“Will you be married civilly or by a priest?” the civil servant asked as a matter of routine, as Antoine looked blankly at her. Neither of them had thought about who would marry them, and Antoine had assumed they would just do it in a brief civil ceremony at the mairie. With no family at hand except the Zubers, and in their circumstances, it was simply an official act to obtain proper documents and legitimize their union so they could live together decently and in peace. There would be no ceremony, no fanfare, no reception, no party afterward, no celebration. Just a moment in time when they became husband and wife. How and where they would do it, and who would do it for them, hadn't even crossed either of their minds. After the clerk in the registrar's office asked the question, Antoine looked hesitantly at his wife-to-be. And as they walked back out into the summer sunshine, he hugged her with his right arm, and kissed her cautiously. Beata looked surprisingly calm as she smiled up at him.
“We'll be married in two weeks,” she said softly. This wasn't the wedding she had anticipated in her girlhood, but in every other way, it was the fulfillment of a dream. They had met ten months before and fallen in love the moment they met, and all she wanted now was to spend the rest of her life with him. They didn't know yet where they would live after the war, or even how they would live, or if their families would welcome them back in their midst once again. Beata hoped they would, but all she knew and all she wanted now was to be with him.
“Who would you like to marry us?” Antoine asked gently. The registrar had asked a reasonable question. Antoine didn't know if she would want a rabbi to do it, although he had to admit, that idea made him somewhat uneasy. They could be married in the registrar's office, if they chose to, but Antoine realized as he thought about it that he would prefer to be married by a priest.
“I hadn't really thought about it. We can't be married by a rabbi. You'd have to convert, and do a lot of studying to do that. It could take years,” Beata said sensibly. A mere two weeks seemed like an eternity to them. Neither of them was willing to wait years, particularly now that she was here, and they were living at the Zubers. Antoine had lain awake during most of the previous night, unable to sleep, knowing that she was in the bed they would soon share in the next room. After all they'd been through to be together, he was aching to claim her as his own.
“How do you feel about being married by a priest?” Antoine asked her honestly. He wasn't going to force her, although it was clearly what he would prefer.
“I don't know. I never thought about it. Just being married by the registrar seems a little bleak. I'm not sure it matters whether we are married by a rabbi or a priest. I've always thought it was one God watching us and caring about us. I'm not sure it makes a difference what church or synagogue He belongs to.” To Antoine, it seemed a novel idea. She was very liberal in her thinking, unlike her family.
On the way back to the farm they talked about it, and the possibility of her converting to Catholicism. She was surprisingly open-minded about it and said she would do it, if it meant a lot to him. She believed in her faith, but she loved Antoine, too. And if converting to Catholicism for him meant they could be married sooner, that was important to her. As they discussed it seriously, Antoine stopped the car at a little church. There was a small rectory behind it, and Antoine got out of the car, walked up the ancient stone steps, and rang the bell. A sign said that it was a tenth-century chapel, and the stone looked worn and weathered.
An elderly priest came out wearing his cassock, and smiled at the young man. They exchanged a few words as Beata waited in the car, and then Antoine gestured to her. She got out of the car, and approached cautiously. She had never spoken to a priest. She'd never seen one at close range, only walking past her on the street, but his face and eyes looked kind.
“Your fiancé tells me that you want to get married,” he said as they stood in the morning sunshine and fresh mountain air. There was a field of yellow wildflowers just beyond, and a small crumbling cemetery behind the church, where people were still buried. There was a small chapel at the back of the church, and a well, which dated back to the fourth century.
“Yes, we do want to get married,” Beata agreed, trying not to think of what her parents would say if they could see her talking to a priest. She half-expected to be struck by lightning, and another part of her felt surprisingly safe and at peace.
“You're not Catholic, I understand. You would need some private instruction, and I assume you want to convert.” Beata gulped. It was strange hearing him say the word. She had never thought she would be any faith but Jewish. But she had also never thought she would be married to Antoine or someone like him. And her earlier religious studies had opened her mind to other faiths. She assumed that in time, for Antoine's sake, her heart would follow. She was willing to convert out of love for him. “We could put you in catechism classes with the local children, but the last group just made their first communion, and the classes won't start again until after the summer. I gather that you want to be married in two weeks.” The priest glanced at Antoine's injured arm as he said it, and the innocence evident in Beata's face. Antoine had explained that he was French and Beata German, that he had been injured in the war, and they had no family to speak of, except two cousins with whom they lived. He made it clear that Beata had just arrived from Germany the day before, and they wanted their situation regularized, and did not want to live in sin. It was up to the priest to help them to meet their needs, and he agreed. He wanted to do all that he could. They looked like good people to him, and clearly their intentions were pure, or else they would not be stopping to see him. “Why don't you come inside for a moment, and we'll talk about it.”
