The Basle Express, gathering speed, cleared the station and veered sharply left. Mother slid on the leather seat, tipping toward mesteadied herself with a hand on my shoulder. She was tall and thin and prone to tipping.

She straightened her hat, which had tilted sideways: a large red felt, broad brim rolled down in back, with a conical crown that made her seem even taller. At last, were on our way to Switzerland, she said. Im ecstatic, Johnny. . . . Hooray! . . . Hooray!

We were alone in the compartment; I crossed my fingers.

Rain had begun again: spattering the window; polishing the empty streets in the early dawn; staining, dark, the gray spires. I, too, was glad we were on our way: leaving this drab, old city; this gray Low Country. I pressed against the glass, watching a giant drop slant down before my nose.

Johnny, please, my mother said. Dont put your face on the windowwere not used to these foreign germs. This was no offhand reproach. She had a great interest in germs and other agents of potential damage to the human systeman interest far ahead of its time in 1937. Velveeta, she had just discovered, was made from petroleum jelly.

Her finger had found its place again on the map over which she had been straining, and after a moment she said, I have a marvelous idea, Johnny. Why dont we forget your silly school and spend the winter on the Riviera? Ill teach you myself. Well rent a villa near Cannes or Nice or Monte Carlo, a princedom by the sea. Well bathe on our own crystal beach, sail at the Antibes Club, picnic on the cliffs above a winedark merand study Proust.

The last thing in the world I wanted to do, was go to a strange, new school. But from experience, I suppressed my own enthusiasm. Normally, it was my fathers role to dash such plansnot dash, to reason them into oblivion. Was I, too, expected to perform that function?

What about the rain? I suggested.

She smiled. It doesnt always rain in Europe, Johnny. Were in a bad spell, thats all. Then suddenly she was sad.

I believed her about the weather, of course, though Rotterdam was not a reassuring nameif anything, it confirmed the damp, the ceaseless rain. Why had we come? I wondered for the hundredth time.

To give you advantages, Johnny, was what she always replied. The learning opportunity of a lifetime.

I blamed my father for his first failure of reason. Since we had left the ship, I was certain I had learned nothingwith the possible exception of a certain knack with the steam shovel machine in the arcade by the hotel. The steam shovel was in a glass case full of candy-balls and other prizes. After several attempts at coordinating the handles, catching only candy, I scooped up a tinsoldier firing from his knee. Then, just as I was gaining control, certain to next reach the gold wristwatch, my mother appeared, exuberant at the prospect of another art museum.

But mother, the wristwatch, I protested. I had it, almostits gold. She had a firm grip on my arm. See, Ive already got the soldier.