Days of Winter

by Cynthia Freeman

  The man slumped down in his chair. He couldn’t find his voice. Etienne went to him where he sat and shook him. “Tell me.”

  Silence. Then … “Jean-Paul …”

  Etienne stared at him again as though he were a mad man. Surely he was wrong. Jean-Paul had less than a brotherly love for him, he knew, and there had been times when it was clear that some tensions existed between him-self and Jeanette. …But to think that … no, it was monstrous, impossible … “Charles, I ask you again, are you sure … my brother …?”

  “Yes, absolutely sure. We have our people working all over Paris. I was informed, and told to come to you at once. …Etienne, you must believe it. I swear it … on my children, I swear it. …Etienne, you aren’t the first, I’m afraid you won’t be the last …And now you’ve got to put aside your disbelief and listen carefully to what I tell you. You must go to Switzerland. Take the route to Basel … that’s very important, because that road has no strategical importance to the Germans, there are only a few border guards at that check point. For God’s sake; Etienne, go now and give your family a chance. In a few hours it will be too late. …”

  Etienne nodded, finally accepting. “Charles, dear friend, I’ve no idea how I can thank you, I know the risk you’ve taken coming here to say this to me … you must go now.”

  As Etienne entered the room, Jeanette sat up in bed, startled. “What’s wrong?” she said. “You look so pale.”

  He sat on the bed and held her close to him. “I’ve something to tell you …”

  From the sound of his voice, she knew it was urgent “What’s wrong, Etienne?”

  “Darling, I want you to listen to me. … I want you to pack a bag with only the basic necessities. Then go to Henri’s room and do the same. When you’ve finished, bring him back here, put him to bed and let him sleep. Get dressed in your warmest clothing. Take only the coat you will wear. Just before we leave we’ll dress Henri—”

  “Leave? Oh, my God, I understand, it’s because of me. No, Etienne. You and Henri stay. There are places I can go but you and Henri can’t leave—”

  He took her face in his hands. “Sshh, we’ve no time for such nonsense. We’re a family. We’re driving to Switzerland together. I’ve had the passports for a long time, we’ll have no problems—”

  “No, Etienne, I can’t let you do this for me—”

  “I’m doing it for you and me, and our son. …Now, please, darling, do as I ask. …I’ve something to do before we leave, so dry your tears, there’s no need for them. Just thank God we still have time.” He kissed her quickly and went to dress. She followed him.

  “Where are you going, Etienne?”

  “I’ll be back shortly. Just do as I ask. Tell no one we’re leaving.”

  “Not even Madeleine?”

  “No one. Not even maman … I’ll tell her just before we leave.”

  Somehow, Jeanette managed to pull herself together, but as she did what Etienne had asked, she knew that it was she and she alone who had brought this terror down on their home. She felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding as she packed, then went down the hall to get her son. Quietly, so as not to awaken Madeleine asleep in the adjacent bedroom, she picked up her sleeping child. …

  It was two A.M. when the door of Jean-Paul’s house was opened by his butler. “Bonsoir, monsieur. Your brother is asleep. Shall I—”

  Etienne pushed him aside with his cane and made his way loudly up the stairs to Jean-Paul’s room.

  Switching on the bedside lamp, Jean-Paul saw Etienne coming toward him, his breathing labored, his eyes clearly showing his rage and hatred. He knew immediately why Etienne was here. He felt sick to his stomach. How … how had he found out? Who …?

  Etienne stood over the bed now. He lifted his cane and struck his brother across the chest.

  “You’re crazy … you damn cripple, get out of my house.”

  Etienne’s answer was to drag him out of the bed. Jean-Paul broke away and staggered against the wall, Etienne following.

  “You unbelievable, depraved bastard … I knew how you felt about me, but why Jeanette? My wife, the mother of your child—”

  “My child? You are insane.”

  “I’m not insane, or blind—”

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  “I mean, I know. I’ve known from the beginning, as soon as Jeanette told me she was pregnant—”

  “And you’ve put up with that? You’ve lived with her knowing that?”

