by G Johanson
Delaney had watched the scene from an upstairs window of the building and, spotting that Inès was having problems, she raced outside and grabbed her arm and led her inside past Lucien. Within earshot of him Delaney said loudly, “Don’t even acknowledge the creep, nobody else does.”
Inès replied once they were inside. “Thank you. Does he commute every day from Dijon? He must set off early...”
“He’s not here every day, thank God. I used to talk to him and it makes him worse. You’re not seeing your uncle, get the bloody message, you great clot! Like we don’t have enough to contend with. Schnell’s snuffed it in the night.”
Inès’ face registered her surprise. They weren’t prepared for this. She had believed that even the worst cases, of which Schnell had been one of the contenders, had a few weeks left to live. Unfortunately, while the nursing home had a phone, Durand did not, which meant that she had to try and sort this out herself, which in truth meant that this opportunity would pass them by. She was no great mastermind and she knew it, admitting to herself that she was the textbook follower. “Where is he?”
“In the morgue. He’ll be gone by dinner. It unsettles the others. You’re on death ward today too.”
“That’s fine,” Inès said, having no problems with tending to the patients there. It was actually her favourite ward where she felt like she was making the most difference. Poor Fraisse, whose tremors showed no signs of abating, was her main project and she felt that she was making some headway with him without forced smiles or by dragging conversation out of the unwilling. She headed straight up to the ward, pausing on the stairs to look out of the window where she saw Lucien remained at his post. While she commended his loyalty to his family, in this instance it was sorely misplaced. The war that had cost him four years of his young life, along with every patient here, was entirely his uncle’s fault. The Kaiser and all of the leaders had blood aplenty on their hands, Princip too, though he at least had the decency to shuffle off this mortal coil, but the fact remained that the war would never have happened but for Georges Steil’s catastrophic act on the last day of the 19th century.
The undertaker took the body away before 10, each of the wards turning quiet upon hearing the sounds of the horses clippity-clopping away with their cargo. The recovery ward quickly returned to normal and even began joking about the regularity of the visits. Lucien had been about to abandon his vigil for the day until he saw the undertaker arrive and he had to remain. He pressed the undertaker and his assistant to see the body, a request they refused, but they described the victim for him which bore no resemblance to Georges.
Inès was in a melancholy mood when she finished her shift. An opportunity had passed them by here and she expected that the Quentins would be critical of her for not seizing the chance. Lucien was still waiting and she really could not be bothered for another scene.
“I got worried before when I saw the undertaker. You know my uncle, you can see why I’d worry about a frail old man. Five minutes and I won’t bother you again. I’ll even treat you to a meal,” Lucien said.
“That would take longer than five minutes,” Inès said tiredly.
“There’s a cafe over the road. I often stake out the place there. The quicker you give in the quicker you get home.”
Against her better judgement she nodded. The fact that he was prepared to wait outside most days in all conditions wore her down and she decided he deserved to be heard out. He aided her across the road and opened the cafe door for her and pulled her chair back for her, a glimpse of what it would be like to have a boyfriend. He sat at his favourite table by the window and commented on what a great vantage point it gave him of the ‘fortress’. He talked about himself, a topic Inès much preferred over talking about his uncle. He was single, 27, and had worked as an engineer before the war and now looked to joining his brother in the family business. Without bragging he revealed that the family were well off. His brother, with whom he had served, was married with two children and had a duty to them, which was why Lucien was here, representing them both. Etienne had seen too little of his wife and children in recent years as it was, whereas Lucien had no ties and could hound the medical staff indefinitely with Etienne funding him.
“Which room is my uncle in?”
Inès tried to work out which room was which and she said, “The windows for that room are at the side.”
“Which side?”
Inès pointed towards the left and she said, “Even if you get into the grounds you wouldn’t see him. He stays in his bed most of the time.”
“Sounds a cushy deal, flat on his back while pretty young nurses fulfil his every whim. Are you sure he’s not faking it?”
“He’s your uncle,” she joked back.
“That he is, a real one-off. This might all sound mad to you, but if you’ve spent some time in his company then you’ll be used to such talk. He’s our uncle, mine and Etienne’s, and we’ve had four concentrated years of it. After a while it doesn’t seem so crazy. It’s just Uncle Georges. Do you know about the magic?”
Inès nodded. “He does chat a lot, far more than the rest of them, and I’ve heard about his old act. I’ve seen the card tricks.”
Lucien smiled as he spoke affectionately of his eccentric relative. “He put on shows for us regularly. As boys and as men in the trenches.”
“The girls told me he wasn’t an officer. That surprised me. He’s very old to be a private.”
“Too old. We all thought that and said it plenty too. He can take a joke. He’s a special magician. It’s not smoke and mirrors with him. He’s the real deal. I’m not talking tricks, I’m talking miracles. I can see in your face you’re thinking, ‘Who is this nut?’”
“No, genuinely I’m not,” Inès said. She was one of the small minority who believed in the occult as a real force.
