Page 107 of The Velvet Hours
“We must try to make sure the car doesn’t get too hot or too cold. Changes in temperature or humidity can cause the pigment to lift off the page. We’ve told the dealer the illustrations are intact, and we’ll need to ensure we deliver it that way.”
“Yes,” Monsieur Armel agreed. “We wouldn’t want any of the illustrations to detach.”
They had prepared the Haggadah as though it were a priceless jewel. Not only was it wrapped in protective paper, but also in a cushion of white sheeting. Then, it was placed in a separate box along with two other books Monsieur Armel hoped to sell. Everyone in the car knew the books were our currency. Since we had not been successful in getting sponsorship to the United States, we would go to South America, where no sponsorship was necessary, and try to make a new life there within the expatriate community.
“It is not ideal,” Alex had confided to me, “but perhaps eventually we can then make our way to North America. Papa just doesn’t want to wait here until it’s too late.”
I understood. Time was of the essence. With the oceans already filled with battleships, no one knew how much longer passenger boats would be able to cross the Atlantic. Once we got to Marseille, there was still much we had to do before we got to Portugal and began our voyage. We needed to pick up our transit visas at the Spanish embassy, as well as a certificate of health and good conductfor each of us. And our entry visas to South America. It was no wonder that Monsieur Armel didn’t want to squander a single minute. The organization HICEM, which was assisting us, would also need to be paid in full so we could receive our boat tickets.
“Are we all set back here?” Alex’s father opened the back door of the car and leaned in.
Rachel pulled Leo close to her chest, and the little boy gave off a little whine.
“Shhhhhh,” she whispered into his ear. “Bernard, I think it will be best for everyone if we start to drive.”
“Agreed,” he said as he shut the back door and made his way to the driver’s side.
Monsieur Armel turned on the ignition, the rumble of the engine sending waves beneath our seat. From the front of the car, Solomon quietly uttered: “May God be with us.”
54.
June 1940
We were packed like sardines. Even with the windows rolled down, we were hot and uncomfortable. Our thighs pushed against each other, and our arms touched. We could smell each other’s breath.
I had not expected to see the roads as crowded as they were. Both in front and in back of us, large sedans packed to the brim with valises and trunks surrounded us. We saw carts loaded with families, too. Some carried with them furniture, or cages with brightly colored chickens. On a flatbed truck, we saw an old piano secured with several yards of rope, with mattresses and suitcases buttressing it from all sides.
After nearly three hours of driving, Rachel suggested we pull off the main road and try to find an inn so the children could use the bathroom and have something to eat.
It was a good thought. None of us had eaten breakfast, and the children had grown increasingly restless under the cramped quarters.
Leo had been whimpering for the past hour in Rachel’s lap, and she had tried to no avail to soothe him.
“I’ll try to pull over soon,” Monsieur Armel agreed. In the rearview window, I could see the fatigue in his eyes. None of us had slept well for the past few nights. Solomon also looked exhausted. His olive skin was sallow, his hair was unruly, and his clothes were creased. It was hard to imagine the quiet and elegant Rachel being drawn to such a rumpled character.
“Maman,Maman,” Leo was crying in his sleep.
Solomon turned around and spoke to Rachel in Yiddish. She caressed the little boy’s hair with her hand as she answered him.
“We’re sorry he is complaining so much. I hope it’s not disturbing everyone.”
“He’s such a pest!” Eva chimed. “Papa told us we had to be on our best behavior!”
“Shhhhh!” Rachel admonished the little girl. “He isn’t feeling well. Let him be.” She shook her head to show her dissatisfaction with Eva’s behavior. “We all just need to get out and stretch our legs.”
***
A few hours later, we found an inn and piled out of the car, our legs wobbly as if we had been at sea. Rachel still had Leo in her arms as she stepped out. Eva ran ahead of us, and I hovered behind to try to have a few moments of privacy with Alex.
“I feel sorry for the children,” I said softly. “We’re all so cramped from the drive.”
Alex shook his head. “We’ll let them run around here a little bit. They probably haven’t experienced the French countryside before.” He stood there looking a bit pale, his white shirt and pants now as creased as Solomon’s. The house before us, with its thatched roof and the tractor stacked with bales of hay, looked like a painting. Even the sunlight appeared preternaturally golden.
I stepped closer to him, hoping to feel the graze of his hand against mine. The air smelled of spring, a perfume of freshly cut grass and blooming honeysuckle. For a brief moment, I wondered what it would be like if we traveled no further. If we managed to find a farmhouse somewhere and raise a family quietly under the canopy of trees and scampering animals.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Alex said as if reading my mind. “It’s a shame we can’t stay longer, but I think Papa is hoping we can make it to Orléans by tonight. We will see how crowded the roads are,” Alex said, breaking the silence.
I took a deep breath of the air. I did not want to imagine reentering the car and squeezing against the others again.
