by Perrat, Liza
‘So what are you doing in the kitchen, mademoiselle, instead of jabbing needles into children?’
‘I was just saying hello to the nuns,’ I said, ‘before I start work.’
I was getting so good at lying, my voice betrayed not the slightest quiver.
‘The girls’ health is our concern,’ the Reverend Mother said as the man examined my identity papers. ‘We want them to grow into healthy young women; strong childbearing women. Just as our Vichy government desires.’
‘All seems to be in order, mademoiselle,’ he said, handing my papers back. He waved his gun at Félicité. ‘Now, let’s visit your pupils. You three,’ he barked to the others, ‘check the grounds, the dormitories, the cupboards. No stone left unturned.’
He followed Félicité along the hallway, his boots clomping on the worn parquet. I scuttled along behind, at a distance.
My sister knocked on the first classroom door and opened it.
‘Please.’ She gestured the militiaman into the room, but remained in the doorway, more like a queen than a nun, in her long gown and the coif that concealed every last dark hair strand. My sister certainly did not resemble any kind of Resistance fighter.
I stayed behind Félicité, peering around her, through the open doorway. I couldn’t let Talia see me and risk her calling me “Céleste”.
The girls looked up, startled. The nun, who had been writing on the blackboard, stiffened, holding the chalk in mid-air as all the students rose to their feet.
‘Sit down, girls,’ the militiaman said in a friendly tone. ‘Don’t let me disturb you,’ he said to the nun. ‘I only want to know if any of your pupils are better at Yiddish than French.’
From where I was standing in the corridor, I couldn’t see the whole classroom but I could picture Talia’s pale, frightened face.
The girls stared wide-eyed at the man’s revolver as he toyed with it casually, the stamp of his boots on the floorboards falling silent as he stopped at each new desk. Nobody uttered a sound as he flipped the books open to the first page with the butt of his gun, and checked the name.
After several minutes of tense silence, he tucked his revolver into his belt, clicked his heels, turned and marched from the room.
I breathed easily, certain I saw my sister’s shoulders slump in relief.
Once Félicité had escorted the man back down the hallway and out the front door, I allowed myself a relieved smile. The Wolfs –– the Faviers –– were safe.
I stood beside Félicité, watching through a crack in the curtains as the militiaman strode back towards the waiting cars. He’d almost reached the convent entrance when two of his men appeared from the direction of the chapel.
‘You might want to see this, sir,’ one of them cried.
My eyes darted to my sister, whose hands flew to her rosary beads. A shadow distorted her serene features as we watched the two men drag a load of guns, grenades and clandestine newspapers from the chapel.
The one in charge hurried back to us and flung the door open again. Mother Superior came from the kitchen into the hallway.
‘So, this is your idea of abiding by the laws of Marshal Pétain, Reverend Mother?’ he said, jabbing his gun at the illegal items. ‘Though I suppose you’re all in on the nasty little secret.’ His pitiless eyes roved around the circle of frightened nuns who’d gathered in the hallway. ‘Hiding clandestine articles, weapons and ammunition?’
‘Nobody else knows anything about those things,’ Félicité said, stepping forward. ‘It’s entirely my doing.’
My head started to spin and I felt giddy; confused. How could she take all the blame when the other nuns, as well as the Mother Superior, must surely be aware of the cache in the chapel? Félicité would never have acted alone, putting the lives of others in danger.
For several, terrifying moments, the militiaman said nothing, his eyes straying across the wide-eyed faces of the nuns.
‘You’ll both come with us,’ he said, taking Félicité and the Reverend Mother by the arm.
I wanted to scream out, to tell him to let her go; that my sister was a good, godly person and didn’t deserve that. But she threw me a guarded look and I stopped myself rushing to her side. The two men hustled Félicité and the Reverend Mother outside.
The last militiaman appeared around a corner of the building, gripping Max by the shoulder. Sabine, with little Jacob in her arms, skittered along behind them.
The blood cut through my veins, cold and sharp as ice chips. I wasn’t the least bit religious, but I feared only some divine miracle could save the Wolfs.
