Children of the Stars

by Mario Escobar

  The doctor continued, “I know a gendarme sergeant who can give us a hand. Follow me, but stay a bit behind.”

  They headed for the stairs and slowly walked up to the second tier, then to one of the rooms at the back of the velodrome.

  “Wait here,” the doctor said, sticking his hands in his pockets and walking off.

  “Can we trust him?” Joseph asked as soon as Michelle was out of sight.

  Jacob shrugged. “We’ve got no choice. We’re not supposed to trust strangers, but there’s nobody here in this huge stadium but strangers.”

  The two boys stood facing the dark hallway with their ears attuned for any sound of approach. They grew impatient the longer the doctor delayed. Joseph drummed his fingers on the wall, and Jacob fiddled with his knife. Finally, they heard voices, then steps, and saw two figures emerging from the darkness.

  Jacob and Joseph straightened up. One of the men was a gendarme. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him,” Joseph hissed.

  Michelle raised his hands to calm them. The braids on the officer’s jacket shimmered, and the children understood he was a sergeant. The boys stiffened in fear when the two men stopped before them.

  “Your brother,” the doctor said, “is not in the section of lost children.”

  “What?”

  “The sergeant believes he may have been transported to the commissary, but I imagine he’s still in the building. We must find him before anything happens to him,” Michelle said, glancing at the sergeant.

  “I can’t put my men on this job, but I can ask some friends to help us. The velodrome is large, but it only has a few private rooms,” the sergeant explained.

  Jacob felt his heart breaking into shards of glass, slicing at him from within, making breath impossible.

  “We’re going to find him,” the doctor said. His frail encouragement fell flat, and Jacob burst into tears. He knew that hatred was an unbeatable force in the heart of a wicked man. Every second that went by, his brother was in more danger. He took off running down the halls of the stadium, his heart pounding in his ears with a furious thrum.

  Chapter 5

  Paris

  July 17, 1942

  Darkness allied itself to fear that night. Jacob ran from one place to the next, stopped short when he saw a boy that looked like his brother in the crowd, then recommenced his frantic search. It was almost impossible for the doctor to keep up with him. Finally they reached the uppermost tier. The rows of seats swarmed with people even though this was the hottest area in the velodrome. Not even the hint of a breeze stirred, and the nearness of the Seine only increased the humidity.

  Jacob stared into faces darkened both by the lack of light and exhaustion. He scoured the bathrooms and searched the few empty seats he could find, then sat down on a bench jutting out into the main hall.

  “He’s not here,” he said flatly as the doctor approached, panting.

  “He’s got to be somewhere,” Michelle insisted. Though the stadium was enormous, there were only a limited number of hiding places.

  “The only place we haven’t gone is . . . Of course!” Jacob shouted, jumping to his feet again.

  “Where now?”

  “The basement. The gendarme took him to the basement!”

  Jacob tore down the stairs and came upon Joseph and the sergeant on their way up. The banging of feet on the stairway reverberated louder as the rest of the group followed Jacob down. Minutes later, on the ground floor, Jacob tried to pull open the basement door—yet it would not budge. The sergeant and a few of the gendarmes that had joined them tried as well, but it was locked from the inside.

  “Surely there’s another way in?” Jacob asked the air, frantic. They looked all around but saw no other possible way into the basement.

  “Maybe from the bathrooms?” suggested one of the policemen. They all ran back up to the main floor and searched the bathroom hand over hand for any out-of-the-way door. Despite the nauseating stench, Jacob threw himself on the ground to leave no square inch unexplored.

  “And we’re sure they didn’t take the child from the building?” Michelle asked the sergeant.

  “No, they would have presented a transfer slip. Besides, it’s too soon.”

