by Kathy Kacer
A year! In a year, Helen was afraid that she would begin to forget what her mother even looked like. Already, her mental image of her father was fading. How bushy was his mustache? How big were the muscles in his arms? Had the frames of his glasses been round or square? She closed her eyes and conjured up the mental photograph of Maman—the lifted eyebrow, the freckle by the side of her mouth, her full, red lips. She’s still there. I can still see her, Helen thought. Seeing Maman in her mind helped. But it wasn’t enough.
Helen didn’t say any of this to Albert. It would be insensitive of her to moan about letters from home when she knew that Albert didn’t know anything about where his parents were. Instead, she said, “I’m going up to Henry’s room. I’m hoping I can get him to eat something.” She pointed down to the napkin she was holding. She had wrapped up some fresh bread slathered with raspberry jam, the kind that he had always loved. Not only was Henry still not talking, he also seemed to be growing thinner by the day. It was as if he was completely disappearing.
“Just don’t let Sister Agnes catch you taking food out of the dining hall,” Albert replied.
At the thought of Sister Agnes, Helen groaned. For a while after their disastrous outing, she had managed to escape the mean nun’s notice. But just the other day, when she thought she was in the clear, Sister Agnes had stopped her on the staircase.
“You were late for class yesterday,” Sister Agnes had said, her face puckered as if she had swallowed vinegar.
“I can explain, Sister,” Helen stammered, her heart sinking. “I wasn’t feeling well yesterday—the beginning of a cold, I think. I went back to my room to get some tissues and—”
“And then you were late,” Sister Agnes interrupted.
“Yes, but I didn’t mean to be. I just wasn’t feeling well …” Her voice trailed off as she braced herself for what was to follow.
Sister Agnes folded her arms and inhaled sharply. “One who is good at excuses is rarely good at anything else.”
“But Sister, if you’d just let me—”
“Enough!” Sister Agnes cut her off. Helen had to spend the afternoon pulling weeds in the garden.
She showed her cut and swollen fingers to Albert, comforted by his sympathetic nod. “Michelle said that the extra chores would stop after a while. But I still feel as if I’m the only one that Sister Agnes goes after. Maybe working in the garden was really a punishment for talking to the Nazi soldiers.”
“Maybe,” Albert agreed. “Just try to stay out of her way.”
“Easier said than done!”
Helen said good-bye to Albert and was heading for Henry’s room when she passed Sister Cecile. She tried to hide the bread she was taking to Henry behind her back. But the nun stopped her.
“Is there something there that I should see?” Sister Cecile asked.
Reluctantly, Helen pulled the napkin out to show the nun. “It’s for Henry,” she explained. “I’m trying to get him to eat something.”
Sister Cecile paused, looked around and over her shoulder, and then nodded. “I think that’s a very good idea. But go quickly, before anyone else catches you.”
“Thank you, Sister.” Helen beamed. She was about to continue walking when she paused again. “Sister Cecile, can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” the nun replied.
Helen took a deep breath. “It’s about Sister Agnes.”
Sister Cecile hesitated, and her eyes clouded over with something that Helen didn’t quite understand. Was it fear? Helen ignored the look, took another breath, and plowed on. “I feel like Sister Agnes is punishing me all the time.”
Sister Cecile nodded cautiously. “Sister Agnes is focused on building character and making you strong. I know she has a particular … um … style, but she wouldn’t ask you to do anything she didn’t think you could handle.”
“It’s not that I can’t do the things she tells me to do, it’s just that I think she hates me. And I don’t know why.”
“Oh, that’s not true! Sister Agnes worries about you and everyone here.”
That’s just what Mère Supérieure had said. But Sister Agnes sure had a strange way of showing her concern, Helen thought. “I was wondering, do you think you could talk to Sister Agnes? Maybe ask her to be a little easier on me?” Sister Cecile had said that she was here for Helen if she needed anything. Now was the time to ask for help.
But instead of responding with a decisive “of course!” Sister Cecile hesitated again, shifting from one foot to the other. She looked down and then away, avoiding eye contact with Helen.
“I don’t think I’m the one who can do that,” she finally stuttered.
Why not? Helen wondered. Wasn’t she a nun, like all the others? Why couldn’t she ask one of her sister nuns to be kinder?
“I understand how you’re feeling. And I truly want to help,” Sister Cecile continued, finally looking up at Helen’s face. “But I can’t.”
Helen’s heart sank. Sister Cecile was the only person who had offered her help. I’m here for you if you need me, she had said. But the one time Helen had asked for something, Sister Cecile had turned her down. Helen’s shoulders sagged and she turned away from the nun.
“I-I’m sorry,” Sister Cecil stammered. “You must try to be grateful just to be here.”
“I am grateful,” Helen interrupted. “But it’s not about—”
“Just try and stay out of Sister Agnes’s way. That’s really all I can offer.”
And with that, Sister Cecile turned and walked away. It wasn’t at all what Helen had hoped for, especially from this nun who seemed so concerned. Helen sighed and continued up the stairs, wondering for the hundredth or possibly the millionth time when Sister Agnes would finally leave her alone.
