Free Jewish Mothers Never Die: A Novel by Natalie David-Weill

becomes famous. He was preparing him for his future. He believed in him while my own family made fun of my dreams of glory. I just refused to be a poor immigrant. My son was going to be an ambassador and a writer, and that would change everything for us.”
    “I would never have dared to dictate Albert’s future like you did to Romain.”
    Mina seemed not to hear Louise, continuing her story unperturbed.
    “We slept for a time in the waiting room of a dentist friend of ours. We had to be out every morning, but anything was better than my family’s mockery. The dentist was a marvelous man who treated Romain like a prince.”
    “And you like a princess.”
    Mina blushed slightly at the mention of this trivial flirtation.
    “Oh, I have to admit, he was charming and he seemed attracted to me. It lasted three months, until his nurse put a stop to it. She either had enough of us encroaching on her waiting room or she was jealous. She clearly had a thing for Gabriel. His name was Gabriel,” she said with a far off look that betrayed some affection for his memory.
    “She forced you out?”
    “The dentist’s wife complained to the nurse that her husband was coming home later and later and asked her to stop making evening appointments for him. She thought there was something going on between the two of them. So, to prove her innocence, the nurse told her about us, implying it was our fault he was so busy. He threw us out the next day.”
    “But your life must have been easier in Nice than in Warsaw?” Rebecca prodded.
    “We were happy because we were together. I was content just knowing that everything I did was for Romain’s good and that he had a proper childhood. I held every job imaginable: cleaning lady, dog groomer, saleslady at the Negresco Hotel. Finally, I became the manager of the Mermonts Hotel. That was luck! It was a Ukrainian whom I’d helped to buy a building who hired me.”
    “Is that so?” Louise scoffed.
    “That’s quite enough!” Mina burst out, truly angry this time, and with that, she was gone.
    Louise Cohen now turned to Rebecca and pulled out a photo taken at the time of her arrival in Marseille: she was young and a little plump and was wearing a summer dress and a straw hat with a bunch of cherries on the brim. She and her son were walking and he was holding her skirt. It was hard to know who was protecting whom. Was it Louise, the Jewish mother, or was it little Albert, who, at five years old, was already careful to hide his fears from his mother so as not to worry her?
    “It was difficult for Albert to adjust to Marseille, and for me as well,” she began. “We felt quite alone in this France we hardly knew. Albert was my brave little man, wide-eyed, trying hard not to cry. But the big city was overwhelming for him, the noise of passersby, the speed of the cars. Marseille gave us a fright after our little island.”
    Jeanne Proust had come in solemnly, looking like a grand noblewoman, sat down next to Louise, and Mina followed. Had she gone to find an ally?
    Jeanne interrupted, addressing Louise Cohen:
    “You were an Italian in Corfu, you were used to being a foreigner by the time you came to France. I spent my whole life in Paris but I can imagine how hard it must be to feel at home in a strange country.”
    “There’s no comparison! We were Italians in Corfu, it’s true, but four centuries of Venetian rule left their mark. We felt at home there. In France, however, we were utterly lost.”
    “Now you’ve hit the nail on the head!” Mina joined in. “I was already French in my soul before I arrived there. You on the other hand, didn’t even know who you were or where you came from. I don’t know why, Louise, you insist on believing we endured the same hardships. Our experiences weren’t alike in the least.”
    Rebecca looked from one to the other. Mina was heavily made-up and her short hair was carefully combed around her face. More discreet and natural, Louise emanated a