A Pocket Full of Seeds by Marilyn Sachs Read Free Book Online Page A

where Papa was stationed, Maman stayed home and listened to the radio for the four days that the battle lasted. Still the commentators on the radio spoke of victory, but at the end Sedan fell, and the Germans had won.
    There were no more letters from Papa after that. In June, German soldiers marched up the Champs d’Elysées in Paris, and a few weeks later the armistice was signed. France had been defeated. Two thirds of France—in the north and the west—would be occupied by German troops. What was left—and that included our town of Aix-les-Bains—would be unoccupied. But now we had a different government, and Maréchal Pétain was our new Chief of State.
    There was no news about Papa. Each day, after the mail arrived, Maman smiled. She wanted a letter from Papa very much, but even more, she did not want a letter saying he had been killed, or had been taken as a prisoner of war.
    It was nearly two months since we had heard from Papa. Maman wrote letters and went to see officials in the town. Nobody could tell her anything. All was in confusion. As French soldiers came through Aix-les-Bains back from the war, Maman tried to talk to them and find out if anybody had seen Papa or heard anything about his division. Nobody had seen Papa but one soldier said that the First Division had not fought—just ran.
    But that had been nearly a month ago, and still Papa did not come. Sometimes, as the weeks went by, Maman did not seem to hear what people said. She was listening for other sounds. One night, I heard her get out of bed and open the outside door. She whispered, “David?” and I came running out of bed, thinking Papa had returned. But no one was there.
    Ever since the early part of June, refugees from Paris and other parts of occupied France had been streaming through Aix-les-Bains. Some were headed for Switzerland while others were looking for any place to stay where they could be safe from the Germans.
    Our town always had many people coming in the summertime—sick people who came to take the thermal baths and drink the waters, and well people who came for fun—to enjoy the beautiful beaches along the Lac du Bourget, and all the special summer entertainments. There were concerts in the park, gambling in the casino, and plays in the theater. In the summer the population of Aix-les-Bains was two or three times what it normally was.
    And now, this summer, there were many more people than usual. But they had not come for the waters or the summer amusements. For weeks now, the town was bursting with them. At the crèmerie, you had to wait on a line that sometimes stretched out into the street, and often you were lucky to get any cheese at all. M. Lantin, the baker, had hired two extra men and was now baking days as well as nights, but the bread tasted different. It was not as good.
    Every night at our house, there were at least one or two guests for dinner, and sometimes they stayed the night. They told stories—frightening, sickening stories. Maman would glance at Jacqueline or me, and once she even shook her head, and nobody spoke until we left the room. Most of the guests were Jewish.
    I didn’t believe those stories. I asked Jacqueline if she believed them. Sometimes at night we heard the grownups talking and even crying while we lay in bed. Jacqueline said she believed the stories. She said maybe the Germans would come and take away Danielle, her doll, and put her in prison. Sometimes she cried, and then I held her and told her stories about Atlantis, and she felt better. Sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes Maman had to come in and take Jacqueline into her own bed.
    Berthe and Isaac came to us toward the end of June. They were cousins of Maman, and had run away from Hitler first from a village called Turek in Poland and then from Paris. Berthe was very fat. She put curlers in her hair every night, and sang songs all day. Isaac liked to kiss her. Maman said they were newlyweds, but when I asked her, Berthe said they