Anne Frank and Me

They kissed breathlessly in the hallway outside Mme. Genet’s apartment. In Jacques’s arms she could be anywhere, even America. She could be at a movie star’s party in Hollywood, doing the jitterbug with Jacques. Everyone would say they were the best dancers there. And food! So much food that she would say, “No, thank you, no dessert for me, I couldn’t bear another bite.”

Too soon, Jacques ended their kiss. She buried her head against his chest, in the perfect spot just under his chin, as he stroked her cheek. “André will be home for dinner tonight. I have to go.”

“ ‘I have to go.’ Those are the ugliest words in the entire French language.” She snuggled against him again. “But thank you again for bringing us wine. You cannot imagine what it means to have wine for our Passover seder tonight.”

“I was happy to do it. I should be able to bring vegetables from my uncle’s farm in a few days.”

“When will you come back? Can you come tomorrow?” She heard the neediness in her voice, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

Suddenly, Mme. Genet’s door swung open. “Celebrating liberation already?” she sneered. “Don’t think that I am blind to you two rutting dogs. I should report you to the authorities.”

Though she knew they weren’t violating any laws, Nicole’s face burned. She felt sure that Mme. Genet would love to denounce her family and grab whatever was left in their apartment.

Jacques stepped toward the concierge, hat in hand. “Excuse me, Madame Genet,” he began politely, “but I was only saying good-bye to my girlfriend.”

“But it is not, much as your friends in the PPF would like it to be,” Jacques said pleasantly. “One day, when Nicole and I become engaged, I am sure you will be amongst the first to wish us well. Unless of course you are in Berlin living in Hitler’s bunker.”

“Your Boche saviors of the Republic are losing the war, and you know it,” Jacques scoffed. “Are you planning to become a Resistant of the Last Minute? I can already see you on liberation day, dancing on the Champs-Élysées, draped in the tricolor: ‘Long live de Gaulle, long live freedom, long live France!’ ”

He pretended to misunderstand. “Sadly, I do not think Mme. Genet will ever congratulate us, Nicole.”

“Oh, you mean the ‘when Nicole and I become engaged’ part? But of course. Don’t you remember? I asked you to marry me in third grade. I told you that one day I would become a fine doctor and practice medicine with your father. You said yes to this entire plan. It is far too late for you to back out now.”

He tickled her ribs, which stuck out too far these days. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her until there was nothing in the world but him, his hands, his mouth, and this moment.

“Tomorrow afternoon. My mother will be out shopping and my father will be at the hospital. We can go to his study.”

He pulled her to him. “I wanted our first time to be so much more than that. Candlelight and rose petals and champagne—”

“I don’t care about those things,” she insisted. “Don’t say it isn’t right, jacques. It’s the only right thing in my life.” This time it was she who kissed him until there were no more words.

Nicole sat on the couch; Liz-Bette at the window seat, blinking nervously. Both had resolved not to look at the grandfather clock anymore, but couldn’t help themselves. It was five minutes before eight and their father was not home yet. On any other night, this would not be a great cause for concern—he could be late at the hospital, he could be on a mission. But tonight? The night different from all other nights, the sacred first night of Passover? He had assured them he would be home by seven.

Everything was ready. They were dressed in their least threadbare outfits and the table was set for the seder, the religious meal that began the eight-day Passover holiday. The precious bottle of wine Jacques had brought for them waited by her father’s setting. Next to it was the ornate silver kiddush cup used only on Passover.

Mme. Bernhardt set a Haggadah—the book that retold the story of the Exodus from Egypt and contained the seder service—on each plate. As she put down the last one, the sirens that signaled the Jewish curfew began to wail.

“But we can’t have Passover without Papa.” Liz-Bette looked desperate. “I know why you are not answering me, Maman. It is because they took Papa away on a big bus and I’m never going to see him again!”

Mme. Bernhardt finally found her voice. “Yes, I am sure that he is in a safe place, doing important work to defeat the Nazis.”

Abruptly, she went to the kitchen; Nicole and Liz-Bette sat by the window, perfectly still. The only sound was the relentless ticking of the clock. Time was a thief, sneaking forward. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Their mother returned and sat wordlessly in the upholstered chair. Twenty. Twenty-five.

The clock gonged half past eight. Mme. Bernhardt stood. “We will begin our seder,” she announced.

“Passover is the festival of freedom our people have celebrated for thousands of years. Even Hitler cannot change that. Come.”

The girls followed their mother to the table and opened their Haggadoth. “ ‘We are here to celebrate once again the very first festival the Jewish people ever observed,’ ” Mme. Bernhardt read aloud. “ ‘We retell the ancient story of how Moses led us out of Egypt and out of the house of bondage. As we remember this moving chapter in our people’s past, may we learn to appreciate more deeply the freedom we now enjoy.’ ”

Nicole’s heart hardened at the familiar words from the Haggadah. How bitter and ironic they were tonight. How could she learn to appreciate something she no longer had? What was the point of saying it?

Her mother’s hand touched hers. “Nicole, so long as we say these words and have this seder, they have not defeated us. Do you understand?”

Nicole nodded. Her mother returned to the Haggadah. “ ‘In gratitude to God,’ ” she read, “ ‘we rise now to recite the kiddush blessing over the first of the four cups of wine.’ ” Mme. Bernhardt poured a tiny bit of red wine into each goblet, then stood. “Before we say the festival kiddush, we will say a special prayer for your father. Liz-Bette, will you lead us?”

“Dear God,” Liz-Bette began uncertainly. “Please ... let Papa be all right. And let him come home to us and not get taken away on a big bus forever, because ... because .. Her voice cracked, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Because we love Papa as much as we love freedom,” Nicole continued, “and because he is brave enough to do what is right. Amen.”

“Amen,” her mother and sister echoed. Nicole pretended not to see as Liz-Bette fisted the tears from her face. They raised their glasses and Mme. Bernhardt chanted the Hebrew blessings over the Passover wine. “L‘chaim, to life,” she concluded.

“L‘chaim.” They each took the smallest sip of wine. Nicole stared at the front door, willing it to open. Her father would take off his coat and apologize profusely for arriving late on this night of nights. The metro had been running late. Someone had gotten sick at the hospital. He’d wash his hands and kiss his family and lead the seder as he always did. But the door did not open.

Mme. Bernhardt continued. “ ‘We have thanked God for the wine, which adds joy to life,’ ” she read. “ ‘On Pesach we thank Him especially for the precious gift of freedom. And we thank Him for—’ ”

She was interrupted by the pounding of feet on the stairs, followed by a fist slamming against the door to their flat. They sprang to their feet. This was the nightmare—the Gestapo at your door to take you to Drancy. There was nowhere to run, no place to hide.

“I will go,” Nicole forced herself to say. She went to the door, marveling at how if you just put one foot before the other, no matter what terror you might feel, you reached your destination anyway.

She opened the door. Standing there, disheveled and gasping for breath, was David Ginsburg. “Davidl” Nicole hugged him hard, giddy with joy and faint with relief. “Oh, David, you’re still alive! I haven’t seen you in such a long time. Are you all right? No one knew what happened to you. I am so happy to see you!” She knew she was babbling but she didn’t care. She tugged him into the apartment. “Come join our seder!”