Ashes

by Christopher de Vinck

  ‘The ant edged around the corner of the counter and whispered to the boy, “Psssst. Do you have some crumbs for sale?” asked the ant.

  ‘The boy looked up at his father, who was busy combing his hair, then he turned to the ant and said, “I don’t believe we have a crumb so big that we would have to charge you.”

  ‘“Oh, no,” said the ant. “A labour made is traded for a payment collected. I will give you a bag of gold for your bread.”’

  ‘I like that part,’ Benjamin said.

  Yaakov smiled and continued. ‘“But,” said the boy, “no crumb is worth that much. Here. Take what you need,” and the boy pushed some crumbs from the counter onto his open palm and reached down to the ant.

  ‘The ant said to the boy’ – and here is where Benjamin recited the words along with his father – “Because of your kindness, I will triple my pay for your bread: three bags of gold.”

  “But,” said the boy, “that’s a king’s fortune for such a small favour. Please. Let me give you a whole loaf of our finest bread. That will last you all winter.”

  ‘The ant was about to offer the boy a hundred bags of gold when the father stepped on the ant, twisted his shoe against the floor, and struck the boy on the back of his head. “Fool! Wasting your time fiddling with useless ants. Return to your work!”

  ‘Within a year the colony of hungry ants ate the foundation of the bakery. The building was condemned, the bakery was torn down, the baker died of gout, and the son became a carpenter and prospered.’

  Benjamin jumped off his father’s lap and ran to me. ‘Simone, did you like the story?’

  ‘Yes, I liked it very much.’

  Benjamin hopped on my lap and whispered, ‘Someday I am going to be a carpenter.’

  That night, when I returned home, I taped Benjamin’s picture of God above my bed.

  PART II. PREMONITION 1940

  CHAPTER 10

  As Nazi Germany and Adolf Hitler continued their aggressive posturing against the lowland nations, Holland and Belgium began the process of moving their respective armies to a war footing.

  One Sunday in January, Corporal De Waden arrived at his usual time with Charlotte. He was just a boy really, in a man’s body. I think he was 26. On this day he asked if I would like to ride the horse by myself in the park as he watched from a distance. I had never ridden by myself. Usually, he led me by the reins. I was worried that people would be annoyed to see an ordinary person riding a grand horse in the Royal Park.

  ‘They can’t tell a princess from a pauper,’ Corporal De Waden said as he adjusted the saddle. As we stood before the house, Charlotte stomped on the cobblestone and little Nicole appeared, waiting for Corporal De Waden to give her a carrot for the horse.

  ‘There’s no carrot,’ he said sharply to the girl. ‘Don’t you know there’s a war going on?’

  Little Nicole stood still, then made her fingers in the shape of a gun and when she aimed and fired at him, Corporal De Waden grabbed her wrist and twisted her around. ‘Never shoot a soldier!’ Nicole yelped and bit the corporal’s hand.

  ‘You little urchin!’ the corporal shouted as he pulled out a handkerchief from the pocket of his stiff uniform to wipe away the trickle of blood that dripped from his hand.

  Then Nicole looked up as her eyes began to water. ‘I just wanted a carrot for Charlotte.’

  ‘Nicole, are you pestering Simone again?’ Madame Johnson stepped out of her house, leaned over, lifted the girl roughly and carried her away, Hopefully taking her to Tara, or to the house of Manderley, I thought, where Nicole could feed as many carrots to as many horses as she wished.

  ‘She just wanted a carrot,’ I said as Corporal De Waden cupped his hands and leaned over. ‘What could she know about war? She’s only a child.’

  ‘Put your foot in my hands. Use them as a foothold and I’ll push you up into the saddle.’

  I looked down at the corporal. He had a thick head of black hair combed the way Clark Gable combed his hair in his films. Little girls pointed their fingers at men and shot. Grown men brushed their thick hair against the legs of women as they mounted great horses.

  ‘Now, Simone, you will ride inside the Royal Park with dignity and gladness for being given the privilege to ride such a grand horse.’

  The corporal grabbed the reins and led the horse and me to the park, and as we walked among the people, no one waved. No one looked up. There was a gloomy, leaden sheen to the sky that mirrored the grim knowledge that rationing had recently begun in England, and that Finland was enduring a winter of untold hardships following the Russian invasion the previous November.

