Seven Years

Emmanuel remembered the first time she had ridden the train. Her nose pressed right up to the glass and a small smudge of fog would expand and contract with each excited breath. She held up Monsieur Toutou, her teddy bear, so that he too could see the rolling green hills and farmlands of the French countryside. Look for sheep Monsieur Toutou! But don’t count them unless you want to fall asleep! Emmanuel’s mother sat next to her wearing her best outfit, a dark blue dress covered in a pattern of white polka-dots with a high waist belt and a dark green beret. In her arms she held baby Francois, who had given himself to a gentle sleep, a willing victim to the rhythmic ka-thud ka-thud of the train. Her father sat across from them reading the paper with one leg crossed over the other in his pale brown suit, his pointy mustache perfect over his thin lips. They were off to Paris from their small country home in Lapoutroie to visit her Oncle Jacques and celebrate her birthday. They had the eight person cabin all to themselves. 

Emmanuel remembered this as her body squeezed against the wall and window, the cabin packed like a can of sardines. Her mother sat scrunched next to her, her nightgown covered in brown splats of dust and dirt and her arms wrapped around Papa’s briefcase. Around them were strangers, and those who had nowhere to sit stood, their waists angled slightly forward as they gripped the above storage rack so as not to fall. Somewhere in the cabin, someone was sobbing. Emmanuel squeezed Monsieur Toutou to her chest. He smelled of sand and wet gravel. 

Where is papa? Emmanuel asked, looking up at her mother.

They are in another cabin, her mother replied, her voice cracking a little. A smile quivered on her colorless lips. 

ka-THUD ka-THUD, ka-THUD ka-THUD. Was the train always this loud? 

Emmanuel looked out the window. Columns of smoke rose from Lapoutroie in the distance, turning the overcast sky into a dark gray foam. She could still smell burning oil and wood.

I don’t see anyone running in the fields maman. Emmanuel said. There were many people running, where are they? 

I believe they are at the train station, ma chère. 

How did the fire start maman? 

I am not certain. 

What about the big sounds?

Let us not talk anymore, ma chère. So Emmanuel stayed quiet,  pretending to stare out the window while peering at her mother’s reflection in the glass. Her mother’s glow, which radiated like the golden brown of fresh baked bread or the light from the fireplace on long winter nights, had been replaced with an apparition, a transparent husk which bent forward onto her father’s briefcase as if an invisible weight bore it down. Emmanuel looked deep into the eyes of the reflection and counted the intervals between blinks. There were few. 

Just then, movement outside caught the corner of Emmanuel’s eye. 

Ah, maman! Look! There are people in the fields! From the reflection in the window, Emmanuel saw her mother bring her hand to her mouth and whisper terror. Then, Emmanuel felt her body launch forward as the train’s steel brakes screamed. A few of the strangers standing fell awkwardly atop each other in a pile of limbs.  

Someone stepped on Emmanuel’s hand. She cried out, and the foot lifted. 

I’m so sorry! A male voice said. 

Hands wrapped around Emmanuel’s waist and she was pulled up onto her mother’s lap, where she quickly wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck, holding her throbbing hand with the other. 

It’s alright ma chère, she whispered. 

Emmanuel heard voices outside. They sounded different. They sounded angry. 

Maman?

Whispers and whimpers echoed within the cabin. 

Will they take all of us?

Do you have the documents?

Breathe, just breathe…

Screams traveled from across the train car. Emmanuel looked out the window again and saw people being led out by men in gray uniforms and helmets with guns slung around their shoulders. She tightened her grip on her mother’s neck. 

What are they saying maman? What’s happening? 

You must be quiet ma chère.  

A faceless voice said: I understand what they are saying. They are taking everyone off the train. 

The whimpers grew louder. Emmanuel felt her mother’s hands hoist her up and gently let her down, her feet on the soft cushion of the cabin bench. Her mother stood up, reached for people’s belongings on the rack above and frantically pulled them out, letting them topple to the ground and on other passengers. 

Hey! What are you doing? An older man protested. Emmanuel watched her mother turn and say something to the man with a half whisper, half cry. He stared at her for a moment before turning to look at Emmanuel. His eyes swelled, then he helped her mother remove more things from up above. 

Maman, what are you doing? 

On the fields outside, Emmanuel saw people go down to their knees. Then, she felt the man’s hands wrap around her waist and lift her up onto the rack. Large pops coming from outside cracked through the air. 