He invited them in, and Antoine and Beata followed him inside to a small dark room. There was an enormous crucifix on one wall, and the room was lit with candles. A shrine to the Blessed Mother stood in the corner, as the priest sat on a small battered desk and Antoine pulled up two chairs for them. The room seemed somehow depressing, and yet with the kind old priest smiling at them, Antoine and Beata both felt at ease.
“Could you come in to see me for an hour every afternoon, Beata?” She nodded cautiously in answer to his question. She wasn't sure yet what was expected of her on the farm, or if Antoine would have time to drive her to the church. If not, she would have to walk a long way, but she was willing to do that, too.
“Yes, I will,” she said, feeling a little daunted. She wasn't sure what he wanted from her.
“If you do, I think we can cover all the catechism you'll need in order to convert. I prefer to do that over time, many months, so that you understand what you're learning, and are sure that you're ready for baptism. But in this case, I think we can move more quickly. You can study on your own, and I can teach you what you need to know. This is an important step in your life, even more important than marriage. It is a wonderful thing to embrace Christ.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I know.” As Antoine glanced at her, her eyes looked huge in her milk-white face. She had never looked as beautiful to him as she did now in the candlelit room.
“What if I don't feel ready? If I am not ready for … baptism …” She could barely say the word.
“Then of course you have to wait until you are. You can always wait to be married,” he said kindly. “You cannot marry a Catholic unless you convert.” He didn't even mention the option that Antoine could convert to Judaism, or they could be married civilly and not in church. In the eyes of the priest, there was only one valid marriage for a Catholic, one performed by a priest in a Catholic church. And Beata knew just from the little he had said that morning that Antoine felt that way, too. It was another huge step she was taking for him, another sacrifice that had to be made. And it wasn't practical for him to become Jewish, as they had agreed that morning. The studies to do so would have taken years. There was no rabbi nearby to teach him, if Antoine would even consider doing that. But for reasons practical and otherwise, it just didn't make sense. And it seemed too much
to ask of him. Beata felt she had no choice but to convert, if she wanted to marry him and have their union sanctioned and blessed in the eyes of a religion, in this case his. And as she listened to the priest, she felt it was what she wanted to do. The Bible had always intrigued her. She loved the stories about Jesus, and had always been fascinated by the saints. Perhaps, she told herself, this was what was meant to be. And although it was the only religion she knew, Beata had never been so certain of her deep bond to Judaism. She was ready nonetheless to give it up for him, and embrace Catholicism. She felt it was part of what she owed him as his wife. Their love had required sacrifices of both of them from the beginning. And this was yet another one she was making for him.
They chatted with the priest for half an hour, and Beata promised to come back the following afternoon. He said he would have her ready for both conversion and marriage within two weeks. He followed them out and waved as the two young people drove away. Antoine was driving with his right hand, and seemed at ease doing so, as he rested the fingers of his damaged left hand on the wheel.
“So, what do you think?” Antoine asked, looking concerned. He felt as though he was asking so much of her, and if she truly objected to converting, he was willing to be satisfied with a civil ceremony. He didn't want her to do anything that violated her own beliefs. He had no idea how religious she was, or how strictly she adhered to Jewish traditions. He knew her family was Orthodox, which was why it was so unthinkable to them that she should marry out of her faith. But he did not know how profoundly she herself believed, or how painful it might be to her to relinquish her faith for him.
“I think he's a nice man, and it will be very interesting to study with him,” she said politely, but Antoine was relieved to see that she didn't look upset. She was oddly calm about what she was doing, as she had been about every step she took along the way.
“How do you feel about converting? You don't have to do it if you don't want to, Beata. We can just get married at the mairie. You've given up enough for me already.” He was deeply respectful of her.
“And so have you,” she said fairly. And then after a long moment, as she looked out the window as they drove along, “I think I would rather marry in church. Particularly if it means a lot to you.” She turned back to him with a small smile that lit her eyes.
“That is incredibly generous of you,” he said, wishing he could take a hand off the wheel to put an arm around her, but obviously he couldn't. “I love you,” he said gently, and then after a few minutes, he thought of something else. “What about our children? Do you want them to be Catholic or Jewish?” They were all questions they would have asked in a normal courtship, but in the dire circumstances they'd been in, and with the distance between them, they had never had the time or opportunity to ask each other these things. Beata sat and thought about it before she answered him, and then looked at him with a serious expression. She had taken everything they'd said that morning very much to heart. These were important, even life-altering, decisions.
“I think if I'm going to be Catholic, and you are, and it is what we both believe, then our children should be, too. Don't you?” If nothing else, it seemed practical to her. She had never had her parents' deep sentiments about religion. She went to temple to please them, and because it was their tradition. And she had always found the Bible fascinating and exciting. She was convinced that, married to Antoine, she would develop a bond to Catholicism in time, and hoped she would.
