Tell No One Who You Are (8 page)

The next day the girls went out on an errand.

“You’re too young to come with us,” the first girl said to Régine.

“And you have chores to do,” said the second. The girls giggled and walked out the door.

Régine was left behind to make the beds.

In the days that followed Régine found herself being treated like a servant. She had to change sheets, dust furniture and scrub floors. By the end of the first week, her hands and knees were covered with calluses.

The hardest room to clean was where Monsieur and Madame Bernard worked. The room was at the back of the house and had two tall chairs and two sinks with mirrors above them. There was also a big hair dryer where women customers sat, reading magazines.

The floor was always covered with hair. No sooner had Régine swept it than she had to start all over again. Customers came and went all day. Régine was expected to stay out of sight when clients were in the house. But as soon as they left, tracking hair all the way to the front door, she was called in to sweep up.

As she swept and scrubbed, Régine felt the eyes of her father watching her. She doubted that he would approve of the work she was expected to do. But then again, she thought if he were here he would probably say it was necessary for the sake of Nicole who was doing her best to hide Régine from the Germans. She decided not to mention anything when Nicole visited after the first week.

“Are you happy?” Nicole asked, after handing over the pay envelope.

Régine lowered her eyes and uttered a weak “yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Régine repeated, hiding her despair.

“Good. I’ll be back in a few weeks,” Nicole told her.

Régine would have liked to rush after her, but instead she stood and watched. She wished that she was still in Boitsfort. Madame André had not been friendly but she was better than the Bernards. The two girls made Régine feel more lonely than when she had stayed with the solitary old woman.

She was particularly upset because of the Jewish girl. She had hoped to be her friend and wanted to ask her questions. Where was she from? Where were her parents? Why was she staying here? Was she hiding from the Germans, too? But the girl paid no attention to her.

One day, Madame Bernard announced a surprise.

“We’re not expecting any customers today,” she told Régine. “Why don’t we do your hair? Would you like that?”

Régine nodded enthusiastically. She had often wished to change the style of her hair, which was straight and plain. Its auburn color was more red than brown. Adults had always admired the color, but the kids at school used to make fun of her and called her
“roussette,”
or redhead.

Her hair had been kept short by her mother so it would be clean and shiny, but it had grown long during the year she had stayed with Madame André.

“How about a permanent?”

A permanent! It was exactly what she had always wished for. Curls!

Régine settled into one of the tall chairs, and Madame Bernard went to work. She tied a large bib around Régine’s neck and washed her hair in the sink. Without cutting her hair, she began applying the permanent lotion and putting on the curlers. Then Régine was put under the big dryer.

It took an awfully long time for her hair to dry, or so it seemed to Régine, who was eager to see herself with curls. The dryer was turned off and Régine sat in the tall chair so the curlers could be removed. It seemed to take forever. Was something wrong?

“Almost finished,” said Madame Bernard.

“How does it look?” Régine asked. She could not see because the mirror hung on the wall behind her.

“You have to give it some time. That’s the way it is with a permanent. After a few days it will look nice.”

When the last curler was removed Régine was handed a small mirror. She brought it up slowly and looked at her reflection. What she saw was worse than she could have imagined. She held the mirror at arm’s length for a wider view
but the sight did not improve. She brought her free hand up to her head and grabbed at her hair. The curls were so tight she could not run her hand through it.

“Don’t worry,” Madame Bernard said. “It’ll get better.” She looked pleased with herself.

But her hair did not get better. She still could not put a comb through it by the end of her first month when Nicole arrived. She reacted with shock when she saw Régine. She handed over a pay envelope and took Régine aside.

“What did they do to your hair?”

Régine lowered her eyes. She did not want to cause trouble for Nicole. Monsieur and Madame Bernard were standing right behind her.

“It’s nothing,” she began to say, but her voice cracked.

Nicole bent down and looked into her face. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Is it your hair?” Nicole asked. “Don’t worry. It’s not that bad. It’ll get better.”

