On 23 November 1939, a law was passed stating that all Jews over the age of 10 living in Nazi-occupied Poland must wear the Star of David stitched onto their clothes. In the same month, the Soviet Union invaded Finland. The war was slowly approaching Belgium.
As autumn began to fade into winter, I fell into an ordinary routine. My Aunt Margaret stayed with me, mending socks, offering advice on how to comb my hair, and insisting that I read Etiquette and Manners by Emily Post every night for an hour.
Corporal De Waden arrived faithfully every Sunday morning with Charlotte. Only now, I rode the horse instead of my father. After one of our rides in the Royal Park, as I was adjusting my scarf before walking back into the house, he tried to kiss me. I had never been kissed by a man before. I thought he was leaning in to help me with my scarf. I leaned away from the corporal, smiled, and went inside the house.
Hava arranged a birthday party for me at her home. She gave me a poster of Clark Gable, and a copy of Rebecca, the latest book by Daphne du Maurier. She said, as I looked at the cover, ‘Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.’ When I asked her what that meant, she said I had to read the book. ‘It’s like Tara, the house in Gone with the Wind.’
I had visited Hava’s home several times before the war started. That day, Benjamin invited me to his room and said that he was going to paint me a picture for my birthday. I peered over his shoulder as he worked with a little brush and ink and I asked him what he was drawing. ‘I’m making you a picture of God.’
‘But no one knows what God looks like,’ I laughed.
‘They will in a minute,’ the boy said as he dipped his brush in the inkwell.
When Benjamin had finished with his drawing, he walked up to me with a drawing and chortled, ‘See? This is what God looks like.’
‘How do you know God wore green shirts?’ I asked.
‘Well, it must be his favourite colour, don’t you think?’ he replied. ‘Almost everything outside is green.’
‘Are those two crosses above his head?’ I pointed to the painting.
He rolled his eyes skyward. ‘No, those are orange kites, Simone. God has to have fun sometimes.’
Hava and her parents were reading silently in the outer room, when Benjamin and I entered.
‘Look what Benjamin drew for me,’ I said. ‘It’s God.’
Yaakov looked at his son and said, ‘Benjamin, your God is smiling. Good.’
Benjamin crawled onto his father’s lap and said, ‘Papa, tell us a story. Tell Simone one of your stories.’
I felt as if I was intruding on the peace of the house. ‘Monsieur Daniels, perhaps I should be going home.’
‘Sit there, daughter of the general.’ He gestured towards a wooden chair next to Hava.
‘Tell her the one about the ant. Simone will love the one about the ant.’
Yaakov rubbed his beard against his son’s cheek and began, ‘There was an ant that lived under the baker’s house.’
‘The baker lived with his son and wife,’ Benjamin said as he sat up on his father’s lap.
‘Do you want to tell the story, Benjamin?’ Yaakov asked as he winked at me.
‘No. You tell it, Papa.’
‘The baker lived with his son and his wife. Everyone believed the baker to be a man of honour and humour. His only fault was his harsh manner toward his son.’
Benjamin squirmed a bit.
‘Whenever a customer entered the shop, the baker wiped his hands, stood behind the counter, and waited for an order.’
‘The bigger the order, the better the service,’ Benjamin called out.
‘Let your father tell the story,’ Avital scolded, smiling.
Yaakov continued, ‘Yes, Benjamin, the bigger the order the better the service. When asked for ten loaves, the baker would grasp the customer’s hand eagerly and shake it vigorously, while shouting at the same time to his son, “Check the oven, fool, and find the most freshly baked loaves for our kind customer!”
‘Customers with small orders received older bread, and the son received harsher treatment.’
‘Tell about the ant, Papa,’ Benjamin said.
‘One afternoon an ant entered the bakery. When the baker stepped up to the counter, he wiped his hands, looked around, and saw no one, although he was certain that he had heard the door swing open. “Imbecile!” the baker called out to his son. “Why have you left the door open?”
“I haven’t been near the door, Father,” the boy answered meekly.
‘The father looked around, but did not notice the ant on the floor. “Get back to work!” the father ordered.
‘The ant edged around the corner of the counter and whispered to the boy, “Psssst. Do you have some crumbs for sale?” asked the ant.
‘The boy looked up at his father, who was busy combing his hair, then he turned to the ant and said, “I don’t believe we have a crumb so big that we would have to charge you.”
‘“Oh, no,” said the ant. “A labour made is traded for a payment collected. I will give you a bag of gold for your bread.”’
‘I like that part,’ Benjamin said.
Yaakov smiled and continued. ‘“But,” said the boy, “no crumb is worth that much. Here. Take what you need,” and the boy pushed some crumbs from the counter onto his open palm and reached down to the ant.
‘The ant said to the boy’ – and here is where Benjamin recited the words along with his father – “Because of your kindness, I will triple my pay for your bread: three bags of gold.”
“But,” said the boy, “that’s a king’s fortune for such a small favour. Please. Let me give you a whole loaf of our finest bread. That will last you all winter.”
‘The ant was about to offer the boy a hundred bags of gold when the father stepped on the ant, twisted his shoe against the floor, and struck the boy on the back of his head. “Fool! Wasting your time fiddling with useless ants. Return to your work!”
‘Within a year the colony of hungry ants ate the foundation of the bakery. The building was condemned, the bakery was torn down, the baker died of gout, and the son became a carpenter and prospered.’
Benjamin jumped off his father’s lap and ran to me. ‘Simone, did you like the story?’
‘Yes, I liked it very much.’
Benjamin hopped on my lap and whispered, ‘Someday I am going to be a carpenter.’
That night, when I returned home, I taped Benjamin’s picture of God above my bed.