“There was no one to mind him.” I hear the apology in my voice. I search Luc’s face for a sign of annoyance, but there is none.
“Is he better now?” Luc asks with genuine concern.
“He’s fine. But it was a high fever, terribly scary. That’s why I couldn’t meet you last Sunday,” I add.
Luc nods solemnly. “I would have tried to see you sooner, but I knew it would be impossible until he was well.” He reaches into his coat. “Here, I brought this.” In his smooth open palm lies a cube of sugar. Real sugar. I fight the urge to grab it and shove it in my mouth. Instead I touch it to my tongue, shivering at the taste I’d almost forgotten. Then I lower it to Theo’s lips. He gurgles and smiles at the unfamiliar sweetness.
“Thank you,” I say. “I haven’t tasted real sugar since...” I falter, remembering how my father had squirreled some away for my birthday nearly a year earlier. “Since before the war,” I finish lamely.
“I told Papa that from now on, I would only live off the ration coupons like everyone else,” he says. “I don’t feel right having more than others.”
“Luc...” I am not sure what to say. He reaches out his hand to stroke the smoothness of Theo’s palm. “Do you want to hold him?” I ask.
“Really? I’ve never...” I pass Theo to Luc and the baby coos, falling naturally into his large arms. Luc lowers himself to the floor slowly, still cradling Theo. Theo’s eyes begin to grow heavy and then close.
Luc takes off his jacket and makes a soft bed of it for Theo, setting him down gently. Then he reaches for me, drawing me into his arms. “You found your way here with no trouble?” He kisses me, not waiting for an answer. I press closer to him, wanting more. I let his hands wander farther, and for a moment I am not broken and shamed, nor a circus freak. I am just a girl again.
But as his fingers graze my hips, I stop him. “The baby...”
“He’s falling asleep.”
I burrow closer in Luc’s arms. “We’re going,” I say sadly.
“I know. I promised to come see you in the next village, remember?”
“Not there,” I reply. “We’re going back to Germany, or at least somewhere close to it.”
His body stiffens and his frown grows deeper. “But that’s so dangerous.”
“I know. There isn’t a choice.”
“I’ll find you there, too,” he says earnestly.
“You could hardly come more than once.”
“Every week,” he counters. “More if you want.”
“But it’s really far,” I protest.
“So?” he asks. “Don’t you think I can manage it?”
“It’s not that. It’s just that...” I look down. “Why would you want to? I mean it’s so much trouble.”
“Because I can’t stand the thought of not seeing you again,” he blurts. When I lift my head, his cheeks are red, as though the air has suddenly grown warm. There’s a look of fondness in his eyes. How can someone who has known me such a short time feel so much affection, when those who had loved me my whole life seemed to have none?
“I want to show you something.” He stands and leads me to a small door at the back of the gallery. I look back to where Theo lies, still sleeping. Surely Luc does not mean for me to leave him alone.
“What is it?” I ask, my curiosity growing as Luc opens the closet. He pulls out a painting, the oils so fresh the smell tickles my nose. It is a picture of an aerialist, I realize, midswing on the trapeze. How had he come to have it? I study her form, the familiar arc of her body on the sweep. Her hair is light and worn in a high knot like mine. Then, taking in the familiar red costume, I gasp.
It is a portrait of me.
No, not exactly me. A more beautiful version, body graceful, features flawless. Luc had painted me as he sees me, the image adoring.
“Oh, Luc!” I say with amazement. I understand now the way he takes me in with an artist’s eye, looking intently, studying detail. “It’s stunning. You have real talent.” He has captured me perfectly, from the texture of my costume to the slight look of fear in my eyes that I never quite manage to hide.
“You think so?” His face is doubtful, but a note of pride creeps into his voice.
“Absolutely marvelous,” I reply, meaning it. I try to imagine the hours and care it had taken him. “Why did you give up on studying art?”
His face clouds. “I wanted to be an artist. I used to paint in the loft of our barn, you know. But my father found what I was doing and he destroyed my work, forbade me from doing more. I begged him to let me become an art teacher at least, but he would hear none of it.” Luc’s eyes flicker as he relives the memory. He continues, “I painted in secret until he found out.” Luc held up his right hand with its twisted index finger. “He made sure I could never be a real artist.”
I recoil in horror, not at Luc’s disfigurement, but at the cruelty inflicted by a father on his own child. “Not enough to stop me from being useful. Just from being good at the really intricate details,” he adds.
I take his hand and kiss his finger, my heart weeping. None of us, it seems, not even Luc, is free from darkness and pain. “How can you stay with him?” I demand. “He’s a monster!”
Luke’s eyes widen and I wonder if he will be angry with me. “He was doing what he thought was right,” he replies.
We sit silently, neither speaking. Luc has trusted me with his awful secret. I should tell him, right now, about my own past. But then I hear Astrid’s voice: never assume that you know the mind of another. Looking into Luc’s clear blue eyes, I know he will not understand the choices I have made and the experiences that have brought me to make them.
Instead, I reach for him, cupping his face in my palms and turning it to me. I kiss him over and over again, not stopping, heedless of where we are and the fact that Theo is just feet away. Luc’s arms are around me, hands on my waist and hips. For a second, I want to pull away. My stomach has never quite returned to what it was before childbirth. My breasts droop slightly from the milk I had carried.
But then I wrap my arms around him and let myself be swept away. Luc’s hands reach under my skirt. I start to protest. We cannot possibly do this here. He lays me back gently, placing one hand under my head to protect it from the hardness of the stone floor. The German soldier, the only other man I have been with in this way, appears in my mind. I tense.
Luc cups my chin in his hand then, gently bringing my gaze to his. “I love you, Noa,” he says.
“I love you, too.” The words come out in a breathless rush. My passion grows, pushing the memories away.
When it is over, we lie in a heap of half-strewn clothes on the hard stone floor, our legs tangled together. “That was wonderful!” I declare, too loudly. My voice echoes through the rafters of the museum, sending an unseen pigeon fluttering. We both laugh softly.