How Huge the Night by Heather Munn Page A

him—”
    “She hit him? ”
    “With the purse! On the ear!”
    “Oh no. Oh no.”
    “It was hilarious , Julien! I almost died laughing!”
    “I’m happy for you,” he growled.
    “I’m sorry, okay? But honestly, that guy, I don’t know why you care—he’s an oaf in training, that’s what Rosa says. He comes to the café with those older jerks, and they act like they own the place. Listen, you should’ve heard Benjamin at supper, he can’t stop talking about you. He thinks you’re the best thing since baguettes.”
    Papa stuck his head in the door. “How’s the wounded soldier?”
    “Um. Not too bad.”
    Magali threw him a wink from behind their father and slipped out. Papa sat down on the bed. There was silence for a long moment. Julien looked down at his soup.
    “I’m sorry, Papa. I really am.”
    “I know,” said Papa quietly. “Listen, Julien. Tomorrow, we’ll have a talk about what happens when you start solving problems with violence, okay? But for now … well … you know,” he said, looking at Julien seriously, “it was true what I said about the look on your face. It shocked me.”
    Julien look at his soup, at his bed, at his hand.
    “No. Listen, Julien. I didn’t know then why you were doing it. Now I do.” Julien looked up. “Son, I want you to understand: you made the wrong choice in fighting him. But you made another choice today that was very right. You could have stood aside when they called him boche and pretended nothing happened. Very easily . You didn’t do that. For that, Julien, I’m proud of you.”
    Julien looked up into his father’s eyes. He felt a warmth spread through his chest.
    “Hey Papa. Is it … okay if I stay home from church tomorrow?”
    Papa grinned. “Julien, you want to hide that thing, you’ll have to stay in from now till Christmas. Hold your head up! At least you’ve got something to show for all that!”
    Julien grinned too.

Chapter 12
     

Everywhere
     
     
    In Trento there was a house; and the house had a door.
    It stood in a deserted place between railroad tracks and an old factory with broken windows and weeds growing up from the foundation . Most of the roof was caved in, but the kitchen was whole and had a chimney and a door. The kitchen was where they lived.
    At first, Niko slept like the dead. Gustav came and went; Niko woke long enough to wedge the door securely shut behind him and slept again. Gustav brought matches from somewhere and made a fire with bits of broken boards; Niko hung their wet clothes on a string in front of the chimney and slept again. Gustav brought food in greasy brown paper: cold pizza he’d been given at a restaurant’s back door. Niko ate, and slept.
    And they lived. Through the long day, Niko lay on her father’s eiderdown, looking into the fire, putting on more sticks and boards when it sank down; and at evening, Gustav came with food and stories. Showing her the routine he used at the back doors of restaurants , big puppy-dog eyes and a hand on his stomach, and “Food? Food for empty belly?” It made them laugh, he said. Italians liked a laugh, even when you were begging. He liked Italians, he said. A camp of Gypsies had settled out that way, he said, in the field across the drainage ditch. He said he liked them too.
    Then they would bed down by the fire, but now Niko could not sleep. She lay awake long hours in the dark, by the dim light of the fire, wondering. Wondering what Father knew.
    Everywhere there are evil men. It was why she stayed in this house and did not go out with Gustav. Everywhere. Was Uncle Yakov right, then? she asked Father. She asked God. What is this world you made? Father had told her stories of corpses piled up in ditches, just for being Jewish. He hadn’t said what happened to the women. But she could guess. God. Why? Why do you let them? She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t lie here all day and all night with only her and the questions in her head, and a God who did not