She pounds one fist on her desk.

Then she pounds both fists.

We listen, and at last we understand.

She is pounding out the beat of "La Marseillaise,"

the French national anthem.

We begin to pound our desks too.

We're going to pound out the enemy soldiers, pound out the sound of their song.

"Arise, children of the Fatherland, the day of glory has arrived...."

Our chests swell.

Like strong soldiers, we battle bravely.

We'll win back freedom for our beloved country, La Belle France, or die trying.

The Soldiers Go Away.

The Nazis leave our village at last!

The war is going badly for them.

The troops gather in the main square.

Their officer makes a speech.

He thanks the mayor for our village's hospitality.

Then he reaches forward to shake the mayor's hand.

"Never," says the mayor, "would I shake hands with my country's enemy."

The officer's eyes darken with anger.

He marches off with his men.

Cars and trucks follow.

In the last one, I see a goat.

She stands on the backseat, her head stuck out the window.

Children chase after the car, laughing and cheering.

The goat watches them calmly.

She bats her eyelashes.

Within minutes, our houses and windows shake.

A deep rumble, a crash!

Are the soldiers bombing our village?

No, just our mayor's chateau.

The enemy officer had to repay our mayor's insult.

For refusing to shake hands, his elegant mansion has been turned into a pile of rubble.

Two scared, stranded soldiers straggle into our village, pushing carts packed with food.

They are lost.

"Can anyone show us which way the others went?" they ask.

"Oh, yes," says Mama.

She points in the direction of the woods, where Resistance fighters hide.

In minutes, the enemy soldiers are back in the town square, prisoners of our local young heroes.

Everyone gathers around the carts to see what's in them.

"Candy?" all the children ask.

"Is there any chocolate?"

When we find it, we eat every last piece.

No one tries to stop us.

Vive la France!.

"Hurry!" say the villagers.

"Don't miss the celebration in Saint-Fulgent.

News has come that Paris is free."

Mama drags me to Saint-Fulgent.

People dance in the streets.

"The war is almost over!" they shout.

France and its allies are winning.

What does this mean for us? I wonder.

Are Jews safe now?

What about Papa?

On the way home, Mama can't stop talking.

"No more cooking in a black iron pot.

No more straw mattresses or cottages filled with mice.

No more kneeling in church, lugging water from the well, pretending that your father does not exist."

She can't wait to get back to Paris, to electric lights, running water, and indoor toilets.

My father and our neighbors and friends will all be there.

We'll join Jewish clubs; she'll read Yiddish books.

"And you, Odette, you'll have rubber boots, not sabots.

Instead of church on Sunday, we'll go to the public baths.

We'll buy soap, vinegar, wine, butter ...

and skeins and skeins of wool.

We'll eat crepes in the winter, ice cream in the summer.

We'll go to museums, movies, and parks.

Paris has everything!

La Basse Claveliere has been just a nightmare."

It's true, we've had bad times here in the country, that time I was beaten, and we almost lost our home.

And I did lose my voice.

But we had more bad times in Paris, didn't we?

Besides, I don't mind the things Mama seems to hate.

I like getting water from the well and living in a cottage.

I love my sabots and going to church.

The country is my home now.

How can I leave it and go back to the city?

How can I leave the sweet cows and my pet cat, Bijou?

My forest, my fields and pastures, all my wildflowers?

How can I live without freedom, in a place where I don't belong?

Adieu.

I pray to all the saints, but no miracle can save me from Paris.

Mama's mind is made up.

As soon as she's sure the city is safe, as soon as she's satisfied peace has come to stay in Paris, she makes plans for us to return.

Even one extra day in the country is too many for her.

In the days before we leave, I say good-bye to all my treasures, one by one.

I sit beside the shimmering ponds and walk in the quiet forest for the last time.

I gather my last wildflowers and pat the gentle cows good-bye.

I light bright candles.

They flicker at the shrines of all the saints in church.