A Good Death

by A Good Death (retail) (epub)

  ‘What are you doing?’ she spoke in a whisper, as if Madame Ariane were asleep in the room.

  ‘I came to fasten the window. It was banging in the wind.’

  ‘Where is she? Why isn’t she in bed?’

  ‘I don’t know. She wasn’t here when I got up. Perhaps she’s gone to see that the house or the animals are all right in the storm.’

  ‘Move up.’ Sabine pushed in beside Suzie and looked out.

  ‘There’s someone smoking down there,’ she remarked.

  ‘The guard?’

  Sabine did not hear her suggestion under a new fusillade of thunder, much closer. A sheet of lightning ripped through the sky, illuminating the courtyard for two or three seconds with a piercing white light that bleached away all colour, arresting movement, so that the scene resembled a black and white photograph. The smoker in the courtyard was revealed as Madame Ariane, seated on the low stone balustrade that divided the terrace from the cobbles. She was looking out at the storm; behind her, in the open doorway, stood the major. A second later, darkness had returned.

  Sabine gripped Suzie’s shoulder. ‘Did you see that? Did you see who it was?’

  Suzie was overcome with guilt. If she hadn’t thought it, two days ago, perhaps it wouldn’t have happened. If she hadn’t come to see what the noise was, Sabine would not have awoken. She had revealed Madame Ariane to Sabine.

  She padded back to the dressing room. Sabine remained leaning on the sill, waiting for the next lightning flash. Suzie got back into bed and pulled the sheet over her head. With deliberation she stepped back into Before. She was walking down the wide, dingy stairs of their apartment house in the Marais, holding Maman’s hand in one of hers and in the other clutching Rahel. They were going for a walk to the children’s playground where there was a see-saw that she loved …

  The sheet was dragged back and Sabine sat on the pillow beside her, her knees drawn up, her nightgown pulled over them. Her body was rigid with excitement.

  ‘What were they doing there together in the dark? It was a secret meeting. She’s a collaborator, a traitor.’

  Chapter Twenty

  The girls were perched in their new vantage point in an unused bedroom on the first floor of the house, in the German zone.

  ‘What you have to know about the Russians as fighters is that they are inhuman,’ the major was saying. ‘I don’t say subhuman, the term that is so often used. It may be technically correct according to ethnological principles, but it is not the right word in a military context. Subhuman implies a lack of intelligence, as well as a lack of other human qualities, and this misunderstanding may lead military commanders into unwise moves, in the belief that their opponents are stupid.’

  At the sight of Madame Ariane and the major sitting together in the dark, Sabine’s interest had switched abruptly from the young soldiers to the major. She now trained her binoculars on him, noting where he was during the time he spent at Bonnemort. As Suzie had done several days earlier, she rapidly became aware that the major stalked Madame Ariane, although her interpretation, expounded to Suzie in long sessions in the loft of the winepress, was that she was leading him, not that he was following her.

  They had discovered that the officers now often sat outside on the terrace at the back of the house after dinner to finish a bottle of champagne that they had requisitioned from the cellar. Madame Ariane’s nightly duties now extended beyond the cutting up of the major’s food and being present through dinner. She was obliged to accompany them onto the terrace and sit in the long pale evenings while the major drank and talked.

  ‘He likes an audience,’ she told the aunts, ‘for his lectures.’

  In pursuit of their prey, Sabine and Suzie were watching an after-dinner meeting. Suzie had protested that they couldn’t expect anything to happen under the eyes of the batman and the lieutenant, and Sabine couldn’t understand anything that was said, if they talked at all, which they hadn’t much last time. However, Sabine’s hunting instinct was aroused.

  ‘They are inhuman because they can endure extremes of cold, hunger and pain beyond the limits even of trained and hardened SS troops …’ The major droned on. He was a theoretician; he liked to generalise his personal experiences so that they fitted his ideology. Madame Ariane sat so still, showing no reaction to what was being said, that she appeared to have drifted into a trance, lulled by the interminable stories of the eastern front.

  The steward came out to pour more champagne for the officers. It was at least the third time that he had done so, Suzie noticed. Madame Ariane’s glass remained untouched. The major sipped his wine and the lieutenant began to talk. He had no time for philosophising. He only recalled reality, mostly descriptions of battle. Today, he was talking about hunting. Suzie only gradually understood that the ‘special operation’ in which his panzer company had been involved had been the hunting of humans. He was indignant that his troops had been used for such work, not because he objected to it, but because it was not what tanks were built for. In the open, on the streets of a town, no one could outrun his machine. He would give chase, knock down his victims, trample over them, grinding them into the earth; an enjoyable game. But the hunted would try to hide where the tanks could not operate. He was describing how the rats were beaten out of the cellars and granaries, vermin killed. Tough work, which only the strongest and most dedicated could undertake.

  Madame Ariane sat, stony-faced, making no comment. The major cut him short by unexpectedly pouring him more champagne.

  ‘The barbarism of the Russians is simply underlined by their refusal to sign the Hague Conventions,’ he remarked repressively.