Lucien clicked his fingers and gestured for the garcon to refill his drink. “I would think it. Uncle Georges served his country because he’s a patriot first and foremost. His secondary reason was to keep me and my brother safe. He accomplished that too, from ‘14 to last month. I would have got two shells direct in the face and Etienne had a bullet headed for his heart. Georges altered the trajectory – he did it for as many of our unit as he could. Our mortality rate was the envy of the whole army. Having someone with you who can shield you, tell you where is and where isn’t safe to stand – that’s more than a godsend. I don’t think there is a word for that. This last year he’s burnt himself out keeping us safe. There’s nothing left in the tank and that’s why he contracted this disease so I think I owe him.”
“There’s nothing you can do for him though, Lucien. It will pass.”
“I know, one way or the other. I never saw my father pass away. We were in the trenches. If this is his time I want to see him. My mother...this won’t mean much to you, only she wants to thank him, which is a first, he needs to hear that.”
“Any mother would be grateful to any man who kept her sons safe, especially her brother. Is he her brother?”
“Yes! Right, I see what you mean,” Lucien said, realising the question wasn’t as absurd as he made out. “I’m not asking to bring him home with me. My mother and my grandmother are there and they’re not as young as they used to be. My brother’s got two youngsters at his so it’s not like he could go there either. I just want to see him one time. It’s not as though you lot are all in quarantine.”
“We know the risks.”
“Me too. If I drop down dead I promise I won’t point the finger of blame at any of you.”
“I’m the lowest of the low, Lucien. My word has no sway.”
“We don’t have to do this officially. You could get me inside,” Lucien said and Inès instantly came to her senses. He was flirting with her and she was falling for it, flattered at his attention, though he pushed his luck too far by taking her hand in his as he suggested this, staring deep into her eyes, taking her for a gullible little fool who would throw her career
away to do him a favour, the girl who had never been kissed so damned grateful for his attention. There was far more at stake than he realised and she decided she had heard enough and broke away from his script.
“I have to go. My mother will be expecting me, and I know you appreciate the importance of family.”
“Of course. Hear me out a moment longer, because nobody else listens to me in this town. His shows at the end were godawful. You have no idea. Me and Etienne still applauded them and that was about it. I respect that he kept doing it to entertain us even though his power was nonexistent at that point. Dropping cards, dropping sticks; we’d get maybe one show a month without any serious mistakes. The other boys all loved our uncle but they’re soldiers and they call a spade a spade and they ripped into him something rotten. And he’d still get up there every week. Maybe it was for his own benefit. He’s always liked to be the centre of attention performing. That will be part of it, but I know it was for me and Etienne really, to take us away from there, to a happier time when he used to do great shows when we were kids. Remarkable stuff, beyond these supposed big name ‘credible’ magicians. Uncle Georges could have been bigger than any of them,” Lucien said emotively
“Good. Can I have my hand back now please?” Inès said icily.
Lucien let her go and offered to take her home, an offer she rejected out of hand. That would raise too many questions. She had enough of them to face as it was with Matthieu quizzing her as soon as he heard about the body, asking her where it was and when they would receive it. Durand sprang to Inès’ defence, praising her for not acting rashly. This proved that the patients could drop dead at any moment and she would now be prepared for that eventuality, with precise instructions of what to do.
Inès wished hard to herself that when she walked around the corner leading to the nursing home he would not be there. This was just another wish that did not come true for there he stood with flowers in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth which he discarded again upon sight of her. She did not return his grin and attempted to get past him with a cursory greeting.
“Good morning, Lucien.”
“A cold one, I think. I’m not looking forward to standing out here all day. If you could meet me again for another meal after work I could go home and come back later,” he said persuasively, holding out a bouquet of multicoloured irises for her which she did not take from him.
“After a day’s work all I want to do is go home.” He was blocking her path again and she was growing frustrated and impatient with him.
“You must get a break for dinner. Please,” he implored. He moved to let her pass and she walked past him and changed her mind as she reached the door, returning to him to take the flowers.
“Are they for me or for your uncle?”
“Whichever answer persuades you to join me for dinner.”
“One o’clock,” Inès said. She was complimented on the beautiful flowers by Aurore who fetched a vase for her. She decided to keep them for herself, though would keep them on the premises to avoid awkward questions at home. She was on Georges’ ward today and she decided to mention about Lucien to him. Over the last few days he had improved a little, regrettably, and he demonstrated by juggling the rolls from his breakfast, inspired to do so by Inès mentioning that she’d heard good reports about his magic.
“Very good. It was your nephew who told me how talented you are. He’s insistent upon seeing you.”
“They’re both like their parents. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. It’s a family trait which I share. No. It’s not happening,” Georges said resolutely.
“Perhaps you could talk through a screen,” Inès suggested, purely for Lucien’s benefit.
