How Huge the Night

chapter 23





What They’re Like





When Julien woke, he had a moment of peace, watching the sunlight sift through his white curtains, before he remembered Paris.

He knelt by his bed and tried to pray, but he had no words. Only pictures, only memories and names: Vincent and his sisters, Uncle Giovanni and Aunt Nadine; the Kellers; his friends, Renaud and Mathieu and Gaëtan. He knelt and said nothing, thought nothing, felt nothing, only saw them. He hoped God understood.





For breakfast, there was real bread with honey. He had never tasted anything so good in his life. They ate ravenously. The power was out again. None of them spoke.

Benjamin went up to his room, and Julien walked alone. He walked between pastures, between brambles thick with hard green blackberries, not seeing the hills. Green as they were, and solid, they could not change news from the north.

They were probably bombing right now.





Papa had a new radio someone had given him. A shortwave. Benjamin and Julien helped him carry it into his study to hide it from Mama. He said he wanted the BBC.

You boys know what really happened up on the Belgian coast?”

He knew. He knew the boches had captured forty thousand French soldiers.

“Three hundred forty thousand of our guys got away, that’s what.”

Julien blinked. “To where?”

“England. Don’t look at me like that. They’re still free. As long as England stands, there’s a chance for us.” He told them the story: the troops huddled on the beach like the Israelites by the Red Sea, the boats on the horizon. Every boat England had: yachts, fishing boats, rowboats. And the rear guard holding the Germans off—the rear guard, who would go down in history too. Papa swallowed. “Um. Benjamin. Something I’ve been meaning to tell you. No, stay, Julien.”

Benjamin’s eyes were on the floor.

“Benjamin. Look up. Benjamin, Maria and I want you to know that we consider you part of our family. We’re counting on your staying here for the summer and the next school year and as long as you need.”

Benjamin swallowed, looked at the window, at Julien, at the history books on Papa’s shelf. He swallowed again. “But. But I can’t pay my room and board. There’s no word from my parents and I don’t know when they’ll be able to send money. I’ve been saving what’s left of my allowance but it’s not nearly—” Papa was shaking his head.

“No, Benjamin. That’s what I mean when I say you are part of the family,” he said firmly. “We don’t ask Julien for room and board, and we will not ask you either.”

“But … but it’s not fair to you. You’re hungry—”

“Benjamin. Look at me, please.” Papa’s voice was commanding. “If we are hungry, we will be hungry together. But until your parents are able to take you back in peace and safety, you are staying. Please tell me you understand that.”

Papa and Benjamin stared at each other, a very long moment.

“Yes, sir,” said Benjamin, and lowered his eyes.





Thursday the power came back on. They sat in the living room, around the radio that crackled with static; they looked at each other, and then away. The room grew quiet as the announcer began to speak.

“Since Mussolini’s declaration of war on France two days ago, Italian troops are pushing west—”

Mama was on her feet. “The thief!” she hissed. “The backstabber, the coward!” Her face was red. Everyone was staring. She sat down.

Papa looked at her. “Saw his chance, I guess.”

“He’s a shame to his nation,” Mama snapped. Then they heard the shift in the announcer’s voice and turned sharply to the radio.

“German troops are approaching Paris at a rapid pace. As we speak, the vanguard is reported to be fifteen kilometers from Versailles. This will be our last broadcast for a while.”

They did not look at each other. The silence was total.

“Today Paris has been declared an ‘open city.’ Our military will not defend it. This decision was made to avoid bombardment and the great destruction and loss of life that it entails …”

Julien realized he had not been breathing. It was an amazing thing, breathing. Tears shone in Mama’s eyes.

“They won’t bomb Paris,” said Papa quietly.

“They won’t bomb Paris,” Mama whispered.

Benjamin stood, his face very still. He walked slowly to the door and took the stairs.

Julien waited, breathing, seeing Paris; seeing Vincent and his mother look up out of their second-floor window at a clear blue sky. He waited until the news ended, until they had read a psalm that said The Lord has delivered.

Then he followed Benjamin.

Benjamin’s door was closed. Julien hesitated, biting his lip, and went into his own room.

He looked out the window in the fading light. They wouldn’t defend it. This was it, then. What Pastor Alex said was true. German tanks would roll down the Champs-Elysées for real in just a couple days. Then the boches would come here. And they would stay.

He pulled Vincent’s last letter out from under his nightstand. I can’t believe you almost died, it said. That’s crazy. He got up, and went and knocked on Benjamin’s door.

No answer.

“Benjamin? You all right?”

“Fine.”

Julien opened the door. Benjamin turned quickly, scowling.

“Did I say you could come in?”

“Well sorry,” Julien growled. How am I supposed to help when he’s like this? “Just wanted to say good night.”

“Good night then.”

