by Ruth Druart
Jean-Luc looks at Albert. “Do you have someone in mind that we could leave him with?”
“Not right now. We’d have to see. But I can tell you one thing. Those bastard Boches are damned tenacious. I’ve seen them take children away before, children without their parents, crying and screaming. They’re hunting down every last Jew in France, whatever their age.”
“No!”
They all turn to look at Charlotte.
“I said no,” she repeats. “We’re not leaving him behind.”
The lines on Albert’s forehead grow deeper. “It’s a hell of a tough climb over the Pyrénées. Not everyone makes it. Especially not with a baby.”
“We’re not leaving him!” Charlotte raises her voice.
Jean-Luc sees tears form in her eyes. He watches as she swallows the lump in her throat. He understands how she feels, has noticed her growing closer to the baby with every day that’s passed, but he’s more pragmatic than she is. He’ll consider the risks carefully before making a decision.
Or will he? He took the baby without making any conscious decision at all. He wonders for a minute if the best decisions are made with the heart. In his heart, he feels a surge of love for Samuel, a need to protect him, to see it through, whatever the risk.
“We’re taking him. We’ll make it. I know we will.” His heart pumping hard, he stares at Charlotte.
Chapter Forty-One
The South, May 31, 1944
CHARLOTTE
“I’ve put you in here,” Marie announces when we follow her upstairs, Samuel still asleep in my arms. I look around the room, taking in the lumpy double bed, wondering if it’s for Samuel and me, or Jean-Luc and me, or all three of us.
“We only have this room available.” She seems to have read my mind. “So the three of you will have to make yourselves comfortable here.”
“It’s fine. Thank you. Samuel can sleep between us.” Jean-Luc smiles at her.
She grunts. “As you like.”
I’m not quite sure what else she expects us to do.
“Well then,” she continues, “I’ll leave you alone so you can get settled. Good night.”
“Good night. Thank you for everything. You’ve been very kind.”
Without another word, she leaves us standing there.
My arms are beginning to ache with the weight of Samuel, so I put him down on the bed. He’s drifting off and doesn’t make a murmur.
Jean-Luc picks up a pillow, putting it on the floor. “Maybe it will be better if he sleeps here. I don’t want to roll over in the night and squash him.” Lifting Samuel, he places him gently on the pillow, covering him with his coat, tucking the arms in under the pillow. I watch as he tenderly kisses him on the forehead. Then, turning back to me, he whispers, “We should try and get some sleep. He’ll probably wake in a few hours.”
I nod, sitting down on the bed, wondering what will happen now. My heart is beating hard, though I’m not sure if it’s from excitement or anxiety.
With his back to me, he unbuckles his belt, letting his trousers drop, then bends down and pulls them off along with his socks. His shirt hangs down, and I watch as he unbuttons it, lifting it off. His shoulders are broad and square, his back forming a perfect triangle, coming to a point as it disappears into his underpants. I suppress an urge to stand up and run my fingers all the way down his spine.
Suddenly he turns around. “Do you want me to put the light out?”
“If you like.”
He flicks the switch on the wall, and all is dark. He slips into the bed, and I too get undressed, leaving my underwear on as he has done. I realize I’ve been holding my breath, and I try to breathe out silently, but the sound is horribly loud and heavy in the silent room.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I hope he can’t hear the tremor in my voice.
Turning toward me, he kisses me on the forehead. At first I think it’s because he can’t see properly in the dark, and really he was hoping for my mouth, but then he says, “Good night, Charlotte. Tomorrow might be a long day.”
Tomorrow! How many tomorrows do we have left? What if we get caught? We’ll be sent to one of the camps from where people never return. I close my eyes, trying to dismiss the thought, trying to calm myself, but my mind whirs away. I’m confused. Why didn’t he kiss me properly?
“Jean-Luc,” I murmur in the dark.