  Irritated by the heaviness of the day, without thinking I gave Charlotte a good kick in the side. She reared. Corporal De Waden jumped back, released the reins, and the horse set off at a quick gallop, down the central promenade.

  I felt like an American cowboy. The faster the horse ran, the more the world seemed to rush by in a blur of colour and wind, dissolving the greyness. Then for no reason, I began to shout, ‘Vive la Belgique! Vive la Belgique!’ A man looked up and waved. A collection of nuns walking under the bare trees turned their heads in unison and stared, as I continued to bellow, ‘Vive la Belgique!’

  When I reached the end of the park, both Charlotte and I were exhausted. A carousel with many painted horses twirled around with children on each one laughing. The music from the merry-go-round played the famous little song ‘School Days’.

  With reluctance, Charlotte and I turned around as I guided her back gently through the park the way we had come, the music from the carousel fading in the background.

  People rushed to the side of the promenade as if witnessing a parade, but the parade comprised of only one girl riding one white horse. Yet, people continued to smile and wave, repeating my words: ‘Vive la Belgique! Vive la Belgique!’ So I reached down and shook the hands of the men and woman. Children ran alongside the horse. One man rushed up to me calling out, ‘Your father would be proud of you, Mademoiselle Lyon!’

  When I saw Corporal De Waden leaning against the gate at the park entrance, I knew that my wild ride was over.

  ‘I could’ve been in so much trouble! What if you’d hurt someone? Do you know what it means to ride a horse illegally in the Royal Park? Your father gave you permission to ride with me in the park, not to rush off like some crazed Joan of Arc.’

  That is what he called me – a crazed Joan of Arc. I liked that.

  When we returned to my house, Corporal De Waden helped me dismount from the horse. He held my waist with his two hands as I slid off the saddle. When my feet touched the ground, the corporal tried to kiss me again, but I turned my head to one side and said cruelly, ‘The girl just wanted a carrot for the horse.’

  Before stepping into my house, I turned to look at the corporal one more time and said, ‘Vive la Belgique!’

  If, like Rhett Butler, the corporal had looked up to me and retorted, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn’, I would have married him on the spot. Instead, he grabbed the reins of the horse and walked away.

  Corporal De Waden of the Belgian cavalry did not return the next Sunday, nor the next, nor the next.

  CHAPTER 11

  On 10 January 1940, a German pilot, carrying a secret plan of Hitler’s attack on Belgium, crashed near Vucht, 108 kilometres from Brussels. This was the closest a German enemy had come to entering the capital. Soon after, those plans were altered to re-establish the secrecy of an impending German invasion.

  I was eager to make sure that Belgium stayed neutral, that the war stayed far away from me, and that I was out of harm’s way. I had read in the paper that Russia had invaded Finland in November of the previous year. I checked the atlas and thought to myself, Finland is over 2,000 kilometres from my front door.

  The radio said that Hitler’s submarines had sunk a merchant ship off the coast of Portugal. Portugal is nearly 3,000 kilometres away, I reassured myself. Up until then, the war had been happening elsewhere
; but then a small incident happened that frightened me for the first time.

  I read in the newspaper that a German pilot had lost his way, and crashed his plane in a wooded area only 100 kilometres from my home. The pilot had been carrying secret documents – Hitler’s plan to invade Belgium and to ignore our neutrality. Invade Belgium? Why would anyone want to invade Belgium? I needed to feel safe, so that winter, I spent much of my time at the Daniels’ house, my second home, a place where I felt secure.

  ‘Gas masks? What, gas masks again?’ Yaakov complained as we sat at the dinner table one night. ‘We are not at war. Belgium is neutral. Let Mussolini shake Hitler’s hand at the Brenner Pass. Let Italy join with the devil.’

  I remember Hava’s mother scolding her husband. ‘Not tonight, Yaakov. Simone is here with us. Don’t bring the war into our home. It’s Purim. We have a surprise for you and Simone after we eat.’ She looked at Benjamin, who giggled loudly. Hava raised her finger to her lips and shook her head.

  I didn’t know the meaning of Purim, and when I said so, Yaakov said, ‘Simone, you would have been a good Jew for a Christian. And Avital is right. This is not the night to speak of war.’

