Hiding Edith (10 page)

On the fifth day, Shatta received word that the Nazis had left the town. The group packed their gear for the last time and headed back to Moissac. Edith was sad to see the camping trip end. It had been an adventure that she would always remember. Sarah had been right — they had remained safe and had had fun. In the forest, Edith had actually forgotten that soldiers were nearby, looking for Jews. She had forgotten that there was any danger.

As soon as the children arrived back at the house, Edith went looking for Gaston. She found him in his room unpacking a few of his belongings.

“Oh, Gaston, I was so worried about you!” Edith squeezed her brother tightly. “Shatta said you were hiding with a family. Were they kind to you?”

Gaston nodded. “I had to pretend I was their son, in case soldiers came. They never did, but I still had to pretend. I had to call the people Maman and Papa. That was hard, but if I closed my eyes and pretended Mutti was there, then I could do it.”

“You’re very brave, Gaston. Mutti would be proud of you — Papa too.”

On the way back to her house, Edith found Eric in the woodworking shop.

“I told you we’d be fine,” he said.

“What happened?” Edith asked. “Did the soldiers come?”

“Yes,” he said. “Not long after you left. There had to have been ten or twenty of them on patrol. They pounded on the doors.
The cook answered and said that everyone was gone. Of course, she didn’t say anything about the fact that we are all Jews here. She just said it was a boarding home for children, and everyone was away for a few days. The soldiers came in, anyway. By then, we were hidden away. Three in the attic behind a trap door, and the rest here behind that stack of wood.” Eric pointed to a large wall of lumber piled from floor to ceiling. Sure enough, there was a small cubbyhole behind it, under a hidden staircase, just large enough to accommodate three or four boys. It could be barricaded and made invisible by stacking wood in front of it.

“How long did you hide?” Edith asked, picturing the boys crowded inside the small space.

Eric shrugged. “Two, maybe three hours. The soldiers came back several times.” He smiled cunningly. “I guess they didn’t believe the cook, and they wanted to surprise us. But we made it to our safe places each time.”

Eric made it sound so simple, like playing a game. He could have said, “Oh yes, we just played hide-and-seek,” instead of “Oh yes, we just hid from the Nazis.” Maybe for Eric and some of the others, avoiding capture and outsmarting the Nazis really was an adventure. But for Edith, fear and uncertainty never went away. Danger was always just around the corner, waiting to get her if she let her guard down. She had to stay watchful and alert. That was the only way she was going to survive.

Within a few days, almost in spite of herself, Edith settled back into the house routines. With school out for the summer, the days passed peacefully, with a lazy summer energy. There was even a marriage for two of the group leaders. At the wedding dinner, Eric and the other photographers presented the newlyweds with a photo album of pictures taken during the ceremony. It wasn’t quite a banquet — rationing and food restrictions saw to that — but the feeling in the house was optimistic, even hopeful. “Perhaps the war is ending,” the children whispered. “Maybe our parents will come for us soon.”

Edith prayed every night that Mutti would come. And when she visited Gaston, she pretended it would happen for sure. But in her heart, she believed differently. She had been led to think that she would be safe too many times. This time she was not going to be so easily fooled. So, when Shatta and Bouli called an emergency meeting in August 1943 to announce the closing of the house, Edith was not surprised, just very sad.

“Conditions are worsening in France,” Shatta began. “It is no longer safe for all of you to be here.”

The room pulsed with the reaction. Some children looked shocked and dazed, and sat in stunned silence. Others shouted “No!” and “I want to stay — don’t send us away!”

“Are we going camping again?” a boy asked. “Should we pack our things?”

Shatta shook her head sadly. “No. I’m afraid this time five or six days in the woods will not make a difference. We must close the house for good.”

“Now that America has joined the fight against Hitler, I’m confident that the war will not last too much longer,” said Bouli. “There are positive signs that the Nazis will be defeated. We all know the Nazis surrendered to the Russian armies at Stalingrad. And they have surrendered in North Africa as well. The tide is turning.”

“Yes,” agreed Shatta. “Things
are
changing. But not soon enough for our house. The French authorities are supplying the Nazis with lists of Jews in this area so they can transport us to the concentration camps. There is increasing danger for the mayor here in Moissac and for all of our friends who have kept our secret. It will be better for them, too, if we leave.”

“But where will we go, Shatta?” Sarah was the one who asked the hard questions for all of them. “Who can hide a houseful of Jewish children?”

“We don’t have all of the answers yet,” replied Shatta with some hesitation. “But over the next few weeks, we will let you know where
you will be going and when.” She sighed deeply before continuing. “There is no place that can take all of you. You’ll be going to homes and boarding schools, two or three together, staying with people who will hide you. I promise you all that I will not leave this house until each and every one of you is in a safe place.”

There was that word “safe” again, thought Edith.
Could there really be enough safe places for us all?

“We can no longer live openly as Jews,” Shatta continued. “You will be given new identities — new birthplaces, new names that are not Jewish. You will need to learn these names and answer to them as if you were born with them. All of this will take practice. But I am confident that you will learn these skills, just as you learned camping skills. Remember always that you are Scouts, and Scouts are always prepared.” Then Shatta dismissed the group with a tired wave of her hand. Edith could not even begin to understand how frustrated Shatta must have felt that they could not all stay together.

That afternoon, Edith and Sarah went to see Eric in the photography workshop. He was working with several other older children, sorting through papers and documents.

“Look,” he said, picking up one of the sheets of paper. “The church has given us blank baptismal certificates. We’re going to fill one in for everyone in the house.” This document would affirm that Edith and the others had participated in the religious ceremony to initiate them into the Catholic Church.

