The World That We Knew(28)

“We left her there,” Julien said, furious with himself. Just as he suspected, he was a coward. His brother had been right. He was not a man.

“She can take care of herself,” Lea told him. “More than we ever could.”

“It’s not right. I’m getting my grandfather’s rifle and going back.”

Lea took Julien’s arm. She leaned close to whisper. “She’s not like other women. You don’t have to rescue her.”

He recognized the truth in this. He had seen Ava at work in the garden; in her hands a spindly tomato plant was suddenly laden with fruit, a wilting rose could be plucked and bloom again. Once, he had spied her in a tree with a dove in her hand, speaking to it before it flew away.

“What is she, then?” When Lea was silent, Julien grew concerned. “If you trust me you’ll tell me.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did. But she can take care of herself. I can’t tell you more.”

“Ever?”

“When the war is over.”

Julien laughed and said, “I’ll hold you to that.”

Lea nodded, but the truth was, Maybe not even then.



Ava left the soldiers in a doorway, so no one would see. She should feel nothing, but there was something strange inside her, some raw emotion she couldn’t name. Was it the shock in their eyes, the way their spirits lifted from them, the presence of the angel in the black coat there beside her even before she had made a decision, as if he had known what she was destined to do?

She felt called to the water and clay from which she’d come. She wanted the cold current and she wanted to wash off the deaths. There was the river, only steps away. For the first time Ava wanted something for herself, that river, that water, that clay. Without thinking, she stripped off her dress, folded it on the bank, then took off her boots. She went barefoot, quickening her pace, the mud between her toes. When she plunged in, the water was delicious and familiar, as if she had come home.

A lone heron stood at the edge of the river. Ava could tell this one was in mourning, for herons were always in pairs. His heron wife had been shot by a farmer who believed the flesh of a heron brought good fortune and courage. It was an old story, fashioned out of a lie, but people believe lies if they’re told often enough. In ancient Rome, this was the bird of divination. Its hollow bones tossed onto the floor would form an augury used to predict the future, and its bold call warned men of wars and famine. In Greece, herons were messengers, for both mortals and gods.

Herons were usually no more than three feet tall, but this one stood nearly as tall as a man. His plumes were ash gray, and his head was blue-black; his wings were ink and ash combined. A bird’s heart is larger than a man’s. It sees colors no human has ever seen, it can gather more light, hunt in the darkness, hear the wind on the other side of the city. This one saw Ava for who she was. A creature like no other. The heron walked to her and she to him. This is how it began, out of water, out of clay, out of air, when it was not expected, when it should have never happened, when no one else understood who she was.





CHAPTER TEN


THE DISAPPEARANCE




PARIS, AUTUMN 1941

BY NOW EVERYTHING THEY HAD could be taken away. You couldn’t influence a magistrate when you had nothing to offer in exchange for his favor. You couldn’t put yourself above others when the soldiers who came to question you helped themselves to coats and jackets from the wardrobe in the hall. Madame Lévi sold the rare books for next to nothing to an underground dealer, then used the money for food. The locust trees had been cut down for firewood, and the rosebushes came next, their branches tossed into the fireplace for a flame that barely flickered with pale green smoke. Two professors of mathematics from Berlin, coauthors of academic papers with André Lévi, had moved into the third floor, along with their wives and children, all of whom had been taught to conceal themselves in the cupboards should the police arrive. André Lévi had answered when they came to the door. Two brilliant colleagues who were now wearing rags, carrying their children on their backs, thinking of starvation rather than algebra. They called what was happening in Berlin The Destruction. All Jews would be relocated, and then exterminated. The professor let his colleagues in without a second thought and asked Ava to make a pot of her soup. Claire was no longer speaking to her husband. She worried about her sons, fearing what lay in wait for them outside the garden gates. She had begun to keep certain treasures in a bag she carried around her waist, beneath her skirt. A few gold coins, her favorite earrings, her children’s baby teeth in a small glass jar.

Victor seemed especially lost. He’d never been a good student, for he’d always been a person of action. He’d wanted to join the French army, but he’d been too young. Soon he would be eighteen, and would likely be arrested. He kept a packed rucksack hidden beneath his bed, ready for the time when he would have the opportunity to leave and do his duty for his country and his people.

It happened one cold night when the sky was filled with clouds and ice coated the streets. There was a commotion on the other side of the river and he slipped out of the house without his parents’ knowledge and quickly made his way to the Marais. There was a curfew, but on this night groups of young men and boys had collected in protest. Among them was a fellow Victor had been chummy with in his younger days, Claude Gotlib. They’d been in the Jewish Scouts together and had spent weekends and holidays in the forest, learning the practical skills needed to survive in such circumstances. Claude motioned to him so they might speak privately as they surveyed the boys and young men who were rallying and demanding their rights. Many had mothers or girlfriends who had followed them and were now weeping, begging for them to come home. Before too long, the Germans would send soldiers to contain the crowd and many who were alive and protesting would be shot down.