CHAPTER 2
Henry
He was making a list in his code book. The list was called “Things I would do if I was home right now.” Each item was numbered carefully.
1. Go to the park with Papa and kick a soccer ball.
Henry paused. He usually scored all the goals when they played together, even though he knew that Papa just let him win. They would come home sweaty and tired, and Maman would make him take a bath before he was allowed to do anything else. She said he looked as if he had been rolling in mud, which was probably true. You couldn’t score goals if you weren’t ready to slide in the dirt. The trips to the park had ended when the law that said Jewish people couldn’t go to public parks anymore was passed.
2. Build a fort with Ernest.
That made Henry pause again. His friend Ernest had stopped playing with him weeks before they had left their home to go to Kronberg. Henry still had a hard time understanding this. They had known each other since before they could even walk or talk. Maman and Ernest’s mother had become friends before the two boys were even born. When Maman had found out that Ernest wasn’t allowed to play with Henry, she had been furious, angrier than when Henry had broken her favorite china tea pot. She had marched over to Ernest’s house to have a word with his mother. Henry had watched eagerly for her return by the front window, ready to go out and start building a fort with Ernest as soon as Maman had fixed things. Maybe he and Ernest would add their small wooden soldiers to the fort, pretending that they were defending it from enemies. But his mother had returned home looking white and shaken. She wouldn’t say a word about what had happened at Ernest’s house, not even when Henry had begged her to tell him. Finally, she had just looked at him and said, “You’ll find another friend, Henry, my love.”
But there had been no other friends, and Henry had stopped playing with his wooden soldiers. And soon after that, Papa had been taken, and then they had run from their home. And now he was here in this awful place, feeling completely lost.
A couple of boys suddenly entered the dorm room. They were laughing and shoving one another, but stopped short when they saw Henry. He shut his code book an
d quickly shoved it under his blanket just as the boys approached his cot.
“Hey, you’re Henry, right?” one boy said. He was about Henry’s age, with short-cropped dark hair and glasses that had slipped down to the end of his nose. He and the boy with him came from one of the other dorms. What were they doing in his room?
“He doesn’t talk,” the other boy said. When this boy spoke, Henry could see that his front two teeth were missing. He spoke with a soft lisp. “Remember, the other guys told us about that.”
The boys in his dorm room had been talking about him—probably talking about the fight he’d been in. That didn’t surprise Henry. But he wondered what else they had said.
“Are you sick? Is that why you’re not talking?” the first boy asked as he pushed his glasses back up on his nose.
Henry stared evenly at him, wishing that he and his friend would leave so that he could go back to his code book. The last time someone refused to leave him alone, there had been trouble. Henry did not want to start a fight again. But it seemed that these two were not yet ready to go.
“He’s just like the clown,” the first boy said, turning to his friend. “He doesn’t talk either. But at least his shows are funny.”
“Yeah,” the boy with missing teeth replied, nodding at Henry. “You’ll probably like the clown.”
A clown that doesn’t talk? That sounded interesting. Henry had only seen a clown once in his life, when Papa had taken the family to the Circus Sarrasani in Dresden. The show had been held under a gigantic white tent, and there had been tumblers and acrobats and horses, and elephants, too, more than twenty of them! And, of course, there had been a troupe of clowns. Some of them had painted their faces white and wore pointy hats and big, colorful costumes. They had ran through the aisles doing silly things to make the audience laugh, like tripping over their big shoes or squirting water in each other’s faces. Henry wondered if this clown would be anything like that.
The two boys stood for another moment looking at Henry, until the one with glasses grabbed the other by the arm. “Let’s get out of here.” He looked back at Henry. “Maybe you’ll say something next time we see you,” he said as he and his friend ran from the room.
Henry exhaled. Finally, he thought as he retrieved his code book from under his blanket. He grabbed his pencil and was about to continue his list when there was a soft knock on the dorm room door. What now? He looked up to see Helen standing in the doorway. He quickly shut his code book and once again shoved it under his blanket.
Helen walked toward his bed, glancing at the blanket as if she knew something was under there. She didn’t say a word, just held something out to him.
“Here,” she said. “I brought you something to eat.”
Henry stared at the napkin she held in her hand, but made no move to take it. He frowned at her, annoyed. Writing the list had made him feel better—even when he thought about Ernest. His important writing had already been interrupted once today. And now, his sister had interrupted him again. In that moment, he just wanted her to leave.
But Helen wasn’t going anywhere. She stood in front of him, her hand extended. And when Henry did not reach out to take the napkin, she unfolded it, revealing a big piece of crusty white bread, slathered in jam. Some of the jam had seeped out and into the napkin, which was now bright red.
“You need to eat something, Henry,” Helen said, still holding the food out to him. She had that worried look on her face. “Are you still not going to say anything to me?”
He looked away. He hated it when his sister looked so upset. But there was nothing he was willing to do about that. Staying quiet was still better than talking, at least for now.
Finally, Helen sighed. “Okay, I’ll just leave this here. Maybe you’ll eat it later.” She folded the bread back into the napkin and put it down on his cot.