  The interruption only made the lieutenant’s need to talk more insistent. He described his revulsion from the pests he had seen killed, the boys’ corkscrew curls, the men’s bushy black beards, the women’s shaven heads. Suzie had a flash of recognition. She had never met a Hassid, but she had seen pictures in a book, and could hear Maman explaining that the little boys were forbidden to cut the hair in front of their ears, so that it grew long and curly, longer than Suzie’s own hair. And the men wore beards and the women wigs. But he could not mean these people. They were, Maman had said, very pious, good people.

  The bottle was finished and the lieutenant called for another. Both Madame Ariane and the major seemed offended by the lieutenant’s incoherent rambling about the human slaughter on the eastern front, for different reasons. Madame Ariane had turned her head away and was looking fixedly at the shaggy bushes of box that marched in pairs up the slope of the garden. The major once again broke in on the lieutenant’s discourse.

  ‘But these were easy to recognise. Much worse is the Jewish virus that lives in Germany and France in disguise, sapping the strength and morale of the people like a parasite. I never participated in one of the special treatment operations, as the lieutenant has. My own very modest contribution to the effort of making the Reich Jew-free took place before the war, when I was in Berlin and had to call at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I was passing through an office on my way to an appointment when I saw a man whom I had known in my youth in Bavaria. I knew that his mother had been Jewish, or at least half-Jewish. This foolish man, who was Aryan by half his heritage, compounded his situation by marriage to a Jewess. I had lost touch with him for some years, but I recognised him at once. He had clearly succeeded in hiding his true identity and, at a time when Jews had been removed from the Civil Service, was working at the heart of government. When he saw me, he recognised me also, and he knew that justice would overtake him. Naturally, I informed his superiors and when I enquired later, I heard he had been removed to Dachau.

  ‘True power,’ he continued, reverting to his preferred generalisations, ‘is a moral force, not a physical one. It is one to which the people submit willingly, recognising its inevitability. When I was fifteen I was taken to a rally at Nürnberg and I saw there the joyful surrender of a people to its leader, the subordinate submitting to the power of the superior
, as his nature obliges him to do. Just as when a woman surrenders to a man: it is what nature intends. The role of the German people in Europe and in the world is that of the superior. We are natural leaders and this war will impose that understanding on others. Like a horse that struggles, or a woman who resists, people have to be forced to do what their own nature requires.’

  Suzie closed her eyes for a moment. She could feel Sabine stirring beside her, bored by the monologues in a foreign language and the evident disengagement of her stepmother from the Germans. The officers were rising from their seats. Madame Ariane stood up too, and holding onto the back of her chair she said, ‘I shall wish you goodnight.’

  ‘Wait,’ the major said, abruptly. ‘Lieutenant, I shall join you for coffee in the petit salon in a moment. Please tell the steward to serve it at once.’

  The lieutenant left. Madame Ariane remained where she was, as if she needed the chair to support her after what she had heard that evening. Sabine’s interest was quickened by the long silence. They could not see the major, who was standing almost directly below them. Then his heels sounded on the flagstones as he moved slowly forward. When he was a step from Madame Ariane, he put out his real hand and placed it on the back of her neck. Suzie could see that he was gripping the column of flesh, pressing his thumb and forefinger on either side, below her ears. He moved even closer so that he stood at right angles to her and spoke into her ear. Suzie could barely make out the words.

  ‘So, what have you to tell me today?’

  Madame Ariane spoke loudly. ‘Nothing, there’s nothing …’

  ‘I’ve been watching you.’

  Madame Ariane tried to move away, but like a metal bar his false arm closed in front of her.

  ‘Let me go,’ she begged.

  ‘Tell me what you know.’

  He had forced her to face him. His hand was now around the front of her neck, caressing it under her ears. Suzie saw the fingers tighten and Madame Ariane’s head tip back. Suddenly he let go and she stepped away, unsteadily, stumbling.

  Her voice was clear. ‘Longas,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard there will be a demonstration …’

  ‘Good, good. When?’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow. The fourteenth.’

  ‘Good. Don’t move.’

  Madame Ariane ignored him and, breaking free, walked round him to the garden door. Just before she reached it, she stopped and said rapidly, ‘Be careful. It could be an ambush.’

  Sabine could hardly contain her impatience until they reached the safety of their own territory.

  ‘You see, I was right. He put his arms around her. That only means one thing.’

  She stripped off her cardigan, then her dress, leaving both of them draped inside out over the end of the bed. Suzie reached behind her back to undo the buttons of her dress.

  ‘He was bullying her,’ she said, almost in a whisper. As you do me, she might have added.

  Sabine’s anger shifted from Madame Ariane. ‘Why are you always on her side? Why don’t you agree with me? You always contradict me.’

  She emerged from the enveloping folds of her nightdress, thrusting her arms into the sleeves, her head poking out last. Suzie had unthreaded one arm from her dress. Sabine grasped it with both hands. Suzie was not going to make matters worse by contradicting this statement, however false it was. She allowed her wrist to lie limply in Sabine’s grip, which tightened painfully, grinding the bones together.

