The Storyteller of Casablanca (74)

It’s going to be a busy few days, I think. I need to buy a present for Annette and return the last of my books to the library. Kenza is planning to bake some special cakes and pastries for Annette’s birthday as it will also be our chance to say our farewells to her and Nina and Felix.

Maman seems to have a little more energy, now that the end of our time in Casablanca is almost upon us. I can be thankful for that at least.





Zoe – 2010

I turn the page, expecting to read something more. But there is nothing. The last few pages of the journal are blank. And then, as the significance of this sinks in, a fear begins to grip my guts. I should have thought of it before.

Why was Josie’s journal left behind? What happened to her and her mother and sister? Surely she wouldn’t have left it on purpose? She’d never have forgotten to pack it. And there’s no way she would have forgotten her box of treasures either. I open it again and take out its contents: the little gold Star of David that she was told by her mother not to wear in case it invited trouble; the carved length of stick that mimics the call of the turtle doves, evoking Felix and Nina; Josephine Baker’s autograph; the faded flamingo feather from the visit to the lagoon on the family’s final holiday down the coast; and most importantly of all, the sliver of jade-green sea glass that the ocean gave Josie in return for her father’s name. She’d never have left them behind deliberately.

My fear gathers strength as I set them all out on the quilt and my sense of doubt becomes more concrete. Something must have happened to prevent Josie from taking them with her. I imagine a knock at the door, a large black car waiting in the street below, men in greatcoats with Nazi insignia on their lapels coming to take the family away just as they were about to leave for safety.

Then I look at the date of the final entry in the journal once again: the 6th of November. They were due to sail on the 11th. But I know from my research that Operation Torch, the American invasion of North Africa, began three days before that, on the 8th – a couple of days before the farewell party they’d planned for Annette’s nineteenth birthday. Very slowly, I set down Josie’s journal on the bed beside me. I recall now that I read that the main landings of US troops took place via the port of Safi, the harbour that Josie identified in her project as being the optimal one for an invasion. At the same time, attacks were launched on the other main cities along the Atlantic coast.

Casablanca, the port where the Esperanza lay at anchor, came under fire from sea and sky. The attacks were short-lived, but fierce.

So, as the war arrived at the walls of the city, what on earth happened to the Duvals?





Zoe – 2010

I grab my laptop to try and piece together what happened to Josie and her family, searching the internet for information about the attack on the harbour at Casablanca. I learn that the naval battle raged for a few days when French fighter planes and battleships engaged the American forces as they attempted to land at Fedala, a few miles up the coast. The French finally surrendered on the 11th of November, the day the Duvals had thought they would be leaving Morocco for good. But there’s no mention of the Esperanza, just the fact that several ships lying at anchor in the port were sunk. It’s going to take a bit more digging to unearth the details. Then the internet connection drops and I slam the laptop shut in frustration.

I pull on my trainers and strap Grace into her sling, then hurry to the library. I speak to the librarian and she manages to unearth copies of local newspaper reports covering the events. Most of them describe only the military vessels that were involved and it takes me a while to find any mention of other ships. But then I see it. The Esperanza, mentioned almost as a footnote to one of the articles. She took a direct hit during the fighting on the 8th of November 1942 and was sunk, still at anchor in the harbour. All the civilian passengers and crew on board were believed to have been lost.

My hand trembles as I set the paper down on the table in front of me. Josie. Annette. Delphine. They’d been through such a lot and were so close to getting away. I can’t bring myself to believe they didn’t make it. The Esperanza – filled with its cargo of hopes and dreams – should have sailed, carrying them safely to Lisbon. From there they should have transferred to another boat, one that would carry them across the Atlantic to their new life in America. I’ve pictured Josie as a grown woman in the many roles she’d dreamed of in her journal – farmer, lawyer, librarian, reporter, scientist, doctor. Instead, now I have an image in my head of the burning carcass of a ship, the bodies of its passengers strewn into the dirty water of the harbour, struggling for life, losing the fight, sinking without a trace. All that’s left of the Duval family’s story is the secret journal that Josie hid beneath the floorboards in her attic room. Somehow, in the scramble of their departure, it must have got left behind. And I am the only person in the world who knows.

My heart breaks with the weight of this knowledge. Josie, above all, has become so real to me. And now I have to let her go.

But I can’t quite do that yet. Then something else occurs to me. I go back to the desk, where the librarian sits.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ she asks.

‘Yes, thank you, you’ve been so helpful.’

‘It wasn’t the news you were hoping for, though, I think?’ Her expression is concerned and kindly. ‘You look as if you’ve had a shock.’