“What do you mean?” the manager asked with surprise.
“You should have seen what happened in the loge next to us!” (The priest had abused Henriette.)
As we walked away, Mum said to me, “Now, you have your daughter, Claudine, waiting for you at home. She needs you. This is better than the Skylarks!” I was so tired. Mother could tell. She was wonderful!
“Yes, I have to take care of Claudine. Poor girl, she is all alone at home!”
Claudine sat next to us while I learned how to knit. Zita was there too. Looking out the window, I saw snow mixed with rain.
The rain spoiled the beautiful, smooth white blanket of snow. Our feet got wet and cold walking in the slush on the way to Aunt Eugenie’s. Her mistress, Mrs. Koch, had asked her to invite me for their Christmas Eve, some days after the 24th of December.
Mother had given me a lot of orders—always the same ones over and over again. I knew them all. Be polite. Don’t put one foot on the top of the other when you stand. Don’t touch the furniture. Don’t serve yourself. Don’t chew with your mouth wide open. Don’t go in a room if you’re not invited. Don’t put your elbow on the table and hold your head. Don’t play with your hair. Don’t swing your legs when you sit. Don’t, don’t, don’t!
The big villa with marble steps, crystal mirrors, and a colorful carpet made me feel embarrassed. The odor of pine, candles, chocolate, and cake; the loud laughter of the three sons and their cousins; a pine tree reaching up to the ceiling, underneath a mountain of colorful parcels—I wanted to run away.
“Come in, Simone. Don’t be shy. The boys won’t hurt you.”
Aunt Eugenie introduced me to the three boys and their cousins, who clearly were not interested in meeting a girl. Boys are all the same, just like the ones at school who threw chestnuts at us girls. I don’t like boys, I thought.
I sat on a chair so high that my legs dangled. My hair bothered me. My aunt smiled and gently but firmly put one hand on my knee to stop the swinging. She took my hand out of my hair. I blushed. Did anybody else see it?
Mrs. Koch, wearing a wonderful lace dress with a long, three-row necklace, sat next to me. Speaking in French, she said: “Simone, Father Christmas (Père Noël) has brought something for you.” And taking my hand, she led me to the beautifully adorned pine tree standing opposite a big lace-covered table. The crystal glasses and silverware reflected the dozens of candles on the tree. This fascinated me more than searching for my gift among the many packages under the tree.
My aunt came to my rescue. “Simone, look for your name.” Under the tree was a manger like the one we had at Christmas in church, but today was not Christmas anymore. Why was it there? My gift was a small box; in it was a wooden man, 20 centimeters high, with a slot in his back. “This is a money box. You put your savings in that slot.” I opened it. It was empty.
I went back to my seat holding my package tightly. The maid in her black dress and white apron came and offered me some sweets. My aunt encouraged me to take one. I was very uncomfortable.
Finally Mrs. Koch said, “Eugenie, in ten minutes a streetcar will be leaving for Dornach. You may accompany the young lady.” What a relief! The maid brought my winter coat, my little polecat fur, and my felt hat. She tried to dress me.
“Oh, no. Please, I’m a big girl now. I can do it myself.” Everybody smiled.
“A true little lady,” Mrs. Koch said. She followed us to the door. Through an open side door, Mr. Koch nodded his gray head to me. Behind him I saw a table with drawers and golden feet and bookshelves up to the ceiling. What kind of room is this? I wondered.
Snow had fallen again. The yellow light shining through all the many windows made the Koch’s house look like a home in a fairy tale.
On the way home, I asked Aunt Eugenie why the Koch’s called the Christchild “Father Christmas,” why he brought me a gift at the Koch’s home instead of mine, and why he came on a different day. Aunt’s answers seemed incomplete. I was totally confused.
I was happy to return to school after the holiday. However, the classroom was cold. It took quite a while for the newly lit fire to give off some heat. Madeleine, Andrée, Blanche, Frida—none had had a pine tree for Christmas. Each only got one orange and one apple with some nuts, “because,” said Mum, “they are poor.”
That night, under my covers, I accused the Christchild. “Why do you treat rich and poor differently? Why did you give the Koch boys trains, books, games, cars? They got so many presents that they were tired of opening them—and yet you brought nothing, absolutely no toys, to most of my schoolmates? This is injustice, yes, injustice!” Wasn’t that how Dad had explained injustice— favoring the rich over the poor?
I decided to correct that terrible injustice. So every day I bought chocolate or cookies to give out at school. One day, passing by a toy shop, I saw a little doll sitting on a baby chair. I decided to buy it for Frida. She had been completely forgotten at Christmas. I went in and asked for the price: five francs. “Please hold it for me. I’ll get it this afternoon.”
I went home for lunch. After lunch, Madeleine came to call for me so we could walk back to school together. But Mum asked her to come upstairs. “Madeleine,” she said, looking at me, “would you have a thief as a friend? Please tell Mademoiselle that Simone will come to class later.”
Obviously Madeleine didn’t understand. Me, either! She left without me.
“Give back the money you have stolen.”
“Mum, I did not steal!”
“Don’t make it worse by adding a lie.”
“I am not lying. I didn’t steal anything.”
Quickly she put her hand in my pocket and pulled out a five-franc piece.
“And what is this?”
“I took it, but I did not steal!”
“Can you explain that?”
“Yes! I just had to correct the Christchild’s terrible injustice to Frida. I wanted to buy the doll for her.”
To my surprise, Mum bought the doll and put it on my shelf next to my bank from Mrs. Koch.
“Girl, stealing is taking something that is not yours, no matter what you do with it. This doll is going to remind you. It will stay there. Don’t dare take it away. As long as you leave it there and do not steal again, I won’t tell Dad. You know, he had to work many hours, yes, days to earn five francs. It is going to be our secret between us two. You know how your father stands for honesty. You watch it. He has never spanked you before, but for sure he will. Never remove that doll from there if you don’t want to have a problem!”
Thursdays, we had no school and sometimes my cousin Angele would come over with her doll while I was holding class with my doll, Claudine. I took it all very seriously, repeating Mademoiselle’s civic lessons. But I had trouble explaining to the dolls the idea of conscience. I didn’t understand what it was, how it worked, how a person could lose it, or even be without one in the first place.
So one day I asked Dad, “What is a conscience?”
“It is a voice inside you that tells you what is good or what is bad.”
“Dad, my teacher said that each evening we should think about our day and what we have done.”
“This,” Dad said, “is called the examination of one’s conscience. As you grow, you’ll be able to do that. Little ones can’t do it yet.”
“I don’t hear anything. Every evening I listen. No one inside me talks. Where can I find it?” I did not want to be a “little one” anymore.
“Continue searching and listening. One day it will come. It is in you.”