The House of Izieu by Jan Rehner

Author:Jan Rehner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inanna Publications
Published: 2020-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

IZIEU, WINTER 1943-44

THAT AUTUMN THE MOON WAS ORANGE.

The countryside was redolent of wild thyme and sage, and glowed in wine reds and rusty yellows. Leaves swirled in lazy circles through the air and fluttered to the ground, carpeting the lawns and the terrace and riding the waves made by children’s hands in the fountain. The last of the milkweed drifted slowly across the river, while the shadows along the rocky mountainsides were choked and violet.

The youngest of the children were beginning to forget what their parents looked like and how their voices sounded, and so they were free to make up what had been forgotten.

The postman faithfully came and went, and one day Max jumped for joy and ran into the arms of Sabine. “I got a letter,” he crowed. “Me too, this time. My very own letter from Marcelle.”

“And what does she say?” Sabine smiled.

“She says she misses me. She says I must work at my sums so that I don’t grow up as a dimwit. And she says she will write to me every week so I never have to be sad again on mail days. And there’s a P.S. If I’m very, very good, she’s going to send a parcel.”

“Lucky Max. You can start being very good by helping to pick apples. It’s harvesting time.”

“We didn’t have to harvest in Mannheim. We lived in the city.”

“Well, do you know the story of the grasshopper and the ant? The ants work all summer and fall to store away food for the winter so that when the snow comes, they’ll have lots to eat. But the grasshopper only plays and realizes too late that he’ll be hungry all winter. Would you rather be an ant or a grasshopper?”

“Oh, I’d rather be a grasshopper, but I’ll be a smart one.”

Max ran off to help and Sabine watched him fondly. It was so kind of Marcelle to remember him. She’d had a golden touch with all the children who missed her lightness of heart and, not incidentally, her inexperience in the classroom. The day of her leaving had been full of tears, and her popularity had complicated the day of the new teacher’s arrival, for of course Pierre-Marcel had kept his promise and had sent along a fully qualified and experienced schoolmistress.

Gabrielle Perrier had a serious face, with a nose and chin that were a little too sharp, and an inclination to make rules she expected to be obeyed. Her dark eyes glistened like Spanish olives, the eyes of someone who can spot mischief before it even happens. There would be no paper planes in her classroom and no notes passed from desk to desk. The thought of swimming in the Rhône made her shudder.

But Mademoiselle Perrier, never just Gabrielle to the children, was not unkind. When she entered the classroom that first day, she was greeted by a rush of whispers, like a wave rippling across a pebbled shore. She didn’t take offence during art class when the youngest students all drew pictures of Marcelle, painstakingly explaining how pretty she was.

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