SARAH
Sarah wakes early, as she often does these days, David snoring softly next to her. Leaning over him, she tries to read the time on the clock, but can’t make out the hands in the semi-darkness. Never mind, she’ll get up anyway; it will be nice to have a coffee on her own, get her thoughts together before the day starts. Silently she slips out of bed, sliding her feet into her slippers.
In the kitchen, she puts the beans in the grinder and turns the handle. Making coffee takes time, but she finds the smell comforting and the process soothing. Since their return from Auschwitz, she’s found a pleasure in mundane tasks that she never felt before. She takes her time over the dishes, meticulously cleaning every piece, then wiping them dry till they shine. Before, she would have left them to drain. But now these rituals help settle her nerves.
“You up already?” David walks into the kitchen. “What’s the time?”
“I don’t know. It must be about seven.”
“What do you want to do today?”
“I don’t know.” Their Saturdays used to have a routine to them—synagogue in the morning, followed by a simple lunch at home and a stroll around Le Marais in the late afternoon. But now they have to find things to do—things a nine-year-old boy might like. Sarah misses going to the service, and she knows David does too.
“David, why don’t you go to the synagogue and I’ll take Samuel out for a walk? Maybe the Tuileries.”
“I’d like us all to go to the service together, as a family. I don’t want to go on my own.”
“I know.” She turns back to the coffee, pouring the ground beans into the filter. “But it will be awhile before he can go. It would just upset him now and might put him off forever.” She glances at David. He’s frowning.
“He understands more French than he’s leading us to believe.”
“I know.” Sarah smiles, thinking how stubborn Sam has been about not learning French, though still she can see his child’s mind soaking it up like a sponge. “But he didn’t even go to church in America—well, only at Christmas and Easter.”
“It must be strange to raise a child with no faith. How can you teach values and principles with no reference?”
Sarah looks at him, wondering for a moment if he’s right, wondering if this means Sam has no values and principles. But she can’t believe that. Despite his anger and his need to show them he doesn’t want to be with them, she can see he has good manners and a sensitivity to others that he tries to hide. He doesn’t really want to hurt them; he just wants to go home.
“At least he’s had some exposure to religion,” David continues. “He knows who God is. He has been in a church before.” He frowns, and Sarah can see he’s working it out. Then he continues. “I think it’s important that we emphasize it’s the same God. We need to find common ground where we can.”
“What about Christmas?”
David smiles at her. “Christmas? You’re thinking too far ahead.”
“Yes, but you know in America it’s a huge event. The whole country celebrates.”
“I suppose we could always give him presents and pretend they’re from some benevolent fat man with a red coat and a white beard.” He grins. “There’s not too much harm in that, is there?”
Sarah knows he’s being ironic, and she’s not in the mood for it. He’s always been adamant about not celebrating Christmas. Distractedly she pours boiling water over the coffee in the filter.
“Is everything ready for today?” David puts his hand on her shoulder.
“Yes. All the food is prepared, and I did the cleaning yesterday.”
“Good.” He takes the coffeepot from her. “Now sit down. Today is a day of rest and worship. I know how you like to keep busy, but let’s remember God on this special day.”
How can she tell him that this is what disturbs her the most? How can she tell him that she doesn’t know how to pray anymore? Her mind swarms with confusion and doubts; she can no longer tell the difference between right and wrong. Is it wrong to want her son back? Wrong to punish the man who saved him? She didn’t want him punished. Every time she thinks about it, her heart contracts with guilt. Apparently it was out of their hands, but prison! It seems so unfair. They’ve all been punished, too much and for too long. She just wants the suffering to end. Sometimes it feels like she’s a recipient of everyone’s pain, soaking it up till her heart wants to burst open. She feels it all too much. She’s asked God for guidance, for strength, but it feels like he’s no longer listening.
He answered her prayers when she begged him to keep her son safe. That should have been enough. But no. She wanted more, didn’t she? In her greed and selfishness, she wanted her son back, not only to love, but to possess.