Separation by J.S. Frankel Page A

forthcoming until Leo tapped him on the arm. “I have idea,”
he said, his mood brightening somewhat. “Come with me.”
    What was up with the assertive bit? There was
no need for anyone to prove themselves, but once he saw the target,
he played along. They trotted over to the people who were getting
out of their truck, and Harry offered a greeting in a most cheerful
air. “Hi, how would you like some passengers?”
    It had to be the most naïve as well as the
stupidest idea around, but this was the perfect situation in which
to try it. The leader of the group turned his head and began to
smile, nodding his head up and down in a rapid motion. Gesturing to
his friends, they also began to nod and then clapped their hands.
Words in Italian began flying back and forth, and finally, with
hearty “Si” it seemed as though a deal had been struck.
    Leo nodded and switched to English. “They
will take us. Get your wife and our friend.”
    Harry whistled, and Anastasia bounded over
with Istvan under one arm. “Have we got a ride?”
    “We’ll fit right in.” He pointed at the
truck—a circus truck, one of three.
    Immediately, she let out a giggle. “Yeah, I
guess we will.”
    Clambering into the back, they nestled among
the supplies. Harry searched around and found a few loaves of bread
and cheese, while Istvan sniffed out a jug of water. Soon, the food
and water disappeared, with Anastasia ingesting most of it. They
all got comfortable and Harry posed the question to Leo, “What did
you say to them?”
    “I say we are performers. We seek work. We
are clowns, yes?”
    Talk about sharp! Leo had pretty useful
assets, the gift of gab being one of them. “Yeah, we’re clowns. Are
they going to take us to Lyon?”
    A nod came his way. “They will get us over
the border. They do not know about us being... what we are. Once we
cross, we go to Lyon. I say we must go to Lyon. That is about two
hundred fifty miles.”
    Harry rapidly calculated the time and
distance—they might just make it. Harry thanked him and settled
back, Anastasia in his arms. The truck bounced merrily along, but
he barely felt the jolts. Instead, he held onto his wife tightly
and soon exhaustion overtook him and he slept.
     
    “We are here,” a voice said.
    Harry immediately awoke. Leo thrust his face
close to his. “We are outside Paris. The truck driver, he say he
must go on without us.”
    Shaking his companions awake, Harry poked his
head out the back of the truck. The sun felt glorious and he basked
in its warmth for a moment. Clambering outside, he waited for his
wife and Istvan to emerge. After they did, the truck drove off.
    Anastasia asked, “So what do we do now? Can
we hitch a ride?”
    It didn’t seem possible. They’d arrived at
noon and they were out in the open. Additionally, two hundred-plus
miles separated them from their destination. Harry glanced around,
saw nothing in the way of transportation, and then turned around to
focus on Leo. “Do you know this guy Lambert?”
    The mole-man shook his head, but Istvan spoke
up. “I know of him. I heard the Monsignor talk about him, and I
know his computer address.”
    Why didn’t he say so before? For a
second, Harry felt more than a little put out, but checked his
anger. He hadn’t thought to ask. “Tell me. I’ll send him a
message.”
    Getting the information, Harry sent an email,
then waited for a reply, tapping his fingers impatiently on the
keyboard until the computer let out a faint pinging sound. One
email was there. Opening it, he read Thank you for contacting
us. We will come to meet you. Please wait about three
hours.
    With nothing better to do, the four of them
hunkered down in a nearby forest and waited. Anastasia’s morning
sickness continued and she quietly crept off to toss her cookies
while Istvan and Leo foraged for some food. Harry kept watch, but
no one seemed to be coming after them, and for a moment, he forgot
about their predicament.
    A memory, though, of