The Nightingale(99)

How often this spring had someone sidled up to Vianne while she was in a queue for food or walking through town or waiting at the poste and asked her about the latest BBC broadcast?

I have no radio. They are not allowed was always her response, and it was true. Still, every time she was asked such a question she felt a shiver of fear. They had learned a new word: les collabos. The collaborators. French men and women who did the Nazis’ dirty work, who spied on friends and neighbors and reported back to the enemy, relaying every infraction, real or imagined. On their word, people had begun to be arrested for little things, and many who were taken to the Kommandant’s office were never seen again.

“Madame Mauriac!” Sarah ran through the broken gate and into the yard. She looked frail and too thin, her skin so pale the blood vessels showed through. “You need to help my maman.”

Vianne sat back on her heels and pushed the straw hat back on her head. “What’s wrong? Did she hear from Marc?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong, Madame. Maman won’t talk. When I told her Ari was hungry and needed changing, she shrugged and said, ‘What does it matter?’ She’s in the backyard, just staring at her sewing.”

Vianne got to her feet and peeled off her gardening gloves, tucking them into the pocket of her denim overalls. “I’ll check on her. Get Sophie and we’ll all walk over.”

While Sarah was in the house, Vianne washed her hands and face at the outdoor pump and put away her hat. In its place, she tied a bandana around her head. As soon as the girls were with her, Vianne put her gardening tools in the shed and the three of them headed next door.

When Vianne opened the door, she found three-year-old Ari asleep on the rug. She scooped him into her arms, kissed his cheek, and turned to the girls. “Why don’t you go play in Sarah’s room?” She lifted the blackout shade, saw Rachel sitting alone in the backyard.

“Is my maman okay?” Sarah asked.

Vianne nodded distractedly. “Run along now.” As soon as the girls were in the next room, she took Ari into Rachel’s room and put him in his crib. She didn’t bother covering him, not on a day this warm.

Outside, Rachel was in her favorite wooden chair, seated beneath the chestnut tree. At her feet was her sewing basket. She wore a brown khaki twill jumpsuit and a paisley turban. She was smoking a small brown hand-rolled cigarette. There was a bottle of brandy beside her and an empty café glass.

“Rach?”

“Sarah went for reinforcements, I see.”

Vianne moved in to stand beside Rachel. She laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder. She could feel Rachel trembling. “Is it Marc?”

Rachel shook her head.

“Thank God.”

Rachel reached sideways for the brandy bottle, pouring herself a glass. She drank deeply, emptied the glass, then set it down. “They have passed a new statute,” she said at last. Slowly, she unfurled her left hand to reveal wrinkled bits of yellow cloth that had been cut into the shape of a star. Written on each one was the word JUIF in black. “We are to wear these,” Rachel said. “We have to stitch them onto our clothes—the three pieces of outerwear we are allowed—and wear them at all times in public. I had to buy them with my ration cards. Maybe I shouldn’t have registered. If we don’t wear them, we’re subject to ‘severe sanctions.’ Whatever that means.”

Vianne sat down in the chair beside her. “But…”

“You’ve seen the posters in town, how they show us Jews as vermin to be swept away and money grubbers who want to own everything? I can handle it, but … what about Sarah? She’ll feel so ashamed … it’s hard enough to be eleven without this, Vianne.”

“Don’t do it.”

“It is immediate arrest if you are caught not wearing it. And they know about me. I’ve registered. And there’s … Beck. He knows I am Jewish.”

In the silence that followed, Vianne knew they were both thinking of the arrests that were taking place around Carriveau, of the people who were “disappearing.”

“You could go to the Free Zone,” Vianne said softly. “It’s only four miles away.”

“A Jew can’t get an Ausweis, and if I got caught…”

Vianne nodded. It was true; running was perilous, especially with children. If Rachel were caught crossing the frontier without an Ausweis, she would be arrested. Or executed.