The identity papers are the Prof’s famous Plan. It’s taken him a long while to work it out. I’ve been here in this house since the 23 August and now it’s well into November.
The Prof has a friend who lives somewhere in Normandy. The friend had a boy who was a bit younger than me but he died of some disease last spring because there was no proper medicine in the hospital he went to. That was awful for everyone, but after the boy’s funeral his family kept his identity card. They didn’t use it to get food but they couldn’t bear to throw it away either, the Prof said. He knew all about it and that was how he started to make his plan.
Last month the Prof’s friend came to Paris to play some music in a concert. The two of them met at the concert and they started talking about Guess Who:
No. 1 – Robin Hood.
No. 2 – The Boy Who Knows Nothing Any More.
No. 3 – (Sorry, I can’t think of any No. 3 right now.)
The Prof didn’t ask his friend straight out for the identity card. He’d never do that, he said. It would be insensitive. But he told him lots of things, about me being on my own and how great it would be for me to be in a proper family.
Well, I could see some problems there.
“What about all the people in Normandy?” I asked when he first told me about his plan. “They’ll know I’m not the boy who died! I wouldn’t even look like his ghost!”
But the Prof said his friend was moving with his family to a different town, to share a house with his sister and her family. Rouen was the new town.
“That’s the beauty of it, Jonas. The people in Rouen won’t know the boy is dead. And the Nazis there won’t know any better. It’s a big port. They have other things to worry about.”
I asked him what the dead boy’s name was. “Grégoire Volet,” he said.
I said that a few times in my head. It was the same length as my name. But nothing like it.
The Prof had been Grégoire’s godfather but he’d met him only once, when he was just a baby. The Prof looked really sad. It’s rotten when anybody dies, even if they were only a baby when you met them, long before they started to do anything much.
He took my left hand and pressed it out on the kitchen table, like when we did stretch exercises for our hands. His fingers were as light as twigs.
“Jonas, I will miss you,” he said. “A lot. You can’t imagine. I told you how Berthe would be so pleased I took you in. I’m very glad myself. I like to think we are good friends. I mean that. But because you’re my friend I want you to be safe, and I promise you that you’ll be much safer with papers, and out of Paris.”
He said if I went to Normandy I’d be able to go outside and play and have a normal life like any other boy in France. I could go to school again.
“You’ll learn much more than you ever will just reading my old encyclopedias at the kitchen table.”
“But I like doing that!” I said. “And I really like playing the piano with you.”
“That’s the best bit,” he said. He was beaming. “My friend has plans to start a children’s orchestra in Rouen, even now, in these dark days. You could learn the flute with him. For your mother’s sake. Didn’t you tell me that was what she wanted?”
I didn’t answer that. Yes, Mama had said I could choose my instrument. But I was only going to choose it when she was there.
I wasn’t a bit sure about the plan anyway.
“Why not have Grégoire Volet’s card sent to Paris and then I can stay here and pretend to be him, here? After all, you’re his godfather, right? We could just go on as we are doing now only I could go out to the park.”
The Prof shook his head, slow first, then faster.
“No, no, Jonas,” he said. “It’s not safe for you. Please, please, take my word for it. I’ve thought a lot about all of this. I can’t send you to school anywhere near here. It would be too tricky and you could be spotted by anybody at any time. What about that awful man at the circus? And suppose something happened to me. What would you do then?”
“But what about this Grégoire’s brothers and sisters? They’ll know I’m not him. They’ll tell people about me. And what could happen to you?”
He looked at me as if I’d slapped him. I’d forgotten he was so old. He could die of course. He didn’t say anything for ages. Then he did but his voice sounded a bit peculiar.
“My apologies, Jonas. I forgot to tell you that Grégoire had just one little brother and he’s far too young to remember anything, or even to talk. He’s not even two. Grégoire was eight.”
“But I’m ten!”
We both knew that didn’t matter. I’m small for my age and there’s no getting away from that.
I knew he wouldn’t have an answer for my final question. Because he just didn’t know.
“What about Nadia? La Giaconda said I had to stay put for her. If she’s safe like you say, she’ll be waiting for me to come and get her.”
I was right. He didn’t have an answer. Not a proper one. He just said that if Nadia went to see the Corrados and then turned up here he’d be able to tell her I was safe and sound. “And, if I’m spared, when the war is over I’ll bring her down to Rouen myself.”
He said his friend would be coming to the house in a couple of days, bringing Grégoire’s identity card, and he’d take me away with him then.
“You’re going to escape, Jonas,” he said. “That’s what matters now. You’re not going to be anybody’s prisoner any more.”
And that was the end of it. Maybe it is even a good plan. Anyway, it is all arranged.