The Book of Lost Names(13)

“Mamusia, he’s gone.”

“No, he’s—”

“He’s gone!” A sob rose in Eva’s throat, and she choked it back as she pulled away from her mother and began walking again. After a few seconds, her mother followed. “I promise I will come back for him. But we have to go now.”

“Eva—”

“Trust me, Mamusia. Please.”

Her mother went silent then, but she kept pace, and that was all Eva could ask.

Fifteen minutes later, the station was in view. “Just act as natural as possible,” Eva whispered to her mother. “We are middle-class French citizens who don’t care one way or the other about what happened here last night.”

“How convenient to so easily turn your back on your own people,” her mother muttered.

Eva tried to ignore the words, but they pierced her heart as she went on. “We are secretaries, both of us. You are a Russian émigrée, and I am your daughter. My proud French father—your husband—has not returned from the front. We fear him dead.”

“Yes, Eva, let’s pretend your father has been killed.” Mamusia sounded furious.

“Just listen to me, Mamusia! Our lives could depend upon it. We will buy train tickets to Clermont-Ferrand, via Vichy.”

“Vichy?”

“I looked. It’s the fastest way to Aurignon.”

“What is this place?”

“Your sister, Olga, lives there,” Eva said firmly. “She is ill and has begged for our help with her three children.”

Mamusia simply rolled her eyes at this.

“Mamusia, this is serious. You need to remember everything I’m saying.”

“But why this Aurignon? I’ve never heard of it.”

“There are people there helping Jews escape to Switzerland.”

“Switzerland? That’s ridiculous. If it’s near Vichy, it has to be three hundred kilometers from the Swiss border.”

The thought had been bothering Eva, too, but she pushed it away. Perhaps that was what made it the perfect place to hide. “It’s our only chance of escaping, Mamusia.”

“So now you want us to leave France without your father?” Mamusia’s tone was aggrieved, her voice rising an octave.

“No,” Eva said. “I want us to find people there who will help us get him out.”



* * *



By the time the 2:05 train pulled out of Gare de Lyon, chugging southeast and crossing the Marne just as it split from the Seine, Eva was breathing a bit more easily. Buying the tickets had been simpler than she’d expected; the agent had barely looked at her documents, yawning as he returned them. Eva supposed that it wasn’t his responsibility to catch those who were fleeing. But the young German soldier who had come by just after Eva and her mother had boarded had glanced at their papers with disinterest, too, and handed them back without a word. Eva allowed herself to feel a bit of hope—and the teensiest bit of pride in her handiwork—as the train picked up speed, sailing into the countryside beyond the suburbs.

Then she noticed her mother crying beside her, shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she pressed her forehead to the window, and she tensed again. “Mamusia,” she murmured, keeping her voice low. The train car was only half full, and most of the other passengers were absorbed in reading books or newspapers, but it was only a matter of time until someone noticed them. “Please, you must stop. You’ll draw attention to us.”

“What does it matter?” Mamusia hissed, whirling on Eva, her eyes flashing. “We are fooling ourselves, Eva. We won’t get away.”

“We have, Mamusia. Look. We’re already out of Paris.”

“They’ll find us wherever we are. We cannot simply disappear. How will we eat? Where will we live? How will we get ration cards? This is madness. We should have stayed. At least in Paris, we know people.”

“But people there know us, too,” Eva reminded her. “And it’s impossible to predict who to trust.”

Mamusia shook her head. “This is a mistake. You took advantage of my grief to persuade me.”

“Mamusia, I didn’t mean…” Eva trailed off, guilt sweeping over her. She’d been in such a hurry to escape, to find a way out, that it hadn’t even occurred to her that staying might be safer. Was her mother right?

As the train continued south, crossing trestle bridges over rushing rivers and speeding past deserted farmland, Mamusia finally fell asleep beside her, snoring lightly, but Eva was too stirred up to relax. She had made this decision for both of them, and it would be her fault if it resulted in their capture. Should they have stayed in a place where friends could have helped them? But who would have risked such a thing? They were fugitives now, whether they liked it or not. Even Monsieur Goujon, who had always seemed to be a decent man, had been in a hurry to send them away.



* * *



The train stopped in Moulins for a half hour, during which two dozen German policemen boarded to inspect papers, but they all looked dull and weary. A young, dark-haired German with ruddy cheeks examined Eva’s and her mother’s travel permits only momentarily, his eyes already on the row behind them. Eva released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding, but she didn’t truly relax until the Germans had disembarked and the train was moving again.