SARAH
The next day, Sarah decides to teach Sam at home. School can wait. The psychologist said that with total immersion he would learn French in six months; that it would come naturally, like a baby learning to talk. But Sarah feels his resistance like a wall surrounding him. Babies don’t have this kind of opposition blocking their language acquisition. It’s not the same thing at all.
She needs to get Sam more involved instead of leaving him to mope.
There’s the memory game she bought before he came. They can play it together in French. You have to pair up the baby animal with the adult animal. She can teach him animal names like this.
She takes his hand and brings him into the living room. He lets himself be led. She sits him on the soft green armchair that used to belong to her grandmother. Then she turns to the dark wooden cupboard where they keep photos, cards they’ve received, and the new games. Setting the cards out on the glass coffee table, she mixes them up facedown. Then she turns over the first one. It’s a baby kangaroo. “Kangourou.” She reaches for the next one; it’s a baby lion. “Lion.”
Sam stares at her like she’s crazy, but she just smiles back. “À toi”
For a moment he sits there, staring blankly ahead. Then slowly he reaches out for a card, turning it over. It’s a kitten. He turns another. It’s a cat.
“Tu as gagné!” With a surge of pleasure, she sees him reach for another card. He’s participating! She mustn’t get too excited, it’s only the beginning, but for the first time she can see a tiny light glimmering at the end of the long, dark tunnel. Then without a word, he disappears back to his room.
They eat croque monsieur for lunch. This is one dish he appears to enjoy. After lunch, she decides to take him to the Jardin du Luxembourg. It’s quite a long way, and they take the Métro. She knows he likes the trains. His little face lights up each time one comes hurtling through the tunnels.
In the gardens, she leaves him to take it all in, sometimes pointing at something, saying the word slowly in French. He looks at her but doesn’t repeat the word. She doesn’t push it. One step at a time. They walk past the lake, stopping to look at the miniature wooden sailing boats blowing about on the water. Sam turns away. Children stand around holding long wooden sticks, ready to poke their boats back into the water if they come near the edge.
Sarah gestures toward the boats. “Veux-tu essayer?”
He shakes his head, and she knows he’s understood.
An ice-cream truck draws up next to the lake. She decides not to ask him what he wants, but pokes her head through the window. “Vanilla, please.” She looks over at Sam.
“And for the young man?” the ice-cream seller asks, following her eyes. “Chocolate? Strawberry?”
She watches Sam closely, wondering for a moment if he’ll refuse to answer.
The man grins. “English or American?” he asks.
“American,” Sam replies, the pride in his voice ringing out.
“Oh là là, ’ot dog!”
“Do you have hot dogs?” Sam sounds excited for the first time since he arrived.
“Mais non! No! This is France! Never the hot dog.” The man laughs, turning around to dig into the boxes of ice cream. He turns back with a perfectly round ball of dark ice cream sitting on top of a cone, gleaming in the late summer sun.
Sam takes a step forward, reaching for it. “Thanks.”
“Merci.” The man winks at him.
Sam ignores him, and Sarah feels the heat of embarrassment rising to her cheeks.
Licking their ice creams, they wander over to the play area. It’s full of toddlers rolling in the sand, sliding down the slides. Mothers sit on benches nearby, chatting away to each other. Sarah can’t stop the pang of regret at the years she missed with Sam. Beside her, he’s so still, she can feel his sadness seeping through his skin. She’s acutely aware of how his heart aches for his home. It’s too much for one small boy to hold in. She feels cruel, cruel to want her own son back.
That evening, David comes home from work with a large rectangular package covered in brown paper. Instantly, Sarah knows what it is. She stares at him, defiance in her eyes. She told him she would never play again, and there he is standing with a violin under his arm.
“No, David.” She wants to cry, to scream, to run from him. How could he? He knows how she feels.
“Sarah, please.” He stares back at her, his eyes unwavering. “Don’t you think they’ve taken enough from us?” He walks past her into the living room.
She waits outside, hovering by the door, listening to him removing the paper, opening the case. Then he plucks a string, and her heart stops. She can’t breathe. It’s all coming back: tuning up before a concert, the thrill of playing before an audience, the pure beauty of the music. She thought it all belonged to the other world—the one she left behind. She takes a step into the living room, and sees David hunched over the violin, gently plucking at the strings. Then she sees silent tears slipping down his cheeks onto the shiny polished wood.
She sits next to him, taking the instrument from his hands. She plucks the strings herself now, closing her eyes as she adjusts the pegs to get the right note. The heat of his stare burns through her skin. He wants her back. She can feel it. His yearning for the woman he used to know is tangible.
When she’s finished tuning, she stands up, placing the violin under her chin. With her other hand she takes the bow, drawing it far back as though she’s about to shoot an arrow. This is how it feels—like she’s going to battle. It’s time to fight again for the life they once had. Summoning all her courage, she plays the first notes of Mozart’s Eine kleine Nachtmusik, David’s favorite piece.
She watches him as she plays. This is for you, she’s telling him without words. For you.
They are so lost in each other, they don’t notice the little boy standing in the doorway, watching, listening, an expression of wonder on his face. When Sarah finally senses his presence and glances over at him, he doesn’t turn away like he usually does, but looks her straight in the eye. She’s taken back to the baby who gazed up at her while she fed him. At long last she’s seen a glimpse of the child she left behind. Holding eye contact with him, she continues to play without missing a note, her heart soaring with the music.