Page 15

“You didn’t.” Dancer puts the photograph back down on the sideboard and turns back to Andrée.

“They are wonderful memories, beautiful memories, and now just that: memories.”

“I know he was Jewish. Did you convert?”

“No. He wasn’t Orthodox and said it wasn’t necessary.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Andrée says.

“Saul being Jewish?”

“Yes. I’m hoping you can share some of the customs or rituals so that I might help Josie feel more at home while she’s living with us. I’m embarrassed to say how little we know.”

“It’s wonderful that you want to do that for her. Although I didn’t convert, I was happy to be a part of Saul’s observance, and we always wanted Philippe to know about his father’s faith.”

“Thank you, Dancer. Anything you can tell us to do, or not do, would be so useful. We don’t even know what day Hanukkah falls this year or what we should do to mark it.”

“Hanukkah is early this year—a few weeks before Christmas. The first night is on December third and the last is on the tenth. I have an idea. Why don’t you all come here for dinner and we can light the first candle together? We’ll have Josie light it.”

“Really? That’s too kind. We can’t expect you to feed us. I’ll agree if you let us bring as much food as we can get ahold of. Is there anything special you need?”

“One of the most important things for Hanukkah are foods fried in oil. To celebrate light in times of darkness and the miracle of one day’s worth of oil lasting the eight days it took for them to get more. There are potato pancakes called latkes. I can make some. Saul’s mother also taught me how to make the braided Shabbat bread called challah. I haven’t made it since he was taken. It will be good for me and for Philippe to do this.”

“Thank you. I won’t say anything to Josie yet in case something comes up. Now, if you don’t need me, I should be getting back.”

“Thank you,” says Dancer. She puts her hand on Andrée’s arm. There are tears in her eyes. “I can’t tell you how much talking about Saul and Hanukkah means to me. It’s so easy to forget what must not be forgotten.”

Walking through the park, Andrée looks at the school, secure in the knowledge that Josie is safe inside, at least for the moment. Exiting onto the street, she crosses the road and heads to her parents’ bookshop. Her mother is with a customer and acknowledges her daughter with a short nod of her head before turning her attention back to her work. Andrée tugs off her gloves and flicks through a newspaper her mother had been reading, but her attention is drawn to the exchange between Tina and the woman she is serving.

“So which novel is it exactly that you need for your son, Mme Charbonnier?” Tina asks.

Andrée registers the tension in her mother’s voice.

“Like I was saying, given that there’s just about no Jews left in Montparnasse, it means that we’ll see less of the Germans and their local lackeys. Don’t get me wrong—I’m sorry that they have disappeared. I imagine it’s just to work in Germany. Anyway, things should settle down now and we can go about our business without being asked for our papers all the time.”

Tina ignores the invitation to celebrate the evacuation of Jews from Paris and asks her instead, “And the book you are looking for your son: Do you know what it’s called?”

“It’s just that we were talking⁠—”

“Who is we?” Tina asks, her voice now tinged with anger.

Andrée wonders if she should interrupt. It’s hard for her parents to make a living from the shop; they can’t afford to offend customers. And people are denounced for the smallest of things—a casual remark about the German occupiers made to the wrong person can lead to arrest.

“Well, other mothers. Anyway, what I was getting at is it must be hard on you and your husband losing so many customers now the Jewish families are gone. That’s all.”

“We’re doing just fine, thank you. Now, remind me of the name of the novel you’re after. You said your son needs it for his literature class.”

“I was hoping you would tell me. He’s thirteen, third year at the Lycée Buffon, so whatever the other boys are reading.”

“It could be one of three. How about you take all three? That way, when he moves on to whatever his next book is, you will already have it and won’t have to come back here,” Tina says, her anger replaced with sarcasm.

Andrée stifles a giggle.

“Well, if you think that’s best. Of course, I’ll take what he needs to see the academic year out. Oh, and I will check with my daughter to see what her reading needs are. Céline is in her second year at Lycée Camille Sée, where so many Jewish girls used to go.”

Tina doesn’t react to the mention of Josie’s school.

“I have your books here, madame.”