But my whisper is met with silence. Is he asleep? Already? I turn onto my side, facing him, wondering how he is lying. Tentatively I slip my hand over toward him, feeling the small hump of a shoulder. He’s on his side, his head turned away from me. My fingers touch him softly, searching out his spine, alighting on each vertebra as I move down. When I come to the small of his back, I let my hand rest there, in the dip, feeling the rhythm of his breathing, soaking up the warmth of his skin. Then I continue down, wondering, wondering what it will be like to touch him. Gently I slip my hand under the elastic of his underpants. The thought crosses my mind that I don’t want to die without knowing him completely.
He murmurs. My hand freezes.
“Charlotte,” he whispers, turning over, reaching out to find my face with his hand. “I want it to be perfect. I want us to get married in a church with God as our witness. Then I want to bring you champagne while you lie down on a bed of rose petals…”
I smile in the dark. “It doesn’t have to be like that. I mean, I don’t mind not getting married in a church. I don’t care if we don’t get married at all.”
“But I thought…”
“I don’t believe God only lives in churches, and I think we might have his blessing anyway.”
He strokes my face. “You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am. I’ve given it some thought.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He kisses me gently on the mouth, then kisses around all the way to my ear. “What about rose petals and champagne?” His breath is hot.
“Mmm,” I murmur. “Another time. Now I just want you.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The South, June 1, 1944
CHARLOTTE
The next evening when we sit down to eat, three rapid knocks on the door shoot through the room like a pistol. I pull Samuel closer to me. Jean-Luc jumps up.
“Stay calm.” Albert leaves the room. “It’s our signal.”
He soon returns with a large, stocky man. “Our passeur, Florentino.”
I watch as the bear of a man removes a flat beret from his head. When I stand to greet him, I can’t take my eyes off the deep lines etched in his face. His eyes, in contrast, are bright, like those of a younger man. Holding Samuel with one hand against my chest, I offer him the other. He takes it in a firm grip, his enormous hand enveloping mine. He makes me feel small and fragile, almost insignificant.
I withdraw my hand, and Marie passes him a glass of red wine. He nods his thanks before guzzling it down as though it were water, then he turns to Albert. “No baby.”
I grip Samuel tighter.
“I know, I know.” Albert shakes his head. “But it’s necessary. They can pay more.”
“No baby.” Florentino holds out his glass for a refill.
I glance over at Jean-Luc. What will we do now? He catches my eye and takes out a wad of notes he’s prepared from his back pocket. As he flicks through them, he looks at the passeur. “How much more?”
“No! No baby!” Florentino puts his empty glass down with a thud.
Albert slaps his hand on the passeur’s shoulder, leaning over to whisper something in his ear.
I watch as the lines on Florentino’s forehead grow deeper. Then, abruptly, he turns back toward me, holding out his arms. “Baby.”
“What?” Instinctively I pull Samuel back.
“Charlotte, he wants to see.” Jean-Luc touches my elbow.
With trepidation pumping through my veins, I place the sleeping infant in the man’s enormous hands. He glances at Samuel, then lifts him in one ha
nd, laying him against his shoulder.
Please don’t wake now.
With a sudden and swift movement, he changes him over to the other shoulder. Samuel squirms in his sleep but doesn’t cry. I can’t help feeling a rush of pride. Then Florentino grunts, fixing Albert with his bright blue eyes. “You know what happens if the baby cries.”
Albert nods, looking at me. I turn away from the intensity in his gaze. It won’t happen. It can’t happen.
Jean-Luc coughs. “We won’t let him cry.” He takes a step toward me, putting his arm around my shoulder. “We know how to keep him quiet.”
Florentino stares at him, a thick eyebrow slightly raised, as though he’s working out exactly how he might know how to keep a baby quiet. Then abruptly he passes Samuel to Jean-Luc, reaching his large hand out to the table to pick up his refilled glass.
After taking a couple of gulps, he barks out a list of instructions. “Tomorrow, twenty-two o’clock, farmhouse, Urrugne. Hard work. One thousand five hundred pesetas now, one thousand five hundred next time.”
