Tell No One Who You Are Page 2

  But Régine’s family would soon have worse things to worry about.

  Chapter Four

  THE BRITISH AIR FORCE started to bomb areas in Europe held by the Germans.

  One afternoon Régine helped her father place wide strips of tape across the windows in the apartment. She held the roll as he pulled and stretched the tape across the glass in the shape of an X. Her mother and Léon did the same at the other window. Soon both windows were marked with an X so that if bombs fell nearby, the glass would not shatter.

  At night they hung a large, dark blanket in each window. It covered the glass so that no light shone outside. The Germans imposed this regulation so enemy bombers attacking at night would see nothing but darkness below and simply fly over.

  The first time the bombers came, the sound of the air-raid sirens was terrifying, a loud, wailing noise in the distance. Her father turned out all the lights in the apartment and then crept to one of the windows. Pulling up a corner of the blanket, he peered through the small opening. Régine joined him while her mother and brother stood at the other window.

  “Look!” said her father, pointing to the full moon. “There’s some light after all!”

  In the eerie glow the buildings seemed like shadows on the deserted street. Off in the distance, the air-raid sirens continued their slow wailing.

  Then Régine heard another sound, a slow, rumbling noise coming from far off. She looked up at her father and saw from his expression that he had heard it too. He peeled back more of the blanket and bent down to have a better view of the sky. Now there was no mistaking the rumbling: it was getting closer, growing louder and louder, until it drowned out the sound of the sirens. Régine covered her ears. Her father nudged her to bend down and look where he was pointing.

  “There. Up in the sky. See?”

  The planes approached, silhouetted against the sky. They flew in long, flowing lines, one after the other, and in the moonlight each plane looked like a giant roaring monster. Her father quickly put the corner of the blanket back into place and stepped away from the window. He pulled Régine with him, pushing her down to the floor. Her mother and brother were crouching together, away from their window, just as her father had taught them to do.

  The noise was deafening. Régine held her breath and closed her eyes. She had never heard such a loud, terrifying roar. The bombers must be directly over the building. Her father’s arms tightened around her and she clenched her fists as she waited for the sound of exploding bombs.

  Time seemed to slow down. Seconds seemed like minutes as she waited. Then the roar of the last plane trailed off in the distance and the air-raid sirens sounded again. The planes were gone and the danger was over.

  Régine opened her eyes but couldn’t move. She was too scared.

  “It’s all right,” her father said. He pulled her to her feet. Her brother and mother stood up. Régine let out her breath and hugged her father.

  Now everyone could try to get to sleep.

  The next morning, Régine helped take down the blankets from the windows. What a relief to see the sun shining and people walking in the street below. But when darkness came again, she helped put the blankets back up. This became a routine during the first weeks after the Germans arrived, except sometimes the bombers came and sometimes they didn’t.

  Her father tried to make her feel better about the planes. “The bombers are enemy planes only to the Germans. They will help end the war,” he said. Régine had mixed feelings about the bombers. The planes were a danger, a necessary evil. They aroused both fear and hope, like the skull-and-crossbones labels on the medicines her mother took. She was sorry her mother had to take such dangerous medicines but hoped they would make her better.

  Chapter Five

  THE PERSECUTION of the Jews in Belgium began a few months after the Nazis arrived. Five days after the ritual slaughter of animals was forbidden announcements ordered Jews, and anyone of Jewish origin, to register with the Nazi authorities. Their identity cards were marked in bold letters in German, Flemish and French: Jude, Jood, Juif.

  Jews were now prohibited from working in government offices. Jews were prohibited from working as lawyers. From now on, no Jew could be employed as a journalist. Restrictions were imposed on the amount of money Jews could withdraw from their bank accounts.

  The Nazis imposed the restrictions against the Jews slowly so as not to arouse the rest of the Belgian population. They waited six months before announcing their next set of restrictions. On May 31, 1941, Jewish people were told they could live only in the four largest cities in Belgium: Brussels, Antwerp, Liège and Charleroi. They could not leave their homes between 8 p.m. and 7 a.m. They were banned from riding on all but the last car on the trams and were banned altogether from the trains. On the streets, signs were posted outside Jewish-owned shops, identifying them as Jewish, again in three languages. Public buildings, from swimming pools to libraries, had notices saying: “NO ENTRY TO JEWS, NEGROES AND DOGS.”

  Even listening to the radio was now a crime. Jews were no longer allowed to own radios or transmitters. The family’s beloved old radio, as well as the big sewing machine, was carried out of the apartment by Régine’s father and brother and taken to the home of a non-Jewish neighbor for safekeeping.

  But Régine’s father was still able to listen to the broadcasts from London. Every night, he climbed the stairs to the apartment above. Their neighbors, Monsieur and Madame Demers, who were not Jewish, invited him to listen to their small radio through headphones. In June, they heard of the German invasion of Russia. Régine’s father returned jubilant. “That will be the end of them,” he said. “Russia defeated Napoleon and it will defeat Hitler as well.”

  And in December when the Japanese attacked the Americans at Pearl Harbor and the U.S. entered the war, he was even more confident. “It won’t last long now,” he said.

