Vivi turned to look at her.
“For being so stubborn last night, and before that. For being so difficult when you wanted to go to services at a synagogue and light a menorah and all that.”
“My religious awakening, you called it.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been sarcastic about it.”
“You were mean.” Vivi went back to staring out across the lawn. “You’re not the meanest mother in the world, but that wasn’t fair.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. But there’s a reason I was adamant.”
“Because religion is responsible for most of the evils throughout history,” she said, mimicking her mother’s voice. “The Crusades. The Inquisition. You name it, and my mother is against it.”
“Do you know anyone who’s in favor of the Crusades or the Inquisition? I’m sorry that was sarcastic again. In this case I had a more specific objection.”
“Such as?”
“I didn’t want you getting carried away about being Jewish, because you’re not.”
“Here we go again. We’re not practicing Jews.”
“We’re not Jews at all.”
Vivi swiveled to her again. “What?”
“I said we’re not Jewish. We’re Catholic. Or rather I was born and raised a Catholic. Baptism, holy communion, confirmation. All of it. I didn’t go to confession to keep my friend Bette company. I went to confess. Until I was sixteen. My mother was upset when I stopped, but my father was an atheist, and he said I was old enough to make up my own mind.”
“I don’t understand. How did we end up pretending to be Jewish?”
“That was just an assumption the agency made when they found us in the camp.”
“An assumption?”
“Things were pretty chaotic.”
“I don’t understand. If we’re not Jewish, why didn’t you just tell them?”
“It’s complicated.”
“In other words, more secrets.”
“All right, I didn’t tell them because it was a way to get out of France and to America.”
“Why did you want to get out of France?”
Charlotte hesitated. In her entire editorial career, words had never been so important to her. “It was more than chaotic after the Liberation. It was dangerous. People had been through all sorts of hell. They wanted scapegoats. People to blame.”
“For what?”
“For everything they’d suffered.”
“I still don’t understand. Why would they want to blame us? Did we do something wrong?”
Charlotte hesitated again.
“Did we?”
“Not we. But some people thought I did.”
“You didn’t turn in other Jews—I mean Jews—or anything like that?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what did you do that people wanted to punish you for?”
“I took food we weren’t entitled to.”
“You mean you stole?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“I accepted food I shouldn’t have.”
“That doesn’t sound so terrible. You said people were starving.”
She took Vivi’s hand out of her pocket and held it in both of hers. “I took it from a German officer.”
Vivi sat up straighter. “I guess that’s different.” She thought about that for a moment. “Why did he give us food?”
Her daughter was no fool. She went straight to the heart of the matter.
“He used to come to the bookshop. He saw how malnourished you were.”
“Then it’s really my fault. If you hadn’t been worried about me, you wouldn’t have taken the food, right?”
“How could it be your fault? You were a baby. Once he came to the shop when I was out, and the woman who was taking care of you had been arrested, so you were left alone. He found you sick and undernourished and howling. He was a doctor. He gave you an aspirin to bring down your fever. That might not sound like much, but there were shortages of everything, and I couldn’t get my hands on one. It was a terrifying time. Children were dying of pneumonia and measles and all sorts of untreated ailments. After that he started bringing milk and other food. For both of us,” she went on quickly. She wanted Vivi to stop hating her, but she didn’t want her to start hating herself.
Vivi leaned back against the bench again. Charlotte could see her trying to make sense of the story. “That still doesn’t explain how we ended up in the camp.”
“He put us there.”
“So he wasn’t so nice after all.”
“He said it would be the safest place for us. Hiding in plain sight, he called it. He’d been doing it for years.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was a Jew.”
“I thought you said he was a German officer.”
“He was, but he was also a Jew. According to him, the safest place for a Jew in Nazi Germany was in the military. As long as no one found out.”
“This is crazy.”
“That was my initial reaction. But it’s all true.”
“Okay, so here’s this Jewish German officer, and he saved me, but why me, why us? He should have helped people who really were Jewish.”
“I told you. He used to come into the bookshop. He was lonely. We were there. And he grew fond of you. It’s as simple as that.”
Vivi thought for a while. “It doesn’t sound simple at all. It sounds crazy,” she repeated.
“A lot of crazy things happen during war.”
Vivi didn’t say anything to that. She was still trying to make sense of the story.
Charlotte let go of her daughter’s hand and put her own in her pockets. The sun was sliding toward the art deco towers of Central Park West, lengthening the shadows of the trees around the lawn. It didn’t feel so much like spring anymore. She stood. “That’s why I was so mean. I didn’t see the point of unearthing all that history. I was afraid to get in touch with people. Some of them, like our old concierge and other friends”—she didn’t see the need to mention Simone, the one name Vivi might recognize—“were pretty angry at the time. They might still have wanted to settle old scores.”
Vivi went on sitting on the bench, staring up at her mother. Charlotte could tell she was still trying to make sense of the story. It was too complicated and too farfetched. That was because she’d left out an essential part.
