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Chapter 7
    Spain: Illegal Border Crossing Through the Pyrennees 1942
    My father decided we couldn’t wait any longer. We’d have to use the same guide. There was nothing else for us to do. Mr. and Mrs. Muchell were going with us. He was a business acquaintance of my father, tall, robust with lacquered hair parted in the middle. She had coal black hair and her face was white covered with powder. Her lips were red like cherries, her lashes, long and thick. She wore shoes with soles thicker than most shoes of the war period. We were on our way to escape through the mountains, and she was dressed in a low-necked black lace dress. Everything about Madame Muchell was bigger than life. Lilo and I exchanged looks. This was going to be a promising outing. And for a moment, I forgot my anguish about Lilo.
    We met at the railroad station of Perpignan the guide who was to take us to Spain. He had his fifteen-year-old son with him. Lilo and I were pleased about that. I was sure the boy would be interested in me because I was older and more mature than Lilo.
    We took a train to reach the village closest to the border and to find the nearest mountain trails to cross the frontier. These trails were well traveled then. Many people had been passing through, but the guide told us we were the last ones to cross now. This would be his last trip: it was becoming too dangerous for him to take any more people.
    We walked an entire day through the woods. It was a sunny day, we were having fun—Lilo, the guide’s son and I. I was sure the boy was in love with me. Didn’t the young man in Cassis say I was beautiful? But I had to admit to myself that Lilo, too, had charm. But I kept pushing these thoughts in the back of my mind.
    Monsieur Muchell had trouble walking. He whined and stopped every five minutes to adjust his shoes, which pinched him. He also had to remove pebbles from his socks. We thought he was funny and laughed at him. Madame Muchell, however, was as graceful as a swan coasting with her high platform shoes. So except for Monsieur Muchell our excursion was enjoyable.
    At nightfall, the guide said, “You are in Spain and we have to leave you.” We were in Spain and delirious. Saved! The adults tore up their French papers and threw them like confetti in the air. “Ah! To be in Spain!” We danced and clapped our hands. I thought to myself, this is my first foreign country. I had never been outside of France before.
    We felt we could grasp the bright stars hanging above our heads, we were so close to the sky on the mountaintop. My mother was taking out of her bag the condensed sweet milk she had been carrying and said, “Let’s treat ourselves!”
    Madame Muchell let her long black hair fall down on her shoulders. She put on a dazzling maroon taffeta gown with bouffant sleeves, a very tight waist, flowing material down to the ankles. She was a sight by the moonlight. She took a huge jar out of her bag, opened the jar and jabbed into it, and slowly massaged her face with the white cold cream. Lilo and I began to laugh hysterically non-stop. We rolled in the grass with contortions of laughter. For that instant I forgot how much Lilo bothered me.
    Cowbells awakened us that first morning we thought we were safe in Spain. We saw the cows, accompanied by a man and woman coming our way. My father addressed the couple in Spanish. The man answered in French. “My poor man,” he said, “Imagine, we come to check on our cows only once every six months, and I have to tell you, you are not in Spain. Spain is far over there. There are no trails only big ravines to cross. Watch out for the French police. They have mean dogs. It is fate that we are here today to warn you, you are in France. Ah! What terrible news to give you.”
    As soon as they had left us, Monsieur Muchell announced, “I can’t go on. My heart is giving up. I am not moving. I don’t