***
When we arrived at the Armels’ apartment, Solomon was there with Alex’s father. The dining room table had become a makeshift workshop now that the store had been shuttered.
The two men were hunched over the table examining what looked like a centuries-old book.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” Monsieur Armel apologized when he saw me come through the door. “We’re deciding the best way to repair this binding.”
I smiled. I loved the sight of them examining a book that looked as old as the Haggadah I now carried in my arms.
“I didn’t want Solange to be in that apartment all by herself,” Alex said as he approached his father and Solomon. “I thought she could sleep in the spare room.”
Monsieur Armel looked up from the book. “You’re absolutely right,” he agreed without any hesitation. “A young woman shouldn’t be alone during such dangerous times.”
I felt my cheeks flush. I did not like to think of myself asvulnerable, yet it was a great comfort to know that Alex and his father were looking out for me.
“Our home is always open to you, Solange,” Monsieur Armel added.
Solomon wiped his brow with his handkerchief. “Perhaps we can revisit this tomorrow, Bernard. I have to think about the best way to do it. Whether we sew the binding or use glue.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Monsieur Armel agreed. He stood up and stretched his back. “But let’s not take too much time. I promised this to the Freys before they leave Sunday.”
***
Less than a week later, we all sat in front of the Armels’ radio and heard the terrible news. The German army had routed the Allied forces in the low countries. Within a matter of days, they had already conquered Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands. They were now well on their way to crossing into France. The speed and relentlessness of their victories took every French citizen by surprise. It made the Germans now seem invincible.
“If they enter France... my father...” I could barely get the words out. Alex reached over to me and pulled me to his side.
“He is at a military hospital, not the front,” he attempted to reassure me.
But all I could imagine was the rain of bombs and gunfire. My father, who hated chaos, trying to maintain order amid all the bloodshed.
Monsieur Armel looked pale. He reached over and lowered the volume, but he must have also accidentally adjusted the tuning dial because now all that emerged from the radio was static.
I looked down at the floor, and part of me wished I could have been like Marthe, capable of shutting myself off from what was happening in the outside world.
When I was younger, I remember catching my mother in the kitchen happily tapping her heels to the sounds of Charles Trenet. But now theradio was no longer a source of pleasure or entertainment, only despair. The buzzing from the static was ominous. Though we were in a living room, it sounded like we were in the middle of a beehive.
***
As we had dreaded, the next day, the German army entered France.
But instead of a huge, thunderous outcry, Paris fell strangely silent.
It was the second week in May, a time when the city was normally aflutter with spring. Parisian women were typically excited to stroll through the streets wearing lighter fabrics that matched the romantic feelings of the new season. But now Paris seemed to be holding its breath in nervous anticipation, instead of savoring the opportunity to exhale from its long winter.
“Everyone’s afraid,” Alex said as he stepped toward one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the street. “Did you notice last night they crowned the streetlamps in blue paper? They’re blocking out the light to make it as difficult as possible for the Luftwaffe to bomb the city.”
“They’ve already sent instruction manuals to most of the apartment buildings. ‘Dim your lights. Close your window shades.’” Solomon shook his head and began to collect his things. “The next thing they’ll tell us to do is to close our eyes... They will make the city dark, because if the Germans come, they won’t want us to see.”
***
Since learning the news of the Germans’ entering French soil, we all continued to be on edge. I could sense how much stress Monsieur Armel seemed to be under, and I wanted to minimize my presence and ease his burden as best I could. I rose earlier than everyone else so I could use the washroom in private, and I dressed before either Alex or Monsieur Armel awakened from their dreams.
I found the tin where they stored their coffee, and brewed it so it would be ready for them when they awoke. I washed whatever remained in the sink or was left on the table from the night before. Monsieur Armel had spent every evening since I arrived working late into the night, and it was not uncommon to see a cup or small plate on his desk.
That morning, however, when I went into the kitchen, I found Monsieur Armel and Solomon together at the small table drinking coffee in the midst of what appeared to be a deep conversation.
“I’m sorry... I didn’t realize anyone was awake in the apartment just yet.”