  ‘You’re a traitor too. And if you like her and them so much, I’ll tell them who you are.’

  Suzie emitted no protests. Sabine had not asked what had been said after dinner, and Suzie herself had had no time to reflect on what she had learned. Once they were in bed, Sabine fell asleep immediately, while Suzie lay with her back to her, gazing at the luminous rectangle of the unshuttered window. Her thoughts scurried to and fro between the terrible messages that had been conveyed to her that evening.

  * * *

  Her mind went back to harvest time, a year ago when Henri and Micheline had been cutting hay in the orchard. Georges had already been taken off to Germany and Roger had disappeared into the forest, so they all had to do more work on the farm. She and Sabine had carried some water down to them at the end of the afternoon, the terriers accompanying them. Only a small rectangle of standing grass remained in the middle of the field, which they would finish before long, then drink the water thirstily and climb back towards the house with the children carrying their scythes.

  As Henri and Micheline turned and moved back towards them, three rabbits burst out of their last refuge, running haphazardly in different directions. The terriers, yelping ecstatically, pursued them, Sabine shouting encouragement and praise. Suzie had watched one rabbit racing along a stubble track between two long swathes of drying grass. At the edge of the field it doubled back, straight into the dogs. Boys with their ringlets flying, pursued by the lieutenant in his tank, his hunting cries mingling with Sabine’s; the major watching Madame Ariane, recognising a hidden Jew by his special power. She had shrieked in horror as the terrier in the lead seized the rabbit in its jaws and broke its neck.

  Henri, who had stopped to watch the chase, looked at her kindly. ‘Don’t fret,’ he said. ‘It’s their nature.’

  * * *

  Would Henri, in his generosity, forgive the lieutenant, who was savage by nature? She turned onto her stomach and put her forehead onto her hands to think more of the problem of Madame Ariane and the major. Had Madame Ariane gone over to the Germans? This was not credible, but in a world in which the impossible happened all the time, in which parents disappeared and men in tanks hunted children, people betrayed their natures. Perhaps she was giving information as a trick, to trap the major in some way. Suzie liked this idea, but could not think how it could work, nor what purpose it would serve. Another worry presented itself: Madame Ariane could be attacked by her own side as a collaborator. Suzie had heard of such killings, of bodies found on lonely roads with notes pinned to their chests. Here lies X, collabo. Until now, she had felt a sense of justice fulfilled when she had heard Micheline tell of such executions. But how did the executioners know who was a collaborator? Perhaps they made mistakes.

  She thought again of Madame Ariane stopping before she opened the door to the house and saying, ‘Be careful …’

  She had betrayed the Maquis to the major, but she had been forced, she had been afraid.

  Yet there had been no need for her to tell him to be careful.

  Suzie screwed her eyelids tight to cancel out the memory. She knew what had happened to Madame Ariane. Madame Ariane had done what she herself had done in revealing her secret to Sabine; she had voluntarily surrendered to the enemy, admitting its power. Suzie vowed that she would remain loyal to Madame Ariane, whatever happened. She was Maman’s friend; her father was a friend of Omi and Opa, a long time ago; she was her last refuge.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Two days later the girls were woken at dawn by the German trucks departing. Sabine flung open the window to watch them go, disappearing into the trees, swallowed up by the mist that hung in the valley.

  ‘They’re out on a big rampage,’ she said. ‘They’re taking Madame Ariane’s car; the major is getting into it now.’

  At breakfast Madame Ariane announced that there would be no lessons today; they were going on an expedition. She would not say where.

  ‘We might be stopped on the road, so it would be better if you were able to say honestly that we were going for a picnic,’ she explained. ‘When – if – we get to where we’re going, I’ll tell you what’s happening.’

  ‘How far will we ride?’

  ‘About thirty kilometres, so we’ll set off as soon as possible.’

  Their food was wrapped in napkins and stowed in the paniers of their bicycles with their water bottles. It was only eight o’clock when they cycled out of the farmyard and into the lane. Any diversion
from routine excited Sabine and she was in high spirits, resentment and plotting put aside for the day. Suzie was in a fever of anxiety. Were they going to Longas, to be led into a trap? Where was Longas? Madame Ariane had not spoken willingly to the major. But it was not possible to tell whether she had spoken the truth, or whether she had lied to trick him. Suzie’s mind spun with the wheels of her bike. She had no doubts any longer about what would happen to her if she was caught by the major or the lieutenant. They would chase her and hunt her down, like the rabbit in the hayfield.

  After two hours they reached their destination.

  ‘Where are we?’ Sabine called, as they cycled into the village.

  ‘It’s Lavallade.’

  ‘What’s happening? Why are we here?’

  Suzie was gripping her handlebars, looking at the ever-changing patch of road in front of her. It wasn’t Longas. Madame Ariane wouldn’t enter the trap herself, that was obvious. Or would she? Would she be there when the Germans arrived, to make it look as if she had nothing to do with it? Then they would quietly let her go later, when they had taken everyone else they wanted.

  Madame Ariane looked at her watch. ‘We’re going to be in time,’ she said.