Skating with the Statue of Liberty by Susan Lynn Meyer

room to write. But he checked, ‘I am in good health,’ and he sent his love to me and the children, and he also wrote—what was it, Jean-Paul?”
    “He said, ‘Tell Christophe’s family he is here with me and well.’ ” Jean-Paul recited the words from memory, bringing the postcard down from the mantelpiece and handing it to Maman.
    “So it’s such good news, you see!” Aunt Geraldine cried. “We’d been so worried.”
    “Why? I don’t remember Christophe and his family,” Maman said.
    “We couldn’t figure it out at first either,” Jean-Paul explained excitedly. “But then we remembered he’d mentioned a friend named Christophe when he first went into the army. We don’t know him or his family. But you see, the name—it’s a Christian name! So if Papa is with Christophe, it means he’s still in a camp for French prisoners of war.”
    “Ah,” Papa said slowly. “That
is
good news.”
    “I don’t get it,” Gustave said quietly to Papa.
    “They haven’t figured out he’s Jewish, so he’s in a camp with the other captured French soldiers,” Papa said. “The camps for soldiers are—” Papa hesitated. “Well, it seems those are better places to be than the camps for Jews.”
    “Tonight we have so much to celebrate! A letter from David! And Berthold has a job now! Congratulations!” Aunt Geraldine smiled at Papa. “And you’re working too, Lili! The boys are starting off well in school. We’re all so lucky. Jean-Paul, why don’t you show Gustave your room?”
    “Yeah—come look at my American comic books. The kids at school all trade them.”
    “Oh, those foolish comic books!” Aunt Geraldine said to Maman and Papa. “I wish he would spend half the time reading for school that he spends poring over them!”
    “But they’re so good for my English, Maman!” Jean-Paul said. “They’re easier to understand because of the pictures.”
    “Sure!
Zip! Pow! Blam!
Even I understand that much English! Go on!” Aunt Geraldine put her arm around her son affectionately, and Gustave noticed that Jean-Paul was now nearly a head taller than his mother. He had put on some weight in America too. After a month and a half here, he wasn’t so scrawny as he’d been on the ship.
    Jean-Paul had comics out all over his bed, and he had his own room. The apartment was enormous compared to Gustave’s. Madame Raymond, the relative they were living with, had two extra bedrooms, Jean-Paul explained, giving him the tour. His mother shared a big bedroom with Giselle, and Jean-Paul had a narrow maid’s room off the kitchen. It had only a tiny slit of a window, but it did have a model airplane hanging over the bed. “It used to be her son’s room,” Jean-Paul explained. “When we got here, there were some old books and games and also another airplane that he never finished that she said I could work on. I had to buy new paints, though. His were all dried up.”
    “Did those pants used to belong to her son too?” Gustave asked.
    “These?” Jean-Paul looked down at his pants and then at Gustave’s French ones. “No. Madame Raymond collected used clothes from her friends for me and Giselle. Your parents didn’t get you any American pants yet?”
    “No.”
    Jean-Paul looked embarrassed. “Sorry. That’s tough. I only have two pairs—one regular pair and one fancy. If I had more, I’d give you one. But since I only have two, I know my mom would kill me.”
    The rich, meaty smell of
cassoulet
was coming from the kitchen. “Dinner!” Aunt Geraldine called.
    As Aunt Geraldine served, she chattered nonstop to Maman about life in the Bronx, about her favorite bakery and the broken cookies they always saved for little Giselle; about Madame Raymond, who was very particular about food and how the kitchen was kept but kind about everything else; about the cold New York weather; and about the park nearby where she took Giselle to play. Aunt Geraldine was especially excited because she had met a French