‘Tells me his name is Favier, sir. Says they’re pure French. Him and his wife and kid.’
‘And?’ the one in charge said, looking Max and Sabine up and down as if appraising cattle at a fair.
Jacob started to cry and buried his face in his mother’s neck.
‘But when I asked the good Monsieur Favier to unbutton his trousers, I saw different - saw they were about as pure French as the great Führer himself!’
Sabine threw him a look crusted with more hatred than I could ever have imagined in such a sweet person. Max hung his head and said nothing, his breath fogging the spectacles.
‘The gardener and the cook, eh?’ The boss militiaman said, still clutching Félicité. ‘I suppose this is your doing too?’
‘Monsieur and Madame Favier have done nothing wrong,’ she said. ‘Please leave them. Just take me, sir.’
‘But we have orders to round them all up,’ he said. ‘All those wearing the yellow star and all those who should be.’ His mouth twisted in a nasty smirk at Max and Sabine.
As they started shoving Max, Sabine, Jacob, my sister and the Mother Superior towards the cars, Talia rushed from the building.
Oh God no. No!
I felt my insides shear apart with the pain.
‘Maman! Papa! Where are you taking them?’
‘Ha, another one.’ He gripped Talia’s arm. ‘Any more, sister?’
Félicité shook her head.
‘Where are you taking us?’ Talia shouted. ‘Leave us alone, we haven’t done anything wrong!’
‘Hush, chérie,’ her mother said. ‘Just do what they say, everything will be all right.’
Max gave his wife a miserable, defeated stare.
‘No, I don’t want to leave,’ Talia went on. ‘I can’t miss school; I’ll get behind in my lessons.’
‘You won’t need your lessons where you’re going, miss,’ the man said with a grotesque grin. ‘Come along now, stop making trouble.’
Talia threw the nuns a last wild look, as they stood motionless on the cobblestones, mumbling Hail Marys into their beads.
Stilled with the shock, the disbelief, I watched the militia bundle them all into the two cars and slam the doors.
As they drove away, the fog thickened, dropping over the convent; closing in like a stage curtain on the final act.
***
I had no idea how long I stayed in the courtyard. I didn’t know where else to go, or what to do.
By the time I forced myself to move, all the nuns had disappeared. The fog, thick and clingy as wax, magnified the sound of my wooden shoes on the uneven cobbles, and against the milky sky the skeletal tree branches looked even more bedraggled.
Some unexplained force propelled me towards the chapel. Perhaps, instinctively, I thought it was a place I might feel my sister’s presence.
Once inside, I inhaled the smells of stale incense and candle wax. With its high ceiling and damp stone walls, the chapel was even colder than the rest of the building.
I shivered, hesitating before the altar, regretting for the first time in my life I didn’t believe in any of it; that in my desperate hour, I had nowhere to turn. I knelt hastily and crossed myself as I’d seen Félicité –– Sister Marie-Félicité –– do, so many times. As if, in that brief foreign gesture, she would still be with me.
It wasn’t my sister’s fault our parents loved her more than me; t
hat she wasn’t born a sickly blue infant. I might be proud of my recent Resistance success, but I would never have the good, selfless blood that flowed through Félicité’s veins.
The pain of her absence tore into me like a winter gale, and I shuddered at the sight of Jesus on the cross, the plain cloth knotted about his loins; the bare legs, one straight, the other bent, and the nail piercing the pink feet. I felt for my pendant, missing it more than ever.
From the great abyss of grief, I recognised that as the unexplained –– perhaps imaginary — powers of the talisman gave me comfort and strength, my sister gained the same force from the effigy of Christ. Even as the blood, dripping dark from the nailed feet, simply made my stomach churn, I felt great respect for my sister’s beliefs.
I slumped into one of the pews, wondering how I could help Félicité and the Wolfs, wherever they’d taken them. But I knew that alone I was powerless.
I rubbed my frozen arms as I hurried back to the main building and out to the small room Max and Sabine had shared with Jacob. I packed up the brushes and paints and rolled Max’s paintings into a thick scroll. They would be safe at L’Auberge behind the false panel in the attic.
