How Huge The Night Part 19

Julien shrugged. Does he know about it? What a stupid question. But-honor and glory-fundamental values-foreign influences, corrupting foreign influences, purging foreigners out of the new Vichy government, was that what "fundamental values" meant? Being French? French by blood?

The marshal, the beloved, heroic marshal, who sounded so n.o.ble on the radio, who wanted to give France a new birth of honor and virtue-he thought he could do it by throwing Benjamin out? Julien felt the bile rise in his throat.

"It's like your Grandpa said," said Papa. "Now we know."

Above the place du centre, the swallows flew, crying, turning against the red sky. Julien watched them and felt a deep, sweet sadness rise in him. It had been a good summer. In spite of everything. He was still full-both heart and stomach full-from the meal they had just had with Roland's family. One of those meals where awkward conversation slowly gives way to loud talk and laughter, and by the end of the night, everyone is in a warm bubble together, the world outside forgotten for the circle of faces and the light in them. He'd never seen Benjamin so happy. They'd asked him so many questions. Julien had learned what the words meant that Benjamin had whispered on the night he ran away. Ribbono Shel Olom: Master of the Universe. G.o.d.

There were guys around the Tabac-Presse. Julien headed for them.

And saw too late who they were.

Henri, Lucien, and Gaston. "That's why I put the sign up at the mairie," Gaston was saying. "The papers won't report it! The Jews own them all! The marshal can change the law, but someone's gotta ..."

Julien turned, walked casually across the place toward the mairie. A notice board stood there, gla.s.sed-in and locked. A paper was taped outside the gla.s.s.

Marchandeau Law Repealed. A law against racist and anti-Semitic speech in newspapers or on the radio. Repealed. By the beloved marshal, naturally.

He began to pick at the tape.

He heard them behind him, but he did not turn. He had one corner of the tape off when Henri spoke.

"h.e.l.lo."

Julien turned. Henri was alone.

"Censorship?"

"This is an illegal notice."

"Because there's a law against the truth?"

Julien looked Henri in the eye, took the corner of the notice, and pulled. It came off, and he held it up by its corner like the dirty rag it was.

"I'm proud of you, Julien. Striking a blow for liberty and justice. And free speech and truth."

Julien almost couldn't speak. "You think truth is what's gonna come of this?"

"Listen and see. The marshal just might know something you didn't know. How many Jews own radio stations in this country? Don't know? Hm. And you'd like for n.o.body to be allowed to tell you, right? How many Jews are Communists? How many of the Jews in this country are from Germany? Oh wait," said Henri with a little smile. "Maybe you know that one."

Julien opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He was dizzy with rage.

"You don't want that thing, right?" Henri said, and s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper out of his hand. He turned toward his friends across the square and saluted; and Julien forgot the paper. Forgot everything.

It was a stiff-armed salute, hand pointing up into the evening sky. He'd seen it before in newsreels. They used it in Germany.

When they saluted Hitler.

His rage dropped away, fathoms and fathoms down, into the void of pure shock.

"Henri," he said, almost breathless. "Do you know what that salute means?" He couldn't know. Even Henri-especially Henri- "It's the new salute of the National Revolution. It symbolizes strength and pride in our nation," said Henri with calm pride.

"No it doesn't!" Julien half roared, his voice cracking. Henri stared at him. "It's the salute they do in Germany! The n.a.z.i salute! Don't you understand, Henri?" He had to catch his breath. "It's Petain, he's giving them what they want, they want to turn us into n.a.z.is! French n.a.z.is!" His eyes stung. The swallows wheeled and cried above them in the darkening sky.

Henri's little smile was back. "Julien, Julien. Maybe you should go home and lie down. You've had a hard day. If we use the other salute, does it make us Brits? Or Americans? The Germans have one thing right, and that's pride. We could use some too. That's why we're supposed to salute the flag every morning at school now. Marshal's orders. And"-he snapped out the salute again-"That's how we're supposed to do it."

Henri turned on his heel and walked away. "And Julien," he added over his shoulder, his voice growing colder, "when you're in my presence, could you please refrain from calling the marshal a n.a.z.i?"

School would start in the morning, but Julien hardly slept at all.

Chapter 30.

Help Gustav stood on the main street of Lyon, between expensive shops and restaurants, looking around at the people: men in suits, women in beautiful dresses. The people who still ate.

