Facing the Lion. Simone Arnold-Liebster

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      Our appointment with Aunt Valentine was a welcome change. It was a foggy October afternoon, and I was happy to get away from the awkward situation at home. Aunt Valentine was waiting for us at the streetcar stop. Around her neck, keeping her warm, was her fox fur with its staring glass eyes. The smell of mothballs surrounded her. Angele wasn’t with her.

      I was to choose a gift that Aunt Valentine would get for me, and Mum would buy a gift for Angele. I selected a sewing kit.

      The odor of the broiling chestnuts filled the air of the business section in Mulhouse. As we approached the station, we passed by a man who had a big iron pan upon a coal fire. Once in a while he would turn the chestnuts. Meanwhile, he made small cone-shaped cups from newspaper. Handing him some money, Aunt Valentine asked for some and offered me the hot grilled chestnuts. What a delightful afternoon! I forgot all about Father’s anger.

      We hurried along because of the late afternoon hour. My gift made me so happy, especially because it was my aunt’s first gift to me, and I had been allowed to choose it! “Mum, Dad will be happy too, won’t he?”

      “Certainly, but do you realize how tired he is? Lately he hasn’t played with you very much; he’s even skipped looking over your schoolwork. Maybe he doesn’t feel up to it tonight; so don’t insist. It might be better if you go to your room and have a chat with Claudine.”

      The two flights of stairs seemed to be only a few steps. I ran up to Dad. “Look, Dad, look what I got!” I tore open my parcel to show him my gift. Dad sat in his armchair doing nothing. It was so strange. He always said that only bums and dead people do nothing. I handed my gift to him.

      “Mm hmm.”

      “Isn’t it lovely, Dad?”

      “Mm hmm.”

      “Aunt Valentine bought it for me.”

      “Oh, did she?”

      “But I chose it.”

      “I see.” Mother’s blue eyes told me to let Dad rest.

      I went to my doll Claudine and showed her my beautiful box covered with flowered fabric. Inside were colorful spools of thread and little scissors. At least she appreciated it.

      A heavy silence enveloped our family. Mother didn’t try to communicate with Dad, who had no voice anymore. Dad’s sickness must have become much worse. My room too was strange, empty. The only thing left on my shelf after my destructive zeal was the innocent baby doll. It had always been in my way, and now it bothered me even more. It represented my conscience, a solemn thing to look at, but Mother had insisted that it stay there. The gloomy days seemed endless.

      Back at school, Mademoiselle accepted my dahlias with indifference and put them in an ugly pot on the windowsill. She certainly doesn’t like dahlias anymore, I thought. I often used to give her flowers, and she would put them in a nice vase, while smiling and thanking me. But even flowers didn’t cheer her up anymore. She looked sick, too.

      Finally, after many gray days, a pale white sun appeared. A timid ray of sunshine hit a parcel lying on the table in the salon. Mum took my schoolbag and pointing to the wrapped package said, “Dad has ordered a book from the Bible Students Association in Strasbourg.[5] This is a surprise; we won’t say a word. Perhaps he wants to read it in secret,” putting her finger on her mouth to indicate silence about the matter and taking an air of conspiracy, she added, “Shhh!”

      When Dad came home from the morning shift, he entered the salon, took the book, and let it drop noisily on the table. “They really are in a hurry! I only wrote a few days ago.”

      For days, the parcel just sat there waiting to be opened, and the intensity in Mother’s eyes told me to keep silent and wait.