“I have one more question,” Vivi said.
Here came the missing piece. But Charlotte wasn’t going to fill it in. At least not yet.
“My father,” Vivi said. “Was he Jewish?”
Charlotte felt almost giddy. She’d dodged the bullet. Then she had to smile at the question. “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but he was born and raised a Catholic, too. And hated the Church with a passion. As far as I know, you don’t have a drop of Jewish blood, whatever Jewish blood is, in you.”
Vivi was silent most of the way home. They were almost at the house when she spoke again. “What do I tell people?”
“You don’t have to tell people anything, unless you want to. I certainly wouldn’t make an announcement. My guess is if you do confide in a friend or two, the news will spread like wildfire.”
“What about the camp?”
“I told you, that wasn’t a lie. But I wouldn’t mention the Jewish German officer. No one would believe it. About his being Jewish or putting us in the camp for safety. Just say we were rounded up by accident or for political reasons if anyone asks, but they won’t. People don’t ask details about things like that.”
“I bet people won’t believe me,” Vivi said as they were climbing the stairs. “They’ll think I’m just trying to pass. That’s what Aunt Hannah calls it. She says it’s immoral.”
“You can’t do anything about what people think. All you can do is tell the truth.”
They reached the landing, and Vivi stood watching her mother unlock the door to the apartment.
“That’s funny comi
ng from you.”
“I deserved that,” Charlotte admitted.
“I’m sorry. Now I’m the mean one.” She followed her mother into the apartment. “You did get us through the war and over here. Like Aunt Hannah said—”
“As Aunt Hannah said.”
“As she said, you were pretty brave.”
“Or one tough cookie.”
* * *
Vivi was in bed when Charlotte went in to say good night.
“In case I haven’t mentioned it, it’s nice to have you back.” She bent over to kiss her daughter, then straightened and started out of the room. When she reached the door and was about to turn out the light, Vivi spoke.
“The Jewish German officer. The one who gave us the food.”
Charlotte turned back to her. “I know the one you mean.”
“Is he still alive?”
“According to a rabbi in Colombia, he was a couple of months ago.”
“You went looking for him?”
“The rabbi came looking for me. He wanted a character reference, if you can call it that.”
Vivi thought for a moment. “Is he my father?”
“What!”
“Is he my father?”
She hadn’t dodged the bullet after all. She walked back to the bed and sat on the side. “I know I lied to you, but I would never lie about something like that.”
“I wouldn’t blame you or anything. I know about those things. Ava Armstrong’s father has a mistress.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It means I’m not a baby. And I wouldn’t blame you,” she said again. “Really. But I want to know who my father is. I have a right to know.”
“You do know.” Charlotte pointed to the photograph on the dresser. “That’s your father. Laurent Louis Foret.”
“You swear?”
“Not only do I swear. I’ll do the math for you. You were born June 13, 1940. Check your birth certificate, if you don’t believe me. That’s one document I managed to get my hands on, though it took half a dozen letters from here to Paris. The Germans didn’t march in until June 14, 1940. Do you believe me now?”
“I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I believe you. It’s just kind of weird, all of a sudden being someone else.”
“You’re not someone else. You’re still you. You just aren’t the religion you thought you were.” She stood. “Look on the bright side. You can always convert.”
Vivi made a face at her.
Charlotte was about to turn out the light when Vivi spoke again.
“Mr. Rosenblum is going to be disappointed.”
“I think he’ll get over it.” She flipped off the light switch and started down the hall to her own room, then stopped, turned back, and stood in the doorway to Vivi’s room.
“Will you do me a favor?” she asked.
“What?”
“Don’t tell Hannah yet. I’d like to tell her, to tell both of them, myself.”
Fifteen
The clock on her night table said a little after ten. It was an unconscionable hour to pay a visit, but the longer she procrastinated, the harder this was going to be. She picked up the telephone and dialed the Fields’ number.
Horace answered. She said she knew it wasn’t exactly a time to drop in, but there was something she wanted to talk to him about. “To you and Hannah both,” she corrected herself. “Would it be too inconvenient if I came down now?”
“I’ve been looking for an excuse to put aside this manuscript for the past hour. I’m in the study. Ground floor, as if you didn’t know.”
He was waiting for her at the open door. “I got you here under false pretenses,” he said as he led the way across the waiting room for Hannah’s office to his study. “Hannah’s out.”
“Perhaps I should come back.”
He glanced at her with raised eyebrows.
“I’m not sure I can go through this twice.”
“You don’t have to go through with whatever it is at all. You don’t owe me any explanations. Hannah or me. Maybe you owe them to Vivi. According to Hannah you do. But not to us.”
“I think I do.”
“Then you might as well have a drink.” He went to the bar to pour the drinks, and she took the chair in front of the bay of windows overlooking the garden.