Jean-Luc counts out the notes my mother gave us. “Thank you.”
Florentino grunts, turning back to Albert. “Give cognac for baby.”
Albert nods, and my stomach lurches, but I hold my tongue. We just need to get Samuel out of France.
Florentino sits down, and Marie brings him a plate of pâté and pickled vegetables. I watch as he shovels pieces of slimy red pepper into his mouth. We are putting our lives into this man’s hands, but he doesn’t even seem to like us very much. The danger of crossing the Pyrénées is too close now. I close my eyes, blocking out my fear. “Confidence,” I whisper to myself. Everything will be all right.
Chapter Forty-Three
The South, June 2, 1944
CHARLOTTE
The next evening, under cover of darkness, we set off alone. Marie has given us both a pair of cord-soled espadrilles; apparently they’re the best things for climbing the Pyrénées. I’m just relieved they’re not big hard leather boots, and I am able to squash the backs down—the skin on my heels is still tender. Jean-Luc carries a small bag containing a change of clothes, milk, cognac, and water, while I carry Samuel, the long pillowcase tied around me, holding him close against my chest.
In silence we follow the trail that was described to us, but the brisk pace soon makes me hot and clammy. I lift Samuel away from my body, letting some air circulate, but the movement wakes him, and I feel his fingers reaching out, clinging onto my light coat. “Shh,” I whisper, pulling him back closer to me, covering his head with my hand. He settles back into me, and I decide I can put up with the extra heat his little body is giving out. In a few days’ time, if all goes well, we will be safe and ready to start our new life. Reaching out for Jean-Luc’s hand, I pause in my stride.
“It’s okay, Charlotte. We’re going to make it.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand, but we don’t speak again, the only sound the soft impression of our feet on the rough ground, and the hooting of owls.
We haven’t been walking for long when Florentino steps out soundlessly from the darkness. Without a word, we follow him through a small pine forest; the numerous trees and the ground covered in small soft twigs absorb any sound we make. I feel safer here with Florentino than I did on the trail, but he walks so quickly, darting in and out among the tall, thin trees. I feel my breath rasping in my chest and a ring of sweat gathers around my hairline. Briskly I wipe it away, blowing air up onto my hot face. I worry for Jean-Luc with his cane, but he doesn’t slow down, not once.
After a few hours, we come to a farmhouse. Florentino pushes hard on the heavy wooden door and lets us in. It’s dark inside except for the light of a couple of dim candles. I heave a sigh of relief, impatient to sit down and unstrap Samuel. My neck aches with the weight of him and I feel a rivulet of sweat dripping down my chest. An old woman comes to greet us, helping me out of my light coat and unknotting the pillowcase tied around my back. I lift Samuel out, watching as he screws up his eyes, probably sensing the change in environment. His face is red and I realize he must have been just as overheated as I was. He brings a tiny fist up to his mouth and lets out a cry.
Jean-Luc is soon by my side with a bottle ready. Taking Samuel from me, he makes soothing noises as he cradles him in his arms. I look at the ragged couch and gratefully flop onto it, watching Florentino and the old woman whispering together as she heats something up on the stove. It smells of nutmeg and garlic, and my stomach rumbles loudly.
The woman turns around, passing me a bowl of the broth. It’s delicious, and I slurp it up greedily, watching Jean-Luc out of the corner of my eye as he whispers to Samuel while he feeds him. I know Samuel will be looking up at him with his innocent brown eyes. Jean-Luc is falling in love with the baby, and I’m falling in love with him. I’ve never seen such tenderness in a man before, but what surprises me the most is his ease and total lack of self-consciousness. He doesn’t seem to care what anyone thinks. How refreshing.
I close my eyes, happy but exhausted.
