Tell No One Who You Are Page 6

  “This way,” Madame André said.

  They walked to a house a few blocks away, and Madame André rang the doorbell. Régine looked up and down the dark and empty street. She felt more scared now than when they left Boitsfort, and suddenly she was anxious to get back. She was so full of fear that she did not notice a dark figure coming suddenly out of the shadows and running straight toward them. The approaching stranger was a woman and she seemed to recognize Régine. But Régine was sure she had never seen this woman before. Madame André rang the doorbell over and over, desperately asking for the door to open.

  The strange woman let out a scream and grabbed at Régine. Régine dropped the box of baby dresses and stood paralyzed as the woman threw her arms around her and began to sob hysterically. “They took my child! Where is my child! They took her! They took her!”

  Régine tried to break free but the woman would not let go. Madame André grabbed Régine’s arm and pulled. Just then the door to the house opened and a woman inside stared at the sight of the commotion.

  “What’s going on?”

  Régine managed to free herself. She picked up her box of baby dresses from the ground and ran inside the house. Madame André followed her in and slammed the door, leaving the sobbing woman standing outside.

  “They took my child! They took her! They took her!”

  Régine could still hear her through the door. It was only then that she realized the woman was speaking in Yiddish.

  “Who was that woman?” Madame André snapped.

  “I don’t know,” Régine said.

  “She seemed to know you,” said the other woman, the customer.

  “I have never seen her before in my life,” Régine insisted, annoyed that they did not believe her when she was speaking the truth, and upset by the suffering of the strange woman.

  Later that night she relived the episode in a nightmare and was awakened by the same scream. The only difference was that in the nightmare someone else was sobbing in Yiddish. Now the hysterical woman was no longer a total stranger. This time the woman was her mother.

  Was it possible that she was a long-forgotten friend of her parents who recognized her? Or did Régine remind the woman of a child who had been taken away? There was no way of finding out.

  Madame André was so shaken by the incident that she never again took Régine on another excursion. She seemed more determined than ever to keep her out of sight. She looked out the windows to make sure no one was watching before letting Régine even cross the yard to Madame Charles’s. Radio reports of the war seemed to make her more nervous.

  Régine knew that her stay in Boitsfort would soon come to an end.

  Chapter Twenty

  TTHAT END CAME on September 10, 1943. Nicole arrived as usual in the early afternoon for what Régine thought was her monthly visit. Instead it was her last. “Go upstairs and pack your bag,” Nicole told her.

  Nicole gave no explanation. None was necessary. Régine knew the reason: Madame André was scared of being caught by the Germans with a Jewish child in her house and had called Nicole to come and take her away.

  Madame André had become more nervous with each passing day. The war showed no sign of letting up, and the news accounts on the radio were contradictory. Belgian radio spoke of German victories. Britain, they said, was on its knees now that London had been razed by German bombers. Régine wondered what had become of Oncle Shlomo and his family.

  Régine had liked the broadcasts on Radio Free London, especially the strange messages — “codes,” Madame André called them — about birds, and animals and the weather. It meant that someone in London was talking to someone in Belgium, helping to end the war. She also liked the British broadcasts because they contradicted Belgian radio. By the fall of 1943, Radio Free London was saying that Germany had surrendered in Russia and North Africa, and the Allies were going to free Italy. It was good to hear.

  But in Belgium, nothing had changed and she had to move again.

  Régine pulled her canvas bag out from under the bed and began to fill it. She walked to the window for the last time, looked out over the trees and roofs of neighboring homes, and imagined the boy smiling at her from the top window of one of the houses. Then she carried her bag downstairs.

  The front door was open and Nicole was waiting for her at the gate. Madame André stood at the door. Régine did not know what to say and waited for Madame André to speak first. Maybe there would be a hug or even a kiss. There had never been any show of affection between them but now that she was leaving, perhaps. But Madame André did not even say good-bye. As Régine went down the steps, she heard the door shut behind her.

  “Ready?” Nicole said.

  “Ready,” said Régine. She put down her bag and looked back at the house where she had lived for over a year.

  “Where will I go?” she asked Nicole.

  “To Uccle. Do you know where that is?”

  Régine nodded. Uccle was another suburb of Brussels. They could reach it by tram.

  “Where will I stay?”

  “You will live with a family,” Nicole said. “The Bernards. All the arrangements are made. They are hairdressers and work out of their home. They have a daughter. Plus another girl who is Jewish. So you’ll have friends your own age. I think you’ll be happy there.”

  “The people are Jewish?” asked Régine.

  “No, no. Just the other girl who is visiting. She’s a friend of the daughter. You can all become friends.”

  “How old are they, the girls?”

  “A little older than you,” Nicole said. “Maybe fourteen or fifteen.”