Antoine nodded gratefully at her. This was why of course her parents had been so violently opposed to their marriage. The idea that they would have Catholic grandchildren was their worst nightmare come true. But to Beata now it seemed a sensible idea. “It would be too confusing if we did different things, and believed in such different ideas, although from what I've read, I'm not entirely sure that what we each believe is so different.” Antoine did not disagree, and there was a sense of peace and unity between them as they reached the farm, and got out of the car. He put an arm around her then, and they went inside for lunch with the Zubers.
They told Walther and Maria about their meeting with the priest, going to the registrar's office, and about Beata's catechism lessons for the next two weeks. Beata apologized for having to leave them every afternoon, but Maria thought it was wonderful news. She had wondered what they were going to do, once Antoine had explained to them that Beata was Jewish. She thought that Beata converting for him was a loving thing to do, and she said as much to Beata, after the men left and the two women cleaned up the kitchen.
“This must all seem very strange to you,” Maria said sympathetically. She was a large motherly woman, with no worldly experience or interests. She had come to the farm when she married Walther at nineteen. He had bought it two years before, and worked hard. And since she had been there, she had borne their children, done her work, loved her husband, gone to church. Although she read a great deal and was intelligent, it was the epitome of a simple life, and it was a million miles removed from the large, elegant house Beata had grown up in, or the clothes and jewels worn by her mother and Brigitte. In fact, imagining them here was unthinkable. And she couldn't help but smile at how different her sister's and her own married lives would be. She and Antoine were not planning to stay in Switzerland forever, eventually they wanted to return to France, or Germany, depending which of their two families relented, and where the best opportunities would be. If he did not go back to run his own properties in Dordogne, Antoine didn't know what he would do. But after the war, with all the inevitable changes that would result, there would be others in the same situation in which they were. Starting new lives in new places. It was a new beginning for them, and Beata was just grateful to be here.
“It's not strange,” Beata said calmly in response to Maria, “it's just different. I'm not used to being so far from my family.” She missed her mother terribly. And all her life, she had been inseparable from her sister, but now with Brigitte married and living in Berlin, everything would have changed anyway. What pained her most were the agonizing circumstances in which she had left her family. To Beata, that still felt like an open wound, as Maria could easily imagine it would, probably for many years. She hoped that both Antoine's family and Beata's would come to their senses eventually and forgive them for the choices they had made. They were lovely young people, and Maria knew it would be hard for them if their families never accepted them, and their marriage, in future years. In the meantime, Maria and Walther were more than happy to act as surrogate parents to them. Having the young couple there was a blessing for the Zubers, too.
“Will you and Antoine be wanting children soon?” Maria asked with interest, as Beata blushed and wasn't sure what to say. She didn't know if one had much choice in the matter. She always thought that babies came if they were meant to. And if there was something one could do to prevent that happening, or alter the course of events, she had no idea what it was. And she didn't know Maria well enough to ask.
“I think so,” Beata answered quietly, looking embarrassed, as she put the last of the clean dishes back in the cupboard, “whatever is God's plan.” She wondered, as she said it, if Brigitte would be having babies soon, too. She somehow couldn't imagine Brigitte with children, she was still so much a child herself, even at eighteen. At twenty-one, Beata barely felt ready for the responsibilities of motherhood and marriage. Three years earlier she would never have been here. But in spite of their painful beginning, she felt equal to the task. It was an exciting time for them.
“It will be lovely to have a baby here,” Maria said happily as she poured them each a cup of tea.
She hardly ever saw her own grandchildren because they lived so far away, and it was almost impossible for her and Walther to leave the farm. It warmed her heart to think of Antoine and Beata, and perhaps one day a baby being near at hand, if they were still there when one came. Maria's eyes lit up at the idea. Beata couldn't even think about that as a reality, all she wanted now was to take her catechism
classes at the little church nearby, and to marry Antoine in two weeks. Beyond that, she didn't know what to expect or think. All she knew for certain was how much she loved him. And she regretted nothing that she had done or given up for him. And Maria and Walther both respected her profoundly for her loyalty to him. She was an impressive and obviously very determined young woman. And so loving. Maria felt closer to her each day. They had always been fond of Antoine, although they had seen little of him in recent years, but it had been an easy decision for them when he had asked if they could come to stay. She was only sorry that because of their nationalities, they couldn't stay for good. Sooner or later, after the war was over, the Swiss government would expect them to leave. They could come to Switzerland for asylum, but when their own countries were open and at peace again, they would have to return to whence they came. But given what was happening in the world after two years of war, who knew when that would be. Tucked away in the mountains, they were safe and at peace in the meantime.
Echoes Page 7
