it out.
“Dear Anna,” it said, “I hope this little present will remind you of our many visits to the Berlin Zoo. It is not nearly so nice going there without you. Please give my love to your dear Aunt Alice. I hope she is well. Tell her I think of her often, and of her good advice which I should perhaps have taken. My love to you all. Yours, Onkel Julius.”
“What does it mean?” asked Anna. “We haven’t got an Aunt Alice.”
Papa took the letter from her. “I think he means me,” he said. “He calls me Aunt Alice because the Nazis often open letters and he could get into bad trouble if they knew that he was writing to me.”
“What advice did you give him?” asked Max.
“I told him to leave Germany,” said Papa and added under his breath, “Poor Julius.”
“I’ll write and thank him,” cried Anna, “and I’ll paint him a picture with my new paint box.”
“Yes,” said Papa, “and tell him Aunt Alice sends her love.”
Then suddenly Mama made a sound with which by now they were all familiar.
“My chicken!” she cried and rushed off to the kitchen. But it had not burned and soon they were sitting down to a real Christmas dinner, all cooked by Mama. As well as the chicken there were roast potatoes and carrots, and apple flan with cream to follow. Mama was becoming quite a good cook. She had even made gingerbread hearts because they belonged to a proper German Christmas. There was something wrong with them and they had gone soggy instead of being hard and crisp, but they tasted quite nice just the same.
At the end of the meal Papa poured them all some wine and they drank a toast.
“To our new life in France!” he said and they all repeated. “To our new life in France.”
Mama did not actually drink any of the wine because she said it all tasted like ink to her, but Anna liked it and drank a whole glassful. Her head felt muzzy when she finally got to bed and she had to close her eyes to stop the yellow lampshade and the wardrobe from whirling round and round.
It had been a nice Christmas, she thought. And soon she would go to school and find out what living in France was really like.
Anna did not go to school quite as soon as she had expected. Mama had arranged for Max to start at a lycée for boys early in January – a lycée was a French high school – but there were only very few lycées for girls in Paris and these were all full, with long waiting lists.
“We can’t afford a private school,” said Mama, “and I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to go to an école communale.”
“Why not?” asked Anna.
“They’re for children who are going to leave school very early and I don’t think the education is as good,” said Mama. “For instance, you wouldn’t be taught Latin.”
“I don’t need to learn Latin,” said Anna. “I’ll have my hands full trying to learn French. I’d just like to go to school!”
But Mama said, “There’s no rush. Give me a little while to look around.”
So Max went to school and Anna stayed at home. Max’s school was almost on the other side of Paris. He had to take the Metro early in the morning and did not get back till after five. Mama had chosen it, although it was so far away, because the boys there played football twice a week. At most French schools there was no time for games – only work.
The flat seemed dull and empty on the first day without Max. In the morning Anna went with Mama to do the shopping. The weather was bright and cold and she had grown so much in the past year that there was a huge gap between the top of her knitted socks and the hem of her winter coat. Mama looked at Anna’s goose-fleshy legs and sighed.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do about clothes for you,” she said.
“I’m all right,” said Anna. “I’m wearing the sweater you made me.”
This sweater, owing to Mama’s curious technique of knitting, had turned out so large and thick and dense that no cold could penetrate it, and was a most useful garment. The fact that only a few centimetres of Anna’s skirt protruded below it did not seem to matter.
“Well, if you’re sure you’re warm enough we’ll go to the market,” said Mama. “Everything is cheaper there.”
The market turned out to be some distance away and Anna carried Mama’s string bag while they walked through a number of winding little streets, until at last they emerged into a bustling road lined with shops and stalls. The stalls sold everything from vegetables to haberdashery and Mama insisted on inspecting them all before she bought anything, so as to be sure of getting the best value for her money.
The owners of shops and stalls alike were crying their wares, holding them up for people to see, and sometimes it was quite difficult for Anna and Mama to walk past, as onions and beautifully clean-scrubbed carrots were thrust in front of them to admire. Some shops specialized in only a few foods. One sold nothing but cheese, and there must have been at least thirty different kinds, all carefully wrapped in muslin, displayed on a trestle table on the pavement.
Suddenly, just as Mama was about to buy a red cabbage, Anna heard a strange French voice addressing them. It belonged to a lady in a green coat. She carried a bag bulging with purchases and was smiling at Anna with very friendly brown eyes. Mama, still thinking about the cabbage, did not recognize her for a moment. Then she cried, “Madame Fernand!” in a pleased voice and they all shook hands.
Madame Fernand did not speak any German but she and Mama talked in French to each other. Anna noticed that although Mama’s voice still did not sound very French she was talking more fluently than when they had first arrived. Then Madame Fernand asked Anna whether she could speak French, pronouncing the words so slowly and clearly that Anna could understand.
“A little,” said Anna, and Madame Fernand clapped her hands and cried, “Very good!” and told her that she had a perfect French accent.
Mama was still holding the red cabbage which she had been about to buy and Madame Fernand took it from her gently and put it back on the stall. Then she led Mama round the corner to another stall which they must have missed and which had much better red cabbages for less money. Prompted by Madame Fernand Mama bought not only a red cabbage but quite a lot of other vegetables and fruit, and before she left them Madame Fernand presented Anna with a banana, “To strengthen her for the walk home,” as Mama translated.
Mama and Anna were both much cheered by the encounter. Mama had met Madame Fernand and her journalist husband when she had first come to Paris with Papa and liked them both very much. Now Madame Fernand had asked her to ring up if she needed help or advice on anything. Her husband was going away for a few weeks but as soon as he got back she wanted Mama and Papa to come to dinner. Mama seemed very pleased at the prospect. “They’re such nice people,” she said, “and it would be lovely to have some friends in Paris.”