“It’s not that,” Régine said, and held out her hands.

Nicole took hold of Régine’s hands and her eyes widened. Calluses covered her knuckles completely. The tips of her fingers were cracked and showed traces of dried blood. Her fingernails were broken. Nicole rose and stared at the Bernards. Régine had never seen her so angry.

“Go up to your room,” Nicole told Régine. “I have some things to discuss here.”

Régine climbed the stairs wondering if she had done the right thing. Would her father have approved? She sat on the edge of her bed and remembered what he had told her as he sat at his worktable and cut a square of red material into the shape of a star to glue on the back of the yellow Star of David the Germans were forcing them to wear.

“If you are forced to do something you think is wrong,” her father had said, “then you must protest.” Régine decided she had done the right thing by showing Nicole her hands.

A few days later, Nicole returned. She took Régine aside and told her she had made arrangements for her to stay with another family. That was not all. Nicole said she had something to tell her. She could not explain to her right away although it was very important.

“Go pack your bag,” Nicole told her. “We don’t have much time.”

What important news did Nicole have for her? Was it about her father? Régine hurried up the stairs. She was relieved to be leaving this household after only one month. She returned downstairs and said a curt good-bye to Monsieur and Madame Bernard. They looked embarrassed.

Nicole was waiting outside. Régine went to join her, passing the two girls who stood watching. She heard them giggle just before the door slammed behind her.

R
ÉGINE BOARDED THE TRAM
and took a seat by the window with her duffel bag in her lap. She scratched her messy head and waited nervously for Nicole to tell her the important news.

Nicole held her briefcase tightly as she spoke. She had to talk fast, she said, because there was very little time. They were going to the bus station in Brussels. Régine would take a bus that would bring her to a new hiding place in the countryside.

“You understand? It won’t be like before,” she told Régine. “I won’t be able to visit you. It will be too far.”

Régine could not hide her disappointment. “You mean, I won’t see you?”

“It is only for three months,” Nicole said, “and I’ll write.”

“Where will I be living?”

“In Andoumont,” Nicole said. She put her briefcase flat on her lap. “It’s a small village in Liège.”

Régine had never been to Liège but knew that it was south of Brussels, not far from the Ardennes mountains and the German border. She had learned by heart at the
école primaire
all the nine provinces of Belgium and their capital cities. The capital of the province of Liège was easy to remember because it was also called Liège.

Nicole rummaged inside her briefcase. “It’s smaller than Boitsfort. And the people you’ll be with live on a farm.”

Many children from Brussels had been sent to live in the
countryside since the German occupation began more than three years before. The countryside was safer than the city in the case of bombings and food was more plentiful.

“These people have two children,” Nicole said, still rummaging. “So you won’t be alone. And you’ll be going to school.”

“To school?” Régine’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “Really?”

“Yes,” Nicole said, pulling out an envelope. She looked through the window and frowned. “We’re almost there. We’re very short of time, so you’ll have to listen carefully.”

She opened the envelope and pulled out a booklet of ration cards. This certainly could not be the important news. Régine had known about ration cards ever since the beginning of the war. The stamps inside were used for buying vegetables, eggs and milk and other foods that were rationed and hard to get. The booklet also served as identification. It showed the name, age and residence of the carrier. Nicole handed the booklet to Régine.

“This is yours,” Nicole said.

Régine read the name printed on the booklet. It said Augusta Dubois.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“You,” Nicole said.

“Me?”

“This is what I had to tell you,” Nicole said. “From now on you are Augusta Dubois.”

“But I’m Régine Miller.”

“I know that,” said Nicole. “But from now on no one else must know your real name. What I’m saying is:
Tell no one who you are
. Do you understand? This is very, very important.”

Régine nodded, sensing the urgency in Nicole’s voice again. “I understand.”

“Good. You won’t forget? You are Augusta Dubois, not Régine Miller.”

“I won’t forget. I’m Augusta Dubois.”

