A Pocket Full of Seeds by Marilyn Sachs Page B

headed off to the chicken coop and in a few minutes came back, carrying two eggs.
    “Eggs! Mme. Blanchard, we haven’t had eggs for so long I can hardly remember what they taste like.”
    She began complaining how the Germans took everything, and that she and her family had barely enough to cat for themselves. She said that the hens hardly laid any more, and even if they did, she was supposed to turn all the eggs over to the Germans, so she never ate eggs either. I nodded sympathetically, even though I was pretty sure that there were secret places throughout the farm with more food hidden than I could bear thinking about.
    On the way back I passed a patrol of four German soldiers riding around in an open car. If they found the food in my bag I knew I would be in trouble. But it wasn’t the first time I had ridden out to the farm on such an errand, and I had never been searched or even stopped before. I moved discreetly over to the other side of the road and passed the car, my eyes down. But I could hear the car stopping, and in a moment a voice behind me shouted in French, “You!”
    My heart beat fast in my throat, and I was frightened. I stopped my bike and turned my head. “Me, Monsieur?”
    “Yes, you.” There was some laughter, and then, “Come here!”
    I laid the bicycle down on the side of the road, and walked slowly toward them. The road was quite empty, and it was beginning to rain. I stopped about three or four feet from the car, and the driver said, “Come here!”
    On both sides of the road were fields that were fenced in. But a little to the right of the Germans’ car, I noted that the fence was missing a bottom piece. If it proved necessary, I could squeeze through the opening there, and run while they would have to climb over. Of course, if they had guns ...
    I moved a little closer.
    “What is your name?”
    “Nicole Nieman.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Eleven, Monsieur.”
    Which was not true, of course. But on a deserted country road, with four German soldiers looking at me, I thought it was wiser to take advantage of the fact that I was small for my age.
    One of the soldiers snorted and said something in German. The driver started up the car, and without another word they were off. That was the first time I ever spoke to a German soldier.
    Maman boiled the eggs for Jacqueline and me. It had been a long time, six months or more since I had eaten an egg, and it was like discovering an entirely new food.
    My mother listened to my account of the meeting with the German patrol. She shook her head and said, “You handled that very well, Nicole. I am proud of you. But I think from now on we won’t have you go alone out to the farm.”
    “But why not, Maman? The Germans didn’t even ask me what I had in my bicycle bag. They never ask children.”
    “Maybe so, but I don’t want you biking out in the country by yourself any more. Only if Papa or I or some other adult is along.”
    “But Maman, I can look after myself.”
    Maman exploded. “You do what I tell you, Nicole! Do you hear?”
    I turned my face away and refused to answer. She took my arm and shook it. “Do you hear?”
    “Yes, I hear.” I pulled my arm away and started to leave the room.
    Maman said quietly—her cheeks were still red but her voice had no anger in it—”I know you can look after yourself, but thank goodness you don’t have to—yet. One day, I hope, when you are a little older, you will look after yourself, and I know you will be able to do it. But not yet.”
    I ran out of the room and sulked on the veranda until I remembered that tonight the Rostens were coming to say good-bye, and after that I would not see Françoise again.
    “Maman,” I cried, running into the kitchen, “may I spend the rest of the afternoon with Françoise ?”
    She was sitting at the kitchen table, plucking the chicken, and she started shaking her head, but then she stopped and said, “It’s all right with me if Mme. Rosten doesn’t