  But it did.

  In January of 1942, it was announced that Jews were not allowed to leave the country. “You should have gone to England when you could,” Mrs. Miller told her husband wearily. “Now it’s too late.”

  One day at school, a month after her tenth birthday on March 16, 1942, Régine passed a group of teachers standing in the hallway near her classroom and she heard part of the conversation. Mademoiselle Descotte was among them. “What a disgrace,” she heard her teacher tell the others. “We’ll be losing some of our best students.”

  Régine did not know what her favorite teacher meant by this and nothing further was said about it in class. The day went on as usual at l’école primaire. Mademoiselle Descotte read aloud a composition that Régine had written for homework a few days before, and she flushed with embarrassment as the other students turned to look at her. Later the class sat in a circle and sang songs. The voice of Mademoiselle Descotte, usually the loudest, seemed quieter. Something was wrong.

  At home that night, Régine was told by her parents about the latest restriction imposed by the Germans against the Jews in Belgium. The regulation had been made four months earlier. “I guess we’re lucky the Germans took this long to implement it,” her father said bitterly.

  Régine understood now what the teachers had been discussing in the hallway. Jewish children were prohibited from attending public schools. Régine would have to stay home, and so would Léon. “Don’t worry,” her father said. “It’s for a little while. Soon things will be back to normal again. I promise.”

  That night, as the bombers flew overhead, Régine cried in her crib.

  Chapter Six

  AMONTH LATER, her father left the apartment shortly after the curfew lifted at 7 o’clock in the morning and returned a few hours later holding a bunch of yellow badges. He took them into his workroom without saying a word.

  Régine knew all about the yellow badges. They were made of cloth in the shape of the Star of David. All Jewish people were required to wear them by order of the German authorities. The yellow star meant that the wearer was Jewish, just as the signs
outside shops signified that the owners were Jewish. The radio announcer explained that the badges should be sewn on sweaters, jackets or other outer clothing where they would be clearly visible.

  The badges looked awfully big when she saw them in her father’s hand, and garish in their bright yellow color. No one would fail to notice them. Suddenly she felt afraid. What would it be like to be singled out this way?

  The door to the workroom was open. Régine saw her father drop the badges on the table as he sat down. Then he reached into a mound of scrap material and pulled out a sheet of red felt and laid it flat in front of him. He grabbed a pencil, his scissors and the jar of glue. He picked up one of the badges, held it firmly against the red felt and traced the shape of the star. Putting the yellow badge aside, he picked up the scissors and began to cut out the red star.

  Régine came up behind him. “What are you doing, Papa?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Here’s the glue. When I finish cutting out this red star, you stick it to the back of the yellow star. Then Mama will sew it to your dress. We’ll do the same with all of them, every single star.”

  Régine just stared at the red and yellow stars. “Why?” she asked.

  Mr. Miller put down the scissors. “If you are forced to do something that you think is wrong,” he said, “then you must protest. Understand?”

  Régine nodded, even though she did not understand.

  “The red means you don’t agree with having to wear the yellow star. It says you think it’s wrong. Red is the color of protest, the color of revolution.”

  “But no one will see it,” Régine said. “The red is on the back.”

  “You know it’s there,” her father said. “That’s what matters. It’ll be your little secret.”

  “You mean, I can’t tell anyone?”

  “Not for now.”

  “When can I tell?”

  “After the war,” he said. “Then we can turn them over to show the red side. And everyone will be proud of you. Because you wore the badge in protest.”

  “When will the war be over?”

  “Soon,” her father said. “I promise.”

  He picked up the scissors and resumed his work of cutting the red felt in the shapes of stars. “Today Mama will sew the badges,” he said. “And tomorrow — guess what we’ll do.”

  Régine smiled and shook her head.

  “Tomorrow you’ll put on your nice dress and I’ll take you to the photographer. He’ll take a picture of you in your dress with the yellow star. Then, when all this is over, we’ll go back and take one with the red star. And you will keep them as a memory of the war. And I will buy you a pair of gold earrings to celebrate.”

  Régine had never been to a photo studio before. She ran into the kitchen and told her mother the news. But as soon as she mentioned the red star, she knew she had made a mistake. She did not want to cause her more pain than she was already suffering. Her mother was getting sicker all the time. She had been in and out of the hospital. At home, she sometimes spent the whole day in bed. Doctor Zilbershatz, the family doctor, an elderly man with a beard, came to the apartment with more medicine jars and gave her injections. He brought his wife sometimes and never took money for his visits.

  Régine watched her mother walk slowly, with difficulty, into the workroom.

  “What are you teaching our daughter?” Mrs. Miller said in a high, pained voice. “What is all this talk about protests and revolution? She’s too young to be involved in politics.”

  “One is never too young to learn about social justice,” Régine heard her father say.

  The next morning, she put on her best dress and walked with her father to Pierre Dietens’ photo studio at 128 rue Wayez. The dress was pink and decorated with small flowers. Her mother had bought the fabric long ago, and there had been enough material to make a dress for both herself and Régine. Together they had gone to the dressmaker, Madame David, who had taken their measurements and later came to the apartment for a fitting. Régine liked to wear her dress when her mother wore hers. Whenever they walked the cobblestone streets wearing the matching dresses, Régine felt she and her mother were like sisters.