  ‘Tell the story, Papa,’ Benjamin said. ‘Tell Simone the story about Esther.’

  Yaakov Yosef Daniels cleared his throat and gestured with a small hamantasch pastry in his hand. ‘Simone, today is Purim, one of our most joyous holidays.’ And so, Yaakov recounted the story of Esther.

  ‘Over two thousand years ago in Persia there lived a beautiful girl, perhaps like yourself, Simone.’

  ‘Stop embarrassing the girl, Yaakov, and tell the story,’ Avital said, nudging her husband’s arm.

  ‘I’ll tell the story. Let me tell the story.’

  Hava glanced at me and smiled. She was the beautiful girl from Persia. I was the plain girl from Brussels.

  Yaakov Josef popped the triangular pastry in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and continued. ‘Esther lived with her cousin Mordecai, a brave, confident woman, who was not afraid to stand up to people. Time passed and Esther was brought to the King of Persia.’

  ‘She became part of the king’s harem,’ Benjamin interjected, giggling.

  ‘Yes, Benjamin, Esther became a part of the king’s harem. You know the story as well as I do. Because she was so beautiful and good, the king loved Esther more than all the other women, so he made her Queen.’

  ‘But the king didn’t know Esther was a Jew,’ Benjamin called out once again. ‘Her cousin said to keep that a secret. I like secrets,’ Benjamin said. ‘Hava and I have a secret.’

  ‘Benjamin!’ Hava said. ‘We must wait until the prayers. Let Papa tell the story.’

  Yaakov looked at his daughter, then to his son, then smiled and continued.

  ‘The king had an evil adviser, Haman; a man who thought he was better than everyone else. Haman hated Mordecai, Esther’s cousin, because she refused to show him respect, so Haman was determined to destroy Mordecai and all the Jewish people. Haman said to the king, “There is a certain people scattered abroad and dispersed among the people in all the provinces of thy kingdom. Their laws are diverse from all people; neither keep they the king’s laws. Therefore, it is not for the king’s profit to suffer them.”

  ‘The king, trusting his adviser, said simply, “We will handle it the way you think best.”

  ‘Mordecai learned of Haman’s plot to exterminate all the Jews and implored Esther to speak to the king.’

  ‘But she couldn’t go and speak to him,’ Benjamin said.

  ‘And why, my son, was Esther forbidden to go to the king?’ Yaakov asked.

  ‘Because if you didn’t have an appointment with the king, and you just showed up, you were killed. It was like going to the doctor and not being unwell. Dr Horowitz gives out lollipops, so one day I went to his office and pretended that I was ill because I wanted a lollipop. He didn’t kill me, but he wasn’t happy with me.’

  I had to laugh. Everyone laughed, except Yaakov Josef. ‘Unless there are no more interruptions, I will not be able to finish my story until Chanukah.’

  ‘Go on, Yaakov,’ Avital said. ‘Go.’

  ‘Even though Esther was afraid for her life, she went to the king just the same and told him about Haman’s true intentions. The king was so moved by Esther’s courage to protect her people, and so angry with Haman, that the king hanged Haman, as well as his ten sons.’

  ‘So we celebrate the deliverance of the Jews at Purim, Simone,’ Hava explained.

  ‘We have a play!’ Benjamin shouted as he jumped up from his seat and began to run towards the parlour.

  ‘Benjamin!’ Avital scolded. ‘Get back to the table. We haven’t said the final prayer yet.’

  Benjamin quickly ran back to his chair. ‘Hurry!’

  ‘We do not hurry our thanks to God, Benjamin,’ Yaakov Josef said to his son.

  I remember the aromas of that cosy room, the wax candles in the kitchen, Hava’s smile when she kicked her brother gently under the table, and I remember the voice of Yaakov Josef Daniels as he recited the prayer of Purim. And then, Benjamin once again leapt up from his seat and called out to his sister to join him in the parlour.

  Hava rolled her eyes, and Yaakov announced, ‘As Shakespeare wrote, “The play’s the thing”. Come, Simone. I do not know what it is that my son has created, but it is our custom at Purim that the children dress up as the characters from the story of Esther and act out their interpretation of those historical events.’ Just before Yaakov, Avital and I stood up from the table, Benjamin rushed back into the room with three wooden rattles.