“Shatta says that we are all getting new names,” said Sarah. “I wonder who I’ll be.”

“What a silly question,” said Edith. “You’re Sarah. This is a disguise. It’s just pretend. It doesn’t change who you are.”

“If this plan is going to work, it’s going to take more than pretending,” said Eric. “It’s not like you’ll be able to jump out from behind your disguise and shout, ‘Surprise! I fooled you!’ You’re going to have to believe in your new identity and believe that you are someone else. Look,” Eric said, pointing to the name below his own photograph on one of the identity documents. “I’m Etienne Giroux now.”

Edith didn’t like the sound of this. What was it Mutti had said to Edith before leaving her here in Moissac? “Remember who you are.” How could she become anyone else?

“I wonder where we’ll be sent,” Sarah continued. “Or if we can stay together.”

Edith hadn’t thought about that. Shatta said that they would be sent away in small groups. But Edith had assumed that she would remain with at least a few of her friends. The thought of being alone was even more terrifying.

“Well, I’m not going to be sent anywhere,” said Eric.

“What do you mean?” asked Edith. “Everyone is going to a safe home.”

“Not me,” replied Eric. “I’m leaving. I’m joining the Resistance in the east of France. These papers will get me across the country to fight the Nazis. What do you say to that?”

Edith stared at Eric in disbelief. She knew about the Resistance. She knew that all across Europe, groups of men and women were
risking their lives to slow down Hitler and his armies — stealing weapons, blowing up railroad tracks and ammunition supplies, passing information to the Allies. Most of the fighters were Christians, but Jewish men and women were also in the Resistance. And Eric was about to join them.

“Jews are fighting back wherever possible,” Eric continued. “Just a couple of months ago, there was a revolt in the Warsaw ghetto. The Jews there refused to be imprisoned any longer. I want to fight back too.”

Edith knew about the Warsaw ghetto. Bouli had told them about the revolt there. But thousands of Jewish men, women, and children had been killed in the uprising. Eric seemed to have forgotten that part. But nothing would stop Eric from something he was determined to do. Edith could only wish him good luck.

“When are you leaving, Eric?” she asked softly.

“Soon,” he replied. “When these identity papers are done. Don’t look so sad. No one has caught me yet. And no one will. Besides, I’m still official photographer, so while you’re here, let me take your pictures for the new documents.”

Edith and Sarah lined up to pose for their photos. When it was her turn, Edith stared somberly at the camera. She didn’t smile but made a silent promise.
No matter what those papers say, I won’t forget who I am, Mutti
.

Over the next few days, Shatta and Bouli met with groups of children to show them their identity papers and rehearse their new names. Edith stared at her photo on her new document. That was her face staring back at her, unsmiling and serious. But it was the name underneath the picture that held Edith’s attention. She was no longer Edith Schwalb. The name beneath her photo was Edith Servant. Edith Servant. She whispered the name several times, rolling the strange sound around her mouth. Edith Servant. Edith Servant. Well, at least she kept her first name. That was some relief. But still, after she’d spent eleven years being one person with one identity, this new name was too strange to grasp fully.

Edith looked over at Sarah. Her face was pale, and she was moving her lips as if she was studying for a test. “Well? What’s your name?” asked Edith.

Closing her eyes, Sarah whispered, “Simone. Simone Carpentier.”

Identification papers issued to a girl named Irene Marie Jerome. Her real name was Inge Joseph. Edith had false identification papers similar to this one.

Edith nodded. There was nothing to say. She stared at the cross on her baptismal certificate. Even that looked so out of place beside her name on the paper. Edith Servant was Catholic. Did that mean Edith Schwalb had to give up her Judaism?

“Practice saying your new names,” Shatta was saying to the group. “From now on you must stop using your old names and refer to one another only by your new ones.” Shatta picked up Sarah’s papers. “If I say the name Sarah, you must not answer,” she said, looking into Sarah’s eyes. “There must be no response in any way — not a turn of the head, not even a nod.” Shatta returned the papers and moved on. “Repeat your new names over and over until they seem completely natural. Your safety depends on this. There can be no mistakes, as you will have no second chances.

“On your documents, there is a new place of birth,” continued Shatta, as she moved around the room. “Learn the name of the city or town where you were born. Study how it is spelled. Test one another until you can declare your place of birth with ease.”

According to her documents, Edith Servant had been born in some place called Enghien-les-Bains. Edith raised her hand, terrified. “Shatta! Where is this? I’ve never heard of En … En …” She gave up trying to pronounce it.

Shatta looked at the paper. “Enghien-les-Bains,” she repeated. “It’s a city about twenty kilometers south of Paris.”

Edith closed her eyes tight so she wouldn’t cry. How could she convince anyone that she had come from a city she knew nothing about? What if someone asked her what it looked like? Or what street she had lived on, or what her school was called? What would she say? She was doomed. Enghien-les-Bains. “Bains” meant “baths.” Maybe they made bathtubs there. No, that was ridiculous. But inventing a whole life was even more ridiculous.

The meeting was over. Edith took a deep breath. “Come on … Simone,” she said. “Let’s go practice.”

Edith stood in the middle of an unfamiliar street surrounded by people she did not know. Angry men glared at her, fists raised. Soldiers pointed guns at her. Strange children were shaking their heads sadly and staring. All of them were shouting the same question, demanding an answer: What is your name?

My name? My name
, she thought, looking wildly around for someone to help her. Finally, helplessly, she whispered, “Edith. My name is Edith.”

“Edith what?” they yelled. “What is your name?”

“It’s Edith … Edith …” Oh, what was the name on her papers? Why hadn’t she practiced? Now it was too late. She was going to be arrested because she couldn’t remember her name. “It’s just Edith,” she cried.