just because he’s a man. But they’ve got no idea what a good cook he is. I wonder if Mama knew that about him.
He’d bought a newspaper too, which he didn’t usually do because he said they were rubbish. Papa said the same thing but sometimes he picked one up so we’d have something to light the fire with afterwards. Anyway, the Prof read his paper and let me eat.
The encyclopedia was where I’d left it, open at the eels. It was lucky it hadn’t fallen off onto the floor because the whole room was really wet under our feet, just as bad as a street gets after it rains really hard. There were even some deep puddles. Bad tiling, the Prof said.
When he’d read his newspaper he threw sheets of it down to soak up the worst puddles. That’s when I saw the date. It was 15 October. I’d forgotten to count.
Again
.
My birthday. I am ten.
I didn’t say anything to the Prof because he’d get all embarrassed and start thinking he should get a cake for me, or something else that was impossible. I’d been wondering if the Corrados would get a card in the post for me, from Mama and Papa. But if they had, surely Signor Corrado would have delivered it.
I wanted a card more than anything. Because today it’s exactly three months since I saw my family. And if what happened on that day hadn’t happened, I’d be with them now, wherever they are. We’d all be together and they’d know it was my birthday and it wouldn’t matter that there wasn’t any cake or presents or stuff.
The Prof said he was going to knock at the good neighbour’s door and see if there was a mop or some cloths he could borrow. Then we’d mop up the kitchen, just the two of us, and when that was done he was going to get a locksmith to come and fix the door. I’d have to go back to the attic.
So that’s what we did on 15 October 1942. We cleaned up the big mess in the kitchen and then I went upstairs to my room.
Outside on the street the firemen had left some pipes lying around. I saw a delivery van from the Bon Marché store coming along, pulled by two big grey horses. When the horses saw the pipes they wouldn’t go any further, even though the driver used his big whip on them. He had to climb down and pull out a hamper from the van and walk. I couldn’t see which number he knocked at but it was a few houses down. The Prof must have some really rich neighbours if they get deliveries like that.
Before it got completely dark I tore out a page from this notebook and made a birthday card for myself. It didn’t say anything very much because I don’t know what my family is doing right now. This is all it says:
“To our beloved Jonas on the occasion of his tenth birthday from his mama and papa, and also from his dear sister Nadia.”
The first part is what our parents always put on our birthday cards. I just added Nadia this time because I didn’t want her to feel left out.
On the inside I drew a cartoon of my fleas. Only instead of pulling carriages they were marching in a band. Athos had a trumpet, Porthos a big drum sitting on his fat tummy, and Aramis a triangle that had two crotchets jumping out of it. Drawing the cartoon cheered me up, though I bet Mama wouldn’t have liked it as much as I did.
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED ON 15 JULY 1942
We never had any visitors in rue des Lions. Except for Giselle Bauer, of course, and she doesn’t count. Papa went out on his own if he wanted to meet someone and Mama never went out at all, except with us and Papa, or to the shops to queue for food. On Sundays Signor Corrado or Alfredo called for me and brought me home again but they never came inside.
But on the morning of 15 July, Mama came into the room where Nadia and I slept. She shook me awake.
“Hurry up, Jonas, and go downstairs. Signor Corrado is knocking at the door for you and calling out like a madman.”
Signor Corrado! But I’d been helping him just the day before. It was a Tuesday, not a Sunday, but that’s because Tuesday was the
He’d bought a newspaper too, which he didn’t usually do because he said they were rubbish. Papa said the same thing but sometimes he picked one up so we’d have something to light the fire with afterwards. Anyway, the Prof read his paper and let me eat.
The encyclopedia was where I’d left it, open at the eels. It was lucky it hadn’t fallen off onto the floor because the whole room was really wet under our feet, just as bad as a street gets after it rains really hard. There were even some deep puddles. Bad tiling, the Prof said.
When he’d read his newspaper he threw sheets of it down to soak up the worst puddles. That’s when I saw the date. It was 15 October. I’d forgotten to count.
Again
.
My birthday. I am ten.
I didn’t say anything to the Prof because he’d get all embarrassed and start thinking he should get a cake for me, or something else that was impossible. I’d been wondering if the Corrados would get a card in the post for me, from Mama and Papa. But if they had, surely Signor Corrado would have delivered it.
I wanted a card more than anything. Because today it’s exactly three months since I saw my family. And if what happened on that day hadn’t happened, I’d be with them now, wherever they are. We’d all be together and they’d know it was my birthday and it wouldn’t matter that there wasn’t any cake or presents or stuff.
The Prof said he was going to knock at the good neighbour’s door and see if there was a mop or some cloths he could borrow. Then we’d mop up the kitchen, just the two of us, and when that was done he was going to get a locksmith to come and fix the door. I’d have to go back to the attic.
So that’s what we did on 15 October 1942. We cleaned up the big mess in the kitchen and then I went upstairs to my room.
Outside on the street the firemen had left some pipes lying around. I saw a delivery van from the Bon Marché store coming along, pulled by two big grey horses. When the horses saw the pipes they wouldn’t go any further, even though the driver used his big whip on them. He had to climb down and pull out a hamper from the van and walk. I couldn’t see which number he knocked at but it was a few houses down. The Prof must have some really rich neighbours if they get deliveries like that.
Before it got completely dark I tore out a page from this notebook and made a birthday card for myself. It didn’t say anything very much because I don’t know what my family is doing right now. This is all it says:
“To our beloved Jonas on the occasion of his tenth birthday from his mama and papa, and also from his dear sister Nadia.”
The first part is what our parents always put on our birthday cards. I just added Nadia this time because I didn’t want her to feel left out.
On the inside I drew a cartoon of my fleas. Only instead of pulling carriages they were marching in a band. Athos had a trumpet, Porthos a big drum sitting on his fat tummy, and Aramis a triangle that had two crotchets jumping out of it. Drawing the cartoon cheered me up, though I bet Mama wouldn’t have liked it as much as I did.
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED ON 15 JULY 1942
We never had any visitors in rue des Lions. Except for Giselle Bauer, of course, and she doesn’t count. Papa went out on his own if he wanted to meet someone and Mama never went out at all, except with us and Papa, or to the shops to queue for food. On Sundays Signor Corrado or Alfredo called for me and brought me home again but they never came inside.
But on the morning of 15 July, Mama came into the room where Nadia and I slept. She shook me awake.
“Hurry up, Jonas, and go downstairs. Signor Corrado is knocking at the door for you and calling out like a madman.”
Signor Corrado! But I’d been helping him just the day before. It was a Tuesday, not a Sunday, but that’s because Tuesday was the
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