Madame Pinton says, “Dr. Boulagnon has been treating her in exchange for eggs and cabbages. He recommends admittance to the Lafayette Preventorium.”
I nod. “That’s best. We have X-ray and ultraviolet-ray machines and the most advanced pediatric care in Auvergne.” When I see the child’s father already shaking his head, I add, “The preventorium isn’t too far. A short drive; you could walk it in an hour and a half if you had to.”
“No,” says Monsieur Kohn, very firmly.
“It’s a charitable foundation,” I stress, because they must be hurting for money if they’re paying the doctor in cabbages. “I’m sure something can be worked out.” Before he can object, I quickly rattle off the requirements. “All you have to do is have Dr. Boulagnon fill out a medical report, sign an authorization, submit a family history and a school certificate of vaccinations and good conduct. I’ll get you the forms; it’s easy as pie.”
He looks torn, but tells his children, “Go do your chores.”
Josephine mopes to the rustic door, but out of the corner of my eye I see Daniel stick out his tongue before he disappears into the yard.
Then Monsieur Kohn addresses me. “I’m sorry, mademoiselle. I know you mean well, but with times being what they are, we can’t call attention to ourselves.”
“Then it’s strange you’ve come to Auvergne.” This is a rural, almost tribal, place where people aren’t always friendly to strangers; he wouldn’t stand out so much in a city like Marseilles.
“I have a sentimental attachment to the area,” he says.
I don’t ask what it is. Even so, what does he expect? This isn’t occupied Paris; we’re still France, after all, aren’t we? “Trust me, you’d be hard-pressed to find a more isolated spot than Chavaniac. It’s a tiny village surrounded by woods.”
“I know where it is,” he says.
“Then you know there’s not a German soldier in sight.”
“Not yet,” Monsieur Kohn says grimly. “I have family in Poland. If you knew what the Nazis are doing there, you’d know how much worse things will get for us here. The detention camps in France are just a start.”
A spike of frustration that he’s not getting adequate care for his daughter makes me clench my jaw. “You should worry about tuberculosis! French citizens don’t have to worry about refugee camps.”
“I’m French for now,” he says bitterly; he explains that it’s bad enough he’s been dismissed from the military because he’s Jewish. Worse to live with the knowledge that our government has been withdrawing citizenship from naturalized Jews.
The injustice of it—and the fear and uncertainty that it’s sowing—is brought home to me, and too obvious for me to argue. “Again,” says Monsieur Kohn, “I know you mean well, but we can’t have records that make us easy to find. I should put my little girl down to bed now. It was nice to meet you, mademoiselle.”
He disappears so swiftly I can’t get another word in, and when Madame Pinton walks me to the door, I hiss, “Where is the mother? Someone needs to have some sense. Tuberculosis is contagious, and you’re all in close quarters here. It can be deadly.”
“The mother is already dead,” says Madame Pinton. “Death takes people like her—not disappointed old women like me.” She looks down at my drawing of Henri and sighs. “If my son were here, he’d know what to do.”
“I know exactly what he’d do. Henri would get that kid admitted to the preventorium tout de suite.”
She eyes me. “Or he’d talk the doctors into treating the child on the side so no one knows they’re Israelites.”
I frown at her suggestion; there isn’t any on the side. There are strict procedures. I couldn’t bring a kid into the examination hall or the X-ray lab without paperwork for Dr. Anglade to examine and hand off to Madame Simon for her file cabinets. “I’ll send you the forms in case Monsieur Kohn changes his mind. But there’s nothing else I can do.”
None of this should be my problem—but it is my problem, because failing to report being exposed to contagion is grounds for dismissal at the preventorium, ever since a teacher accidentally exposed her students to scarlet fever and we had an epidemic in the village. Dr. Anglade says tuberculosis isn’t that easy to catch if you’re not breathing the same air for a while, but I can’t take the chance. I’m brooding about it when I finally get back to the castle and trudge my way up the stairs of the square tower.