How Huge the Night

chapter 28





Down





In Lyon, Niko learned to beg. There was no other way.

They searched for a hiding place and could not find one. The hiding places were full. Skinny kids, whole families with shell-shocked eyes, they were in the crumbling buildings around the train tracks, under bridges, on park benches. Standing in long lines on the streets with desperate faces. They found a place at nightfall under a bridge, crowded with bodies. Men, women, children who whimpered in the night. She was glad of their presence, the safety in their numbers. She slept.

When morning came, the numbers weren’t so safe.

Gustav went round to the back doors of restaurants, came back to her empty-handed, taught her the French for, We have nothing. Go away. There were too many hungry. Looking for help, looking for work. Gustav stood in line all day. When he got to the front, he tried Italian, Yiddish, Romany; the man behind the desk looked at him blankly. In desperation, he tried German. The man spoke sharply and gestured for him to go.

“I’m so stupid, Niko. They’ve gotta be from the north, the Germans invaded … Lorenzo told me France was in bad trouble, I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together, Niko, I can’t believe I was so stupid. I’m sorry …”

“It’s not your fault,” Niko whispered. “It was my idea.”

Niko took their bundle and made herself a place on the steps of the cathedral, among the other beggars. Since there was nowhere to hide. She spread out the army blanket and knelt on it, held out her hand. She said what the other beggars were saying. “S’il vous plait, monsieur, madame. Pour manger.” Something about food, she thought. Most people looked away. Most people looked like they didn’t have food either.

They were going through Lorenzo’s money as slowly as they could. One loaf of bread was food for a whole day. But the money would be gone soon.

They had to get out of here.

They talked about going on the road again. But there were so many refugees. They might walk days and find themselves somewhere just the same, or worse … They went back to the railroad yard where their boxcar had come in. It was their only chance.

Gustav climbed the chain-link fence, quietly, in the dark; he was hoisting Niko up when hoarse yelling broke out of the shadows, and she fell, landing on both feet with a cry of pain. A guard shouting, striking out with his club—Gustav scrambling—the nightstick clashed against the fence as he jumped down.

They limped home to their bridge. Niko felt tears clogging her throat. “It’s all right, Niko,” Gustav whispered. “We’ll try again.”

When they tried, two nights later, there was a dog. A wiry German shepherd, spine bristling, growl heavy with menace.

They stayed in Lyon.