  One of the gendarmes raised his arms and hollered for everyone to come. “Look here!” The group ran toward him and saw two handles sticking out of a metal plate in the floor. Two of the men managed to lift it, revealing a sort of tunnel. One of the gendarmes shone his flashlight into the darkness inside. “There’s no way to know where it—”

  Jacob wasted no time. He grabbed the flashlight from the man’s hand and jumped down into the tunnel, with Joseph right behind him. They fell onto a damp, cold floor, then stood and shone the light all around them. “It looks just like the tunnel I was in the other night,” Jacob said.

  The boys walked as fast as they could, nearly losing track of the many turns they took, but Jacob kept his eyes on the pipes that looked like the ones he had seen in his first foray into the basement’s inner workings. They walked for a while before the tunnel changed and became more like a hallway. Seeing a light at the end, they proceeded with care.

  Jacob feared the worst when he heard voices and cries of pain. He pulled out his pocketknife and, pressed against the wall, made his way carefully toward the room at the entryway ahead. Joseph followed close behind. Jacob turned to Joseph ever so briefly and motioned for absolute silence. The door before them was ajar.

  The boys crouched down and peered through the crack. They saw the large back of the gendarme, but no sign of Moses. The officer took a few steps backward, just in front of the door. Jacob shoved it with all his might. The wooden door knocked into the gendarme, throwing him off balance, and the two boys shot into the room. Moses was there—wearing almost nothing but the belt marks on his back. When the gendarme made to stand, Joseph pummeled and kicked him to give Jacob and Moses a moment to escape. But as they ran, the gendarme grabbed Joseph’s leg. The boy fought with all his strength and planted his foot in the man’s eyes. The officer collapsed, and the three boys took off running into the darkness of the basement.

  Minutes later, hoping they were a safe distance away from the gendarme, they paused to catch their breath and turned on the flashlight.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Jacob said, his voice unsteady. “The gendarmes will register us and then send us somewhere else.”

  Moses stood looking at him, speechless. His pants were bunched up and twisted, his shirt was on inside out, and his face was blotched with screaming red. Jacob reached for and held his sobbing brother.

  “The worst is over,” Jacob soothed him, stroking his hair. “We’re together again. That’s all that matters.”

  “I . . . I was so scared. He was . . . He was crazy. I thought he was going to . . . to kill . . .” Moses stammered and gasped for breath.

  “Shh, shh. It’s okay now,” Jacob said in his calmest voice. Moses’s breathing evened, the rising of his chest echoing the fall of his brother’s in a soothing rhythm. They had been still for several minutes, and all three boys felt a little cold. The past few hours had left them drenched in sweat, and in the stillness it turned into a chill.

  “Do you think these tunnels have an exit to the outside?” Joseph wondered aloud.

  Jacob turned the flashlight onto their friend. He seemed even paler than when they first met him, and his shirt was damp with sweat. Jacob had only seen Joseph a few times before, and only ever in the synagogue—but since they had found each other here in the velodrome, he had started to become another kind of brother.

  Jacob grabbed the Star of David his aunt had tacked onto his shirt and yanked it off. He threw it onto the basement floor and stomped on it. The other two boys followed his example. They entered near hysterics trampling the symbol of their shame and oppression.

  “That is the last time I’ll ever wear it.” The absoluteness in Jacob’s voice cut through the energy of the younger boys. Then he turned t
he flashlight into the darkness, which could not be chased away but could be split open by the light. As hope could destroy doubt, the ray of the flashlight would be enough to guide them to freedom.

  They walked down several tunnels and started to hear the noises of toilets being flushed. “People are waking up,” Joseph observed. Then they heard the rush of water through the pipes.

  “Water will lead to the sewers,” Jacob said. “If we follow it, we might find an exit.” The boys quickened their pace. When they were unsure where to go next, they stood still, listening to discern the direction of the flowing water. They heard voices in the distance but tried to ignore them, focusing on the water that might lead them out.

  Jacob spotted some pricks of light in the ceiling of the tunnel and some metal rungs in the wall. “It looks like a sewer drain,” he said. The boys looked around them before deciding to climb the ladder.

  “What happens if we’re coming up too close to the velodrome and a gendarme sees us?” Joseph asked.

