a moment the conversation started up again. This time Mama was talking rather loudly not about concentration camps but about how cold it had been lately.
“Enjoying your book, dear?” said Omama.
“Yes, thank you,” said Anna and managed to make her voice sound quite normal. As soon as possible she got up and went to bed. She wanted to tell Max what she had heard but could not bring herself to talk about it. It was better not even to think about it.
In future she would try never to think about Germany at all.
The next morning Omama packed her bags. She had no heart to stay the last few days, now that Pumpel was gone. But there was one good thing that came of her visit. Just before she left she handed Anna and Max an envelope. She had written on it, “A present from Pumpel” and when they opened it they found that it contained a little over eleven Swiss francs.
“I want you to use this money in any way that gives you pleasure,” said Omama.
“What is it?” asked Max, overcome by her generosity.
“It’s Pumpel’s return ticket to the South of France,” said Omama with tears in her eyes. “I got it refunded.”
So Anna and Max had enough money after all to go to the fair.
Papa arrived back from Paris on a Sunday, so Anna and Max went to meet him in Zurich with Mama. It was a cool, bright day in early October and as they came back with him on the steamer they could see some new snow on the mountains.
Papa was very cheerful. He had enjoyed being in Paris. Although he had stayed in a scruffy little hotel to save money he had eaten delicious food and drunk lots of good wine. All these things were cheap in France. The editor of the Daily Parisian had been very nice and Papa had also spoken to the editors of several French papers. They too had said that they wanted him to write for them.
“In French?” asked Anna.
“Of course,” said Papa. He had had a French governess when he was small and could speak French as well as he spoke German.
“Are we all going to live in Paris then?” asked Max.
“Mama and I must talk about it first,” said Papa. But he clearly thought that they should.
“How lovely!” said Anna.
“Nothing’s been decided yet,” said Mama. “There may be possibilities in London too.”
“But it’s damp there,” said Anna.
Mama got quite cross. “Nonsense,” she said. “You don’t know anything about it.”
The trouble was that Mama did not speak much French. While Papa had learned French from his French governess Mama had learned English from an English governess. The English governess had been so nice that Mama had always wanted to see the country she came from.
“We’ll talk about it,” said Papa. Then he told them about the people he had met – old acquaintances from Berlin who had been distinguished writers, actors or scientists and were now trying to eke out a living in France.
“One morning I ran into that actor – you remember Blumenthal?” said Papa, and Mama knew at once whom he meant. “He’s opened a cake shop. His wife bakes the cakes and he serves behind the counter. I met him delivering apple strudel to a special customer.” Papa smiled. “The last time I’d seen him he was the guest of honour at a banquet at the Berlin Opera.”
He had also met a French journalist and his wife who had invited him several times to their home.
“They’re delightful people,” said Papa, “and they have a daughter about Anna’s age. If we go and live in Paris I’m sure you will like them enormously.”
“Yes,” said Mama, but she did not sound convinced.
For the next week or two Mama and Papa talked about Paris. Papa thought that he would be able to work there and that it would be a lovely place to live. Mama, who hardly knew Paris, had all sorts of practical considerations like the children’s education and what sort of a home they would find, to which Papa had not given much thought. In the end they agreed that she must go back to Paris with Papa and see for herself. After all, it was a very important decision.
“What about us?” asked Max.
He and Anna were sitting on the bed in their parents’ room where they had been summoned for a discussion. Mama had the only chair and Papa was perching like a rather elegant goblin on an upturned suitcase. It was a bit cramped but more private than downstairs.
“I think you’re old enough to look after yourselves for a few weeks,” said Mama.
“You mean we’d stay here on our own?” asked Anna. It seemed an extraordinary idea.
“Why not?” said Mama. “Frau Zwirn will keep an eye on you – she’ll see that your clothes are clean and that you go to bed at the right time. I think you can manage the rest yourselves.”
So it was settled. Anna and Max were to send their parents a postcard every other day, to let them know that everything was all right, and Mama and Papa would do the same. Mama asked them to remember to wash their necks and put on clean socks. Papa had something more serious to say to them.
“Remember that when Mama and I are in Paris you will be the only representatives of our family in Switzerland,” he said. “It’s a big responsibility.”
“Why?” asked Anna. “What will we have to do?”
Once, at the Berlin Zoo with Onkel Julius, she had seen a small mouse-like creature with a notice on its cage claiming that it was the only representative of its species in Germany. She hoped no one was going to come and stare at her and Max.
But this was not what Papa had meant at all.
“There are Jews scattered all over the world,” he said, “and the Nazis are telling terrible lies about them. So it’s very important for people like us to prove them wrong.”
“How can we?” asked Max.
“By being better than other people,” said Papa. “For instance, the Nazis say that Jews are dishonest. So it’s not enough for us to be as honest as anyone else. We have to be more honest.”
(Anna at once thought guiltily of the last time she had bought a pencil in Berlin. The man in the paper shop had not charged her quite enough and Anna had not pointed out the mistake. Suppose the Nazis had got to hear of this?)
“We have to be more hard-working than other people,” said Papa, “to prove that we’re not lazy, more generous to prove that we’re not mean, more polite to prove that we’re not rude.”
Max nodded.
“It