I picked up the phone and called Jacqueline’s flat, then I sat, quite still, in the dim kitchen and waited for Dr. Laforge to return.
29
Rattling with the cold, still numb with the shock, I climbed into Dr. Laforge’s car.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying to find out where they took them.’
‘Did you find out anything?’
The doctor’s eyebrows tightened into the single thick line. ‘Unfortunately, they took the Wolf family straight to the train station. They’ve been sent to Drancy.’
‘Drancy?’
‘It’s a suburb of Paris. A holding centre for prisoners, Jews, resistors –– anyone the Germans consider a “terrorist” –– before deporting them to the camps.’
‘Could I go to this Drancy place?’ I said. ‘Maybe try to see … to help them, somehow?’
‘I know you mean well, Céleste, but I’m sorry, you’d never be allowed to see them.’
‘But surely, just a quick visit. I mean, we did break Patrick and Olivier out …’
Dr. Laforge shook his head. ‘Not a chance. And you going off on some wild goose chase to Drancy would simply be a waste of time and our precious funds.’
‘You’re right, I suppose. But I’d use my own money.’ I fell silent for a minute, thoughts streaming through my mind. ‘And Félicité? You haven’t said anything about her?’
‘Apparently they took your sister and the Reverend Mother straight to the Gestapo headquarters in Avenue Berthelot.’
I gripped the door handle. ‘Oh God, no!’
‘With that cache of arms in the chapel, they’re convinced the nuns are withholding Resistance information, or hiding terrorists, namely your brother and Olivier. The Gestapo are questioning them right now. Then they’ll transfer them to Montluc Prison, for daily interrogation. I’m so sorry.’
My hand flew across my heart. ‘The same torture that almost killed my brother and Olivier.’ As Dr. Laforge took a wide corner, my head started to spin. I teetered on the brink of throwing up, and swallowed hard. ‘What can we do?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘Not much, I’m afraid. I do have one idea though.’
‘What?’
‘Jacqueline told me you’ve accepted her offer to live at her flat and continue our work,’ he said. ‘What would you think about a position with the Red Cross as a nurse in the Montluc Infirmary?’
‘Me, a nurse?’
‘As you know from the Antiquaille, people are desperate for any willing hands in times of war,’ he said. ‘The Red Cross is a respected organisation, even with the Germans, and we have people who could get you a position there; give you the necessary training. It would be a good cover to pass on Jacqueline’s messages to our contacts,’ he said. ‘And it may be your only chance of seeing your sister.’
‘When do I start?’
‘Tonight,’ he said, turning off the main road towards fog-shrouded Lucie-sur-Vionne. ‘I just need to pay a few house calls to some sick patients. I’ll be about an hour. Then we’ll go back to the city.’ He pulled up on la place de l’Eglise, quiet and deserted in the misty twilight.
‘And I’ve informed Père Emmanuel about the arrests. He’s gone to let Claude know his nephew is safe, then he’ll head up to the farm to tell your mother about your sister. And to let her know you won’t be home for some time. Remember, you mustn’t go anywhere near L’Auberge just yet, Céleste.’
‘I remember,’ I said as I got out of the car. ‘Anyway, I need to see Ghislaine.’
***
As I crossed the square to Ghislaine’s home, I took a detour via Au Cochon Tué bar. No note from Martin. He mustn’t have been able to organise the meeting with Obersturmführer Barbie before he left for Germany. Not that I needed it anymore, I’d just hankered after his words, to touch the paper he’d held. More than ever, I chafed for his warm love.
Once in Lyon, when it was safe to return to L’Auberge, I would slip home from time to time and check if Martin was back. I couldn’t imagine what reason I would give him about living in the city, but I would think of something.
I read the sign in the window of Monsieur Dutrottier’s butcher shop: Closed Until Further Notice, and felt the anger boil up inside me.
When Ghislaine opened the door, neither of us said a word. What was there to say for the death of a brother, and a fiancé? I circled her in my arms and felt her heaving shoulders against mine; her quiet sobs.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, tears blistering my own eyes. ‘I don’t know what to say … how to help.’
