I'll take her to Ithaca, to Mom's house--for a few days. Mom will love her. We'll hunt for an apartment. I'd rather get started in Ithaca than anywhere else. There used to be a little apartment on Landfair ... pretty good place ...
He was purchasing his ticket for the train to Paris, he was showing his fake ID, answering questions. The ticket agent was saying ... Kissing Jean, he forced himself to memorize her overcoat, its scarlet lining, the row of crummy buttons; he made himself memorize her rundown shoes, her wrinkled felt hat ...
Lena and Aunt Therèse were standing close to the scaled walls of the depot, smudged plaster, egg yolk plaster: they were standing side by side, Therèse crying.
"Write to me if you can," Jeannette said.
"I will."
"Take care of yourself.'"
"I will ... you, the same ... good-bye..."
"Au revoir."
His brain was scrambling words in French and English, asking questions: wasn't there something more he should tell Jeannette? Wasn't there something he could say to Lena? Wasn't there a word for Therèse?
Astride a shabby suitcase, hating the Nazi uniforms around him, inside the beat-up train, he gazed at tiny E through filthy windows: the locomotive jerked pathetically, jerked faces, cobbles, swastikas, and tiled roofs.