Free All the Light There Was by Nancy Kricorian Page B

the most sympathetic.
    “Pardon me, sir, but would it be possible to get in touch with someone who is inside?” I asked.
    He looked me over carefully. “A relative?”
    “Oh, no,” I told him. “I have brought this basket for our neighbors.”
    “There are thousands of Jews in there,” he said. “It’s hellishly hot.”
    I nodded.
    “What’s in the basket?” he asked.
    “Bread, cheese, some pickles, and a bit of sausage. The sausage is for you.”
    The young officer took the basket and an envelope with Joseph Lipski’s name on it. “Stay here. I’ll be back to tell you if I manage to find them.”
    I stood rooted to the assigned spot for what seemed like a long time, but finally the sun was too much for me. Sweat trickled down my neck, and I wished I had money to buy a drink from the café on the corner. I positioned myself across the street in the shade so I could watch and be seen from the entrance into which he had disappeared. I wondered if he would really return as he’d promised or if he had made off with the whole basket and was having a jolly picnic by himself. I wondered if it was even possible to find Joseph and Sara Lipski among all the thousands inside that stadium. I leaned heavily against the wall behind me. I imagined that Denise Rozenbaum and her parents were in there as well. I wished we had been able to send some food for the Rozenbaums, but it had been difficult enough to scrape together the basket for the Lipskis.
    Finally the police officer returned with the envelope I had given him. On the back, there were words hastily scribbled in pencil.
     
Dear Maral, Thanks to you and your family a thousand times for this food and all other assistance. When it is possible please send the package we left with you to my sister, Myriam, in Nice. You will find money for postage in the small suitcase. S. Lipski
     
    A name and address were printed beneath.
     
    “Even if the money they left in the child’s suitcase covers the fare, I don’t see how it is possible,” my father said that night after Claire had been tucked into bed. “How can we get that child to the Free Zone? And even if we got her over the demarcation line, how would we get her all the way to Nice?”
    Missak said, “There are people who can help. It may take some time to arrange, but it can be done.”
    My mother and father exchanged apprehensive glances but didn’t ask Missak who these people might be. I knew no details, but it was clear to me that Missak felt Claire’s being with us put more than his own personal safety at risk. He was angry because that risk was shared with these unknown associates.
    The next day, I tried to keep Claire entertained with buttons, spools, and scraps of cloth. When she tired of these, I tied a half apron around her waist and let her help wash the dishes. My mother ran up a few small dresses for the doll Charlotte, and Auntie Shakeh knit Charlotte a sweater. In the afternoon, before I went to the shoe-repair shop to help my father, we put a sheet over the table in the front room so Claire could play house. She sat under the table changing the doll’s clothes and whispering to her. But it was difficult keeping a child cooped up in the small apartment in the summer heat. And I started to think it was unnatural how polite and cooperative Claire was. She didn’t cry and she didn’t complain; she just stared up at us with round eyes.
    The next night, after Claire was asleep, Missak relayed the news that the stadium had been emptied. He heard the Jews had been sent to Drancy, and from there they were being put on trains heading to work camps in the east.
    My mother paled when she heard this. “But what work is Sara Lipski fit to do in her condition? She’s going to have a baby in two months.”
    Auntie Shakeh said, “Thank God they left Claire with us.”
    Even though Claire made little noise, we were painfully aware of any sound or sign that might betray her presence. When my mother washed the