‘Just you being here helps,’ Ghislaine said. ‘Besides, they did warn us it was treacherous work. Now we know just how treacherous.’
I followed her through to the kitchen, from where I glimpsed her father in the living room. His back turned to me, Monsieur Dutrottier was seated in a rocking chair, his shoulders bent over, a blanket spread across his legs. He looked like an old demented person, staring out the window at nothing. He didn’t turn, or say anything as I sat with Ghislaine at the kitchen table.
‘Poor man,’ I said. ‘Shouldn’t I go to him? Say something?’
Ghislaine shook her head. ‘It would only remind him Marc is dead, while your brother is alive.’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘But I’m so glad you saved them, Céleste. Père Emmanuel told me. You’re very brave.’
‘I only did what anyone would have. You’d have done the same,’ I said, and told her about the terrible arrests of my sister and the Wolfs.
‘Dr. Laforge says it’s a waste of time to rush off to this Drancy place, but I feel so useless staying here, not doing a single thing to try and help them.’
I laid my hand on Ghislaine’s forearm. ‘But that’s not the only reason I came. I wanted to say sorry for … for what happened to André and Marc, and I wanted to tell you something; something I can’t say to anyone else, but I’ve always trusted you with all –– well most –– of my secrets.’
‘Tell me what, Céleste?’
‘I’m leaving Lucie, to go and work with the Resistance in Lyon. Properly I mean, not our half-baked village efforts. Dr. Laforge is arranging everything.’
‘I understand,’ she said, her eyes glistening. ‘I’d have done anything to save Marc and André. And of course, I won’t breathe a word.’
‘I know you won’t.’
‘My father’s shop’s closed now,’ Ghislaine said. ‘I no longer have work here in Lucie, or anything much to do. And as you can see,’ she said, with a bitter nod towards the living room. ‘My father’s a sick man. He still won’t speak; doesn’t even recognise me sometimes. My aunt –– his sister –– is coming from Auvergne tomorrow, to take care of him.’
She gestured at the chair creaking rhythmically into t
he tragedy-tinged silence. ‘I can’t bear to sit here and watch him slide towards the grave a little more each day. I have to do something.’
Her hands bunched into fists, Ghislaine pressed them into her belly, kneading and twisting as if trying to unravel a hard knot.
‘Before you came –– just now –– I didn’t know what,’ she went on, the blue eyes filling with a rage I’d never seen before. ‘But now I do. I’m coming with you to Lyon.’
30
‘You’ll be just fine in a few days,’ I said to the prisoner, his face twisting in pain as I gently scraped off the dead skin.
I was thankful I was wearing a mask to hide my grimace and my gagging at the foul rust-coloured discharge from the prisoner’s wound. The first three toes of one foot were black, edged in a mustardy-yellow from which dead skin sloughed off, while the fourth toe was a swollen, navy hue and I knew it too would soon blacken and die. After only one day as a nurse at the Montluc Prison Infirmary, I recognised the terrible sight and smell of gangrene.
Jacqueline Laforge had quickly found false papers for Ghislaine, codename Lucie, which I was certain neither of us would forget. Another Red Cross Resistance nurse from the Montluc Infirmary trained us in a day, our willing hands only too welcome in such desperate times.
‘Thank you, dear,’ the man said with a weak smile. ‘You’re a great comfort to us, you good Red Cross people.’
I dressed his foot as best I could with our scant supplies but I knew that type of infection was beyond any treatment a novice nurse could provide. He would soon lapse into shock and coma. The wretched man would be dead within days. The SS only insisted we keep him alive as they were convinced he was concealing vital information.
I left the desperately-ill man to rest and moved across to Ghislaine, who was dabbing antiseptic onto the facial wounds of another prisoner.
‘That should feel better,’ she said with a comforting pat on his arm.
The man grabbed Ghislaine’s hand and held onto it. While the prisoners’ stomachs craved food, their bodies craved the touch of friendly human hands.
‘Thank you, mademoiselle,’ he said, finally releasing her hand. He shuffled out of the Infirmary, where a guard was waiting to return him to his cell.
