Two Testaments (23 page)

The docks at the bassin de la Joliette in Marseille had finally cleared of most of the pied-noirs. The way they arrived in France was a pitiful sight to see, mused the old concierge as he shuffled through the huge ferry, picking up a stray scarf, a lost mitten, an empty carton of cigarettes. People fleeing for their lives with nothing but a suitcase in their hand and a hollow, hopeless look in their eyes.

And what the devil was France supposed to do with them? Mighty fine fix that President General de Gaulle had gotten them into now. The papers claimed the president had not expected such an exodus. Already over two hundred thousand had left Algeria, with hundreds of thousands more expected. And where would these pied-noirs end up? On the doorstep of France. As far as he was concerned, they should have stayed in Algeria. That was their home, they had insisted all throughout the war. They might have been French citizens, but everyone knew that the pied-noirs were different.

His trash sack was almost full, the fifth one from this ferry. He came near the toilets and paused for a breath, wheezing.

“Now what do we have here?” He tapped a large wooden trunk with his knuckles. “
Bon sang
, how in the world did this get on the boat? And now someone’s just left it here for me to deal with. Ignore the regulations and then leave the treasure.”

He tried to lift the lid. A small lock held it in place.

“And how in the heck am I gonna get this stinking box off the ferry? Break my back, hauling it around.
Punaise!
” He pulled on a handle, and the trunk slid awkwardly toward him. To his surprise, it wasn’t too heavy.

Ten minutes later the old trunk sat on the dock, surrounded by overflowing bags of trash and lost clothing, waiting for someone to come and claim it.

“Am I supposed to pay the postage to get it to some little village in the Midi?” The concierge laughed. “Ha! Let it sit there till it rots.”

14

The rest in Switzerland had done her good. Mother Griolet closed her eyes and saw the perfectly manicured green slopes outside the Cohens’ chalet where the cows grazed, shaking their big, lazy heads at the flies, causing the thick bells around their necks to go
thunk, thunk
. She recalled the vivid colors, the crisp air, the landscape so perfect it looked as if an artist had painted it.

Two weeks there had brought back a little vigor to her steps. She’d changed her will, and M. Cohen had offered several suggestions for the orphanage. But her best idea lay within the hands of the fiery redhead who at any minute would burst into the office, full of enthusiasm and energy. She hoped that somehow God was preparing Gabriella for this encounter.

Moments later Gabriella arrived, out of breath, eyes shining. She fell into the chair and pulled her long, curly hair into a thick strand, lifting it off her shoulders. “Whew! I’m burning up. Those kids are wild at tag!” She wiped a bit of perspiration from her forehead and straightened in her chair. “Sister Rosaline said you wanted to see me. Is something wrong?”

Mother Griolet smiled serenely. “No, my child. Everything is fine. I was just remembering the scenery of Switzerland and thanking the Lord for that vacation. You girls have spoiled me.”

“Oh, not a bit! Sister Rosaline says she should have forced you out years ago. I don’t see how you keep going.”

“Yes, well, it is precisely about this that I wanted to talk to you. About my future.” The old nun leaned back in her black cushioned chair. “The Lord has brought to my attention through these last incidents that I have neglected to prepare myself and the orphanage for my eventual retirement.”

Gabriella sat still, a look of concern on her face.

“I have ignored the problem for many years because I didn’t want to admit that I was, shall we say, mortal. So foolish of me.”

Gabriella opened her mouth to protest, but Mother Griolet hurried on. “Don’t defend me, child. I have been wrong. Proud. Thinking I was indispensable, God’s answer for the orphans. But He is the One with the answers.”

She looked away. “I was so afraid that the church would send a strict, rigid woman to replace me, and I would have no say in the matter. It terrified me, the thought of an orphanage completely devoid of love.”

“But what of Sister Rosaline and Sister Isabelle?” Gabriella asked. “They’re perfectly capable!”

“Yes, they are. They are wonderful women. But they cannot teach. And this orphanage has always been a school too.”

“Oh,” Gabriella mumbled. “I see.”

“I have been praying for these weeks, asking the Lord to show me what to do.” The nun hesitated, moistening her lips. “And I have come back again and again to you.”

“Me?” Gabriella laughed. “What do you mean, Mother Griolet?”

“I mean,
mon enfant
, that I want to ask you to consider becoming my apprentice, with the eventual goal of taking my place as director of the orphanage.”

Gabriella’s face went white. Silence invaded the room.

“I’m sorry to shock you, Gabriella. You don’t have to answer right away.”

“Me, the director of the orphanage? But that’s impossible! I’m not even Catholic. And I’m certainly not a nun and … and excuse me for saying it, but I don’t want to be one. I’d make an awful nun! And I’m only twenty-one. I haven’t finished school. My parents would never approve of my leaving my studies. And as for teaching, well, I enjoy it, but I’ve only had two years of studies in Dakar. This is my first practical experience—”

“Hold on, dear! Slow down.” Mother Griolet chuckled. “You sound like Moses in front of the burning bush. My, wasn’t he full of excuses?”

