Simone Arnold-Liebster - Facing the Lion

My father needed protection? He was afraid? He slept in a shop among ink and didn’t have spots on his shirt? So strange!

Father ate and talked all at once, using strange words. I had never seen him so agitated. His face turned red and his voice was tight. I was afraid that he might drop dead.

He continued his speech. Such strange words: proletarian, communists, socialism, slogans, claims, salaries, human rights, dominating class, confidence.

I got tired of listening to all that nervous talk. I went out onto the balcony. The kitchen light shone on the blue and white petunias and the red geraniums, but the night had silenced the birds and the bees.

“Daddy, look! The sky has put on its velvet evening dress with its diamonds.”

Dad finally stopped talking and came out; he lifted me up in his arms, while Mum took the dishes away.

“Simone, those diamonds are stars. They are very big, but they are far away.” Pointing to some of them above our heads, he added, “See those four stars in a square with three stars as a tail?”

“Oh yes, it’s a pan.”

“Those are called the ‘big bear.’”

“I can’t see a bear!”

“You can’t because we cannot see all the stars.”

“Oh, I understand—the bear is in the pan!”

From then on, I kept looking in the dark velvet sky trying to find the “big bear,” but every evening the pan stayed empty.

SUMMER 1936

During summer vacation, Mum and I went up to Grandma and Grandpa’s place. The summer slowly passed away, taking along the hot sunny days. Mum had almost finished her sewing work. Uncle Germain was happy with his new shirts, Grandpa was pleased with his new velvet trousers, and Grandma enjoyed her remodeled church hat. It had lilac ribbons and flowers. She would cause a sensation when she attended Mass.

For the last time that year, Grandpa diverted the cold mountain water from the trough. The water warmed up in the midday sun, and my cousin Angele and I would cool off in it. But first we had to rest, lying on the couch, between holy Joseph and holy Mary. The light was subdued because of the half-shut blinds; beneath them a row of jam-filled jars were cooling off. The colors, from wine red to bright yellow, caught the rays of sunlight. Some of the jars had gold and others had rubies. I listened to the buzzing of the bees and flies trying desperately to come through the window. It was one of my favorite melodies! I dreamed with open eyes, picturing myself as a saint in heaven.

I was glad when Mum said, “Tomorrow, Dad will come here. Afterwards, he will go to Mass in Krüth.”

Early the next morning, Grandpa stood at the fountain washing himself. He plunged his head and torso into the cold water. Then looking up at the sky, he announced that he would not go down to Mass, but rather would try to gather the cows before the black clouds hanging over the forest between Oderen and Krüth overtook the Bergenbach farm.

“I hope Adolphe makes it. It looks like a very bad storm is building.”

I was disappointed. I loved to go to church with Grandpa. Grandma and Mum came up from church, Grandma holding her new hat against the wind, and Mum fighting with her dress. They both arrived out of breath, as did the excited cows. Everyone wanted to get inside at once. Aunt Valentine, who had kitchen duty, got all the candles ready in case the electricity was cut off. She ran out to the garden to get some lettuce before it was all destroyed by a hailstorm.

It wasn’t raining yet, but the rolling of the thunder signalled that the storm was near. Grandma ran to the most secret place of the farm, taking along her rosary. Her fear was contagious. Angele started crying, her mother trembling. Uncle Germain turned white and sent me inside. He pointed to the dog, who had gone into his house and put his head between his front legs. He looked at us with wet, imploring black eyes. The rooster was the last one to enter its coop, a squall of shameless wind blowing its tail feathers like a fan.

A big drop fell on my head and another one on my nose when a flash illuminated the Bergenbach. “One, two,” the thunder drummed. “Only two kilometers away,” said Grandpa. I sat down on the sill separating the kitchen from the next room and looked at Mum’s face. She had that same inward-turned face I had seen when Dad was locked in the factory.

Then the downpour began. “If Adolphe is in the forest right now, it will be dangerous.” Aunt Valentine’s voice was dramatic as she continued, “If he is out of the forest, he won’t be able to take shelter under the tree.” And turning toward us two girls she said, “Remember, girls, never go under a tree when there is lightning.” She pulled the meat soup aside to keep it from boiling over. She added to her silent sister, “and if he runs to escape, the flash may hit him.” While loading the fire with a damp log, she went on. “And never run, never use an umbrella.”

Mum was roaming from one place to the other. So was the dog’s bowl in the courtyard.

A silhouette sneaked under the vine and up to the door. Dad looked half his size, standing there soaking wet. But what a relief when he entered the house!

Firelighter

A flash came that gave us no time for counting. “That one,” said Grandpa, “hit the rock behind the house.” Dad unfolded himself as he entered the kitchen. He was careful because of the porcelain dish that hung down from the ceiling and served as a shade to the electric bulb. Mother took his wet jacket off and went to get some old dry clothes, while Aunt Valentine served him a bowl of hot soup.

tlc

Simone and Father in the Oderen valley, 1935

Dad started eating. He asked Uncle Germain for a cigarette even though, like everyone else, he vigorously condemned the young abbot who smoked secretly. On the wall was an electric fire lighter. At the very moment Dad went close to it to light his cigarette, a flash struck the apple tree in front of the house just next to the electric wire. Dad was thrown up to the ceiling. He landed on his back on the floor. Everyone shouted, “Adolphe, Adolphe!”

Aunt Valentine lit the candles. In the flickering light, Father lay on the floor looking whiter than chalk.

“He’s breathing,” said Aunt Valentine to Mum, who had just come back with dry clothes. Both sisters said, “Thank God.” Slowly Dad opened his eyes.

“Can you move your legs?”

He tried and they worked. Mine didn’t—I was paralyzed.

“I’m all right, just a little dizzy,” he said, and to prove it he got up, hung up his wet clothes and drank the famous Sunday meat soup.

Another flash made us all tremble, but the next one hit the other side of the valley. The rainfall weakened. In the garden, the plants, overloaded with water, were tired and were lying down for a rest. Grandma came out of her hiding place, went to the holy water basin, and made the sign of the cross. “We have escaped fire with all that warm, fresh hay upstairs,” she said.

The meal tasted even better after the heavens had been appeased. Grandma made a cross with her knife on the fresh loaf of bread before cutting big slices. Outside, the trees slowly emerged from the fog like phantoms.

“Girls, if you want to play, you may go to the attic,” said Grandma. Going to the attic was a treat—there we could get away from the boring conversation about the strike.