The Frenchman's Table

Captured




They had arrived two weeks ago in the dead of night. Yves had taken them through with his underground connections, and they had made it back to his home. The cows had been used to broker a deal to look the other way. Money was of no good, but food-particularly meat was highly valued. Covered in the sewage, dirt, and grime, they entered through the unlocked back kitchen door. There they met his wife Paula and his two daughters, twins, Millie and Mary. Standing there in the dark, Paula ushered the travelers in, closing and locking the door behind them. Paula had done this before and had a gentle way of keeping order and structure. She kept them in the kitchen for warmth. All were given clean, dry towels and warm bowls of stew. They sat on the floor next to the furnace, teeth chattering and numb fingers from cold, they found it difficult to hold their bowls. The hunger travelers gulped down serving and after serving, and then quickly became sleepy. Overcome with exhaustion, Paula led them to makeshift beds. The girls slept on up in the third story, the boys on the second. Initially, Yves had not gone into the dining room and so did not notice the addition. Before climbing into bed with Paula, she leaned over and whispered, "Your father left you something." Yves either didn't hear her or had fallen asleep from exhaustion before his head hit the pillow. Paula decided to wait and share the news in the morning. She pulled the covers up over her husband's shoulders and snuggled next to his sleeping form. She, too, felt comforted that he was home safely under the roof of their house. She hoped the others would feel safe tonight also but doubted that would be true. She had heard the stories from other children and knew their lives would be tainted with nightmares and despair. Before closing her eyes, she said a prayer of thanks and mercy. Drifting off to sleep, she recanted the first time she had laid eyes on Yves and his friend, "We were so lucky to have found each other."
Sometime during the night, Yves woke. He was plagued with sleeplessness. Two hours here and there. It's how he had been surviving for the last few months. He quietly slid out from under the covers and went downstairs. The lights were off, but moonlight from outside peered through the sliver of curtains not closed all the way. The rain had stopped, and it was quiet outside as well. He made his way into the dining room, and there for the first time saw the table. He remembered it well. It had been with his father last, so seeing it there meant his father had sent it or Paula somehow got it here. He pulled out the head chair and sat down. Laying his hands and head on the table, he could feel the smooth coolness of the wood. It was the first time in a long time he dreamt- he remembered as a young champion skier; he would take one's breath away plowing headlong down a step side of the mountains. His clouds of snow sliced into the air, following his dramatic sharp telemark turns and flashing poles- always leaving his competition in the dark. Then chaptering to his next vision of his favorite clearing in the forest where the sweet flowers bloomed, where he and his best friend would wait for the stag and his harem to breach the wooded edge, walking ever so quietly and stealthily, their noses in the air. That's where Paula found him in the morning, asleep with his head on the table.
After the first night, the inhabitants were accustomed to its layout and rules. The first floor housed the kitchen, living room and dining area while the cool basement was reserved for storing food and oils. Each morning, before their lessons on learning German, English, and various skills, the girls were tasked with collecting soiled clothing and sheets, preparing, and serving breakfast. The boys, meanwhile, milked the cows, gathered, and chopped wood. Paula had trained the girls in sewing and cooking, ensuring that their skills would be useful in the future.
This was the fourth group of children that the couple had taken in- their smallest group yet, as Yves was finding fewer and fewer children. This could mean one of two things; children were escaping safely, or they were dead. Yves put the boys to work with driving the cars, tractors, and fixing yard equipment. He took particular pleasure in watching the boys tinker with clocks and resetting timers, noting that Tom, despite his small size, was a quick learner and could handle the delicate pieces with ease.
Yves also kept an eye out for potential recruits among the children, assessing their suitability for aiding in his mission and war efforts. Most were not up to the task, but he had had a couple who had worked out well. He had to keep a close eye on Tom, as like other small children, they get bored and wander off. This place offered hope, but it was far from safe. They were living right under the noses of the German occupation and had to maintain the fade of being German themselves.
