Time now meant nothing. He had betrayed his parents and left them behind. In a few days they would be sent to Auschwitz. He was a boy of fifteen who had lost everything. He looked at the stars, constellations whose names his father had taught him as they stood in the dark of their garden, not knowing they would never be there again.

He heard someone call out to him. Surely he imagined it, for he was alone. He leaned up against the wall, eyes closed.

“You,” he heard now. A clear soft voice. “Julien.”

There was a young, unkempt man, no more than eighteen, signaling. The fellow was Claude Gotlib, who had gone to school with Victor. “Your brother sent me. He was injured or he’d be here himself. I tried to get to your family before they were picked up.”

“You’re too late,” Julien said.

“Not for you.”

Julien hesitated. He didn’t know Claude, and he didn’t know why Victor himself hadn’t come for him, all he knew was that his parents were still in the stadium.

“Come on.” Claude was impatient. “Wait any longer and you’ll land us both in trouble. Believe me, your brother will have my head if I don’t get you out of here.”

Julien heard train whistles and sirens. He was still shivering. Above them, the stars were burning bright. He could not think of his parents, his father without his good jacket, his mother, who was so elegant, searching for a place in the shade. All he knew was that he was alive. That was his promise to keep.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE TWO BROTHERS

HAUTE-LOIRE, AUGUST 1942

JULIEN AND CLAUDE DIDN’T TALK much as they traveled. They slept in the woods or in safe houses, where their hosts often didn’t speak to them at all, for it was best not to know too much about those you had hidden. Some people graciously left dinner for them to share, and once they were given a bottle of wine, which they gulped down before falling deeply asleep. There were some stops along the way that seemed curious to Julien. He was told to wait outside, while Claude saw to his own private business. Afterward, Claude guarded the rucksack he carried and told Julien to keep his hands off it. “Don’t even breathe near it,” he was told.

One night, while Claude was asleep, Julien crept over to take a look. Once he had, he quickly backed away. Now he understood what Claude and Victor were up to. Claude was transporting gunpowder and sticks of dynamite.

The last night Julien and Claude were on the road together, they went to the stone church in Vienne, sleeping under the pews, grateful to be given warm milk and rolls in the morning by the old woman who did the cleaning.