Jason started noticing that wherever they landed, whatever city or small town, apartment, shack or motel room, Marie had a knack for creating beauty around them. All out of stuff that could be tossed in the bin with no regrets when they bugged out. An odd container picked up at a flea market or an old jelly jar would become a vase. Dandelions plucked by Drächen or flowers from the market would find a home there. Crayoned scribbles would be framed in colored construction paper and mounted carefully to the wall with sticky tack so as not to take the paint off when removed. Little treasures would appear, things for Drächen to look at and play with. Stuff found outside: seashells, acorns, seaglass—all came to adorn their rooms.
His previous requirements of living quarters had been "dry, and not too cold" for so long that he probably never would have registered this if not for Drächen. The little girl's eyes would widen with delight as Marie showed her a new bauble and named it for her. Often, Drächen would then present it to Jason, gravely holding it out for his comment, sometimes naming it for him in her turn. When mother and daughter made or found something together and Marie put it on display, the tiny child glowed with pride. Their combined creativity was both a wonder and a mystery to Jason, and he came to look forward to each new embellishment decorating their temporary home.
At 20 months, Drächen was a running, babbling little beauty. While Marie delighted inher little girl's antics, each new skill the baby developed robbed Jason of more peace of mind. Finally he forbade Marie to leave the apartment with the child.
"Jason, that's crazy! She's a little kid. She loves the outdoors. We can't keep her locked up inside all day!"
"It's not safe for her outside, Marie! Not when she's with us, anyway." He looked at her, thinking carefully about his next choice of words.
Marie's mouth turned down, her chin jutting out. "No," she said. "That is not even a possibility."
"What are we going to do when she's really talking and asks you why your name is different today? How are we going to explain why she babbles in English and German when I'm Portuguese and you're Croatian? Are you willing to dye her hair?"
Her face flamed with anger. She knew he had been reading the child development books that she picked up randomly in bookshops, and had thought it sweet. Now that she understood that his interest was in gathering arguments for sending Drächen away, her sense of betrayal was immeasurable. She sat down, eyes narrow and set on a distant point.
Jason took a deep breath. "There's a place—" he was cut short by her clenched fist slamming down on the table with a loud bang. He sat back, lips pressed together and brow creased, then looked down at his steepled hands. The baby awoke in the next room and started calling, "Mama, Mama." Marie stalked out of the room, shaking from head to toe. He heard her saying "Mama's here. Mama's here." Soon she was singing Drächen's favorite lullaby :
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.
Der Vater hüt't die Schaf.
Die Mutter schüttelt's Bäumelein,
Da fällt herab ein Träumelein.
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.(1)
Its somatic properties had never failed, and this time was no different. Jason went to the bedroom door. Marie was resting back on the pillows, holding a sleeping Drächen tight in her arms.
"That one always works, huh?"
A nod. He came to the bed, sat down. "Where's it from?"
"Oh, I don't know really. I've always known it; most every German child does. I suppose my mother sang it to me."
"But you don't know?"
"You're not the only one who can't remember a family," she said.
Jason sat down and put his arm around her, and Marie rested her head against him, rolling into him, their daughter pillowed on their two bodies. There was a long pause as they listened to her dear exhalations.
"You really think we have to give her up for her to be safe?" she whispered into his chest. He tightened both arms around her, one hand moving up through her now-long and brown hair, then smoothing it back down again.
"Think about Paris, Marie. What if she had been with us when that window shattered?" He kept his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to wake Drächen again. "What if she was in the car at the Gare du Nord? The night when I—when I hit you… I had the Glock out before I was even awake. What if—" He had never talked about that night before, couldn't bear explaining that he might well be the most immediate threat to their child.
She shivered "She won't remember me, the same as I don't remember my mother," she whispered in anguish. "I want her with me, with us."
"Me, too." Jason's voice was barely audible, his hands helpless on her back. "But I want her to live more."
Within days, he came home with three plane tickets to Mumbai. "The grid isn't as tight there, not like here," he said. "No one would find her there."
He drilled and re-drilled Marie in protocols for the trip. She was used to this, and was easily able to repeat them back to him by the day of his departure. Usually, they would each pack half the money in their effects; that way each would be covered in case of any delays, or worse. This time, Jason surprised her by leaving all of it with her, save what amounted to pocket change. "I'm more likely to be stopped, searched," was his explanation. She said nothing.
(1)Sleep, baby, sleep
Your father tends the sheep
Your mother shakes the dreamland tree
And from it fall sweet dreams for thee
Sleep, baby, sleep
Sleep, baby, sleep
Traditional German lullaby