On Saturday, Paula announced after breakfast that all the children were to wash up, brush their hair and get into the best of their clothes. Down the stairs they went, standing in line to get their picture taken. Under the basement stairwell, Yves had made a dark room to develop prints. Often pictures from what he had witnessed or spied on were developed in the very same place. Paula's hand was steady and could cut the pictures out and paste them to the passports he was able to get from his underground connections. Never knowing when the right time to move out comes, everything had to be on-the-ready, including the passports. Then to keep them safe, left under the third stoop from the top for easy access.
Tom discovered in the heavy overcoat Jakub's whittling knife and clung to it tightly. He also found, one day after a rather lengthy lesson, carvings under the dining table. He had slid down out of his chair after finishing his math problems and rolled under the table to just listen to the others, and there, he found an array of names and figures carved under the tabletop. He had just learned the higher numbers and had to stop at the last one he could remember, 84. But there were more names, he would have to come back and count again. He smiled to himself as there must have been others who knew about the carvings and had added their names and dates. Tom decided not to tell anyone, and when alone, left his mark and one for Jakub too. He missed him and wondered where he was. He feared the worst but kept quiet about his worries. It was easier that way. Mila, Brigita, and Sarah did well cooking, but it was Brigita who appeared to excel at sewing. Where some of the girls had struggled with the basic stitching, Paula could see Brigita effortlessly handling the finery and developing her sense of artistic design. Paula shared her thoughts with Yves one evening, "I think we have a future dressmaker for custom clothing."
"Hmm, just like you," Yves responded and adding as an afterthought, "do you think she could make those fancy clothes you wore as a model?"
"Fancy clothes?' Paula smirked. "I made those clothes. I thought you'd liked what I wore?"
"I loved everything then and everything now" smiling at his wife.
For Brigita, focusing on designing and sewing took her mind off the worry and horrors of her life. One afternoon, while the girls were darning and hemming around the table, Mila looked up at Brigita, "He looks like Stefan Jaracz."
"Who does?" Paula asked, concentrating on threading a needle.
"Stefan Jaracz?" Brigita repeated, mulling over the idea. The older Polish actor was very popular in the media.
"Yes, Stefan. I kept seeing this face over and over again, and I realized he looks like that actor," Mila added.
"Who looks like this actor?' Paula asked again, rubbing the end of the needle of her hair.
Brigita smiled and answered, "Jakub."
"Oh. He's a handsome actor. I've seen him." Paula, who continued sewing, not looking up to see the girls exchanged glances. "Who is Jakub?" she inquired further. Since he had not gone with them, Paula never met their traveling companion. Jakub had left the group and continued further toward Warsaw, determined to find solitude and family. It had been difficult for the kids to part, and Yves had painted a dismal picture of what lay ahead. Yves being the only adult, lent itself to the children following him to safety. No one could persuade Jakub to change his mind. And so, he had left them, cresting over a dark hill punctuated by loud booms and flashes of yellow and orange lights.


Yves and Paula worked hard to make the house a home. Up until this point, they had managed to keep all their precious belongings collected over the years from Yves's travels. Intricate art pieces lined the hallway, and an array of delicate bowls and silverware lined the cabinets and wooden countertops in the living room. None of the children had seen anything like the treasures in this home but appreciated the beauty of what was there. Although Yves and Paula's mission was to ensure the children had skills to use, they recognized their time was limited and were thankful for the children they saved. Both knew the children missed their loved ones and had seen many horrible things as many a night of waking to the sounds of cries and nightmares reminded them all everyday life would not be forgiving. Yves had always wanted more children, but after the twins were born, there were no more pregnancies. No sons. The twins gravitated toward their mother, but they were girls and that was expected.
After evening meals and clean up, Yves would pull from his library of books a story and sit by the fireplace and read aloud to the children, all six of them. Sometimes the stories were kept short because he would come in late or when he was not there, Paula would read to them. They preferred Yves reading aloud, his tone of reassurance, and the profound, calming way he had about talking things out without sounding harsh or loud. The flickering glow of the fireplace whispered promises of warmth amid the shadows. The library, a haven for imagination, became a bridge connecting the characters in the books to the real-life struggles of the children. The thunderous noise from outside so differed from inside of their temporary sanctuary.