  “Yes. You wouldn’t understand it, but I lived with that. Do you really think I don’t know about you, how you’ve behaved with women, what you’ve done to your own wife? Do you imagine I don’t know that you married her for her inheritance, would have refused to divorce her for Jeanette? No, my Casanova brother, you did me a favor. You swept her off her feet, a young girl, a young and innocent girl. I could never have done that, but I could recognize a gift, and that is what she gave me, and I was grateful for the opportunity to take it.”

  “Were you also grateful that she was my mistress …? You didn’t know that, did you? All those years, she was coming to me—”

  Etienne went even paler, and for a moment felt a stabbing sensation … and then there was no more time for such indulgence, only for getting out the last of his fury against the cringing—yes, by God, cringing—figure in front of him. …Except now, of course, he understood Jean-Paul’s special hatred for Jeanette. She had left him, humiliated him, and for his cripple of a brother. And now he was taking his revenge, but what kind of man would …?

  “My God, Jean-Paul, I finally understand you, and it sickens me so much I can’t even bring myself to break this cane over your miserable head—which, God knows, you deserve. But Henri, your own son … Henri is a Jew too as far as your friends are concerned. What kind of man are you, a man who’d destroy his own son? That, I can’t understand—”

  “Never mind about my son, I’ve taken care of him. I always will—”

  “You’ve ‘taken care of him’? You’re crazy. Do you really think those people are going to be loyal to you? Do you think they are about to make exceptions for a traitor, a collaborator, when they have gassed millions of their own people?”

  The sweat was pouring from Jean-Paul now.

  “You didn’t plan this as carefully as you thought. This time you have the Nazis, not a young girl and your mother, to deceive and use … oh, God, I should kill you …” But instead he pushed him against the wall, and with all his strength hit him with the back of his hand so hard that Jean-Paul reeled and the blood came from his mouth as he slumped to the floor. If he went on, Etienne knew, he would kill him, and would have been pleased to pay for the pleasure of it, but he suspected there were others more practiced than himself in such matters who would take care of Jean-Paul. …And meanwhile there were Jeanette and Henri … and there was maman … poor maman. …He’d tell her as little as possible, but he had to prepare her.

  He took one last look at his brother slumped in a heap on the floor, then turned and left.

  At first when he told her that the three of them had to go to Switzerland immediately—leaving out the identity of the informer against Jeanette—she simply refused to take it in. And then, all the wonderful regal reserve and strength that she’d maintained through so much loss and tragedy in her life simply gave way, and she was what she was … a terrified and stricken old lady, crying her heart out for what she could neither comprehend nor accept.

  Etienne held her until she’d quieted some, then took her face in his hands as she’d done to him when he was upset as a child, and, speaking slowly and with emphasis, told her, “No one, maman, no one, it’s important you remember that, must be told about our leaving or where we are going. I feel guilty for even telling you, but I wanted to spare you at least the worry of not knowing, of imagining God knows what. But I repeat, if anyone asks you, you must say you weren’t told, that we wanted to protect you. Our lives depend on it, maman…”

  She look
ed at him now, more composed but still shaking. “I’ll do my best, Etienne, but, please, let’s see what Jean-Paul can do. He does have influence, after all. He is in the government. He is so clever …”

  “No, maman. Jean-Paul is as helpless in this as any of us. Believe me. You mustn’t involve him, it could be very dangerous for him. …Now, remember what I have told you. …”

  Of course he hadn’t told everything. What would it serve to destroy in her eyes, to take away from her the last of her family? Let her go on believing in him as long as she could, it would hurt no one. To do otherwise would surely kill her—her firstborn a traitor and murderer … surely that knowledge would be the end of her. …

  As they took their good-byes, she said very little and, watching them get into the car, then drive off, she felt numb, a brief defense against the grief that soon began to intrude as she stood there in the dark … Denise; Etienne, her favorite; Jeanette, whom she loved as a daughter; poor Marie Jacqueline; her precious Henri; her beloved husband … all gone now, all except Jean-Paul. Thank God, at least, for that, for Jean-Paul. …