“Look, it’s not as bad as it could have been, okay? They could have bombed the place to shreds like Ro—” He bit his tongue.

“You’re right,” said Benjamin, looking away. “That’s good for your relatives. I’m glad.”

“And your parents!”

“Nothing’s good for my parents.” His voice was toneless. “Look, Julien, we can talk about this in the morning. I need to go to bed.”

Julien knew when to quit. He turned away. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

But he couldn’t. He turned and turned in his bed, twisting the sheets.

He got up and looked out at the crescent moon and the stars high over Tanieux, so white, so far, always the same; they would still be there when the Germans were here; they would still be there all his life. They were still there over Rotterdam too. It didn’t make any difference.

When he finally slept, he dreamed: Paris on the fourteenth of July, the fireworks, bursts of blue, of gold, of red above the city. A whirling rocket going up with a hiss and a bang. Then a louder bang. Then a bang that threw up a great shower of dirt and stones, and people screaming, people running as the shells began to fall—

He woke, and lay shivering. He got up to close the window. The stars shone down like cold eyes.

He heard a faint scratching. Mice maybe. A floorboard creaked. He listened.

And he heard it. Very slow, stealthy footsteps going down the stairs.

He sat up slowly. Magali or Benjamin. Tiptoeing down the stairs to the kitchen, wishing there was something to eat … He got out of bed and leaned out the window, watching for the faint light that would come through from the kitchen. No light came.

But on the ground floor, the heavy front door opened, and a dark shape slipped out into the street. A shadow with a suitcase in its hand.

He ran across the hall and threw open Benjamin’s door. A neatly made bed, a letter on the pillow. He grabbed it, ran back to his room, jerked his pants on over his pajamas, and ran downstairs in his socks. He’d catch him. Benjamin was on foot. He had to catch him. He scrawled on the flip side of the note, I’ve gone after him, pulled on his shoes and jacket, and flew down the stairs and into the dark.

He raced down the shadowed street and stopped at the corner, heart pounding, looking both ways. North, over the hill: the road to Saint-Etienne. A train to Paris, like he’d said? There were no trains now. Or south—south to where? Oh Lord, help, if I choose wrong I’ll never find him.

Think. What would he do if it were him? He’d go south—north was suicide, but—he didn’t know, he didn’t know Benjamin. Who did? Nothing is good for my parents, he’d said—he didn’t seem to even care that Paris wouldn’t be bombed—

Because his parents weren’t in Paris.

Julien turned, suddenly sure, and ran.

The Kellers had left Germany because of Hitler and his people. Would they stay in Paris and wait for them? “Let’s walk south,” Benjamin had said—and that stupid map—he should have guessed.

He ran, breathing hard, his eyes on the dark road ahead. Oh God. Oh Jesus. Don’t let me miss him please—please—

He broke free of the houses; the Tanne gleamed in front of him under the splintered moon, cut by the dark curve of the bridge. He froze. He ducked into the shadows and breathed.

There on the bridge was a slender figure leaning on the parapet, looking down at the dark water.

Oh God. Oh Jesus. Now what?

Benjamin turned and took a long, last look at Tanieux. Then he adjusted his backpack, picked up his suitcase, and walked away.

Julien slipped out of the shadows and up to the bridge, his heart beating help me Jesus help me, his mind searching for words. Come home. And if he said no? Drag him? Help me Jesus. He was across the bridge, ten paces behind Benjamin; he broke into a silent run on the grassy verge of the road. He caught up to him. Laid a hand on his arm.

“Benjamin.”

Benjamin whirled, eyes wild in the moonlight. They stared at each other. “Why,” said Julien. “Tell me why.” His voice was angrier than he meant it to be.

“Let me go.”

“No.” He tightened his grip on Benjamin’s arm.

Benjamin tried to pull away. “Julien, let me go. You have no idea. You have no idea what they’re like.”

“The boches?” This time his voice came out small.

“The Nazis, Julien. Ever heard of them? Yeah, you heard they don’t like Jews—I don’t think any of you people understand.” The sweep of his arm took in the school and the sleeping town. “Your parents are great, Julien—offering shelter and all—they really are. But they don’t know. Yet.”

But they do. They know. “Know what? What’ll they—do?”

“I’m not waiting around to find out.” His face was white and deadly serious. “Trust me on this, Julien. They are coming here and when they do, it’s better for you if I’m long gone.” I believe it is very dangerous to be a Jew in Germany. And soon—

Julien stood silent. The night wind touched his face; the hills were shadows on the horizon where they blotted out the stars. Suddenly he felt how large the world was, how huge the night, how small they stood on the road in the light of the waning moon. Ahead, the road bent into the pine woods, and in his mind, Julien saw Benjamin walking away, a small form carrying a suitcase into the darkness under the trees. His fingers bit into Benjamin’s arm.

