Hidden Child by Isaac Millman

Author:Isaac Millman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466896475
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

Héna holding one of her great-grandsons, 1961

Héna with another great-grandson and her sister, Madame Laks, 1962

MADAME DEVOLDER

“A good clean bath and a hard scrubbing with warm water and soap,” said Madame Devolder, “and in a few weeks you will see, the sores on Jean’s scalp will be gone!” Madame Devolder had just told Héna she would look after me.

A widow, Madame Devolder lived in a small house surrounded by woods in the village of Pontault, a twenty-minute walk from Héna’s sister. She came from the northern part of Belgium and spoke with a light Flemish accent. She was tall and strong, with a deep voice, a hearty laugh, and a kind face. I liked her right away. Madame Devolder disinfected my clothes, shaved my head, and scrubbed it hard with soap and water. And, as she had predicted, in a few weeks the sores on my scalp had healed. She hid me through the final war years, treating me like a son. I became Jean Devolder.

Life with Madame Devolder soon settled into a daily work routine. Though calm and peaceful, it was still difficult. We lived on a shoestring and often went hungry. But no matter how little food there was, she shared it equally with me. We worked hard, and there was plenty to do—cleaning the outhouse, washing laundry by hand (there was no washing machine), toiling in our small vegetable garden, and many other chores.

In May, clusters of tiny wild strawberries sprouted in the countryside. Blood red and easily spotted under green patches of foliage, they satisfied my hunger for something sweet. In the summer months after the harvest, we gleaned wheat remaining in Farmer Grégoire’s field. In the fall, we dug for potatoes he had left in the ground. He also let us take apples that had fallen from the trees in his orchard. This helped us during lean times.

One day, Farmer Grégoire gave me a baby rabbit. Madame Devolder said I could keep it, but she reminded me that when the rabbit grew up, we would have to eat it. I didn’t want to think about that. For the time being I was happy; I had something that was mine to love and care for. I named my rabbit Rose.

Early the next morning, Madame Devolder sent me to Farmer Grégoire to fill our milk jug. The road to the farm led past an ancient stone wall that enclosed the town cemetery. A narrow strip of grass dotted with daisies and bright red poppies ran the length of the wall. I heard an animal’s shrieks and then saw Farmer Grégoire in his courtyard arguing with a German officer. Two soldiers had cornered a pig and were struggling to get it into the back of their truck. They were attached to the occupation troops who had made the Château of Combault their headquarters. As I watched in silence, the officer’s greenish gray military uniform and black boots brought back terrifying memories of the prison courtyard where I was separated from Mama.

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