He didn't want to do this. But he was so hungry. And Niko, every day by the cathedral, pleading with strangers-in three days getting maybe enough for a loaf of bread. Her collarbones stood out; there were hollows in her cheeks.

It scared him.

They had fallen to searching garbage cans, eating moldy bread, cracking bones for the marrow. Lying in wait on market day to find the smashed tomatoes and broken carrots when the merchants packed up their stalls. But even there, others were before them. Yesterday he had fought a man over half a cabbage. His ribs were bruised. He had come home empty-handed.

So he had to do this.

Lorenzo said purses were the easiest. Then wallets in back pockets. I know you're not the type, kid, but if it comes to life or death, I want you to live, okay? I want you to do what you gotta do. You got a brother to take care of, don't forget that.

He watched the people go past. They watched him. Women in fur coats, clutching them closed. Men's eyes darting round, back pockets empty. He watched for an hour and saw not a single chance. He dared not try for an inside pocket. He'd be arrested. Nina would die.

Even today he could bring her nothing.

"I saved you this, Gustav-a nun gave it to me. I ate half-and this man gave me fifty centimes, with another fifty we'll have enough for-"

"You eat it."

"Gustav. It's for you."

The woman came out of nowhere, before he could move, screaming. Her face distorted by rage. She grabbed Niko's crutch, and Niko fell. The woman swung wildly, caught Niko a hard crack on the ribs that made her cry out-Gustav grabbed for the crutch, grappled with her, but his grip broke, and she swung again, and sharp pain hit the side of his head. He heard his own wild voice yelling curses in Yiddish as he plunged toward her, and then someone grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms, and a male voice was shouting in French, and a big, bearded man had the wild-haired woman by the shoulders and was shouting in her face. Gustav went limp, and the arms released him. He fell to his knees beside Niko. She was moaning in pain. Gustav felt her ribs, gingerly. She cried out.

"Is he all right?" said a voice. Gustav looked up sharply. It was the bearded man.

He had spoken in German.

His name was Herr Buhle. A refugee from Alsace, near the German border. He carried Niko in his arms to the train station, where he and his wife lived until tomorrow. Tomorrow they were leaving for Valence, they'd bought the tickets with the last of their money, but his wife was a nurse, he said, and could at least examine the boy-he was sorry he could offer so little help- "It's all right," Gustav whispered.

The woman had thought they were German, Herr Buhle said. She'd heard their Yiddish and taken it for German-hardly more than a month ago the Germans had been here in Lyon, the swastika flying over the city, and they'd left so much anger behind. "Please believe that this is not normal here. I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am."

Gustav nodded. They were entering the station. Herr Buhle led the way to a dimly lit hallway by the bathrooms, where a tired-faced woman sat on a blanket.

He left them with her, and she began to feel Niko's ribs beneath her shirt. Niko's eyes followed her, but she didn't move. Only a sharp intake of breath told him Frau Buhle had discovered the truth; her eyes flicked over to Gustav, but she gave no other sign. "I'm afraid he may have a cracked rib," she said quietly. She gave him a small bar of soap to wash Niko's wounds where the skin was broken. He hadn't seen soap in months. She said when the body was weakened, risk of infection was high.

Herr Buhle came back with a small tin pail; when he opened it, Gustav's stomach cramped with hunger. Cabbage soup. Still lukewarm. It tasted incredible.

He drew Gustav a map to the soup kitchen he'd got it from and put a French note into his hand. He'd gotten him permission to bring a second serving of soup to his brother every day. He should show them the note. He hoped it would help.

Gustav swallowed, and couldn't speak.

"I will pray for you," Herr Buhle added. "Is it all right if I pray for you?"

Gustav nodded.

Chapter 31.

French n.a.z.is Julien walked in the school gate; a troisieme for the second year in a row. They were making them repeat their semester on the theory that half a semester spent watching their country get conquered hadn't prepared them for lycee very well. Good point. Magali was at the new school now, but thanks to Julien, and Henri's father at that stupid meeting-and Hitler, he supposed-the Ecole du Vivarais couldn't take troisiemes till next year.

So there they were, the old guard, still the kings of the school. Henri, under his tree again, and the royal court too-looking a little thin. Pierre wasn't back. And there weren't as many followers around the edges. Julien glanced around hopefully.