“I don’t care,” he said savagely. “Where would you go?”

Benjamin said nothing; the moonlight quivered in his eyes as they filled with tears. He turned his head away. “I don’t know.” His voice shook.

Julien caught him by the shoulders, gripped him hard. “Well I do,” he said fiercely. “You’re coming home.” He was shaking too.

“No. No.” Benjamin was breathing strangely, too fast. “No.”

“Come on.” He picked up the suitcase. He took Benjamin by the hand. “I know a place we can sit for a minute. No one’ll see. Come on.”

Benjamin came. Slowly at first, but he came. They crossed the bridge, the water murmuring under Benjamin’s ragged breathing, and made for the little chapel. Manu’s chapel, whose door was never locked.

The heavy door closed behind them. It was so dark they might have been blind. Julien felt his way to a stone bench, and they sat. Benjamin’s breathing was slowing. The darkness closed round them, deep and quiet. Safe.

“How on earth did you find me?”

“I woke up,” he said, surprised at the memory.

“I should’ve been quieter.”

“It wasn’t you. It was a nightmare. About Paris.”

Silence.

“I’m glad it didn’t get bombed, Julien.”

Julien sat looking into the dark. “Me too,” he whispered.

Another silence.

“Benjamin. You’ve got to stay. They do know—Pastor Alex came to talk to us—I mean none of us knows the future but they know it’s a risk. They’re—okay with that.”

Benjamin was silent. Julien sat in the dark of Manu’s chapel, the stone bench cold beneath him, groping for what Grandpa would say. “Anyway,” he said slowly, “maybe it was God.”

“That woke you?”

“Yeah that woke me,” Julien flared. “You think that’s stupid? Going off God knows where in the middle of the night with a suitcase is what’s stupid. You wanna laugh at me talking about God, go ahead, but God put you here because God knew what would happen to Paris and it’s God’s business whether it’s safe for us or not. You hear me?”

“Your parents think that?”

“They do. I don’t care what you think; I know they do. And so does Grandfather, and Pastor and Madame Alexandre, and—they’re not the only ones. And anyway it’s true.”

Silence.

And in it, he felt something move in the darkness around him, felt something open, though he did not know what it was. He only knew that Benjamin’s shoulder slowly began to lean on his, slowly, until finally Julien leaned his weary head against Benjamin’s and closed his eyes. He heard Benjamin’s tiny, quiet whisper in the darkness: Ribbono Shel Olom. He took the words in. He did not ask what they meant.

They sat a long time in the ancient chapel, leaning on each other in the dark.





The night was pale above the eastern hills when they left the chapel and walked up through silent streets toward home. The air was cool. Julien felt the knocking emptiness in his head that came from a sleepless night: wide awake and utterly drained.

They crept inside, held the big front door back so that it latched with barely a click. They slipped up the stairs in silence. Nothing stirred. Julien pulled off his pants and crawled into bed, shivering. He wanted to sleep till noon. But his parents … Benjamin wouldn’t want him to tell. Maybe he should go get the note. That was his last thought before he slipped into sleep.





Mama’s eyes were red around the edges. She was still holding the note in her hand.

“Because it isn’t safe for us?” she said. “He said that?”

Julien nodded. Mama’s eyes welled with tears.

“He’s fifteen,” she whispered. “He’s only fifteen.”

Yeah. Me too.

Papa looked at him across the desk. They were in Papa’s study, in the straight-backed chairs. Papa looked at him without smiling, but Julien felt warmed by the look.

“Papa,” said Julien. “Is he right? That it wouldn’t be safe for us?”

Papa looked down at his hand clasping Mama’s hand. He looked up into Julien’s eyes. “Maybe.”

“But”—his eyes swept them both—“that doesn’t make a difference, right? He has to stay here, right? That’s what I told him—that you thought that.”

Papa didn’t speak. He was looking at Mama. As if she knew something he didn’t know. Mama looked Julien in the eye and said nothing. Just looked.

“Julien,” she said finally, “what do you think?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Is this a risk we should take?”

He stared at her. “You’re asking me?”

Papa was nodding. Both of them—what were they saying—“It’s your risk too, Julien. It’s your life. We can’t decide it for you.”

“We— Wait. What’s the question?” He looked from Papa to Mama and back. “We can’t send him away—after I brought him back—” His eyes were hurt and blazing. “That’s not what you mean! We can’t!”

She put her hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. Her eyes were warm. “So,” she said, “you’re willing?”

He looked at her, and he saw his life. He saw hard-eyed men with guns; he saw the other end of those guns, the small dark eye of the barrel. They would come, and they would stay. Fear lay like a lump of iron in his belly, unchanged by the pride in Papa’s eyes, by the warmth and lightness of the morning air; but through the open window he felt joy enter the room like a shout.

He looked back at them, his eyes clear. “Yes.”