Page 90 of The Velvet Hours
“I can imagine.” Marthe paused over the illustration of the family at the Seder table. The patriarch with his arms open and children seated around him.
“I’ve been told the book is priceless not only because it’s several hundred years old, and the only one made by their hands, but also because it is symbolic of the love between them.”
“How beautiful to think their love continues to exist through the ancient pages of the text,” Marthe said as she carefully examined each page.
“Yes. It’s become the second story that’s woven through the book,” I added. “But only known to those who are privy to the information about the rabbi and his wife.”
Marthe was quiet for a moment and I could tell she was reflecting upon what I had just said.
“It’s like your painting,Grand-maman. One sees the beautiful portrait. But when you share the story behind it... your friendship with Boldini, it has even deeper resonance.”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes lifting toward her portrait. “There are those who can look at something and only see the outer beauty, but it’s always the story behind it that renders it priceless.”
I nodded.
“Still, I wish you could translate a little of what is written here. It looks as though it’s in a secret code.” A cough suddenly broke into her words.
“Can you read any of it?”
“Sadly I can’t.” I looked down again at the page, admiring the artful hand of both husband and wife. “My mother sounded out only a few letters for me before she died.”
“How unfortunate. I would so love to hear a translation.”
I was happy I had piqued her interest. “Yes,” I agreed. “So would I.”
***
That afternoon I asked Giselle to prepare something for us to bring to the Armels’.
“We can’t bring anything made with flour.”
Giselle wrinkled her brow. “That eliminates all my cakes, then...”
“Perhaps we could get some marzipan?” I suggested.
She pulled the tin down from the cupboard and examined thefolded bills inside. “It only costs triple what it was before the war, not five times like cigarettes or chocolate. We could manage that.”
“We need to have some before we leave in a few hours, so perhaps if you...”
“I will go ask Jean-Luc this afternoon, Mademoiselle Solange. You needn’t worry. You’ll have your marzipan in time.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry to be so nervous.” I forced a smile.
Giselle placed a hand on my arm. “You only want everything to be perfect.” Her eyes looked at me knowingly, and I could see a maternal warmth that I hadn’t experienced before. “It is most natural when you’re in love.”
***
We dressed for our first Seder, Marthe and I. She in a tasteful gabardine suit, the cultured pearls around her slender throat. In her hair she had placed a tortoiseshell comb.
“No trousers, then?” I said as I stepped closer to her in the hallway. I was in the navy blue dress I had brought from the apartment.
I could see Marthe appraising me as we stood across from each other, our reflections cast in the hall mirror.
“It is interesting to see that you have no powder, hardly a trace of lipstick, and not a single accessory on your body. And yet I have never seen a more radiant-looking young woman.”
I looked down at the floor.
“There is no need to be embarrassed, Solange. I have never given a compliment that was not sincere.”