  She picked up her bag and followed Nicole through the gate. Then she heard a voice call her name. Régine turned and saw Madame Charles standing at her door, waving at her to come. Régine dropped her bag again and ran to say good-bye. She got not only a hug and a kiss, but also a warm jar of gooseberry jam.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  THE TALL, NARROW HOUSE stood on a quiet, tree-lined street that, like Boitsfort, seemed worlds away from the clutter and noise of Brussels. Régine’s room was on the upper floor and again it had a view of neighboring homes. But now she shared the room with the two other girls Nicole had told her about.

  Nicole had predicted that they could all be friends, and Régine hoped so, too. She looked forward to having other girls to talk to. But as soon as she walked into the room she had the feeling that Nicole was wrong. The beds of the two girls had been placed side by side at one end of the room while her own bed stood alone at the other end. It did not seem friendly at all. That night as she lay in her new bed, Régine heard the two girls whispering in the dark. They did not want to include her in their conversation.

  The next day the girls went out on an errand.

  “You’re too young to come with us,” the first girl said to Régine.

  “And you have chores to do,” said the second. The girls giggled and walked out the door.

  Régine was left behind to make the beds.

  In the days that followed Régine found herself being treated like a servant. She had to change sheets, dust furniture and scrub floors. By the end of the first week, her hands and knees were covered with calluses.

  The hardest room to clean was where Monsieur and Madame Bernard worked. The room was at the back of the house and had two tall chairs and two sinks with mirrors above them. There was also a big hair dryer where women customers sat, reading magazines.

  The floor was always covered with hair. No sooner had Régine swept it than she had to start all over again. Customers came and went all day. Régine was expected to stay out of sight when clients were in the house. But as soon as they left, tracking hair all the way to the front door, she was called in to sweep up.

  As she swept and scrubbed, Régine felt the eyes of her father watching her. She doubted that he would approve of the work she was expected to do. But then again, she thought if he were here he would probably say it was necessary for the sake of
Nicole who was doing her best to hide Régine from the Germans. She decided not to mention anything when Nicole visited after the first week.

  “Are you happy?” Nicole asked, after handing over the pay envelope.

  Régine lowered her eyes and uttered a weak “yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Régine repeated, hiding her despair.

  “Good. I’ll be back in a few weeks,” Nicole told her.

  Régine would have liked to rush after her, but instead she stood and watched. She wished that she was still in Boitsfort. Madame André had not been friendly but she was better than the Bernards. The two girls made Régine feel more lonely than when she had stayed with the solitary old woman.

  She was particularly upset because of the Jewish girl. She had hoped to be her friend and wanted to ask her questions. Where was she from? Where were her parents? Why was she staying here? Was she hiding from the Germans, too? But the girl paid no attention to her.

  One day, Madame Bernard announced a surprise.

  “We’re not expecting any customers today,” she told Régine. “Why don’t we do your hair? Would you like that?”

  Régine nodded enthusiastically. She had often wished to change the style of her hair, which was straight and plain. Its auburn color was more red than brown. Adults had always admired the color, but the kids at school used to make fun of her and called her “roussette,” or redhead.

  Her hair had been kept short by her mother so it would be clean and shiny, but it had grown long during the year she had stayed with Madame André.

  “How about a permanent?”

  A permanent! It was exactly what she had always wished for. Curls!

  Régine settled into one of the tall chairs, and Madame Bernard went to work. She tied a large bib around Régine’s neck and washed her hair in the sink. Without cutting her hair, she began applying the permanent lotion and putting on the curlers. Then Régine was put under the big dryer.

  It took an awfully long time for her hair to dry, or so it seemed to Régine, who was eager to see herself with curls. The dryer was turned off and Régine sat in the tall chair so the curlers could be removed. It seemed to take forever. Was something wrong?

  “Almost finished,” said Madame Bernard.

  “How does it look?” Régine asked. She could not see because the mirror hung on the wall behind her.

  “You have to give it some time. That’s the way it is with a permanent. After a few days it will look nice.”

  When the last curler was removed Régine was handed a small mirror. She brought it up slowly and looked at her reflection. What she saw was worse than she could have imagined. She held the mirror at arm’s length for a wider view but the sight did not improve. She brought her free hand up to her head and grabbed at her hair. The curls were so tight she could not run her hand through it.

  “Don’t worry,” Madame Bernard said. “It’ll get better.” She looked pleased with herself.

  But her hair did not get better. She still could not put a comb through it by the end of her first month when Nicole arrived. She reacted with shock when she saw Régine. She handed over a pay envelope and took Régine aside.

  “What did they do to your hair?”

  Régine lowered her eyes. She did not want to cause trouble for Nicole. Monsieur and Madame Bernard were standing right behind her.

  “It’s nothing,” she began to say, but her voice cracked.

  Nicole bent down and looked into her face. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Is it your hair?” Nicole asked. “Don’t worry. It’s not that bad. It’ll get better.”

  “It’s not that,” Régine said, and held out her hands.

  Nicole took hold of Régine’s hands and her eyes widened. Calluses covered her knuckles completely. The tips of her fingers were cracked and showed traces of dried blood. Her fingernails were broken. Nicole rose and stared at the Bernards. Régine had never seen her so angry.

