She’ll never be able to get on,” Lily said, her voice suddenly faltering. “And absolutely no one will hand us our bags.”

  “Besides, there’s no room for so many parcels,” Kira added.

  Across many heads, Lily spoke to Florence Voizon. “You all stay; but we have to get off, because we can’t leave her, and these bags are our only possessions.”

  And, seizing Kira’s hand, she painfully stepped down from the step-ladder. She could hear the echo of Florence Voizon’s voice, but not what she was saying. And she was sorry to have lost her company. She’d grown to like Trotti’s mother.

  On the platform, they found the small piano teacher, and went to sit on their bench. They unwrapped some bread and fruit, and started to eat. “If there’s been one train, another may come, too” Lily remarked, trying to infuse hope into their hearts. But she felt discouraged, and tired.

  But all at once, forty-five minutes later, a train did pull in. It was a freight train; but there were two empty compartments, their large doors open. This time, all three women grabbed as many packages as they could, and threw them ahead into the train. Then they hoisted themselves inside. The step into a freight train is placed very high, and so it was difficult to reach it. But a gentleman helped, holding out his hand, and soon they were all three safely inside the car.

  Slowly, with much huffing and puffing, the train started to move. Lily could see the faces around her lose their tight, worried looks. Everyone was happy to have at last left Caen. Then Kira said: “Mama, we’re eighty-eight in here. I’ve just counted.” And they had grabbed the best places
, by the door but not directly in front of it. They had enough air, and were quite comfortably seated on their packages. But if someone pushed them, they would not run the risk of falling out. Feeling privileged, they exchanged small smiles.

  After two hours, the train pulled into Lison, and it was learned that a train bound for the city of Nantes would be leaving at seven the next morning. Lily found out that there were two cafés near the station that had rooms to let, but when she went there, of course all the rooms had already been rented out. And so all three women settled down in the waiting room of the train station, on a bench. Kira went to a grocery store and purchased some fresh food, and then they unwrapped their plaid blanket, took out the comforters, and stretched out, preparing to sleep.

  At eight in the evening, a railcar left for Féligny. Then a train bound for Dol was announced for 9:00 p.m. Several people scrambled to their feet, and they heard hurried footsteps on the platform: many people were hastening to catch this train. Lily stopped a man and asked: “Why is this particular train, bound for a city that’s so close by, suddenly so popular? The one in the morning is going all the way to the west of Brittany!”

  “No, you’ve been misinformed on both counts,” the man replied. “The line which has just formed is for the train due to leave at seven a.m. And it’s only going as far as Dol. It you don’t take it, God knows when another will come.”