Before Our Dawn| ongoing

fifty-seven

Chapitre cinquante-sept
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They were on the train to Nice. It was relieving to be able to travel as a family, to watch the scenery run by like all the memories they shared. It was almost a decade ago that they had visited the town, and they both wondered how much it had changed.

"Mama, look, I see sheep!" Klaus exclaimed in German, his finger enthusiastically pointing out the window at a herd grazing in the countryside. His eyes had been glued to the scenery since their departure, each new sight eliciting a gasp or a cheer of excitement.

His sister, on the other hand, was more reserved, shyly curled up against Isra. Her eyes wandered around the train car, taking in their surroundings with quiet curiosity. She hadn't shared her brother's eager anticipation for their trip to Nice.

Marcel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his unease growing with each German word Klaus spoke. The times were still fraught with tension, and the memories of what the Germans had done to France were too fresh. Many people weren't ready to be receptive to anything associated with German culture.

Isra gently patted Klaus' arm, a silent reminder for him to keep his voice down or to speak in French. She hated having to stifle parts of her son's identity, to make him hide who he was for things beyond his control.

"Mama, when will we get to Nice?" Klaus asked again in German, his impatience clear.

This time, it was Marcel who hushed him. "Not so loud, Klaus. Quiet."

Klaus' face reddened in indignation. "I didn't do anything wrong. Mama, tell Monsieur Marcel to stop being mean to me!"

Isra quickly intervened, her voice a rushed whisper. "Quiet, Klaus! We speak French in public. What have I told you before?"

Some heads were already beginning to turn their way, confusion and judgment evident in their glances.

"I don't like French," Klaus mumbled, kicking his feet out in frustration and crossing his arms. "I miss Papa. I want to go home and see Papa."

At the mention of their father, Heidi's eyes welled up with tears. "I want to see Papa too!" she cried, her small voice breaking into sobs.

Isra was at a loss for what to do. She looked at Marcel, hoping for any semblance of comfort or assistance he might be able to provide, but he appeared just as bewildered.

While she tried to soothe Heidi, her son continued his tantrum, drawing irritated glances from the other passengers.

"Klaus, please," she implored, her voice laced with desperation as she stroked Heidi's hair, trying to calm her sobbing daughter. "We need to be respectful and quiet. We're almost to Nice. Just a little longer, my love."

Klaus, his face a mask of defiance and hurt, refused to be consoled. "I don't care!" he cried. "I hate French! I want Papa!"

Marcel, clearly out of his depth, tried to intervene. "Klaus, listen to your mother," he said gently. "It's not safe to speak German here. People might misunderstand."

He glared at Marcel, his small fists clenched in frustration. "You're not my papa! You can't tell me what to do!"

The words struck Marcel like a blow, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored Isra's own.

"Klaus, I know you're upset," she said, trembling with the effort to stay composed. "But we have to be careful. We're in a different place now, and we have to adapt. Please, for me, try to understand."