  Jean-Paul, trying to soak out in the tub the throbbing pain in his chest, was even more bothered by the fact that Etienne had been forewarned and that Jean-Paul had no idea by whom. …And he wondered what Etienne had told maman … in a way, that was most terrifying of all to him, having to face her if she knew. …His thoughts went from that unpleasant prospect to a mounting anger at whoever on his staff—it had to be one of them, with access to privileged information—had given him away. Well, he would find out. …He lay back, gingerly touching his jaw, wondering if it were broken, trying to block out the image of Etienne and his astonishing turnabout performance. Finally, long after he’d closed his eyes, he achieved the temporary escape of deep, obliterating sleep …

  … out of which he was awakened by the jangling of the telephone. He glanced at the clock, still half-asleep. 5:30. He picked up the receiver, said “Hello,” and listened to his mother’s voice at the other end, demanding, importuning that he come at once. …

  It was the same voice that he had heard the night Denise had died, the same sound of anger and despair and bereavement …My God, had that little bitch actually told her, no she wouldn’t disgrace herself to maman, not even now. …He must get hold of himself. …

  By the time he reached the house on the Boulevard Victor Hugo he was wet with perspiration although the morning was chilly. He put his thoughts together slowly, piece by piece, testing the effects. …If necessary he would say he’d been forced to reveal Jeanette’s real identity by the Gestapo, that they’d used their very persuasive methods on him, and, even more, he might still have been able to protect her but they already had information from other sources, other informants, and to hold out further would only have jeopardized maman, led them to her and the rest of the family. …She needn’t worry about Henri, or Etienne, he would somehow manage to protect them … it was Jeanette, he was very sorry, but that was the truth of it … it was Jeanette they wanted. …Well, perhaps it would work, perhaps.

  When he saw her face, whatever courage he’d contrived before arriving quickly deserted him. She wasn’t the same woman he’d seen only a few days ago. She had aged ten years. Her face was gaunt, the bones standing out under the parchmentlike skin. She shuddered inwardly.

  She turned slowly to look at him, aware that she was about to disobey Etienne’s strict instructions, but surely, Jean-Paul, his own brother … her first-born son … “Jean-Paul, I can’t believe it’s happened, this awful thing, this—”

  “What has happened, maman?”

  She hesitated for a moment, then remembered Etienne had said he hadn’t wanted to involve his brother, who was, after all, in the government … so of course Jean-Paul didn’t know. …

  “Maman,” he said, breaking into her thoughts, “I asked you, what’s happened? Why are you so upset?”

  “Jean-Paul, they’ve found out about Jeanette … the Gestapo—”

  “What? … impossible … how? …” His tone was appropriately dismayed, disbelieving (and privately he felt enormous relief … she didn’t know about him, after all), and became more so as she went on with the details about when Jeanette was to have been picked up and the man who had come the previous night to warn Etienne.

  “What man, maman?” he asked, trying to sound far more casual than he felt

  “I’ve no idea. Etienne said it would be dangerous for the man, and for me too, perhaps, if he told me his name.”

  “Of course, Etienne was right. …”

  “But I did ask him to talk to you, that perhaps you could help. …Jean-Paul, I’ve made my feelings clear to you more than once. I hate the Germans and I don’t like it that you even work with them, even though I’m sure no son of mine could be a real Nazi, and I know your duties are important, but above all I know you’re a Frenchman and in your own way I realize you feel you’re doing the best for your country that you can do now. …” She looked almost pleadingly at him. “Tell me, Jean-Paul, tell me that I am right.”

  “Of course, maman, you are completely right … we all do what we can, in the way we can do it best.”

  “I knew it … and if only Etienne had asked you for help—”

  Jean-Paul was cautious. “And why didn’t he, maman?”

  “He said it would do no good, and that you would only be endangered yourself if he involved you. …And now it’s too late.”

