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

casino and saw the greatest show in the world.”
    “That's nice. How did you get in?”
    “A friend told me about this office where they have free passes. They wouldn't let me into the rooms where they gamble but only into the theater. They had a magician, a comic, some acrobats and lots of dancers.”
    “What else did they have?” Mutti asked. “It's written all over your face.”
    I had a real problem getting it out. I had never seen so many bare-breasted women. “The dancers wore nothing on top.”
    “Why are you blushing, Hasele ? I'm the only one here.”
    From that day on, instead of walking the promenade or roasting my skin at the beach, I spent many afternoons at a vaudeville show.
    Since coming to Nice, I had envied people sitting at the open-air cafés. Oh, how I wanted to do that! One morning I asked Mutti to give me the half franc needed for a continental breakfast. “It would be such a treat,” I said.
    In spite of money being in short supply, she handed me the coin. “Go, have breakfast out.”
    Fresh rolls, a croissant, butter, jams, coffee, and a small pitcher of hot milk. What a breakfast! Relaxing in the fresh air under an immense open umbrella and, having an elegant server wait on me, made me feel so grown up. With great care, I sliced the roll and spread butter and jam on each side, restored the two halves and, with a slight squeeze, sunk my teeth in it. Oh, how merveilleux! I devoured both rolls, the croissant, with the rest of the butter, jam, and the full pot of French coffee. Then, with a touch of flair, I asked for l'addition and handed the man the fifty centimes .
    The beach was a short walk from the café. My shorts and shirt removed, I enjoyed the balmy air in the bikini trunks I wore underneath. Only the sandals stayed on my feet, for I had not yet adapted to walking on the stony beach.
    Rarely did I find other children on the beach. The tourist season had not started and school was still in session. For almost two months, until the end of June, I spent those magnificent spring days surrounded by hundreds of strangers but feeling so alone.
    At one o'clock, I often went to the casino for a show I had seen before. I seldom ate lunch on those days, satiating my hunger with the few candies the artists threw from the stage at the end of each performance. Although there was always a great lunch waiting for me, I rarely was willing to give up my liberty in exchange for food.
    On those few days when the casino featured totally nude dancers, they refused me admission, so I would walk up the hill overlooking the port. The harbor, narrow and short, was large enough to hold only a few small craft. There I saw three British submarines, my first encounter with military hardware.
    During the turmoil of the previous fourteen months, I had not been to a synagogue once. Although we were able to bring very few personal items when we escaped from Vienna, my mother had taken along the old family prayer book. Throughout our nomadic days, she handled that book with great care.
    Both my parents had been raised in Orthodox families where the dietary kosher laws had been strictly observed. In Vienna, my Omama came to visit every week but seldom on a Friday or Saturday, for she would not travel on the Sabbath. She always visited us after supper and never shared a meal with us. “Our home is not kosher enough for Omama ,” Mutti explained. Nor did my grandfather in Poland allow anyone to turn the lights on or off on the holy day. Lights were always turned on before sundown Friday and left burning until past sundown on Saturday.
    My own religious upbringing had been less strict, although, beginning when I was only five, I had to put up with a tutor who came weekly to give me religious instruction. Like most Jewish families who had come from eastern Europe to settle in Vienna, my parents chose a more secular lifestyle. Yet, throughout our roaming, my mother rarely failed to light the Sabbath candles, say her