Svetlana

Chapter One - Back to Paris

Paris, 16th March 1939

It was written in the newspaper this morning, as I had just arrived in Paris after what seemed to be an endless journey from Plzeň. The Germans entered Prague. I cannot prevent myself from thinking about Maminka (mum), who is unable to get out of her flat in town, bedridden with a nasty fever. The only thing left to do is hope that President Hácha will gather the troops, necessary for the liberation of the city, before it spreads to the whole Czechoslovakia, then to the surroundings, then to Europe. Yet, I must not worry about that for now. Tomorrow, school will start again, and with all the tiredness I accumulated, this will not be easy at all. However, I missed my thirty girls, and I hope they trained well for reading!

As for Pavel, I didn't miss him. If it were up to me, I would never see him ever again. I still don't feel any kind of affection for him, and I know perfectly well that he has an affair with the wife of the headmaster of my school, Madame Laurent. If Monsieur Laurent was to learn about it, I'm afraid I would be fired immediately. My pupils are the only people thanks to whom I can hold on.

 

Oleg suggested that I could celebrate Sabbath with him this Friday in Orléans: I think I will decline his invitation. In such hard times, it's the very last thing I need to do.

~~~

Svetlana closed her small notebook she rested on her thin knees.She took a look at her golden watch with a leather bracelet. Her bus was ten minutes late.

Never mind, she would walk back home.

She stood up and put her notebook away in her tiny handbag, which she adjusted on her shoulder; she lifted her heavy suitcase and walked away. The heels of her lovely black shoes were hitting the cold Parisian cobblestone, while drawing away from the Austerlitz station. She walked along the Seine, admiring it from time to time, avoiding bumping into other pedestrians. She missed Paris so much. Although she deeply loved Prague and Plzeň, her home town, her flat in Danton Street remained her favourite. She enjoyed the scent of the parquet floor and the fresh paint, which she would never find in Czechoslovakia, and the sight on Notre-Dame that offered itself to her every time her eyes looked through the glass of her windows. She was fond of her high and soft bed, which moulded her curves perfectly each time she stretched out in there.

Since she immigrated to Paris, a new and wonderful life had begun for her, until the disease of Jindriska, her mother, became an obstacle to her happiness. Painfully lacking of money to pay the medical bills of their mother, Zorka, Svetlana's sister, begged her to give her financial help. Unfortunately, Svetlana could hardly afford supplies in the French capital city. Two months later, she met Pavel, a wealthy Jew native of Prague, who heartily and generously accepted to marry her to pay for Jindriska's medical expense. This was not the ideal vision of marriage for Svetlana, for she had always hoped she would marry a man she loved.

But there was all her problem: she had never loved.

Beginning to get tired, she put down her suitcase on the ground, sticking as much as possible to the low wall separating her from the river below, careful not to hamper passers-by. She caught her breath and took out a nice little pocket mirror from her handbag, making sure that her beautiful light brown hair did not get messy and wreck her perfect low bun. At the same time, she checked her red lipstick. She put her mirror away inside her bag and turned to the Seine, admiring the cathedral of Notre-Dame. A soft breeze stroked her thin face, and she closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, attentively listening to the footsteps on the pavement, and from time to time, the roaring engines of the cars that fought their way through the thick crowd. A mix of perfumes tickled her nostrils, bringing a smile to her red lips.