Page 111 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘“Palestine,” he said.

‘My wife looked at me and shook her head. “Not without you,” she said.

‘I swallowed and looked at her, my darling wife, the only woman I had ever loved, had ever known. I said, “My love, I will find you again.”

‘I kissed her, then held my daughter tight. “When will they leave?”

‘“Now,” the pocket watch man said. “We go now whilst there is this mess going on. Too much confusion for anyone to notice.”

‘Our goodbye was brief. Too brief. I told them I loved them. I told them I would find them soon. My friend took my arm, and led me out of the room and down the stairs to the street. I wanted to turn, go back to them, but he pulled me away. “We have to get you out of here now!” he warned.

‘“I don’t care what happens to me! Please, let me go!” I begged.

‘He did not listen to me, and had to drag me away to another apartment on the outskirts of the city.

‘That night was the longest of my life. I sat and smoked and drank but nothing worked; nothing numbed the pain and sent me into the oblivion I so craved.

‘My friend found me tickets and papers to get to France. The idea was that I would cross over to England. I did not want to leave; how could I go? He told me I had little choice in the matter.

‘So I did as he told me, and by some miracle found my way to Paris, with little money and nowhere to live. Thankfully, I had studied French, and German for that matter, and could communicate well. It was on my second day that I passed a music shop. Inside was a glorious accordion. I asked the shop owner if I could play it – he told me it was once his father’s and that I could. I had learned this instrument as a boy from my own grandfather, and when I sat that day in his shop and played the songs from my childhood, I felt safe.

‘“It’s yours,” the man said to me when I finished playing.

‘“I cannot pay you,” I said.

‘“I didn’t ask you to. It needs an owner who will care for it,” he replied.

‘It was only when I left the shop that I realised I had been crying. He had taken my tears for joy, not sorrow.

‘So it was that I began to play on the streets for change, to get me lodgings for the night and a hot meal.

‘I had been in France for perhaps a month when it became clear the Germans were coming here now. I called my friend in Warsaw to say I needed help to get to England. His wife answered the phone.

‘“He’s dead,” she wept. “They torture them one by one. Someone gave them his name. There are others still hiding.”

‘I do not think I said anything to her. All I could think about was my own tongue – about the things that were in my head: names, ciphers, codes. I could not let myself betray anyone, betray my country.

‘That night I drank enough vodka to kill a horse. It did not kill me. When I woke in the morning, I imagined what my wife would say if she could see me now. I knew what she would say. She would tell me to be brave, to endure until the war is done, to find them, and most of all to help those who were trying to save their country and their own families.

‘I took a knife and I cut at my tongue until I passed out on the bed, blood covering the sheets.

‘The proprietor heard my screams and came in immediately. I knew she would – she was nosy at the best of times. I awoke in a hospital with a doctor telling me I would not be able to talk again. When he said that, I smiled at him and I think he thought I was mad!

‘You may think me mad too, Michel. Perhaps I am. I did it to save others. I would do anything to protect my family, and my friends who risked their lives to save so many. I could not, would not tell the Germans what we did, what the English are continuing to do.

‘Do not cry for me, Michel. It does not hurt; I do not miss it.

‘Werner found me, playing on the streets. At first I did not want to work for a German, but as I found out more, I trusted him and told him my story as best I could.

‘Gino was given to me when his mate died. We have been together now for a year. He is my best friend.

‘Please, Michel, wipe your tears. I will get through this. We must believe we will. And then I shall find my family.

‘I wanted you to hear this tale; I wanted you to understand how things are, and how they will become. I want you to be ready to do whatever you need to, to protect the ones you love. I trust you with this, Michel. Only you, Frieda and Werner know of this. Not even Henri knows. I trust you. I hope you realise it is important you know that people do. It will help you to be brave, if the time comes.’

Frieda finished talking and Kacper held on to her hand.

Michel did not know what to say. Then he found the only words he thought appropriate. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and Kacper stood, shook Michel’s hand and walked out of the room, Gino asleep like a baby in his arms.