Two Testaments by Elizabeth Musser Page B

looked no more than ten was sitting with the women. Moustafa had slowed his gait and was eyeing the boy suspiciously.
    Anne-Marie stood and caught Moustafa’s arm. “See, Eliane. It’s as I told you. Moustafa is with me.”
    The woman called Eliane rose and embraced Moustafa with a kiss on each cheek. “I never expected such a reunion between old neighbors.” She had chestnut eyes, cheerful, kind eyes.
    Moustafa reached out for the baby. “Rémi’s littlest son I suppose?”
    “Yes, the other two are over there. Restless.” She cleared her throat. “Rémi brought us here last night. He’s back at the farm now. Anne-Marie tells me you won’t leave.” The woman touched his arm. “Moustafa, if you ever need help, go to Rémi.”
    David immediately liked this woman. She at least had some hope left in her in spite of the war. He glanced down at the boy, and Anne-Marie spoke.
    “David, Moustafa. This is Hussein. He’s only just found me. And look, look.…” She held out a slip of paper with the Huguenot cross scribbled in the corner.
    Moustafa took it quickly. “What does he want?” His voice was brusque.
    “He’s a harki’s son. He knew Mme el Gharbi and her children. He’s orphaned, like so many others, and begs to go with us. Oh, David! What do you think? Surely the orphanage will take one more?”
    David suddenly felt claustrophobic. He had not expected this. His mind was still spinning with his own decision. The boy was wiping tears from his face.
    “Perhaps there would be room at the orphanage. It’s so overcrowded now, what would one more child matter?” He shook his head. “What do you think, Moustafa?”
    Moustafa touched the boy’s shoulder. “You’ve lost your parents?”
    The child nodded.
    “Let him go. Yes, send him on.”
    David felt a release of tension and broke in quickly. “Anne-Marie, I won’t be going yet. I’ve decided to stay behind for a week or so. Until Moustafa can get his family out.”
    Anne-Marie’s face drained of color. “You’re staying too? But, but what about—”
    “Eliane will keep you company on board. If you have any trouble, she’ll be there to help you.” Moustafa broke in as if he had already rehearsed the lines.
    As indeed he had, David thought.
    “Of course. Of course, I’ll be glad to do whatever I can.” Eliane nodded.
    “Here’s the address of the orphanage and the phone number. Call them when you get into Marseille. Ask for Mother Griolet.” David fished in his pocket for some bills. “And here’s some money. This will be enough for the boat and the train. We won’t be long. Tell them that. Tell Ophélie that Papa won’t be long.” He thought of Gabriella again and wished he had time to scribble a note. “And tell Gabby … tell Gabriella that …”
    They were all staring at him, the small group, and he turned his eyes down. “Tell her that ‘ignorant armies clash by night.’ She’ll understand.”
    Passengers were rushing to the paquebot.
    “Hurry now, quickly, get on,” Moustafa said, but his voice cracked.
    David shared his pain. He walked ahead toward Eliane and helped her gather the bags and children, motioning for the boy to follow. He left Anne-Marie alone with Moustafa to say what he hoped desperately would not be their final words.

    People were pushing and shoving, children irritable and crying as the line toward the ferry formed. Tickets did not seem to be a requirement; just get on and get out. Hussein felt sick to his stomach. Sick with excitement and fear.
    So Moustafa Dramchini was here too. Hussein wanted to run and tell Ali. Both of them were here. He clutched the suitcase in his hands, hoping no one would guess that there were firearms within, wrapped amid his clothes. He was going to France with Anne-Marie Duchemin. It had been rather easy after all. And surely Ali could deal with Moustafa.
    The plank was lowered. It looked to Hussein like the mouth of a great fish, waiting greedily to swallow these filthy