It's early in the morning, still dark. All the Spiets family is up and about, getting dressed and ready to go. Soon they gather out in front of the store, waiting for the bus. The neighbors on both sides, bakers and confectioners, are at their windows saying goodbye, and wishing the adventurers good luck. And off they go!
First, an all day charter bus ride through Nederland, through Belgium, and on to Paris, France. Jack has never been in Belgium or France. As the trip progresses, he's disappointed there's no opportunity to speak the language. Everything is handled by travel officials, and none of the passengers is required to say a word.
Mom arranges to sit beside Jack. Dad is keeping an eye on the other kids. Jack wonders what's coming now.
"Jack, we haven't had a chance to do anything about adopting you. So now, in order to travel without trouble, we're using Victor's identification papers as if they are yours. Do you understand?"
"Oh, you mean the same way as when we came from Bhutan?"
"That's right. But there's a little more to it now. On this trip, if anyone asks, say your real name is Victor. And you were born in Holland, 21 August 1937. Can you remember that?"
"August? Okay, I'll try. It's going to seem very strange. You want me to pretend to be Victor, right? That's weird."
"You don't have to understand it, Jack. Just do it, okay? It'll make things a lot simpler. For official purposes, you're going to be Victor. You can use the name Jack, that's alright. But even when we register you in school in B.C. you'll be registered as Victor. We think there would be less chance you might make a mistake if you start thinking that way now…Victor."
"But when I register at school, what grade should I be in? Victor was almost three years older than I am."
"I don't know. Let's talk about that later, shall we?"
"Okay."
What's going to be different later? Why not now?
The family arrives in Paris in the evening. Dinner is in a hotel restaurant, the first of many at which bread is served with an otherwise hot meal - a puzzle to the Spiets children. They're used to bread at breakfast, and perhaps lunch, but never with a hot evening meal.
The adults go out to look at the city, and the kids are put to bed early.
It's warm here.
Jack lies awake most of the night.
I resent being shuffled off to bed like a little kid. I know I can't really expect to be allowed to go see the city, but it would have been interesting to hang around the front of the hotel, to watch and listen to the people, and maybe see if I can understand them when they're talking French.
My visit to Paris is going to be pretty skimpy.