There they were. His friends, sitting on the wall. Roland beckoned.

Benjamin followed him, and they shook hands all round: Roland, Jean-Pierre, Louis, and his friends. Roland gave him his crooked smile. Julien grinned.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad year.

Monsieur Astier with his bullhorn gathered them, and called the roll, and announced the new, ah, activity they would be doing this year at the suggestion of their good marshal. It had been, ah, instructed that they salute the flag. He didn't mention the n.a.z.i stiff-arm bit. "This ceremony," he continued in a much surer voice, "is, as far as the school is concerned, voluntary. Those who partic.i.p.ate may, if they choose, use an alternate style of salute with the hand over the heart."

Up at the front, Henri's head snapped up, and he said something to Lucien in a furious whisper. Then he was speaking to Ricot-Ricot was breaking away from the cla.s.s, walking up to Astier. Astier lowered his bullhorn. They conferred. Then he raised it again. "Monsieur Ricot has volunteered to lead the ceremony."

Ricot stared at him.

"What're they so worked up about?" whispered Roland.

"It's the kind of salute they want us-We don't even do flag salutes in France, we never have-"

"Follow me," Ricot was blaring with his high-pitched voice in the bullhorn. The rows of cla.s.ses broke up into confusion. Henri and his friends were right on Ricot's heels, the pet.i.ts sixiemes right behind them. Others were hesitating, looking at each other. What's going on? Are we really supposed to do this or not?

"Form a circle around the flagpole. Don't you people know what a circle is? Form a circle!" People were flinching away from the voice. In spite of everything, Julien laughed.

Slowly, the chaos shaped itself in a shifting circle. Guys breaking in, guys breaking out, sixiemes looking scared, Ricot getting redder and redder.

Julien didn't move an inch from where he stood. Neither did his friends.

Ricot said a few shrill words about the glory of France. The janitor, looking annoyed at all the attention, raised the flag. As the blue, white, and red rose up above them, Monsieur Ricot threw his arm out stiffly to the sky.

Julien watched Benjamin's face turn white.

Henri Quatre and his crew saluted proudly. Most of the others saluted too. Gilles's friendly face creased into a troubled frown as he lifted his arm. Antoine and Leon put their hands on their hearts. They weren't the only ones.

"Have I seen that salute somewhere?" muttered Roland. He gave the white-faced Benjamin a look of concern.

"You might've seen it in a newsreel," said Julien in a flat voice. "A whole bunch of Germans at some kind of rally saluted Hitler like that."

"Yeah," said Jean-Pierre slowly. "I think I saw that one too. The-"

Benjamin cut in. "I'm going home."

"But it's the-"

"Tell your father, would you?" His voice was completely expressionless. He turned and walked away, across the schoolyard, his small form growing even smaller in the distance.

"Does he ... need help or anything?" asked Roland.

"No," said Julien. "I think he'd rather be alone."

At supper, Benjamin said nothing. He ate steadily, looking at the spot just beyond his plate as if he had never seen anything so fascinating. After supper, Julien followed him upstairs.

"Only half of them even did it, Benjamin. You saw that, didn't you?"

Benjamin turned from his windowsill where he was leaning, looking out into the evening sky. His face was very calm. "Can you keep a secret, Julien?"

Julien blinked. "Sure. Of course."

"Astier fumbled it on purpose. And your mother knows."

"She told you?"

"She wouldn't say it right out. But she wanted me to know. Don't ask me who told her."

Julien felt a wry smile spread across his face, slowly. "Huh," he said. "Huh."

Mama sang while she did the dishes; then stopped, for a minute, to tell Julien and Magali about their new ration cards.

She'd stood in line at the mairie with all five of the family's ident.i.ty cards, wondering if she dared show them Benjamin's. If they looked him up in the records, they might find he wasn't a citizen anymore. Anything could happen. They could send him back to Germany- "They better not," Magali growled.

"Hush now. So I thought I'd hold his card back. But I just can't feed the five of us on four ration cards, even with what your grandfather gives me-"

"We'll manage, Mama. We'll-" Eat less ...

"Let me tell my story, you two. So I got up to the front of the line, and I couldn't do it. I dropped his card back in my purse, and I handed the woman our four. And she says, 'Is your husband in the army?'"

They stared at her.