Maman, non! What’s happening? Then, her mother's face was in hers, their noses nearly touching, her cheeks wet.  

Ma chère, look at me. She placed all four of her soft fingers to Emmanuel’s lips. The man began placing the luggage back in front of Emmanuel’s legs and feet.

Promise me you will be very, very quiet. Stay here with Monsieur Toutou and do not move. I will see you again. You must go to Paris and see your Oncle Jacques, and give him Papa’s briefcase. Can you do that? 

Maman!

Please, Émmanuel…  

Outside the cabin door, someone yelled. There was a loud bang and everyone gasped. 

I love you! Her mother said before pushing her father’s briefcase in front of Emmanuel and packing more luggage onto her.

Emmanuel heard the door slam open and a man screamed something unintelligible. She bit into Monsieur Toutou and shut her eyes tight until her face began to hurt, but still then she kept them closed. The angry voices of the gray men and the cries of the passengers slowly left the train car until they were muffled from the outside. More loud bangs followed by long wailings, like the cries of a dying siren. Emmanuel imagined herself as a spider pretending to be dead, unmoving and frozen. 

When voices came back into the cabin, Emmanuel stayed up in the compartment. She heard French voices, but remained still, listening for her mother. She never came. 

Emmanuel was still up in the compartment when the train arrived in Paris twelve hours later. She kept her eyes closed and stayed still even as the luggage was slowly removed. 

Thank goodness…It’s okay now, Emmanuel. She opened her eyes. It was the same old man that had lifted her up onto the baggage rack. 

Where is Maman? Emmanuel asked. The man pursed his lips and blinked, his eyes bloodshot. 

I do not know, child. But she told me your Oncle Jacques should be here. I will help you find him. 

Soon after the man helped Emmanuel out of the compartment she urinated and started to cry. She continued to cry even after they had found Oncle Jacques, as he held her tightly, telling her how brave she was. She wept until she laid down on her personal bed at Oncle Jacques’ home, where exhaustion pulled her under into a dreamless black.  

Three days later, Emmanuel lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, her tears depleted. Branches of the tree outside tapped the window, a brisk wind blowing through. The radio spoke of a wave advancing German troops and the strength of the French resolve. The volume hurt Emmanuel’s ears, but it hurt less than silence. The large glass that had once held water now sat dry on the nightstand.  

There was a knock at the door. Oncle Jacques entered, his face lit by the candle piercing one of nine cupcakes on a plate. He turned the knob which controlled the radio’s volume – taking care not to turn it off – then turned to Emmanuel. 

Bonnes fêtes Émmanuel…bonnes fêtes Émmanuel! 

Emmanuel stared at him blankly as he sang to her.  

You are nine years old today, so you get nine cupcakes, all to yourself. Oncle Jacques sat next to Emmanuel and handed her the cupcake with the lit candle. She stared at them as if Oncle Jaques had just handed her a textbook on calculus equations. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her expression remained stoned. 

Emmanuel, look at me. She turned her empty eyes towards him. You must have hope Émmanuel. And if you do not have hope, you must fight, because to fight is to hope. Your maman is alive, more alive than you know, as long as you keep her here. He pointed a gentle finger to her heart. And I know that she could probably eat at least half of these cupcakes, do you think so? A sly smile creased the corner of his lips, and like magic it found one deep within Emmanuel and brought it to the surface. She blinked and a dim light returned to her eyes. She gave Oncle Jacques a big hug. 

Make a wish, Émmanuel. She took a moment before blowing out the candle. Emmanuel ate six of the nine cupcakes before Oncle Jacques kissed her goodnight, leaving the radio on low. 

Under the blankets, she bit down on Monsieur Toutou and found herself on the baggage rack again, where she could feel her mother’s fingers on her lips. Emmanuel brought her own fingers up and pressed them against her mouth and made a promise to her mother that as long as she held onto that sensation, she would not cry. 

I can do it, Maman. 

The radio creaked, and a solemn voice came on telling Parisians to prepare for evacuation. 

And for the next seven years, Emmanuel held on.

-

Emmanuel found herself looking out of the train window. She had not let go of the letter once since receiving it two weeks prior. The blood rushed wildly inside of her and she could not sit still. The train had entered Lapoutroie and the bell sang, signifying its arrival. Her eyes darted, and her fingers held the ledge of the glass. When she saw the polka-dot dress and the green beret, the dam she had erected seven years ago cracked open and she allowed herself to be taken by the flow.