  Jean-Paul put aside his curiosity about his brother’s remarkable forbearance. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, maman. You put things in the past. You say ‘too late’ …?”

  It was out of her mouth before she could … or would … think about it further. She had to tell somebody, her own son. … “Etienne has left with Jeanette and Henri—”

  “‘Left’ …? and … where has he taken them, maman?”

  “… Switzerland.”

  “When, maman?”

  “Oh, Jean-Paul, I’m not sure, I think about two o’clock, perhaps a bit earlier …”

  “And you waited this long to tell me?”

  “I gave Etienne my word not to tell anyone and—”

  “‘Anyone’…? I’m your son, don’t I have a right to be told?”

  “But he made it clear it might be dangerous for you to be involved, because of your position. …It was for your sake, he was thinking of you, and now I’ve put you in danger too, Jean-Paul, but I couldn’t help it … I couldn’t be alone with this any longer.” She looked at him, without pretense, without her old brave air, regardless of the personal sorrow. “I suppose, Jean-Paul, I am after all, just a very old, very frightened woman. I only hope I haven’t lost you too by my weakness. …”

  He nodded, trying to hide his impatience, and to seem to reassure her, and then, finally, asked what was primarily on his mind. “And Henri … couldn’t you persuade him at least to leave Henri with you, with us? He’d surely be safer here.”

  “It happened so quickly, Jean-Paul. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I could have persuaded them. They’d never have left their child behind.”

  He nodded, told her he was sure she was right, and then she was saying, “Couldn’t something be done, Jean-Paul? Couldn’t we bring them back? Don’t you have enough influence … perhaps someone could even be bribed? Never mind the cost, please try, Jean-Paul. …”

  He sighed, for his reasons, not hers. “We’ll see, maman. …”

  Riding back to his home, Jean-Paul found himself with more conflicting thoughts and feelings than he was accustomed to, or comfortable with. Seeing his mother as she was—broken, pleading, asking him to reassure her of his loyalty, that he wasn’t a Nazi … his deceptions now and over the years left him feeling something that at least touched on shame, which all his life he’d considered cowardice and the refuge of weak and stupid people. And the thought of his son, caught up in his own calculated revenge against his brother and Jeanette—them, he had no regrets about—well, it was a horrifying accident, b
ut Etienne was right, he hadn’t taken everything into account, and that thought once again made him wild to lay his hands on whoever it was that had alerted …

  And he thought of the Gestapo’s reaction about that as well. …Wouldn’t they first and naturally suspect him … the brother of the man, and a damn Frenchman, none of them trustworthy, of course. …Wouldn’t they decide that he had weakened at the last moment and when he realized he couldn’t stop what he’d started had alerted his brother and advised him to leave. …He’d made a mess of it, face it, he told himself, and there was a flash of honest revulsion for himself as well, but he quickly reminded himself that there was nothing to do now except to protect himself as best he could … nothing would be served by sacrificing himself, and he still might save Henri, he had to save his son. …

  Once home, he went to the telephone and put through a call to the residence of Herr Heinrich Kessler. He warned himself to be calm, and convincing. …his son’s life depended on it.

  The connection was made.

  “Kessler.” The voice was like a knife.

  “Jean-Paul Dupré speaking.”

  “You are calling in regard to the matter discussed?”

  “Yes, but there have been some changes, which is the reason for my disturbing you. …”

  “What changes?”

  “The individual discussed has, it seems, been informed and is attempting to leave the country—”

  Kessler’s voice was ice. “Informed? Interesting. And where exactly has she gone?”

  “… Switzerland, I suspect, perhaps Basel … my brother knows the country well and it would be the logical—”

  “Very logical,” Kessler interrupted, and quickly asked for, and received, the make of the car, description of the passengers. “That will do for now. We will attend to the matter—”

  “One more thing, please, Herr Kessler …”

  “Yes?” The voice was impatient.

  “You agreed from the beginning that in this case you would overlook that the boy is half-Jewish. I was very honest with you about the special circumstances … that I am the boy’s father—”