Free A Pocket Full of Seeds by Marilyn Sachs Page B

I think he must wobble when he finally does walk. But he doesn’t die. He can’t die.”
    Françoise reached out for another piece of matzoh.
    “Françoise?” I said.
    “What?”
    “Well, what do you think?”
    “I think,” said Françoise, “that you should eat your soup. It’s getting cold.”
     
    September 1943
     
    The Germans occupied Aix-les-Bains in June of 1943. Most people expected them because of the allied victories in North Africa, and the threat of an allied invasion through Italy. Most people said that, in spite of Maréchal Pétain’s assurances, the Germans would take over unoccupied France. My father said they would not come. He believed that when the invasion took place it would be through western France and not Italy. All through the winter, as one town after another was occupied by German troops, my father said they would never come to Aix-les-Bains.
    One day they were suddenly, quietly there. We saw German nurses walking together along the Rue de Geneve. Like the summer tourists, they laughed and talked and acted as if they belonged here. There were no parades, no tanks, no banners as we had expected. We saw very few soldiers—a couple of officers sitting at the café, and politely moving their chairs to allow other people to pass, a few of the soldiers, in their gray-green uniforms with cameras in front of the Arc de Campanus.
    “It’s unreal,” Maman said. “They wipe out towns, kill hostages, imprison, torture, burn ... But here, they enter the town like tourists, and everybody acts as if it’s all very ordinary. For two days we all stay in, but now nobody seems to notice they’re even around.”
    “We’re   not   important,”   Papa   said.   “Thank God! There’s just a small force stationed here. They don’t have the strength to do anything. They’re harmless.”
    “Last week in Les Beauges,” Maman said, “they shot three members of the underground, and also the family that was hiding them. How can you say that they’re harmless?”
    Maman talked all the time now about leaving France. She wanted to go to Annemasse and pay a runner to sneak us across the border into Switzerland. Papa said it was too dangerous. Maman said that staying in Aix-les-Bains and waiting for the Germans to come and get us was not only more dangerous, it was stupid as well. Papa said people got shot crossing the border illegally, and even if you did get over, and the Swiss Guards didn’t send you back, then they would put you in a prison camp where you’d probably starve to death or die of the cold before the war ended.
    “It’s the only chance we have,” Maman said. “At least we will be safe in Switzerland, and not be treated differently from any other refugees just because we’re Jewish.”
    Every day now, people we knew were leaving for Switzerland. Even M. Bonnet had gone weeks ago.
    “Now he will never find his children,” I said to Maman.
    “Yes he will,” said Maman. “He has a much better chance of finding them if he is alive to look for them, and he will remain alive in Switzerland.”
    Papa said it didn’t make sense to go to Switzerland. He said the Germans were losing. It was only a matter of time. To leave France would be to give up everything. Perhaps it would be impossible to get back again. And then, we had so many good friends in the town. Even if the Germans were planning a roundup of the Jews, he was positive that we would hear about it beforehand and have plenty of time to go into hiding.
    Maman talked about leaving all the time now. The business was dead, and my father had stopped going to the markets. Maman still sewed at home but there was hardly any money coming in, and even if there was, there was not much to buy—bad bread, synthetic coffee, hardly any meat or cheese, no eggs, no potatoes, very few fruits or vegetables. Everything was rationed—clothing as well as food.
    My parents argued every day now. Their voices grew hard and angry. Even