Once she’d left the room, closing the door softly behind her, Henry looked down at the napkin, oozing with red jam. It was the kind he liked. He reached over, opened it slowly, broke off a piece of bread, and placed it in his mouth, chewing carefully. It was sweet and delicious. It reminded him of the time he and Helen had gone to their backyard to pick raspberries from the bush that Maman had planted. He and Helen had eaten so many, there were hardly any left to bring indoors. He couldn’t remember a time when he had laughed so much with his sister. Finally, Henry reached under his blanket for his code book and pulled it out, staring at the list of things he would do if he were at home. He picked up his pencil and held it above the page, pausing for a moment longer. And then finally he wrote,
3. Do something special with Helen.
CHAPTER 15
Helen
The clown was finally coming to the convent! The air was practically vibrating with energy. Maybe it was because everyone had been cooped up inside the convent for weeks now, but the idea of someone coming in—someone Michelle said was a performer and a friend—just perked everyone up. Even Sister Agnes looked happy! She was bouncing from table to table in the dining hall, urging everyone to hurry up and finish their lunch as quickly as possible and then clear the tables and chairs. There was a grin plastered across her face that, at first, took Helen aback. A sneering Sister Agnes was what she was accustomed to. This beaming Sister Agnes was almost alarming.
“Tell me again who he is?” Helen asked Michelle as they began to push tables to the side of the great hall and line up the chairs in rows.
“His name is Marcel. That’s what the sisters call him. But we call him the clown.”
A clown! It had been so long since Helen had seen a clown—or a show of any kind.
“And you said he’s been here before.” Helen wasn’t sure how a clown, who she’d only seen in circuses, could perform in the convent.
Michelle nodded. “He doesn’t wear makeup or a costume, or anything like that.”
Helen frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a clown at all.”
Michelle sighed. “His shows are great. But it’s better if you just wait and see for yourself.”
Now Helen was really curious. She felt herself caught up in the excitement along with everyone else. Besides, any change from the usual routine was worth getting excited about. She and the other children finished setting up the great hall and took their seats. The chatter in the room was beginning to reach a fever pitch when Mère Supérieure led the other nuns into the hall and walked to the front. She raised her hand to signal silence and waited for the children to settle and turn their attention to her.
“Children, I know it’s been hard for you not to be able to leave the convent these last few weeks. And I know most of you are worried about events that have happened outside these walls.
“The sisters and I will continue to do our best to keep you safe. But we also want you to try and enjoy yourselves here as well. We know that’s also important. So you are all in for a great treat,” she said. “Some of you have already had the pleasure of watching this young man perform for us. For others, this will be a new experience. But I can assure you that it will be a wonderful experience for all. It gives me great pleasure to introduce our special guest, Monsieur Marcel Marceau.”
A back door opened and Helen twisted in her seat, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the visitor. He strode in, making his way to the front of the room as the children clapped, cheered, and stomped their feet. Once at the front, he waved his arm above his head and then swept it down and across his chest, leaning forward in a deep, long bow. As he stood back up, Helen could see that he was young, seventeen, maybe eighteen at the most, with a full head of wiry, dark hair, a long nose, and intense eyes. He wore a tight, striped T-shirt and oversized overalls held up with suspenders. Finally, he raised his hand and the room grew quiet.
Without saying a word, the clown struck a pose. And then, one hand began to snap back and forth in the air, as if he were cracking a whip. The other hand was held straight out in front of him, as i
f he were clutching something. What is it that’s he’s pretending to hold? Helen wondered. And then she got it. It was an imaginary small chair that he thrust forward and then pulled back.
“I’ve seen him do this before,” Michelle whispered, leaning over to Helen. “He’s pretending to be a lion tamer.”
Of course! Now it all made sense. The clown strutted around a make-believe ring, snapping his imaginary whip and thrusting his invisible chair. Then suddenly, he froze, and his eyes grew round with fear. It was as if the lion had suddenly entered the ring. The children screamed as the clown first confronted the lion, shaking his head, jutting his chin out in front of him, and pretending to force the lion to sit on its haunches and then stand up. It was as if he had figured out a way to tame the lion, confront the wild beast, and take charge. After each trick he made the lion do, he bowed deeply to the audience, who showed their appreciation with more applause and more cheers. Next, the clown appeared to force the lion to stand still. He laid his pretend whip and chair on the ground, turned his back on the lion, and began to walk away, parading proudly. Once again, the children screamed and pointed to the empty air behind the clown, as if the lion were really there and about to pounce.
Helen was mesmerized. The clown was so convincing and his performance so lifelike that she could have sworn there actually was a lion in the room! And he did all of this without making a sound—not one word. She screamed and roared with laughter along with everyone else as the clown looked over his shoulder, saw that the lion was coming after him, and began to run in circles around the room as if he were just steps ahead of the lion’s jaws.
On and on the performance went. At one point, the clown began to pry the jaws of the make-believe lion open, and then he stuck his head inside the animal’s mouth, showing once more that he was in charge. That was perhaps the best moment of the entire show, and the clown was rewarded with more cheers and applause.