  “We’ll just have to run. They’ll be able to see us since it’s daytime, but we can try to get lost in a crowd,” Jacob answered.

  “But our clothes are disgusting. We’ll stand out. Plus, you can see where the star used to be,” Joseph countered, touching his chest.

  “Well, we’ll head for empty streets. First, let’s try to find my aunt at her apartment. Then we’ll go to your family’s house so you can get cleaned up. After that, we’ll go with you to find them like we promised.”

  Joseph studied his friend’s face, as much as the darkness would allow. The confidence in Jacob’s words breathed an inner strength into Joseph like he had never felt before.

  “Isn’t it strange to you that your aunt hasn’t come looking for you?” he asked.

  Jacob shrugged. “Don’t forget, nobody registered us. There’s no record of us being here, and we weren’t on any list.”

  “Yeah, but people saw you get on the buses. Someone must have told her what happened,” Joseph insisted.

  “They took tons of people and shipped them off to who knows where. I’m not surprised she hasn’t been able to find us. But we’ll find her. She’ll tell us what to do.” Jacob nodded firmly.

  Moses, calmer now, piped up. “Aunt Judith is really brave. She’ll take care of us.” He pressed a small hand to his sore body, but at least he could breathe again. As the policeman beat him, his mind had instead focused upon Jacob coming to save him and taking him to their parents.

  Jacob went up first. When he reached the round lid, he pushed gently. It was much heavier than he expected, and he would need help to budge it. “Come on up,” he said to Joseph.

  The two boys worked together, barely balanced on the metal rungs of the ladder as their only support, and pushed on the lid of the manhole. They managed to pry up one side and slowly budge the lid to the side.

  They inched the lid a little farther out of the way, and Jacob stole a glance around. Fortunately, the manhole was located neither in the middle of the street nor in a highly visible area. The velodrome was directly in front of them. He and Joseph slid the lid open enough to allow them room to climb out. Blinded by the light, Moses watched from below, and the fresh air reminded him that a world beyond the tunnels did exist.

  “Come up quick,” Jacob called.

  After climbing up onto the street, the three boys walked down the sidewalk in front of the building. Gendarmes stood all around, but no one paid them much attention. As soon as they rounded the corner, they broke into a run. They had no idea where they were going, but when they saw the Eiffel Tower ahead, it beckoned like a lighthouse leading them home.

  Chapter 6

  Paris

  July 18, 1942

  The city seemed to have transformed during the two days the boys had been sequestered in the velodrome. The degree of indifference among Parisians was even more visible after the raid. The sad fate of misfortune retreated, leaving the rest unscathed and somehow immunized against pain and suffering. The passersby hardly glanced at the three little vagabonds. Since the occupation, unkempt children roaming the streets was not an uncommon sight. Little by little, poverty and hunger had spread throughout both the occupied and free zones of the country, but most French focused upon how things would get better soon. The Great War had been much harder than this, and they had come out stronger.

  The boys made their way down the clean and empty streets. They went by foot, not daring to take a train or bus. The police could detain them easily on public transportation, and the boys had no identification with them.

  After an exhausting three-hour walk, they finally saw the street where Jacob and Moses had spent the greater part of their existence—their own little world where the frontiers of their imagination had seemed safe and stable. They walked beyond their school building toward the synagogue. The wooden doors—scorched black and still smelling of smoke—were open, showing the disarray within. Jacob thought of Rabbi Ezekiel, the young man with the curly beard and kind face. He knew the rabbi was German like the Steins, and there would be little hope of finding him there. If the man had not been taken, he would be somewhere safer, in hiding.

  They walked by the bakery, which was closed, and the butcher’s and several other stores before reaching their apartment building. The large gate leading to the inner courtyard was wide open. They snuck through the narrow pass by the doorwoman’s lookout as quickly as they could. They could not risk her betraying them to the police again.

