Page 14 of The World That We Knew

A Jew, a criminal, same thing.

He’d struck Bernard, not once but several times, ignoring his friend’s protests, drawing blood before he knew what he’d done. It was so unlike Julien to be violent, even when provoked, that he ran off afterward, mortified by his own actions, feeling he had somehow proved Bernard right. He had a dark soul, he was bitter and betrayed, and he knew something horrible was coming. He’d been more agitated with himself than with Bernard. For days afterward he couldn’t sleep and was woken by his frantic heart, which served as a reminder of who he might become if he let himself go.

The world was falling apart around them, a dire situation Julien’s parents continued to ignore. Did they not know that at the conference in Evian as far back as 1938, thirty-two countries in the League of Nations had voted not to help Jewish refugees fleeing Germany? Even America had refused to accept 20,000 endangered refugee children. The professor’s head was in the clouds, he was so busy with his work that he never read a newspaper, and their mother was concerned with very little beyond their home and garden. In the minds of the elder Lévis, France would always prevail.

When the professor arrived in the hallway, the visitors rose to their feet, as if they were servants.

“Thank you for having us to your home,” the girl said politely.

“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Professor Lévi began in response, but Ava was quick to interrupt, as if she had no common courtesy.

“You are Madame Kohn’s cousin. That’s why we’re here.”

“Well, yes. But a distant cousin. Hardly related, really. We’ve never actually met.”

“Nothing is misunderstood. You have room. We’ll stay here.”

Ava looked at him in a way that sent a chill down his spine. He knew what was happening in Paris, he wasn’t a fool, after all. Refugees were registered, and many were taken away to labor camps. He simply wanted to protect his family from a fate that was likely impossible to stop.

“Father, they’re our cousins,” Julien reminded him. “No matter how distant.”

There was an expression on Julien’s face the professor didn’t recognize, as if he were the teacher, rather than his own father, the one who knew right from wrong. Professor Lévi felt that if he erred here he might lose his son’s respect entirely. “Of course, then you must be our guests,” he was obliged to say.

Claire had come to stand beside her husband. Immediately, he felt her annoyance, as people do when they’ve been married for many years. Certainly, his wife was exasperated with him. He had agreed to allow refugees into their home, people she didn’t even know. On top of the unwanted visitors, Madame Lévi had discovered the housemaid was missing. When she pursued the matter, she found Marianne’s room was neatly made up, her four gray uniforms pressed and hanging in the wardrobe.

“Can you cook?” Madame asked Ava now that she’d realized they were without help. Above all else, she was practical. Perhaps the current situation could serve them both.

“I can as well as anyone else,” Ava responded.

Pleased by this news, the professor’s wife changed her mind. “They can have the maid’s room.” At least for now was not said aloud but her meaning was clear.

“But where will Marianne be?” the professor asked, confused.

“Marianne has deserted us,” Madame Lévi informed her husband. She turned to Ava. “So it’s up to you to keep us fed while you’re here.”

Ava learned new skills in the blink of an eye. She began to cut up cabbage for Bobeshi’s Hardship Soup, an easy recipe that took ingenuity and little else. Lea looked for spices in the cabinets, then chopped up celery discovered in the larder. She continued to dwell on what a strange companion she had. Her hatred had been replaced by curiosity and mistrust. “Do you really know how to cook?” she asked Ava.

“It’s simple enough.”

Still, Lea was wary as she thought of Ava sinking to her knees, kissing the hand of the girl she had called her maker. Why would her mother send her away with such a person? “Have you ever cooked before?” she asked.

“Having done something doesn’t mean you’re good at it.”

Lea touched the locket she wore. She suddenly felt as though she were a little girl, abandoned on a street corner or in a marketplace, straining to see through the crowds so she could find her mother. She heard her mother’s voice inside of her.

Heart of my heart, love of my life, the one loss I will never survive.

“You’ve stopped working,” Ava said, motioning to Lea. “Carrots are next.”

Lea rinsed a bunch of small carrots and began to chop. The red-haired girl on the train had told Ava to act like any other woman. Lea gazed at Ava now, who tasted a pinch of salt, her mouth puckering slightly, before she spat the salt into the sink. She did not seem like any other woman.

Julien was leaning in the doorway, his face thoughtful. How could he not take note of the girl? There was something beneath Lea’s reserved demeanor he thought he understood. He was that way himself, hiding his true nature, in his case with bravado and sarcasm. Ava caught him watching Lea. She didn’t like what she saw inside him, a wild, reckless heart that spelled trouble. “You can go,” she told him.

“This is his house, not ours. Of course he can stay, although I don’t know why he’d want to,” Lea said with feigned indifference. The truth was, she had noticed him as well.

Julien came to sprawl in a kitchen chair, his long legs extended so that Ava and Lea had to dodge around him. “I can’t cook a thing,” he confided to Lea.

“Why are you proud of that?” Ava said as she cast a wary eye on him. It was difficult to read this boy as she could most people; his thoughts were such a jumble, but his interest in Lea was evident.