Noah's Child Read Free Page A

hiding a Jewish family!’
    â€˜Search wherever you like,’ she said haughtily, ‘put a stethoscope to the walls, break open trunks, turn over all the beds: you won’t find anything. On the other hand, I can guarantee you will be hearing from me first thing tomorrow morning.’
    â€˜Someone has come forward with information, Madame.’
    Still keeping her composure, the Comtesse showed her indignation that they would believe anyone at the drop of a hat. She warned that this would not stop here, it would go all the way to the palace because she was a close friend of the Queen’s, then she announced that this blunder would cost these little civil servants their jobs – oh yes, they could take her word on that!
    â€˜Now, do your searches! And get on with it!’
    Confronted with so much confidence and indignation, the officer in charge almost took a step back.
    â€˜May I ask you who this child is, Madame?’
    â€˜My nephew. His father is General von Grebels. Do I need to show you a family tree? You’re trying tocommit career suicide, my man!’
    After a fruitless search, the officers left feeling awkward and ashamed, and mumbling their apologies.
    The Comtesse leaped out of bed. Her nerves at breaking point, she started laughing and crying at the same time.
    â€˜There, you’ve found out one of my secrets, Joseph, one of my womanly tricks.’
    â€˜What’s that?’
    â€˜Making accusations instead of giving explanations. Attacking when under suspicion. Lashing out rather than going on the defensive.’
    â€˜Is it just for women?’
    â€˜No, you can use it too.’
    The following day the de Sullys told me I could not stay with them any longer because their lie would not stand up to investigation.
    â€˜Father Pons is going to come and he’ll take care of you. You couldn’t be in better hands. You should call him “Father”.’
    â€˜Yes, Uncle.’
    â€˜You won’t call him Father so that people think he’s your father, like calling me Uncle. His name is Pierre Pons but everyone calls him Father.’
    â€˜Even you?’
    â€˜Even us. He’s a priest. We call him Father when we speak to him. So do the German soldiers. Everyone does. Even people who don’t believe.’
    â€˜People who don’t believe he’s their father?’
    â€˜Even people who don’t believe in God.’
    I was very impressed at the thought of meeting someone who was ‘Father’ to the whole world, or was taken to be. He must be very important, anyway, because I’d heard that name Pons before: the Comtesse had introduced me to something she called pierre ponce * , which sounded just the same. It was a soft light piece of grey stone that she gave me when I was in the bath, and told me to rub my feet with it to remove toughened dead skin. This mouse-shaped thing fascinated me because it could float (not something you would expect of a stone) and changed colour as soon as it was wet (going from greyish white to coal black).
    â€˜So is there some connection between Father Pons and pierre ponce ?’ I asked.
    The de Sullys burst out laughing.
    â€˜I don’t see what’s so funny,’ I said, put out. ‘He could have discovered it . . . or invented it. I mean, someone had to!’
    No longer laughing at me, the de Sullys nodded their heads.
    â€˜You’re right, Joseph: it could have been him. But there’s actually no connection between them.’
    Still, when Father Pons rang the doorbell and came into the de Sullys’ house I knew straight away it was him.
    This tall, narrow man looked as if he was made up of two separate parts that were completely unrelated: his head and the rest of him. His body seemed weightless, a length of fabric with no contours, a black robe so flat it could have been on a hanger, and peeping from beneath it were shiny boots that didn’t seem to be attached