The Orphan's Tale(76)

“That’s what I was trying to tell you before. If Papa sees you...” Luc starts to push me into the low shrubs beside the fence. The bicycle that is leaning there tumbles to the hard ground with a clatter. Before I can hide, the front door opens and a man appears in a smoking jacket.

“Luc,” he calls, peering into the darkness. He is an older version of his son, wizened and stooped, but with the same blue eyes and chiseled features. He might have been handsome in his day. “Is that you?” In his voice, I hear concern, a father for all his faults still worried about his son—hardly the villain I had imagined. A rich garlicky smell comes from inside the house, coq au vin for dinner earlier perhaps, mixed with cigar smoke.

The mayor steps outside, squinting in the darkness. As his eyes adjust, they lock on me. I stiffen. “You’re the circus girl,” the mayor says, a note of disdain in his voice. “What do you want?”

Luc clears his throat. “One of their performers has been arrested,” he says.

The mayor stiffens and for a moment I think he will deny it. But then he nods. “The Russian clown.” Peter is so much more than that, I want to protest. Astrid’s husband, the heart of the circus.

“Surely you can do something.” Luc’s voice is pleading, fighting for us.

“He was performing acts mocking the Reich,” the mayor states flatly. His voice is cold. “The Germans want to try him for treason.”

I picture Astrid, hear her cries as they had taken Peter. “At least let us see him, then,” I venture.

The mayor raises his eyebrows, surprised I have spoken. “That’s quite impossible.”

He’s going to be a father, I want to say, appealing to the mayor as one who has a son. But I have sworn to keep her secret and I doubt it would sway the mayor. “Our circus owner died tonight and we need Peter so much more now. Please...” I beg, searching for the right words and not finding them.

“It’s out of my hands,” the mayor replies. “He’s been taken to the old army camp on the outskirts of town to be deported, sent east first thing in the morning.”

A distressed look crosses Luc’s face. “I thought they weren’t using the camp anymore.”

“They aren’t,” his father replies, a note of grimness to his voice. “Only for special cases.”

“Papa, do something,” Luc says, trying again, still wanting to believe. I see now the boy who had defended his father, even after the awful things he had done.

“I can’t,” the mayor says flatly.

“You won’t even help your son?” Luc demands. There is a new forcefulness to his voice. “I suppose it isn’t surprising since you sold out your own people.”

“How dare you?” he thunders. “I’m your father.”

“My father helped people. My father would never have stood by while our friends and neighbors were arrested. And he would have done something to help now. You are not my father,” Luc spits, and I wonder if he has gone too far. “If Mama were here...”

“Enough!” the mayor barks, voice cutting through the still night air. “You have no idea the things I’ve faced, or the choices I’ve had to make to protect you. If your mother was here, it is you she’d be ashamed of. You were never like this before.” His eyes shoot daggers in my direction. “It must be her doing, circus trash with no upbringing.”

Luc steps forward, putting himself between his father and me. “Don’t say such things about Noa.”

“Never mind,” the mayor replies, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “They’ll be gone soon enough. You should come inside now, Luc.”

“No,” Luc says, meeting his father’s eyes. “I can’t stay here, not anymore.” He turns to me. “Let’s go.”

“Luc, wait!” the mayor calls, his voice rising with surprise.

“Goodbye, Papa.” Luc takes my hand and leads me away from the villa, leaving the mayor alone in the doorway.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask as we pass through the gate. Luc keeps walking, eyes forward. His strides are so long I almost have to skip to keep up.

We reach the edge of the forest. “Wait,” I say, stopping. “Are you sure? If you need to go back, I understand. He’s your father after all.”

“I’m not going back,” he replies.

“You mean ever?” I ask. He nods. “But where will you go?” I ask, my concern for him rising.

Luc does not answer, but instead takes me in his arms and presses his lips against mine hard, as though trying to wipe away what had just happened. I return his kisses, willing us back to earlier that night before everything had changed.

Then he breaks away. “I’m sorry, Noa,” he says.

For a moment, I think he is talking about the kiss. “About Peter?” I ask. “Don’t be. You tried...”

“Not just for that. For all of it.” He kisses me once more. “Goodbye, Noa.” Then he starts away in the other direction through the trees, leaving me behind.





20

Noa

The funeral takes place the next day on a too-sunny morning in the local cemetery, a nest of leaning headstones along the same hilly road on the far side of Thiers we’d climbed the day of the arrival parade. Herr Neuhoff’s is a lone grave behind the rest, overhung by a willow tree. Looking down at the closed oak casket, I imagine how he must look inside, lifeless body gray and waxy in his magnificent ringmaster’s suit. He does not belong here. He should be back in Germany, resting beside his wife. Instead, he will lie here forever. Sadness engulfs me. He had been everything to us, protected us. And now he is gone.