  ‘These are called graggers – noisemakers,’ Yaakov explained to me. ‘Each time we hear the name “Haman” we are to make lots of noise with our rattles. It’s like hissing at the villain.’

  ‘Count to ten, and then come into the parlour,’ Benjamin called out as he raced away. Yaakov, Avital, and I counted aloud.

  ‘And now we come, Benjamin,’ Yaakov called back, and as the three of us walked into the parlour, Yaakov leaned over and whispered again, ‘Simone, you would have made a good Jew.’

  It was clear that Benjamin and Hava were standing behind the curtains ready to begin their play. There was a lot of whispering going on.

  As we sat on the worn sofa, Benjamin stepped out from behind the curtain and announced, ‘Good evening, ladies and gentleman. To celebrate Purim, we will have a command performance starring Benjamin Daniels as the King of Persia, and Hava Daniels as Esther. Please hold your applause until the end of the performance.’

  Yaakov looked at me and shrugged. Benjamin disappeared from view and knocked on the wall.

  ‘Who’s there?’ A low voice emanated from behind the curtain.

  ‘It is I, Esther. I have come to be the queen.’

  Hava stepped out barefoot from behind the curtain, wearing the white dress she had been wearing the first time I had met her at the Red Cross. Across her face she wore a thin veil of cheese muslin.

  The curtain was pushed aside in a quick motion and Benjamin walked out onto the stage wearing his mother’s silk bathrobe and a crown he had cut from a discarded newspaper. The crown slipped down to Benjamin’s nose, but with a quick adjustment, he was the King of Persia.

  ‘I would like you to be my queen,’ he proclaimed to his sister. Then he reached behind the curtain and presented Hava with a smaller crown, also cut from newspaper.

  ‘I accept,’ Hava said as she placed the paper crown on her head.

  There was a sudden pause in the action. Benjamin looked at Hava. Hava looked at her brother.

  ‘Hava . . . the moustache,’ Benjamin whispered.

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’

  Hava bent down behind the curtain and returned without her crown, but instead, she wore a small black moustache.

  ‘Welcome, Haman,’ Benjamin said in his deep kingly voice.

  Yaakov and Avital immediately began rattling their noisemakers. Benjamin looked at me and repeated, ‘Welcome, Hama
n,’ placing enough emphasis on the name Haman to remind me of my part. I rattled my wooden gragger the loudest.

  ‘I have come,’ Haman said, ‘to tell you that there is a certain type of people throughout the kingdom who are against your laws. What shall I do with them?’

  ‘Exterminate them,’ said the king. ‘Burn them all,’ said the boy. Then he looked at his sister and said, ‘Go back behind the curtain and be Esther again.’

  Poor Hava. She stepped back behind the curtain and returned as a bored sister without her moustache.

  ‘Say your lines, Hava, like we practised,’ Benjamin said.

  ‘Your majesty, my husband, I must confess to you that I am a Jew, and Haman (rattle, rattle) wants to kill all of my people because my cousin does not bow down to Haman’s evil.’ (Rattle, rattle, rattle.)

  ‘You are brave to come to me without an appointment. You have risked your life to save your family. Because of you, your people will be saved.’

  The king disappeared behind the curtain and quickly returned.

  ‘Look here! Haman (rattle, rattle, rattle) has been hanged along with his ten sons and here is all that is left of him, this little black moustache. Because of you, Esther, your people will live long and be successful.’

  Benjamin turned to face his audience sitting on the fading sofa and whispered, ‘Hava, take my hand.’

  Hava held her little brother’s hand as they both took a bow. That night, Benjamin and Hava Daniels received a standing ovation.

  CHAPTER 12

  The German invasion was inevitable. Everyone in Europe knew it was coming, but they did not know when. After Great Britain and France had declared war against Nazi Germany on 3 September 1939, there had been relative calm. As a result, it was called ‘the Phoney War’ until 10 May 1940, when Hitler attacked Holland, Belgium and France.

  Suddenly it was spring 1940, the first week in May. ‘The Germans are coming,’ the baker said as I bought a loaf of bread. ‘This is my last day. I am closing the shop.’