  But her mother had not worn her flowered dress in a long time. She had lost so much weight it did not fit anymore. Régine’s dress still fit perfectly when she went to the photo studio, only now it bore the yellow Star of David with the red underside.

  Monsieur Dietens, the photographer, brought out a stool for Régine to sit on. He told her to sit up straight and put her hands in her lap and look straight into the lens. He walked behind his camera, which was set up on a tripod, and his head disappeared under a black sheet. Without moving her head, Régine shifted her eyes to look at her father, who was standing to the side. She saw that he was smiling, and he winked at her.

  “This way,” Monsieur Dietens said. Régine looked into the lens of the big camera, whose front expanded and retracted like an accordion. She straightened her shoulders and was conscious of the yellow star on the left side of her chest. She smiled at the thought of the red star underneath. That’s when Monsieur Dietens pressed the shutter with a terrific flash of light.

  When the black and white print was ready, her father put it in a frame and hung it on the wall along with the other family photographs. Régine liked the photo. It was her favorite picture of herself. The secret it contained made her smile every time she saw it. She looked forward to the second visit to Monsieur Dietens’ photo studio, when the underside of the yellow star would be revealed to all.

  Chapter Seven

  WITHOUT SCHOOL, Régine spent most of her days in the apartment. The walls of the living room were covered with family photographs. She got to know them well from staring at them so much. There was her Aunt Ida, her father’s sister, who lived in Brussels, only twenty minutes away by tram. She used to invite Régine for a dinner of roast beef on Sundays. Roast beef was something her mother never made, saying it was a luxury that “only Tante Ida can afford.”

  Then there was her favorite uncle, Zigmund, her father’s brother who had gone from Poland to live in Germany first but left and came to Belgium when Hitler and the Nazis made life dangerous for Jews. When he still lived in Germany Oncle Zigmund had come to Brussels for a visit and brought Régine a doll as a gift. It was her one and only doll.

  She stared at the picture of Oncle Shlomo and wondered what it was like in England now. When she was four, the family traveled to England by ferry on a visit and Oncle Shlomo taught her how to count to ten in English, the first English she ever learned. On the radio she heard that the Germans were bombing England. Was Oncle Shlomo all right?

  The biggest photo hung above the bed in her parents’ room. It was black and white in a heavy, wooden frame. It showed a young, handsome couple, the groom thin and good-looking in a dark suit, standing next to his bride who looked very pretty in her long white gown. Régine’s parents had married in Poland in 1923. They came to Belgium in 1928 with Léon, who was two years old.

  Régine was struck by how much her father still looked like the handsome man in the picture. Only her mother had changed. She looked too old and thin now to be the person in the picture. She also looked sadder. Régine knew the reason as she looked at her mother in the bed beneath the photograph. She was getting sicker all the time and got up for short periods at a time, then had to go back to rest.

  Her father no longer took Régine to the Solidarité meetings. Acts of sabotage increased against war factories and communication lines. It was very dangerous. Suspects were rounded up and taken to the headquarters of the Gestapo, the German secret police. There they were shot and their names published in the newspapers for everyone to see, as a warning to anyone who thought of opposing the German occupation.

  But the Germans killed not only suspected saboteurs. Anyone thought to be communist or socialist was an enemy of the Nazis. Many were taken away, never to be seen again.

 
; One of the first to disappear was Monsieur Demers, the upstairs neighbor who used to invite her father to listen to his radio. Even though he was not Jewish, he had been arrested as a member of a Belgian organization opposing the Germans.

  Régine often thought about the red underside of her Star of David. If anyone were to find out about it, what would happen? Her father was in danger, too. Her mother brought it up every time her father left the apartment. “Be careful,” she whispered. “If they find out you’re a member of Solidarité, you will be taken away like your friends.”

  “Don’t worry,” her father always answered. “They won’t find out.”

  Few visitors now came to the apartment on rue Van Lint. Not even Edgar Herman, her father’s best friend and also a member of Solidarité. He used to drop in regularly and Régine missed his visits, even though whenever he came, she had to guard his bicycle downstairs, because Léon’s bicycle had been stolen from that very spot.

  When the Germans closed down Jewish businesses, including the leather companies, there was no work for her father. He found a new occupation. He took off his yellow badge and traveled by train to the countryside to get meat and smuggle it into the city. Not only could he be arrested for carrying the contraband meat, but also for riding the train, since Jews were forbidden to do so by the Germans. On the days he went to the country, Régine would go to the corner of rue Van Lint and Chaussée de Mons in the late afternoon and wait anxiously for his return.

  He transformed his workroom into a butcher shop. His worktable became a butcher block and he sliced beef on it. Régine and Léon helped to wrap the meat for the women who came to buy it. Dr. Zilbershatz said her mother should have meat and her father was glad to provide it. But she had trouble digesting it and Régine often heard her vomiting in the bedroom.