“Let Petra’s story live forever, for I believe she is no longer of this world.” Otto swallowed, taking a moment before pulling another envelope free from his jacket, this one crisp and clean. “I will be able to obtain more newspapers than this, but here is what I have for now.”
“Thank you for trusting me.” Ava carefully accepted both items.
“Thank you for understanding.” Otto nodded to Ava and pushed up from the table, leaving a cloud of sweet, gray smoke in his wake.
The temptation to remove Otto’s letter from her purse and read its contents was almost unbearable. Whatever it contained was precious to Otto, and that made it precious to Ava. And so she sat back and bided her time until she was inside the large conference room of the embassy the following day.
In her time at the Library of Congress, she had handled many delicate items of note. There had been a medieval text on medicine and the power of stones from the thirteenth century with muted ink upon yellowed and brown-spotted vellum. There had been The Federalist from the eighteenth century with Eliza Hamilton’s careful signature at its top from Thomas Jefferson’s own private collection that he sold to the library after a fire ravaged its stock. She had even held the library’s copy of the Gutenberg Bible.
It was with that same care and respect that she now extracted the letter from its envelope and laid it on the table to read.
Dearest brother—At present, I sit in Vél d’Hiv, the sports arena you once visited when you cheered on cyclists in the Olympics more than fifteen years ago. The glass ceiling has been painted blue to prevent visibility to bombers, and it leaves us all awash in a ghastly green pallor. Worse still, it draws the heat of the intense summer sun. They mean to keep us all contained within—the thousands of us whom they have captured and transported where we are penned like animals. The windows are sealed tightly shut, so there is no air entering to offer salvation and nothing foul may leave. And there is much that is foul. The lavatories are either locked or clogged, and the odor is so thick in the heat that I can scarce draw breath.
It was my intent to write only to let you know where we were, but now that I have pen to paper and nothing but an eternal wait ahead of me, I find myself compelled to share with you what exactly has transpired in these years in Paris. What brought us to where we are now…
Peggy came into the room and stopped short when she saw Ava, a lunch bag in her hand. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
Ava waved her off. “I don’t mind if you stay so long as the food doesn’t go near any paper, including this.”
“Thanks.” Peggy sat at the opposite side of the long table and rustled in her sack. “What is that you have there?”
“A letter,” Ava replied. “From a French engineer I met earlier who fled the Nazis. His sister wrote this.” As she explained it, she recalled the way Otto had surmised Petra was no longer alive. “She was in the roundup at Vél d’Hiv and managed to sneak out this correspondence to him.”
Peggy leaned closer. “What’s it say?”
Ava regarded the paper, the slanted, messy text cast in the stark light of the microfilm set up. “Horrible things about the conditions in Paris and gratitude that her brother had gone to the Free Zone.”
Ava continued to read of the injustices—the stripping of their rights to own radios, to ride bikes and cars and finally to work, all noted in the letter with painful detail. Then she came to the roundup itself:
We were not the only ones arrested in the building. Hundreds were gathered in the courtyard, each with that blazing yellow patch sewn to their clothing. Stars that were run aground, held captive by the sky they had once shone freely within. It was such a sight to behold, my brother, such a sight that I shall never forget. Frightened parents trying to soothe frightened children, people with their belongings tied into sheets instead of suitcases, friends crying out for those who were being taken away. One woman jumped from the highest floor with both her children. I will not share what I saw in that terrible moment, but I cannot erase the horror etched on the backs of my lids every time I close my eyes.