  “Go up to your room,” Nicole told Régine. “I have some things to discuss here.”

  Régine climbed the stairs wondering if she had done the right thing. Would her father have approved? She sat on the edge of her bed and remembered what he had told her as he sat at his worktable and cut a square of red material into the shape of a star to glue on the back of the yellow Star of David the Germans were forcing them to wear.

  “If you are forced to do something you think is wrong,” her father had said, “then you must protest.” Régine decided she had done the right thing by showing Nicole her hands.

  A few days later, Nicole returned. She took Régine aside and told her she had made arrangements for her to stay with another family. That was not all. Nicole said she had something to tell her. She could not explain to her right away although it was very important.

  “Go pack your bag,” Nicole told her. “We don’t have much time.”

  What important news did Nicole have for her? Was it about her father? Régine hurried up the stairs. She was relieved to be leaving this household after only one month. She returned downstairs and said a curt good-bye to Monsieur and Madame Bernard. They looked embarrassed.

  Nicole was waiting outside. Régine went to join her, passing the two girls who stood watching. She heard them giggle just before the door slammed behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  RÉGINE BOARDED THE TRAM and took a seat by the window with her duffel bag in her lap. She scratched her messy head and waited nervously for Nicole to tell her the important news.

  Nicole held her briefcase tightly as she spoke. She had to talk fast, she said, because there was very little time. They were going to the bus station in Brussels. Régine would take a bus that would bring her to a new hiding place in the countryside.

  “You understand? It won’t be like before,” she told Régine. “I won’t be able to visit you. It will be too far.”

  Régine could not hide her disappointment. “You mean, I won’t see you?”

  “It is only for three months,” Nicole said, “and I’ll write.”

  “Where will I be living?”

  “In Andoumont,” Nicole said. She put her briefcase flat on her lap. “It’s a small village in Liège.”

  Régine had never been to Liège but knew that it was south of Brussels, not far from the Ardennes mountains and the German border. She had learned by heart at the école primaire all the nine provinces of Belgium and their capital cities. The capital of the province of Liège was easy to remember because it was also called Liège.

  Nicole rummaged inside her briefcase. “It’s smaller than Boitsfort. And the people you’ll be with live on a farm.”

  Many children from Brussels had been sent to live in the countryside since the German occupation began more than three years before. The countryside was safer than the city in the case of bombings and food was more plentiful.

  “These people have two children,” Nicole said, still rummaging. “So you won’t be alone. And you’ll be going to school.”

  “To school?” Régine’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Nicole said, pulling out an envelope. She looked through the window and frowned. “We’re almost there. We’re very short of time, so you’ll have to listen carefully.”

  She opened the envelope and pulled out a booklet of ration cards. This certainly could not be the important news. Régine had known about ration cards ever since the beginning of the war. The stamps inside were used for buying vegetables, eggs and milk and other foods that were rationed and hard to get. The booklet also served as identification. It showed the name, age and residence of the carrier. Nicole handed the booklet to Régine.

  “This is yours,” Nicole said.

  Régine read the name printed on the booklet. It said Augusta Dubois.

  “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “You,” Nicole said.

  “Me?”

  “This is what I h
ad to tell you,” Nicole said. “From now on you are Augusta Dubois.”

  “But I’m Régine Miller.”

  “I know that,” said Nicole. “But from now on no one else must know your real name. What I’m saying is: Tell no one who you are. Do you understand? This is very, very important.”

  Régine nodded, sensing the urgency in Nicole’s voice again. “I understand.”

  “Good. You won’t forget? You are Augusta Dubois, not Régine Miller.”

  “I won’t forget. I’m Augusta Dubois.”

  “And you come from Marche, not Brussels.”

  “From Marche?” Régine knew that Marche was even farther south than Liège.

  “Yes,” Nicole said. “Your name is Augusta Dubois and you come from Marche. That’s all you have to remember, but it’s very important.” She paused. “City children are being sent to live on farms. It’s part of a program called l’Aide paysanne aux enfants des villes. Farm families care for children from the city for three months. Understand?”

  Régine nodded. She understood very well. It was dangerous to be Jewish under the German occupation, and the name Augusta Dubois did not sound at all Jewish. Dubois was a safer name than Miller, just like Nicole was a safer name than Fela and blond hair was safer than dark.

  “Is that why I can go to school?” Régine tried to look forward to the change.

  “Yes. You will attend the same school as Marie, the daughter. They will make all the arrangements,” Nicole said.

  “How old is Marie?” asked Régine.

  “She’s nine, two years younger than you. She has an older brother, Jean, who is nineteen.”

  Nicole looked out the window. “There’s the station,” she said. “We’re here.”

  Régine saw rows of buses, surrounded by a crowd of children and grownups. She slipped the ration book into her duffel bag and felt confused. How would she handle her new, secret identity? What awaited her in Andoumont? She stood up slowly and followed Nicole to the front of the tram.