  They crept up the stairs, unsure of which tenants they could trust. All the Jewish residents had fled or been taken. And we surely can’t trust the non-Jews, Jacob thought as he climbed the worn wooden steps. A tempting thought flickered through his brain: What if it had all been a bad dream? Maybe his parents and Aunt Judith would be waiting for them at the apartment, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  When they got to the door, Jacob felt in his pockets. He still had the key. He opened the door and slipped into the front hallway. It was dark inside. In the summer, only afternoon sunlight made its way into the apartment, and even then only in the living room and his aunt’s bedroom. The long wooden floorboards creaked as they walked, alerting any and every neighbor that someone was home. They decided to take off their shoes. No trace of their aunt remained in the living room, the kitchen, or the bathroom. They went into her bedroom, the one place off-limits to them in the house. The bed was made, and her clothing was still neatly arranged. Judith’s old brown suitcase lay atop the wardrobe.

  “She hasn’t left,” Moses said, pointing to the suitcase.

  “No, she might be at work. Maybe it would be better for us to stay here and rest until nighttime,” Jacob suggested.

  “But I thought we were going to my house and then you’d help me find the other camp where they took prisoners.” Joseph’s chin trembled.

  The two brothers looked at their friend. They had finally gotten somewhere they knew, where they felt moderately safe, but he was still not home and had no real certainty about the whereabouts of his family. Being that alone in the world was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. No one cared about him. If he disappeared right then and there, his life would have vanished like noonday fog.

  “We will. I promised you. But first we’ve got to know what’s happened with my aunt,” Jacob assured him.

  While the two younger boys went to look for food in the kitchen, Jacob searched the drawers of his aunt’s bureau and then brought the suitcase down. He opened it carefully and looked inside. To his surprise, it was full of old photographs—yellowed letters in white envelopes with red-and-blue trim, all bundled together with red yarn; some newer envelopes; several maps of France; some money; and the personal documents and identification for each of the three of them. Jacob slipped a picture of his mother into his pocket, then flipped through the yellowed letters. The handwriting on the envelopes was a lovely, slanted script in dark ink. It looked like a woman’s writing, in German. Perhaps they were letters from
his grandmother. The newer, loose envelopes had no names on them, but they did bear a return address: Place de la Liberté, Valence, France. The address was completely foreign to Jacob. He unfolded one of the maps he had left on the bed and studied it a good while before he found a little city with that name south of Lyon. It was clear on the other side of the country from Paris, far to the southeast. He opened one of the letters and began to read:

  Valence, May 5, 1942

  Dear Judith,

  Spring has come quickly, but not even its eternal vitality can coax a smile out of us. A mother should never be separated from her children, her very soul. But I thank heaven at least they’ve got you.

  I imagine Jacob is taking good care of Moses. He’s always been so responsible, though he’s on the cusp of when his body and mind will begin their unceasing war to control the awkward adolescent self. Sometimes it’s hard for me to watch him grow. He’s no longer the little boy who would crawl into bed with us on Saturday mornings and jump up and down on Eleazar, laughing his little head off.

  Since we left Paris, your brother has not been the same. His shoulders are stooped, his face a constant picture of defeat. The war has amputated his heart. He cannot keep suffering so much for all of us.

  We’ve found work, at least for the first part of spring. It’ll be enough for the train tickets. Things are calmer here than in Paris, but the air itself seems to be on edge, like when a storm is coming and you can almost feel the electricity in the atmosphere.

  We get news about new raids in occupied France. It seems we wretched foreigners will never find peace anywhere. It is proving to be extremely difficult for us to get visas for any country at all. Eleazar has twice been to Marseille. The consulates are overwhelmed, and the number of visas for exiled Jews are severely reduced. Even so, we hope to obtain papers for all four of us.

  We desperately hope you change your mind and decide to join us. I know how deeply you love France. Your mind and heart belong in Paris, but no one in the city is safe with the Germans ready to pounce. And your employers won’t stay much longer if things continue in the direction they’re headed.