She stood and came around her desk and placed her hands on Gabriella’s shoulders. The young woman looked up at the old nun, her blue eyes full of questions.

“My child, don’t be afraid. I would not throw this in your lap all at once. You would be my apprentice for the next year, maybe two, learning the ropes. How do you Americans say it? Ah yes, an internship. A paid internship. At the same time, you could finish your teaching degree at the Faculté des Lettres in Montpellier. Get your teaching degree and let me train you at the same time.”

She could see that Gabriella was not at all convinced. “Dear child, God will provide. He has always provided in the past. Perhaps I am wrong; perhaps it is not you He has chosen. All I ask is that you consider it. Before you answer, I simply ask that you talk to the Lord about it.”

Gabriella frowned. “Mother Griolet, I’m not afraid to ask, but how can I be sure that what I hear will be from Him?”

“Trust, Gabriella. God does not change. Neither does His Word. Through all the changes in our lives, He does not change. He is perfectly trustworthy.”

“And what if He says yes and I say no? What if I don’t want it?”

“God is perfectly capable of convincing you of His will, if you listen. He is also perfectly capable of redirecting a stubborn old nun.”

In those few minutes, Gabriella’s whole appearance changed. Worry lined her face, and her shoulders slumped as if a real weight had been placed on her back. “Why are there so many decisions in life? Why won’t they just go away and leave me alone for a while?”

“Shh, now, my child.” Mother Griolet caressed Gabriella’s hair, and the young woman rested her head in the nun’s skirts. “We will talk again soon about all your fears. For now, let’s leave it with Him. Shall I pray for you? For us?”

Gabriella nodded, her head still bent, and Mother Griolet prayed.

She shut the door as Gabriella left the office, then stood for a moment in the middle of the small room. The faces of the orphans smiled down at her from the walls. So many, many years ago, when she had been a young woman, she had stepped into a calling that left her scared and unsure. But God had been faithful every step of the way.

Mother Griolet chuckled. Gabriella was right. She would make a poor nun. “But that is not what I am asking,” she said softly. “I am only asking her to be herself. That will be quite enough for this old orphanage, I am sure.”

The balding, heavyset old man who met Hussein at the train station wore a foolish grin on his face.
He would not be smiling if he knew why I’m here
, Hussein thought. He had to act polite and very, very thankful. But not too happy. He needed to show grief in his eyes too. It was a role for an actor, not a fourteen-year-old boy.

“Well, we are certainly glad to see you, Hussein,” the old man said. “I’m M. Vidal. You’ll find the orphanage is a bit crowded—a mixture of French children and pied-noirs and, of course, harki children like yourself.”

He talked on and on in the dullest voice. Hussein hung his head sullenly, glancing up from time to time to nod or mumble an answer to a question. All the while he took careful note of every detail of information.

When they arrived at the orphanage, M. Vidal explained that the other children were in class and led Hussein across a courtyard enclosed by buildings. “Here is the boys’ dorm. Your cot is there in the corner, right beside Hakim’s. You’ll like Hakim. An Arab, like you.” The old man rubbed his chin. “How old are you, Hussein?”

“Fourteen.”

“Ah, fourteen! Really? I would never have guessed from your size …” M. Vidal grew flustered.

Everyone did that when they realized they had mistaken him for a much younger child. Hussein wished the boring old man would leave him alone.

“You must be tired. Perhaps I should let you rest?”

“Yes, that would be good.
Je suis vraiment crevé.
”

“Yes, well, that’s to be expected.” He rubbed his bald head. “Hmm. You can keep your things inside this dresser. I’ll tell Mother Griolet that you’re here.”

“
Merci, monsieur
,” Hussein grumbled. “It was very kind of you to come and get me.”

“
Pas de quoi.
Good luck, my boy. I’ll be seeing you around.”

As soon as M. Vidal left the dormitory, Hussein opened every drawer in the dresser. They were filled with clothes. He cursed, then laughed. Extra clothes meant extra hiding places for his weapons. He started to unpack his sports bag, then hesitated, wondering if the nuns around this place checked through the kids’ belongings.

The room was crowded with eight bunk beds and three cots. Each bed had an old, mismatched dresser beside it. A few of the dressers were really oversized trunks. Hussein thought of the trunk left on the ferry. Maybe it would have been a good idea to bring it after all. Too bad.

He walked into the hall. A bathroom with three shower stalls and several toilets and urinals was just outside the main room. Beside the bathroom were two other rooms, their doors locked. At the end of the hall, he found the girls’ bathroom and dormitory.

As he headed back into the boys’ dorm, he saw an old nun approaching across the courtyard. Quickly he emptied the contents of one of his drawers into another and stuffed his sports bag into the first, sitting down on his cot as she entered the dorm.

“
Bonjour
, Hussein,” she huffed, out of breath. “God be praised, you’re here. I’m Mother Griolet, the director of the orphanage. I hope you will be comfortable here. Sister Rosaline has put some things in the drawers for you.” She walked toward the dresser.