A Jewish Girl in Paris by Melanie Levensohn

Author:Melanie Levensohn [Levensohn, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2023-01-18T17:00:00+00:00

14

Judith

Paris, February 1941

More snow had fallen during the night, gathering in menacing piles on the windowsills, pressing against the panes like an intruder. There was a time when I had loved the snow. It slowed the hectic bustle of the city and gave Paris a magical glow. In the wartime winter of 1941, however, snow was nothing but a paralysing threat. It crept inside our worn-out shoes and turned our feet into blocks of ice as we queued in line for hours. It blocked the streets and stopped food deliveries from reaching the shops on time. To escape the snow, people crowded into the Metro tunnels, bringing the subterranean transport system to a standstill.

I walked down the hallway into the kitchen. As I passed the wall mirror, I caught sight of my pale face and was startled: my lips were blue with cold, and my brown locks had lost their fullness. My body looked stiff and hunched, like an old woman’s. What had this devilish winter done to me?

The only comforting thought on this icy morning was that, thanks to Christian, we had enough coal to survive another few weeks of this merciless cold. Lily circled around my legs. I picked her up and scratched her neck, then lit the fire and brewed some coffee.

At around seven o’clock, Mother set off with our coupons. She looked weak. Since the beginning of the year, her mental state had declined rapidly. She was uncommunicative and lethargic, still struggling with the fact that she couldn’t work in her school any more. For a few weeks, she had helped out at Madame Morin’s in the evenings and on weekends, in the sewing room out back. But then, overnight, the fur shop had been sold. Madame Morin hadn’t wanted to talk about it. The last time I saw her, she said something about a forced sale, and tears shot into her eyes. I didn’t understand what had happened. But in the display window of the shop, which had been in their family for generations, the yellow sign saying Jewish Business had been replaced by a red one. And before long, there was no sign at all.

I glanced out of the window and saw Mother stamping through the snow in her thin boots to line up at the bakery in Rue Rambuteau, for half a pound of bread, and then at the grocer’s in Rue des Archives for a few potatoes and a handful of lentils. We were getting less and less for our food coupons. A few courageous students had begun to forge coupons and sell them in the bathrooms at the Sorbonne. But I didn’t dare use them – police checks were popping up everywhere. By now we were short of everything. We had no wool to darn stockings with, no leather to repair our shoes, and no batteries for our pocket torches. We had only hunger, fear, and the vague hope that at some point the spring would come.

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