And then one early afternoon, late December, Tom disappeared. He had been missing for hours, and it was Mila who was the first to notice. She brought her concerns to Brigita. Usually, Mila saw him rummaging through Yves library pulling books down and squatting in a corner reading, soaking up the adventures of cowboys and Indians and tales of magic and folklore. He liked all the books he found; he had asked Yves if he could go into his library-and Yves, thinking this would improve Tom's English- encouraged him to read and learn. One particular book by Mark Twain had been a discussion at the dinner table. Tom would recant the stories of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, fact-checking with Yves if some of the stories could be true or not.
Yves shared with Tom the books in his youth and his attempts to replicate many of the adventures mentioned in the storylines. Yves recanted the first boat he made from carving out a log found near the river and the fires he learned to prepare cooking the fish he caught during the day. Yves laughed aloud about the fishing poles of reed he constructed and how they kept breaking in two, losing his fish on the other end. Yves felt very protective of Tom and his affection grew so much so that one night he floated an idea to Paula. What if we adopted Tom?
Her hesitation concerned Yves and he dropped the subject.
Tom felt like he could relate to the boys in the books as he had lost his parents and had been on his own for some time. The adventures were a good distraction from the horrors beyond their doors, and Yves supported Tom's creative mind. Tom wanted to have adventures like the books-not the kind he was living through but was hopeful things would change for him once he got to America. Yves told him it would, and he believed him. But now, Tom was missing. "How long has he been missing?" Brigita asked Mila.
"I don't know." Both looking at the clock on the mantle.
"Well, when is the last time you saw him?" Brigita queried further.
"This morning, at breakfast. He was reading that book."
"The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn again?"
"Yes, that's the one," Mila replied, looking around the room, behind the chairs, and under the table.
Paula walked in from the kitchen; her hair pulled up into a ponytail tied with a yellow ribbon; she always had a natural beauty. French women have a distinct look. Small but straight noses, pink full lips, soft and even complexions. She carried a load of clean towels, Millie and Mary following behind carrying a basket of vegetables. Paula's face was red from the struggle and heaviness of linens. "What are you girls up too? I could use some help."
Brigita gave Paula a worried look and started, "Tom, is missing."
"This can't be good, do we know for how long?"
Both girls responding "No," at the same time. It sounded like a shout.
Immediately concerned, Paula proceeded toward the front door gathering her scarf and coat; over her shoulder, she instructed the girls to stay put and to lock the door behind her. And with that, she was out and down the walkway. Watching her from the window, they saw her start searching beyond the safety of the house's wrought iron fence, the memory of her still etched in their minds as it was the last time, they saw Paula. Yves was out on one of his missions, and they had no way of communicating with him. Brigita and Mila took the lead and gathered the rest of the family together in the dining room. The girls explained to the rest of the group what was happening and realized they had little to no information. All were worried but did decide to wait inside and pray Yves would get home soon. Sarah stood guard at the window, peering through the side of the drapes scanning for movements outside. Brigita carried on, serving dinner, a quiet meal of warm chicken broth and cured meat. Brigita also led the prayer, followed by all responding, "Amen." They sat there in silence for a rather lengthy time, slowly one by one, each leaving their meal untouched, taking their plates into the kitchen and veering off to their rooms. No one slept. Compounding their fears was an eerily quiet city. They all laid there in their beds, praying and hoping for the safe returns. Their prayers went unanswered. The twin's red-eyed sat together in silence. It would be the first time they had ever been without their mother, and they were unsure of what to do. It was the next day, around noon, when Yves came back entering through the kitchen--covered with dirt and grime from wherever he had come from. His smile quickly erased as he came upon the remaining members sitting around the dining table. "What's wrong? What's happened?" The discovery of Tom's absence cast a shadow, a chill wind blowing through the warmth of their sanctuary. Paula's exit, like a fading echo, left an indelible mark on the room, a visual metaphor for the uncertainty that now clouded their haven.