The Book of Lost Names(36)

“Mamusia!” Eva said, reaching for her, but her mother’s hands went up like claws, and she snarled as she backed away from her daughter. The wail grew louder and louder until Eva was covering her ears, and Mamusia was on her knees, her eyes closed, keening now, her voice a primal song of grief that cut through Eva like a knife. “Mamusia!” Eva tried again, but her mother was in her own world.

Eva didn’t hear her come in, but suddenly, Madame Barbier was there, her strong hands on Eva’s shoulders. “Get up. Go sleep in the parlor,” she said, her voice calm, firm. “I will take care of your mother.”

“But I can’t leave her!”

The wailing continued, an earsplitting, heartbreaking squall.

“You must. Give her time.” Madame Barbier was already moving toward Mamusia, already wrapping strong arms around her. Mamusia’s body was limp as she let herself be molded into Madame Barbier’s ample chest. Still, the shrieking went on. “You did all you could, dear,” Madame Barbier said over the din. “Now, get some rest. Go. I will give your mother something to help her relax.”

Finally, Eva backed away from the room. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but she settled onto the couch and closed her eyes anyhow, letting the ghosts of Drancy torture her in the dark.



* * *



Eva awoke sometime early the next morning to the scent of real coffee, and as she cracked her eyes open, she thought for a moment she must be dreaming. She hadn’t smelled anything like that since before the Occupation; coffee beans were just one of the many things that had disappeared from everyday life. She couldn’t remember falling asleep the night before, but she felt a bit restored as she unfolded herself from the sofa and let her nose lead her into the kitchen, where Madame Barbier was humming to herself while she poured coffee into white china cups.

“Good morning,” Madame Barbier said without turning. “I’m afraid there’s no milk, but I have a bit of sugar if you take it.”

“But… where in the world did you get coffee?”

“I’ve had some saved in the cellar for a while now, for a special occasion.” Finally, she turned to face Eva, offering a cup of steaming black liquid. Eva inhaled deeply. “I thought you and your mother could use a lift this morning.”

“Thank you.” The words felt inadequate, and Eva stood there, awkwardly holding her cup.

“Drink, child,” Madame Barbier said. “Drink, before it gets cold.” She raised her own cup in a sort of toast and met Eva’s gaze over the rims as they both sipped.

“I’m sorry,” Eva said as she lowered her cup, the warmth flowing into her chest, the caffeine already coursing through her veins. “For last night.”

“Oh, dear, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I didn’t know how to help her.”

“No one could have. Not in that state.”

“But you—”

“I gave her a pill. Sometimes a person just needs to sleep. I had some left from when my husband died.”

Eva could see the pity in the older woman’s eyes, and it seeped into her along with the caffeine as Madame Barbier patted her on the shoulder and handed her a second cup. “Here. Bring this to your mother. She should be awake by now.”

Sure enough, Mamusia was sitting up in bed when Eva entered. Her hair was wild, the circles under her eyes half-moons of deep purple grief. “Mamusia?” Eva asked tentatively.

“Eva.” Mamusia’s tone was flat, but her eyes were alive again. She looked like herself.

“Madame Barbier made some coffee.” Eva took a few steps closer and handed her mother one of the cups. Mamusia took it, inhaled deeply, and then set it on the bedside table. Eva inched closer to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. She reached out to touch her mother’s arm and was wounded when Mamusia flinched. “I—I’m sorry, Mamusia. I wish I could have done more.”

“You did what you could. I shouldn’t have blamed you.” Mamusia looked toward the window. “I just can’t imagine him so far away. In such a terrible place.” Her voice caught and she wiped away a tear. “What will we do?”

“We will survive,” Eva said. “And we will be waiting when he comes back.”

Mamusia sighed. “Your optimism. It’s so much like your father’s. But look where that got him.”

“Mamusia—”

“No, moje serduszko, I don’t want to hear your hopeful words now. There’s nothing you can say to make this better.”

Eva looked down. Her coffee was growing cold. Her stomach was a churning pit of guilt, regret, and acid. “I know.”

“They are erasing us, and we are helping them.” Mamusia’s voice was still flat, too flat. “He opened the door to them, didn’t he? Your father went without a fight. And look at us. We don’t even have your father’s name anymore. He’s been gone for less than a week, and already we’re denying him?”

“But, Mamusia, I—”

“What happens when they come for us, too? When they take us east? Who will remember us? Who will care? Thanks to you, not even our names will remain.”

Eva could only shake her head. Was her mother right? Would they disappear like dust, swept from the earth? How could she stop it?