Free A Child Al Confino: The True Story of a Jewish Boy and His Mother in Mussolini's Italy by Eric Lamet Page A

Only a few weeks after setting foot on French soil, I began to converse in this beautiful language.

    Eric at age eight with dog in Nice, France, 1939.
    As on previous occasions and, true to my character, however, I was unable to control my impulses in class. Caught for the third time talking to the boy next to me, I explained to the teacher that I was just practicing my new language. The teacher was not in the least impressed by my reasonable explanation. Instead he ordered me to hold out my hand, which he struck with a wooden rod.
    Mother saw my swollen fingers. “What is this?” she asked.
    On my way home I had thought up a story but in the end came to the conclusion that the truth was the best policy. I did not want to risk the even more severe punishment my mother would mete out had she caught me lying.
    “I don't know what I'm going to do with you. Will you ever behave?” Mother's voice was shrill.
    I stood silent. What could I possibly say? It was difficult for me to follow rules. Not to speak during class was absolute torture.
    “Stay home for two days, then I'll decide what to do with you.”
    Mutti refused to regress and allow someone else to use the ruler on her son. So she sent a letter to the school telling them her son would not be coming back. After only a few weeks, my scholastic days were cut short. My Mutti could be so wonderful at times!
    For the next three months I enjoyed the freedom to do as I pleased. The weather in Nice invited people to sun themselves beginning in early spring and bare-breasted young women lying on the pebble beach started to attract my attention. My instincts to look at beautiful female curves gave me a naughty feeling.
    “You're getting too tanned,” Mutti warned. “You can't stay out all day in the sun. It's not healthy for you. Why not spend more time with us?”
    “You and Bertl only talk and smoke. I get so bored.”
    Bertl had entered the room and overheard part of the conversation. “Well, tonight I'll take you out to a fine restaurant.”
    Since leaving Milan, my mother and I had been to only cheap neighborhood eating places. That night we did dine out and what a treat it turned out to be. Soon after we ordered our food, but without anyone asking for it, the waiter wheeled over a small cart with a large variety of hors d'oeuvres. I could not believe what was on that cart: Russian salad, red beets, small beans, cucumbers, smoked fish, hard-boiled eggs, olives, and more fish.
    “Bertl, how many things do you think there are?” I asked.
    “Go ahead, count them.”
    I did and counted forty. Wow!
    “You can eat as much as you want,” she said.
    “Are you sure?” my mother asked.
    “Oh yes. It's all included in the price of the meal.”
    I must have tried a bit from every dish when Mother asked, “Will you be able to eat dinner?”
    “Oh, sure!” I said. But when the main course, a veal cutlet, was served, I could eat less than half. But I did force down my chocolate dessert.
    The Promenade des Anglais, adorned by a long line of palm trees and, beautified with colorful flowers, ran alongside the beaches for the full length of the city. From here, built on pylons and jetting out into the water, was the municipal casino. Nice's major gambling center also had a large theater where a variety of vaudeville shows were performed. Free passes to these shows were easily available from retail stores and professional offices. A doctor's office, where these passes lay on the reception room table, became my source.
    The casino was five blocks from our house. The first time I used one of the passes, I ran all the way home after the show. I had barely opened the door when I blurted, “ Mutti ! Guess what I did today?”
    “Calm down, Schatzele, ” Mutti said from our room. “Look how red you are. Sit. Do you want some water?”
    I was breathless. “No, just guess what I did.”
    “You got married.”
    “No, seriously.”
    “I don't know. Tell me.”
    “I went to the