She would visit her chamber, where Raphaël had made love to her and where she had felt the certitude of being a mother to Benjamin even as he was being nursed elsewhere by Léonie.
Lightning slashed the sky, followed by a roar of thunder. Claudette had imagined the worst-case scenario of Benjamin not recognizing her, hiding behind Léonie’s skirts, believing that his nursemaid was his mother. Never had she envisioned this nightmare.
Monsieur Vincent lifted the letter she had delivered. “The duchess asked that I provide you with lodging. The château is no longer hers to make requests, but out of loyalty to the family, I can permit you to room with some of the staff on the grounds.” He added, “Or you’ll find Fabienne Couture accommodating. She lost both her sons.”
Was Claudette supposed to thank him? She wouldn’t. Not when Benjamin was gone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sharon
Cherbourg, France
December 1968
Hanukkah will begin in a couple of weeks, and the eighth night of candle-lighting will be the day before Christmas Eve. A few days earlier, when the tide is high in these Normandy waters, Saar Seven will launch. It will be the first time Sharon sees a boat glide out of the hangar on massive tracks and hit the freezing ocean water with a tumultuous splash.
She is organizing the event that will take place in the afternoon and will be attended by local dignitaries. She’s procured paper napkins printed with the Israeli navy’s insignia from a supplier in Caen and placed an order with Café Parisien to serve food and alcohol in the hangar following the ceremony.
The four wives of the officers in the Israeli mission are planning the Hanukkah party. Dr. Hubert Vaiseman, the dentist who heads the town’s Jewish community, has secured the use of the church as a quasi-synagogue for families like Rachelle’s, Jews who put down roots here when they couldn’t afford to sail to America.
The Christmas lights that already glitter in the streets and shops add to the exhilaration of the upcoming festivities, and the excitement is palpable among the seamen at evening café gatherings. The tradition of Hanukkah that commemorates the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem after the Romans had desecrated it is deeply anchored in Israel’s secular society. Like the Rosh Hashanah celebration on Sharon’s arrival did, the upcoming Festival of Lights infuses her with a sense of shared culture. The wives’ planning committee gives recipes to local bakeries for batches of latkes—fried grated-potato pancakes—and sufganiyot, jam-filled doughnuts sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar. A chocolatier is at work creating Bible-themed foil-wrapped chocolate coins for the children. Cases of champagne and a matching number of bottles of orange juice, which most of the Israeli servicemen prefer, are ordered.
Even the recalcitrant Pazit has volunteered to instruct the fifteen local Jewish children on how to cut and glue colorful paper into the symbols of the holiday—menorahs, oil jars, candles, and dreidels.
Even after Saar Seven’s launch, Sharon hears no mention of the obvious fact that the boat’s freedom to leave and sail to Israel will be the second test of de Gaulle’s resolve to enforce the embargo. The challenge weighs heavily like the winter clouds auguring rain while the bustle of Hannukah preparations continues on the ground below.
When Sharon has lunch at Rachelle’s grandmother’s apartment, the old woman takes her hand and, voice trembling with emotion, says, “We were proud of Israel before, but meeting these young men—these strong Jewish servicemen in our community—our hearts are overflowing with pride. If only we had had Israel then—”
Then means “the Holocaust.” Sharon imagines the hopelessness and desperation this woman must have endured twenty-five years earlier. How amazing it is that the Israeli navy’s mission has revived this congregation and that Sharon, herself a daughter of a hunted Frenchwoman, is part of this team.
“Now will you find my granddaughter a nice Israeli husband?” the old woman adds.
Rachelle laughs, but Sharon has someone in mind. Later, she tells Rachelle about her new roommate Ehud, a reserve officer who’s just arrived for a month.
“Unmarried?” Rachelle asks.
Sharon giggles. “Single. An adorable hydroponic desert farmer with degrees in philosophy and theater.”
“Checks off everything on my wish list!”
That night Sharon brings her flute to the church and joins Naomi at the piano. A seaman has a guitar, and Kadmon, with his baritone voice, is the lead singer of the string of Hanukkah songs. Pazit is given a tambourine and a triangle to complete this odd musical ensemble.
This is the first time Sharon has played her instrument since it happened. How mistaken her initial reluctance to work for the navy was. It has offered her such a sense of camaraderie and personal accomplishment, she thinks as the familiar Jewish melodies fill the church.
The next afternoon, she joins the line of a dozen seamen at the post office and waits to place an international call to Savta. It takes over an hour before the operator summons her to the booth.
“I miss you so much!” she tells Savta, her heart billowing at hearing the voice that has soothed her for her entire life. She is unsure whether the accompanying crackling emanates from the cables stretching under the sea for six thousand kilometers or from Savta’s excitement.
“Yes, I received the suitcase with my flute and the winter clothes,” Sharon yells into the mouthpiece. “Thank you so much for the new sweater! It’s gorgeous. And the business suit is perfect for this weather. My new winter coat picks up the color in the plaid.” She loves the mundane conversation. “Most important, Savta, tell me: How are you feeling?”
“No point in complaining about age.” Savta reports that she plays cards a few afternoons a week, and afterward there’s always someone to go to a café or a movie with. The entire family comes for Friday-night dinner, which keeps her busy shopping and cooking starting on Wednesday. She is free of labor on Saturdays, when she visits one of her children’s homes for the cholent lunch.
Sharon thinks of Savta’s six-bedroom apartment, mostly empty now, once home to a bustling family, often with rambunctious children, including herself. Savta is alone. “Please don’t save on the cleaning woman’s services,” Sharon says.
“She comes every week, and your cousins take turns daily refilling my kerosene heater.” Sharon hears Savta’s smile as she adds, “So, how is Diaspora?”
Sharon giggles. “Diaspora does me good, as you said it would.”
“I was hoping it would be Paris, not some godforsaken town with no cultural life.”
“I get there sometimes. I send you postcards from every museum I visit! You’ll also be glad to know that I gained a couple of kilos.”
Neither mentions that there is no news of the Dakar, that the wait for the funeral is stretching beyond what anyone thought possible almost eleven months earlier.
When Sharon returns to the office, she’s surprised to find Danny there, drumming his fingers on his desk while staring at the black telephone. He’s been out at sea every day, testing Saar Seven since its launch. “I’ve ordered a call to the kibbutz secretary,” he says. “My parents are waiting there, but the international operator is not calling back.” As an officer, Danny is entitled to place personal international calls despite their exorbitant cost. He glances at his watch. “I must return to my crew. Please call the operator to cancel so we won’t be charged.”
Sharon does. An hour later the phone rings, and the international operator informs Sharon that the requested party is on the line.
“It’s been canceled,” Sharon says, but already she hears excited voices. “I’m sorry,” she tells whoever is on the other end of the line. “Danny waited for an hour, but then had to leave.”
“This is his father.” The man has a nicotine-cured voice, and Sharon recognizes the confident, no-nonsense cadence of a kibbutznik’s speech, typical of men and women rooted in the country’s soil and soul. “We understand the call of duty.”
“I’m sure he’ll try again tomorrow,” she says. “Happy Hanukkah.”
“To you too.”
“Wait!” The three minutes are already charged. “Since I have you on the phone, my name is Sharon, and I work with the team. Danny wanted to lend me his advanced math textbook. Would you know where it is?”
