calm. Surely the French are bringing us here to protect us. This country would never let them deport us to Germany. We may be occupied and the German hordes may rule our lives, but the values of the Republic still stand.”
One of the few young men on the bus pushed the older man aside and stared defiantly at the rest of the passengers. “Are you stupid sheep or human beings? Haven’t you noticed that since the occupation began the French government has registered us in their files, forbidden us from working in most trades, and forced us to wear these stars like they do in Germany? What’s waiting for us in there is prison. Then they will send us north by train.”
A woman dressed in a nice gray suit and blue hat made to leave the bus. The younger man stood in her way, but she pushed him aside. “Let me by. Don’t intimidate these poor people. We have no idea what’s waiting for us, but haven’t we always been persecuted? Yet somehow we survive?”
The rest of the passengers filled the aisle and pushed and shoved their way toward the door. Outside the buses, a long line of women, men, and children marched slowly toward a set of enormous doors. Above them hung a sign with stylized letters: VÉL D’HIV.
Jacob and Moses knew the place. Their father had taken them there once to watch a bicycle race. The velodrome allowed Parisians to enjoy cycling competitions throughout the winter, and all sorts of events were held there.
A boy sitting behind them leaned forward and asked, “You’re the Stein brothers, aren’t you?”
Jacob and Moses turned to look at him. It was a relief to know someone in the crowd of strangers. “Yes,” Jacob said, getting to his feet. They were the last ones in the line that had formed in the bus aisle.
“I’m Joseph, the plumber’s son,” the boy said. “We used to study together in the synagogue, but lately my father has let me go with him to his jobs. You haven’t seen him here, have you?”
“No, you’re the only person we’ve recognized today,” Jacob said.
“This morning they beat on the door of our house. My father went out with a wrench in his hands, but he left it in the foyer when he saw it was the gendarmes. They told us to bring one blanket and one shirt per person, nothing else. But we got separated when we got to the buses.”
Jacob answered in kind. “They didn’t come looking for us, but the doorwoman of our building started hollering, and a few policemen ran after us. We tried to get away on the rooftops, but they chased us down.”
A gendarme stuck his head through the door and shouted, “Get out here, you little rats!”
Terrified, the boys ran to the door. Moses caught the eyes of the bus driver for a moment before the man lowered his head. It had been the worst job the man had ever had to do. He did not know what the gendarmes planned to do with these people, but he was ashamed that the French collaborated with the Nazis. Since occupation, he had tried to slip under the radar. Union members and anyone who spoke out for other political parties were accused of high treason against France.
Jacob exited the bus first and faced the gendarme. The policeman scowled and indicated with his nightstick where they should walk. In the brief moments the boys had remained on the bus, most people had already entered the stadium. Moses clung to his brother’s hand, and Joseph followed the rest of the crowd down a wide hallway. As they reached the end, they heard a murmur that grew to a deafening roar. They entered the enormous dome and looked at the stands. Then their eyes wandered to the slanted racetrack and the long rectangle in the center where a few Red Cross tents stood.
“Oh no,” Moses whimpered. His jaw dropped, and his eyes struggled to take in the enormous space. He only vaguely remembered the time they had come to the velodrome with their father.
“There are thousands of people here,” Joseph said, incredulous. It would be nigh impossible to find his family.
A government worker seated at a wooden desk motioned to them. The three boys walked toward him in single file.
“First and last name,” the man demanded without looking up. Round spectacles attached to his jacket by a chain balanced precariously on his narrow nose. “Are you deaf?” he