chapter thirty-nine

THE year 2000 was over. I turned fifteen, then sixteen and seventeen.

Apart from the times when I thought of Gloria and got depressed, I was adjusting to my new life. In the morning I got a freshly baked baguette, the smell of Mrs. Georges’ coffee filled the classroom, and there were fireworks on the Fourteenth of July and the annual Tour de France.

I was getting used to living in peace and I was getting ready to take the high school exam.

I walked the streets, hand in hand with Prudence, waiting to be of legal age so I could obtain my French citizenship and become a person rather than a ghost.

It happened officially on December 30, 2003. I remember it clearly because it was very cold on the square of the city hall. Modeste Koulevitch and Mrs. Georges came with me, and Prudence was there too. They each kissed me as if I had won a sports event, as if I’d broken a world record at the Olympics. I was holding an ID card and a brand-new passport in my hand.

“This is a wonderful day!” Mrs. Georges said, crying.

And Modeste Koulevitch patted me on the back again and again because he was so happy for me. The laws of the republic had recently changed: France still stood for liberty, equality, and fraternity, but many new amendments made it increasingly difficult to obtain official papers. The new immigration policy, based on fear, as always, had made it that way. But I had gotten my papers. I could breathe.

We went to a restaurant to celebrate, and Mrs. Georges ordered a glass of champagne. Then she asked me what I was going to do with my newfound freedom.

Prudence leaned against my shoulder. She knew my plans because I had told her about my dreams. We smiled at each other.