“This is getting to be a nice habit,” he said as he handed her one of the drinks and positioned his chair at a right angle to hers.
“You won’t think so when you hear what I came to say.”
“Let me guess. You want an increase in salary, a decrease in rent, an office with a real door, or all three.”
“A bit more weighty than any of that.”
“Apparently. Does this by any chance have to do with that business with Vivi last night? I admit Hannah has a tendency to rush in where, well, you know those angels and their fears, but she really did mean well.”
“I know that, and I appreciate it.”
“Then what?”
She took a swallow of her drink. The ice rattled in the glass as she put it down on the table. “I’m here under false pretenses.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“No, I mean I really am. The other night Vivi called me a self-hating Jew.”
“Why do I hear the echo of Hannah’s voice in that statement?”
“It doesn’t matter where it came from. It’s not true.”
He shrugged.
“I’m not a self-hating Jew. I’m a guilty gentile.”
He sat looking at her for a moment. “What are you telling me? That you’ve been passing the wrong way, so to speak?”
She nodded. He thought about that for a moment. “I have to admit it’s original. And it does explain the lack of antennae.” He sat watching her for another moment. “I won’t ask why you’d do something like that. It isn’t as if you hadn’t been through enough, or so I imagine, and had to go looking for more trouble. But if you don’t mind my saying so, who cares?”
“Vivi does. I do.”
“You want to be Jewish?”
“I want not to have lied to everyone. You, you and Hannah”—she corrected herself again—“sponsored me because you thought I was Jewish.”
“Actually, I was surprised that you were. I never thought your father was. But that was what the agency said.”
“The agency assumed. I never told them differently.”
“So that’s it? The big confession? Charlotte Foret has been passing as a Jew?”
“It’s a bit more than that.” She told him about Julian and the food. She didn’t tell him the rest. She didn’t have to. He’d know. “So you see,” she said when she finished, “I collaborated with the enemy. I was a collaborator.” Again she didn’t think she had to spell out the horizontale part.
“Collaborator. An interesting word. But what does it mean? A while ago, I read in a manuscript I turned down that during the four years of the Occupation, your compatriots, good French citizens one and all, wrote almost a million letters to the German authorities and their French minions denouncing their friends, foes, and even relatives as Jews, socialists, communists, and various other enemies of the Reich. How many did you contribute to that number?”
“You don’t have to denounce someone to be a collaborator.”
“Oh, I see. You provided other kinds of information. Plans for sabotage, times and places of Resistance meetings, whereabouts of downed Allied pilots in hiding.”
“You know I didn’t do any of that.”
“I’m trying to figure out what you did do.”
“I told you. Don’t make me go through it again.”
“I’m just trying to understand where we draw the line. I can see that taking an orange for a child who hasn’t had vitamin C since she was born was a heinous crime, but is saying thank you to a German soldier who holds the door for you a betrayal of your country or a slip of the tongue due to ingrained good manners? Is an inadverten
t smile giving comfort to the enemy or an uncontrollable tick of the funny bone?”
“It was a bit more than good manners or reflexive reactions.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? They were rounding up people and sending them off to die.”
“We’ve already been through that. As far as I can tell, you weren’t complicit in those crimes. Listen, Charlie, I never lived under an occupation, but I can guess a little what it was like. Let someone who never showed a shred of decency to the enemy during all that time cast the first stone.”
“Some people didn’t.”
“Bully for them.”
“There was a man in my apartment house. A chain smoker. Before the war, I never saw him without a cigarette in his mouth. You could smell him coming two floors away. Under the Occupation, he looked as if he had palsy. He was that shaky from the lack of tobacco. One day I saw a German soldier on the street offer him a cigarette. That was the awful part of it. Some of them could be nice. The man kept going without even acknowledging the offer.”
“That certainly advanced the war effort.”
“At least he could face himself in the mirror.”
“A solipsistic pleasure. Did you ever think you and I ought to spend less time gazing at ourselves and more time looking at each other?”
“That’s your solution?”
“Can you think of a better one?” He wheeled closer to her. “Stand up.”
“Are you throwing me out?”
“You know damn well I’m not throwing you out. I’m offering consolation. It won’t be as jubilant as that night in the office, but a little human warmth never hurt.”
“This isn’t the time for it.”
“This is exactly the time for it.”
“Don’t you understand what I’m telling you? I wasn’t just smiling or saying thank you. I was sleeping with the enemy.”
“Stand up, Charlie.”
She went on sitting in the chair.
“If you don’t need the solace, I do.”
“Why do you need solace?”
“I just discovered the woman I love has feet of clay.”
He reached over, took her hands, and tried to draw her to him, but she still didn’t move. They went on sitting that way. A car cruised down the street. The radiator clanked. Outside the window, a dog barked, a man’s voice apologized, and a woman said that was all right, she liked dogs.
Paris Never Leaves You Page 20