“And you come from Marche, not Brussels.”

“From Marche?” Régine knew that Marche was even farther south than Liège.

“Yes,” Nicole said. “Your name is Augusta Dubois and you come from Marche. That’s all you have to remember, but it’s very important.” She paused. “City children are being sent to live on farms. It’s part of a program called
l’Aide paysanne aux enfants des villes
. Farm families care for children from the city for three months. Understand?”

Régine nodded. She understood very well. It was dangerous to be Jewish under the German occupation, and the name Augusta Dubois did not sound at all Jewish. Dubois was a safer name than Miller, just like Nicole was a safer name than Fela and blond hair was safer than dark.

“Is that why I can go to school?” Régine tried to look forward to the change.

“Yes. You will attend the same school as Marie, the daughter. They will make all the arrangements,” Nicole said.

“How old is Marie?” asked Régine.

“She’s nine, two years younger than you. She has an older brother, Jean, who is nineteen.”

Nicole looked out the window. “There’s the station,” she said. “We’re here.”

Régine saw rows of buses, surrounded by a crowd of children and grownups. She slipped the ration book into her duffel bag and felt confused. How would she handle her new, secret identity? What awaited her in Andoumont? She stood up slowly and followed Nicole to the front of the tram.

“Hello,” she said to herself, too softly for anyone else to hear. “I’m Augusta Dubois, and,” she hesitated for a moment,
“and — I come from Marche.”

Nicole held Régine’s hand and guided her through the crowd. The children were noisy and excited as they hugged their parents. They seemed to be happy to be going to the country, as if it were an adventure. Régine wished she felt the same.

At the end of a long row of buses Régine and Nicole reached one marked “Liège.” The bus was almost full. At the door was a man wearing a ribbon marked
Aide paysanne
and Nicole introduced Augusta Dubois. The man looked at the sheet of paper and nodded: “You are going to Andoumont. Go ahead and get on. I will call your name when we get to your stop.”

Nicole bent down and gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Everything will be all right,” she said. “Just don’t forget what I’ve told you.”

Régine dropped her duffel bag and hugged Nicole with all her might. Then she bent down and rummaged through her bag. She pulled out the jar of gooseberry jam that Madame Charles had given her a month before and presented it to Nicole just as the man called out: “Let’s go!”

She picked up her duffel bag, gave Nicole a weak smile and climbed onto the bus.

“Don’t forget!” called Nicole.

Régine moved down the bus until she found an empty seat by the window. She sat down with the duffel bag in her lap and looked around. She had not seen so many children in one place since she was forced to leave the
école primaire
more than a year before. The children pressed their faces against the windows and waved to their parents. Régine looked out to Nicole but did not dare to wave.

The bus began to move. Régine craned her neck and
watched Nicole standing on the sidewalk with her briefcase in one hand and the jar of gooseberry jam in the other. She did not move, even after most of the other grownups had begun to walk away. She stood there for as long as Régine could see her.

During the long ride to the countryside, Régine studied the other children on the bus. If they were as afraid as she was, they did not show it. Or were they noisy to mask their fear? Every few miles the bus came to a stop and the man from
Aide paysanne
called out the name of the village and of the children who were to get off.

She now saw a boy sitting across the aisle farther toward the back. She had not noticed him before in the midst of all the noise. He was as quiet as she was. He had red, curly hair and she wished that her permanent had turned into nice curls like his instead of leaving her hair full of knots which she always felt like scratching.

The boy seemed shy. Every time he caught her looking at him, he turned away. He reminded her of the boy in the window when she was living with Madame André. That boy had been shy, too. He never spoke or waved during their secret through-the-window meetings. Even his smiles were guarded, as if they hid an important truth.

The more she peered at him, the more she felt there was something that set him apart from the children around him. It was the look in his eyes. It showed fear, confusion, anger and apprehension — the same emotions she was feeling. Yes, Régine thought, the boy must be Jewish.