As the weather improved so did Papyrus. He got up more often and gained some weight. Little by little his irregular good features returned and he no longer had that terrified look. Nevertheless it was clear that the joie de vivre that he’d struggled hard to rebuild after the first war was gone for good after the second. He spent a lot of time in his room and less time on horseback. He was also less affectionate and more short-tempered. The sidecar was never brought out of the garage anymore and I didn’t dare ask to be taken on a ride.
Gabriel was almost a grown man — during the occupation one grew up fast. We didn’t have much to eat and felt constantly under threat. He attended a lycée in Amiens and lived with our grandma Éléonore. On Saturday at noon Mother and I would watch for his return, looking out the big windows in the living room until we saw him.
Papyrus was less interested in us then. He always had a vacant look, except when with his brother and cousin he’d start talking about politics and criticizing Marshal Pétain, the hero they had so loved in 1918 who then betrayed them. Uncle Geoffroy spoke a lot about a certain de Gaulle and how he wanted to join him in England. The women spoke hardly at all. Gabriel and his cousin Michael, on the other hand, paid close attention to all that was said.
The few times that I went into Papyrus’s room, I noticed there was always a gray tube with a syringe on his bedside table. I asked him what that was and he replied, “It’s morphine. It’s to take away the pain.”
“Because you’re still in a lot of pain?”
“No, thanks to the morphine it’s not so bad.”
But when one day at the table I had a terrible headache and said it would need a little morphine, my mother looked directly at me with a concerned and frightened look.
“Who spoke to you about morphine?”
“Papyrus.”
“Your father takes that for his health, but don’t go around repeating that to everyone, it could be misinterpreted.”
“Why, if it helps him have less pain?”
“Still.”
I later overheard Mother arguing with Uncle Geoffroy about it all:
“I spoke about it with Dr. Morel, who says there is no longer any reason to continue with that dirty stuff.”
“Fine, then have it taken away from him!”
“He won’t hear of it. I’ve tried everything but he gets absolutely furious whenever the subject is brought up.”
“And Dr. Morel, has he tried talking to him about it?”
“Of course! He’s been telling me for months that he’s concerned by it and that we need to begin weaning him off it.”
“Well, if he’s not open to reason, we’ll have to use force.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked with an innocent air, even though I knew perfectly well what it was that they were talking about.
“These matters are no concern of yours, Christiane, so let the adults talk by themselves.”
In early May when the wind no longer whipped its way across the plain, we could sit outside in the garden and enjoy the first rays of sun. My region is infinitely flat, as the great Jacques Brel put it so well, and with only a few groves of oak and beech trees to block its right of way, the north wind in springtime was often a nuisance.
We were sitting in the garden — Gabriel and I and Aunt Bette and Mother—while Uncle Geoffroy, a nurse, and Dr. Morel tried to calm down Papyrus, who was screaming. We were all silent and eager for it to end. Papyrus had been so violent that they had placed him in a straitjacket, but we did not see that happen. Gabriel’s mourning for our father had transformed into intense hostility toward him. I was simply sad, terribly sad, as though I had witnessed an angel fall from the sky. And this fall was rather spectacular! Amid an explosion of breaking glass and the cries of our uncle and the doctor, we saw catapulted before our astonished eyes a white package tied up like a leg of lamb: my father.
Everyone rushed to stand around the form that was writhing on the ground and moaning. The women were in tears and the men looked on with pale stares. Papyrus complained of being in terrible pain. He’d broken his leg in the struggle.
While everyone was busying themselves with getting him back to his room, and Dr. Morel returned to his office to get what he needed to make a cast, Aunt Bette took us aside to explain our father’s problem, how he’d become addicted to his medicine, and how difficult it was to overcome that addiction.
“That’s all he needed,” said Gabriel.
“It’s true, poor man, he’s really been through the wringer.”
“For Chrissake, addicted to his medicine! He could have spared us that!”
“But it’s not his fault, Gabriel! His wounds were terrible and he probably wouldn’t have survived the pain without morphine. The problem is that he took it for a long time and he can’t go without it.”
“Even if he really tries?”
“Gabriel, quit being so hard on him, you don’t know what you’re talking about!” said Aunt Bette, whose cheeks were red with anger. “Do you know what he’s gone through? Your father is a hero, don’t judge him like that!”
“And yet despite all these heroes, we’ve got Krauts overrunning the whole country!”
Gabriel stood up to go. His anger and insolence left Aunt Bette and me speechless.
Chapter Twenty-One
I never spied on my husband, even during my worst fits of jealousy. I would like to be able to claim some form of coherence when it comes to the defense of my private life and by extension that of others, but the truth is rather different. I’ve always been terribly afraid of what lay hidden under masks, of the horrible things in the dark shadows. For me secrets have always been sealed in the stink of our ignoble episodes, and I think those who reveal them are doing something akin to eating dung.
One such episode happened in the summer of 1943.