“This virus is airborne. There’s no way of making it completely safe. We’ve just spent the best part of four years living virtually sack to crack. Tell him to enjoy the break.”
“I don’t think he’ll go away. His brother is sending him money so he doesn’t need to work so he can wait and wait.”
“That’s fine. I do plan on recovering within the next month or two, touch wood, and I’ll see him then. Until then he can mooch around outside aplenty, I’m fine and dandy with that. He’s been through far worse so I’m not worried about him on this perilously respectable street,” Georges said jovially.
“What do you want me to say to him?”
“Scarper. I’ll come back to Dijon when I can. He’s bleated on enough about missing home that he should prove it by going back. Don’t sugarcoat it, Nurse Videt, be harsh if anything, because I do not want that boy anywhere near me while I’m carrying this. If I had my way I’d sooner they sent us to leper colonies away from any of you. It’s asking too much of you good people. It’s terrible what happened to that last girl.”
“It’s terrible whoever it happens to.”
“We all caught it randomly. She caught it through caring for us, knowing that the risk was there. If I’d earned any medals in action I’d send one to her family. You only have to look at poor Schnell yesterday – he had five children, what will they do now? That proves how hazardous things remain. Send him on his way.”
Inès imparted Georges’ message to Lucien who paid no heed to his words, as she expected. Lucien had already demonstrated to her that he didn’t take no for an answer. He shared some war stories with her which were palatable enough because they were not glorifying the battles, like so many did, and they were far from self-aggrandising, Lucien placing huge credit on Georges’ scrawny shoulders. Too many had looked at the old man and instantly condemned him as a weak link which was a million miles away from the truth.
“So how did he even get on the front line? I thought there were age restrictions,” Inès asked curiously. The topic had great personal interest to her.
“They were breached both ways, young and old. So you weren’t nursing then?” Lucien said, figuring he’d talked enough about himself and his uncle and keen to know more about her.
She shook her head vigorously. “I would never do anything that could be construed as supporting that.”
Her disdain was evident and Lucien was in concordance with her views, as he said melancholically, “I rushed into supporting it and now have to spend the rest of my life forgetting it.”
“You seem well-adjusted.”
“You’ve got to get on with things. Plenty had it much worse than me. Part of getting back to normal is all of us returning home, wayward uncle included. The funny thing is he doesn’t actually live in Dijon. Uncle Georges is a drifter. A couple of months and he’ll be gone again for a while. Did any of your relatives serve?”
“My brother. Ypres.”
Lucien did not need any further details to clarify her meaning, this place revealing everything. “I’m sorry.”
Inès looked away from him and across to the nursing home. Her eyes were perfectly dry yet she couldn’t return his gaze after this admission.
“I’m sure he’d be very proud of you,” Lucien said encouragingly.
“Sometimes I wonder,” Inès said, more to herself than to him. Lucien managed to make her feel a little better by telling her positive stories of the front, of the camaraderie and banter, which he assured her would have been as present between his brother and his friends as it had been between him and his troop. He promised her solemnly that even the hardest parts became bearable as the soldier adjusted to the surreal new existence, his words having some credibility as a soldier who’d lived through it. At home they talked of Jean’s 15 months of hell and Inès hoped that Lucien was right and that Jean had some moments of...joy was pushing it, moments that were tolerable the best she could hope for.
Inès had made a little headway with Fraisse, who still trembled constantly and seemed terrified at all times, though now occasionally instigated conversations with her, a first for him with anybody of late. She would make no further progress now for Fraisse died in the night and she was a little sad that he was to be their offering. It was for the greater good and she hop
ed he would understand. She remembered how quickly the undertaker had arrived last time and she listened out for the fateful sound of those horses clippity-clopping along. When she heard them she excused herself from the ward, claiming ‘women’s problems’ to Aurore and she tried to pick her moment. The matron opened the door to the undertaker and led him and his assistant through to the morgue before she returned to her office. She spotted Inès loitering in a doorway and she beckoned her over.
“It’s not pleasant, I know, my dear. It does get easier, truly,” the matron said, believing that she knew why Inès was hiding herself away.
Inès smiled at her and said, “Thank you, matron.”
The matron walked back up the stairs to her office and Inès had to pretend she was heading back to the ward. She stopped by the doors and when she heard the matron’s door close upstairs she went back to the corridor. Inès had seen the undertaker around town on a few occasions and knew that he was very partial to a tipple. She doubted that he knew her and this became apparent quickly as she delayed him in the corridor and attempted to engage him. His assistant was with him, the pair heading back out to fetch the coffin, and the undertaker was too busy for this girl’s piffling small talk.
“We’ll have to talk another time. I’ll be back here soon enough. Things to do, people to bury,” he said merrily as he terminated the conversation. He was around the same age as Georges Steil, at least 50, and had only a few teeth left which appeared misshapen and affected his speech.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. Can I have two minutes of your time? It’ll be worth your while.”
The undertaker looked at her curiously and he said, “Fire away.”
