That night, they stayed with Mrs Meloney, who generously opened her home to them. Colette had persuaded Mrs Meloney to help the dial workers at the luminous-paint factories — and the good woman had taken to the business with all her usual industry and alacrity.
At Brighton's Manhattan plant, the dial painters were being tested for radiation exposure. Over half the girls were radioactive, especially in their teeth and jaws; several of them glowed in the dark. Pointing of brushes with the mouth had been forbidden. Protective gloves were made mandatory. Radiation detectors were being installed. Brighton's bank accounts had been seized, and his assets were being held for the benefit of girls who developed illnesses as a result of their work in his factories.
Younger and Colette put Luc to bed. 'I have something to tell you,' the boy said to his sister.
'I know,' answered Colette. 'Dr Freud told us.'
'He told you?'
'Only that you had something to say. He wouldn't tell us what.'
'But now that I'm here,' said Luc, 'I don't want to say it anymore.'
'Sleep for now,' replied Colette. 'Tomorrow you can tell us.'
Tomorrow, however, the boy was still less talkative. Oktavian took rooms at a modest but decent hotel in Manhattan and began looking into the letting and buying of livery vehicles. They said goodbye to him and that evening boarded a train for Boston.
As the train rumbled quietly north, a light snow fell outside their window. 'Luc,' said Colette, 'now is a good time.'
The boy shook his head.
'You can whisper it in my ear, if you want,' said Colette.
'Rubbish,' declared Younger. 'He can't whisper it. He's not a child. He's lived through a war. He saved our lives. You're a man, Luc, not a little girl. Stop this nonsense and speak up.'
Luc frowned. He looked taken aback — and undecided.
Younger pulled out a letter from his jacket. 'This is from Dr Freud,' said Younger. 'You trust Dr Freud, don't you?'
Luc nodded.
'He warns us that you might go quiet in America,' Younger went on. 'He says you'll be worried that your sister doesn't want to hear what you have to say.'
Luc stared steadily at Younger.
'He says we should remind you that he's spent thirty years of his life telling people what they didn't want to hear. He says that the fact that someone doesn't want to hear the truth is very rarely a good reason for silence. He also says that your sister does want to hear what you have to say.'
Luc turned his gaze on Colette. 'You do?' he asked quietly.
'Very much,' said Colette.
'You don't know what it is,' said Luc.
'Whatever it is, I want to hear it.'
'No, you don't.'
'I do,' said Colette.
'No, you don't.'
'Yes, I do.'
'Wonderful,' said Younger. 'The boy speaks for the first time in his life, and the two of you quarrel like schoolchildren.'
'Father was a coward.' Luc had spoken simply but definitively.
Colette started. Her fingers clenched. 'Father? A coward?'
The boy looked at the snowflakes melting on the train's window. 'I was at the house when the Germans came,' he said.
A shadow fell across his sister's face, and she began a question: 'You mean-?'
'Yes,' Luc interrupted her.
'But we-'
'Were in the carpenter's basement,' he completed her sentence. 'I left in the middle of the night. You didn't hear me. I went back to the house. I looked in through the window next to the shed.'
Colette stopped moving altogether. She may even have stopped breathing.
'German soldiers were inside with Father. Three of them. One was tall with blond hair. Do you remember where Mother and Grandmother were hiding?'
'Yes.'
'Father was saying to them, 'Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me.' He started to cry.'
'That doesn't make him a coward,' she answered.
'Father pointed to the cabinet. I think he was trying to show the Germans where the silver was. They opened the cabinet, but I guess they didn't care about the silver. They turned around and yelled at Father again. The tall one aimed his rifle at him. Father pleaded with them not to shoot.' The train rattled around a curve. 'Then Father pointed to the rug.' 'You saw him point to it?'
'He pointed to it and then he got up and he pulled it away so the German soldiers could see the trapdoor.' Colette said nothing.
'They opened it. They found Mama. And Nana. They hit Mama on the face. Then the tall one shot Father. Another one shot Nana.' 'What did you do?' she asked quietly
'I ran into the house. Mama was screaming. They were holding her down on the floor, pulling at her dress. One of the Germans hit me, I think. I don't remember anything else. The next morning-'
'Don't,' said Colette, putting her arms around her brother and closing her eyes. 'I know.'
'I didn't want to say anything,' said Luc.
They spoke little for the remainder of the ride. Colette said almost nothing at all. In Younger's coat pocket was the letter from Freud, which he hadn't shown her. Colette therefore hadn't seen the little folded note that Freud had included along with it; nor had she read the letter's last paragraph, which said:
Miss Rousseau is keeping something from her brother as well. I believe I know what it is, but it's not for me to say. She'll tell you in her own time. When she does, give her the enclosed note.
As ever, Freud
After they had arrived at Younger's house in Boston and shown Luc his new bedroom and tucked him in, Younger and Colette went to their own bedroom. She let him undress her, which he liked to do. Then he took off his shirt, revealing the thick white bandaging wrapped round and round his chest.
'Is it painful?' she asked.
'Only if I breathe,' he said. 'I'm joking. I don't feel it at all.'
'Can you?' she whispered.
He could. She had to cover her mouth with his hand to keep from waking Luc. She dug her fingernails into his arms. He thought he might be hurting her, but she begged him not to stop.
A long while later, she spoke quietly in the dark: 'I didn't want to say anything either.'
'You knew?' said Younger. 'What your father had done?'
She nodded.
'You saw it too?' he asked.
'No,' she said. 'Father told me himself. The next morning. He was still alive when we found them. He confessed to me. He pleaded with me to forgive him.'
A clock ticked.
'I didn't,' she said. 'I couldn't. Then he was gone.'
Tears ran down her cheeks in silence; Younger could feel them on his chest.
'God help me,' she whispered. 'I didn't forgive my own father.'
'The oldest bear the most,' said Younger.
'Now you know,' she said to him, wiping her eyes. 'Now you know my very last secret.'
Hours later, at daybreak, he was buttoning a shirt when Colette, still lying in bed, asked him a question: 'Did I do everything wrong?'
'I have something for you,' he answered. 'From Freud.'