I was fourteen years old and had started to be invited to a few balls that took place in the region. Gabriel, who was two years older, and my cousins always accompanied me. I rather enjoyed flirting with boys and gossiping with my cousin Laure. Michael could drive and we’d often pile into his convertible and ride with our hair in the wind on starry nights. Youth is a sort of living faith, and nothing, not even war, can clip its wings. Gabriel had taken on his father’s taste for ladies and the good life, and I would not be surprised if he lost his virginity during that summer vacation. During these balls, he’d always disappear with the prettiest girl there and later emerge from some clump of bushes with a knowing, satisfied look. People always considered me funny, and I sold my soul to make those around me laugh. Sometimes I went a little too far with my sharp tongue — earning the admiration of the young and the mistrust of the adults.
Papyrus had recovered from his accident. He got stronger, began riding more again, and seemed to have overcome his morphine problem. But he remained distant and reserved. He was casually kind to us without really picking up on Gabriel’s hostility or my melancholy over finding him so inaccessible. My mother also walled herself behind a brusque austerity and except for the village priest she would see no one unless she had to.
Since the Germans seized everything that our wheat fields and cattle farms produced, we were certainly not living comfortably, but at the same time we couldn’t complain, given the real hardship endured by most of our fellow citizens. Papyrus did not take an active interest in the affairs of the farm and left his assistant Monsieur Carbon to manage things in his place. Aunt Bette came to see us almost every day and took long rides on horseback with Papyrus.
One day she came back alone and visibly agitated. When I asked her what had happened to Papyrus, she replied curtly that he would be coming back soon. She then gave me a quick peck on the forehead, got in her car, and drove off in a hurry. Papyrus saw her from far off leaving along the allée. He nudged his horse with his heels and made off in her direction, crying, “Bette, Bette,
wait!” But she paid no attention, and even though he accelerated into a quick gallop and jumped the rock wall and hedge that separated the château’s grounds from the allée, he was not able to catch up with her. I watched all of this in total astonishment. What could he have done to Bette that would make the two of them behave this way? He rode his horse back to the stable. Seeing his somber face, the stableman asked him if everything was all right. “Of course everything’s all right,” he snapped back with such rage in his voice that it was clear that everything was all wrong.
When my cousins and brother returned from playing tennis, Papyrus had already gone up to his room. I would have liked to tell Gabriel what I had seen, but there was no way to say it to him away from the others. We decided to have a game of croquet. While some were placing the wickets, others went to get the balls and mallets. I went off to the kitchen to prepare a tray with glasses and lemon seltzer. I entered the pantry to look for a lemon — Mother was frugal with them and had taught me how to use even the rind. The pantry was a little room behind the kitchen. As I approached I heard the moaning of a woman. I of course had no idea about lovemaking, but I was instantly aware that I had invaded some private intimate moment. Instead of withdrawing, however, I stepped quietly closer and rising on my tiptoes I looked through the window at the top of the door and saw what was going on inside. Jeanne was leaning with clenched hands against a buffet, her skirts gathered up above her waist, and the hands of a man held her naked breasts. The trousers of the man holding her were down below his knees and his face was buried in the back of her neck. I knew right away that it was Papyrus. I fell to the ground feeling very dizzy. A feeling of disgust made me nearly vomit.
I then hightailed it out of there and ran toward the fields until I was out of breath. When I stopped, panting and upset, I threw myself on the ground and spread out my arms. Above me white clouds danced in the blue sky and I felt the odd consoling power of being cared for by the beauty of the infinite.
* * *
—
Gabriel was obsessed by the occupation and couldn’t talk about anything else. He spent all his free time with his cousin Michael elaborating plans to make life difficult for the Krauts. After much waiting, an opportunity presented itself. Michael came over one Saturday in October and the two of them went off to sit in my oak tree. I hated feeling excluded, and what’s more, that tree belonged to Gabriel and me — especially to me, because it had been hollowed out for my baptism. So I followed them.
“What do you have to say to each other that no one else can hear?”
“Leave us alone, Christiane, this is men’s stuff.”
“But why?” said Michael. “She can be useful to us. Don’t you trust your sister?”
“It has nothing to do with trust. Of course I trust her, it’s just that I don’t want something to happen to her.”
“She’s entitled to fight against the Heinies like the rest of us! Besides, Christiane’s no wimp!”
“Okay, fine, stay with us then, but keep your mouth shut.”
“Of course I will,” I said, delighted to be included in their circle and to have been complimented by the cousin we both so admired.
“Do you know what the FTP is?” Michael asked us in a lower voice.
“Of course,” replied Gabriel, disdainfully shrugging his shoulders.
“And you Christiane?”
“Uh, sort of.” I was embarrassed to admit my ignorance.
“She has no idea what it is,” Gabriel interjected. “It’s the Francs-Tireurs et Partisans movement, a clandestine resistance organization.”
