used to tell me and Vincent all about his friends in the prison camp and the crazy escape schemes they cooked up. It took me awhile to figure out there was more to the war than that.”
“They just don’t want to talk about it,” Grandpa murmured. “I suppose we’ll never understand.”
Julien looked at the maul in his hands and looked at Grandpa. “Maybe I will,” he said.
Grandpa’s face changed in an instant. “No,” he whispered. He was pale. “Julien. Don’t say that. You’re fifteen, Julien.”
“I know.” Julien’s voice was a whisper too. He didn’t know where to look, didn’t know what to do with the fire that was rushing through his body. He hefted the maul and swung it suddenly in a fast, tight circle, his eye on the grain of the wood. There was a thunk, and the two halves of the log sprang away to either side. They lay on the grass, incredible, their split edges clean as bone.
The lowering sun shone through the big south window as they finished their quiet supper, making patches of gold on the wall. Julien’s back and arms ached. Mama’s eyes weren’t red anymore, but something about her didn’t seem right. She didn’t look at any of them. Papa asked how many jars of beans she’d canned, and she answered without looking at him, without looking at anything—except a glance, lightning quick, toward the window. Not at the light. At the radio.
“Mama,” said Magali. She tossed her curly black hair. “Hey, Mama.”
Mama didn’t answer.
“Mama, tell them about the mouse.”
Julien watched his mother swallow and turn toward Magali with difficulty, like someone bringing herself out of a trance.
“In the sink?” Magali prompted.
“You tell it, Lili,” said Mama softly.
“Well, there was this mouse,” Magali started. “Um, in the sink. Except we didn’t see it until I’d run the dishwater. And it was alive—I don’t know how it got in there, but it was alive, and it was swimming round and round … looking … y’know … kinda scared … and then I fished it out and put it outside. It was funny,” she finished gamely. She looked at Mama again. Mama didn’t seem to see her. She turned on Julien. “Hey, I heard you split a log. In only half an hour.”
“Yeah? You wanna try?” growled Julien.
“I bet I could do it.”
“Don’t bet your life savings.” The chime of the grandfather clock by the stairwell door cut through Julien’s words, and, a second later, the deep tolling of the church bell in town. Papa and Mama were both on their feet.
Mama stood still, both hands on the table. Papa crossed the room and switched on the radio.
Loud static leapt into the room, a buzzing like an army of bees. Mama went to the radio. Julien and Magali followed. Phrases came through as they leaned in: a general mobilization. Reinforcements being
sent to the Maginot Line. British forces are landing in France to … since our nation’s declaration of war …
War.
Efforts to persuade Belgium and Holland have failed … mmzzzzsh … remain neutral. Gallant Poland is no match for the German war machine … crack-crack-crack-fzz … pushing deep into the countryside … ffff … no stopping … crack-crack-crack-crack!
Papa switched off the radio.
Julien and Magali looked at each other. Magali’s eyes were wide.
“Maria,” said Papa in a gentle voice. “You get some rest. I’ll do the dishes.”
Mama nodded, not looking at anything. She walked slowly toward the bedroom door, stumbling on the edge of the rug as if she were blind.
Julien couldn’t sleep. His room on the third floor under the eaves was like an oven. His arms ached. His country was at war. He twisted and turned in the sweaty sheets, trying to find a position where his arms didn’t hurt.
He got up and opened the window to ragged clouds lit by the half moon. And the faint gleam of the river down at the far edge of town by the school. He turned away.
He slipped out his door, quietly, and down the hall to the stairwell; down the stone stairs, cool on his bare feet, to the second floor where his family lived. The living and dining room was full of moonlight and shadows. He crept to the bathroom door and opened it very quietly. Mama and Papa were asleep in the next room. He’d turn the water on just a trickle, wash the sweat off—
His hand froze on the tap.
“It won’t be like that, Maria.” His father’s voice carried through the thin wall. “We’re