“Oh right, and so what about them?”
“Well, the baker is one of them,” said Michael. “And because he knows what I think, he approached me at mass last Sunday and asked me to help him get two escaped prisoners across the Somme. It has to be done quickly because the people hiding them are starting to get nervous about being caught.”
“But every bridge is blocked by Germans. Without an Ausweis they can never cross!”
“I know that, but we can help them.”
“How?”
“You know the textile factory not far from my house?”
“You mean the big gray building just off the main road?”
“That’s the one. I know the concierge, who also thinks as we do.”
“So?”
“Behind the factory there’s a stream that crosses the factory’s property and empties into the Somme. There’s a little bridge between its two banks. The concierge will let us onto the grounds and it will be easy to get them through the prohibited zone. I volunteered to do it, but I prefer to have someone along as lookout and I thought of you.”
“I’m in. Are you kidding, I’ve been waiting for a chance like this!”
“Me too, I’m in!”
“Christiane, for this first time it’s better that you don’t come, but I take very seriously your offer to help. Let us go ahead with this, and the next time there’s something to do, you’ll be a part of it.”
“Do your parents know about this?”
“No, but I’m sure they’d approve.”
“Even your mother?”
“Are you asking that because she’s Swiss and an admirer of an Austrian?”
“Maybe.”
“But the Austrian in question hated Nazism, and the Swiss, even if they’re officially neutral, aren’t fond of the Nazis either,” Michael answered laughing. Then he gave Gabriel’s shoulder a condescending affectionate tap.
It’s true that we were an ignorant bunch of hicks!
The operation was set to take place the following Saturday. The factory’s workers would be gone and the two cousins would only have to deal with the concierge, their accomplice. They went off by car that morning. I was getting ready for a day of worrying until their return. If Papyrus had still been Papyrus, I would have shared my waiting and worrying with him, but since the day I came upon him with Jeanne, I did everything I could to avoid him. He sometimes tried to approach me, but I politely detested this impostor who had taken over the body of the father I so loved.
I tried to kill time with books and walks, but I couldn’t think of anything besides what Gabriel and Michael must be up to.
I heard loud voices coming from above and went to the stairs to hear what was going on. The noise was very surprising to me because usually all adult conflicts, resentments, and jealousies were communicated in near silence, from one hostile bile duct to another. For them anger was yellow—I never would have said that my mother was red with anger. About Papyrus, I would have said he was green with anger. But the red-hot, bloody anger of people who love each other, only Gabriel and I knew what that was. And yet suddenly, there on the floor above, a fire of anger had erupted with all the variations that flames have: red for consummated love, yellow for bitterness, and green for hatred and resentment.
“You promised me you weren’t going to use any anymore! You tricked me, you’ve tricked all of us!”
“Marguerite, quit tyrannizing me! Can’t you see I’m suffocating? I’ve had it with you, with this prison, this dull gray life. I can’t take any more of you and your perfection and all the hypocrisy that goes with it!”
“What hypocrisy are you talking about? I’ve done nothing but love you all my life!”
“What do you know about love? You’ve known nothing else and you’re so moralizing you’d never admit otherwise anyway.”
“Louis, you are being deeply hurtful! What did I ever do to you? I’ve spent my whole life loving you and trying to make you happy! It’s not my fault if I don’t have Bette’s charms or the freshness of a young woman.”
“Bette has nothing to do it.”
“But she’s the one who discovered you’re still taking that poison.”
“I made the mistake of confiding in her when we were out riding.”
“I’m nearly fifty and I don’t want to die of suffocation in this drab life we’re living.”
“Louis, what are you going to do?”
The voices were getting closer and suddenly I heard the footsteps of my father followed by my mother descending the stairs — I stood there stoically and waited. Papyrus was wearing a cape and black helmet and putting on gloves. My mother followed behind imploring him:
“Where are you going? Are you forgetting you have a piece of metal lodged in your spine?”
He stopped in front of me, turned toward her, and with a steely hardness that I never would have thought possible from him, lashed out: “That’s enough, Marguerite! Enough! Goodbye.”
Mother collapsed at the foot of the stairs crying. Papyrus was facing me. Suddenly that face took on all the sweetness of long ago and the sight brought tears to my eyes.
“Pardon me, my Christiane, I ask the three of you to pardon me, but I can’t go on anymore.”
He went out the door and I did nothing to stop him. A few minutes later I heard the engine noise of his motorcycle and sidecar going off down the allée. It took a few minutes for the noise to fade, only to be replaced by the leaden silence of abandonment.
When my brother got back all excited from his adventure, he found Mother still slumped at the bottom step of the stairs. He shot me an inquiring look and I explained the situation. He then clenched his fists and jaw and said, “Mother, we’ll be just as well without that bastard.”
“Gabriel, I forbid you to speak of your father that way!”
Papyrus never returned to the château.
The Devil's Reward Page 16