It feels like I’ve only just dozed off when Florentino shakes me awake, handing me a bowl of hot milk and a piece of baguette. Someone must have taken my espadrilles off last night and covered me with a blanket. I sit up, sipping the milk, noticing that Jean-Luc uses his milk to prepare a bottle for Samuel. Florentino stands against the stove, his exasperation evident in his deep, regulated breaths, as though he’s counting them out, waiting. As soon as the baby is fed, he passes us old blue workman’s clothes, like the ones he’s wearing. We put them on quickly, then Jean-Luc helps me tie the long pillowcase around my back so I can carry Samuel.
Once outside the hut, Florentino hands me a thick branch to be used as a walking stick. He looks at Jean-Luc’s cane. “Good, you have a stick, but if you are slow…”
“I can run with this stick.” Jean-Luc laughs nervously.
Florentino ignores him, pointing a finger ahead and starting to walk, his strides long and silent.
I support Samuel with my hand under his bottom, taking the strain off my neck and back. All I can see ahead of me is the dark shape of Florentino. The earth smells of fresh wood, evoking memories of Christmases past. I wonder what my Christmases will be like now. Will the three of us form a happy family? Will we have children of our own one day? But these thoughts for the future seem surreal, almost like a fantasy. All that matters right now is getting Samuel to safety. The rest will come later.
It feels like the whole world is sleeping, except for the birds, chirping out to each other. A sudden cracking noise makes me jump. I freeze, my left knee in midair. I can only just make out Florentino now, marching away from us.
“Come on!” Jean-Luc whispers.
We run to catch up again. Florentino turns around when we are just behind him. “Branch broke,” he grunts. “I’ll tell you when to be afraid.” His tone is dry.
There is no time to look at the beauty of the new day dawning; our eyes need to be constantly on our feet, looking out for twisted roots, loose stones, or muddy patches. Soon the terrain becomes steeper, and I pant heavily, trying to keep up. Then soft ground begins to give way to slated rocks. I slip. Instinctively one hand flies to Samuel at my chest, while the other reaches out to break my fall. He lets out a cry. I lean down, murmuring softly in his ear. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be okay.” I’m talking more to myself than him, but my words seem to soothe him, and he goes quiet again.
Florentino looks back at me, and in the half-light I catch a glint in his eye. He really doesn’t trust us to make this journey, and I am pretty sure he would feel justified in abandoning us if he thought it necessary. I’ll show him, I whisper to myself.
Suddenly he stops, pointing to a mass of trees. But before we can tell which way he’s going, he’s vanished. My heart pounding hard against my ribs, I follow Jean-Luc into the trees, guessing which way he took. Thank God, we soon see his bulky form threading its way through the spindly pines, out to a cl
earing, where we suddenly come face-to-face with a steep cliff. A gap the width and depth of a large human body runs vertically down from the top of it. Florentino is there at the bottom, his legs spread across it, his hands spanning it as he grips the sides. There is no time to think. No time to feel the fear. Jean-Luc pushes me in front of him. “Go.”
Quickly, I pull the espadrilles up around the backs of my feet, or surely I will slip backward out of them. Using all the strength in my legs, I push myself up into the gap, reaching a hand out, groping for the first rock ledge, the other hand still gripping Samuel.
“You’ll have to use your other hand too,” Jean-Luc shouts up. He gives my bottom a shove, egging me on. But I’m too afraid to take my hand off Samuel. What if the pillowcase isn’t strong enough to hold him? What if he falls forward? Tentatively I move my hand away from the baby, stretching it out to the next ledge. But immediately I return it. I can’t let him go. I’ll have to put the other hand out to grab hold of the ledge instead. But it’s too far away. I’m stuck. Frozen with indecision, I make the fatal mistake of looking up. I’ll never make it.
Florentino’s red face swims into view. I sense his anger. It freezes me farther into the rock. His large feet start to slide back down the gap in the cliff. Soon he’s just above me. “Give me the baby,” he rasps, holding out a hand. But I can’t move a muscle. He lands next to me and reaches forward, slipping his hand into the pillowcase, pulling Samuel out. Then, like an agile bear, he scales the cliff again using only one hand.
Don’t look up or down, I silently tell myself. Concentrating only on the next handhold above me, I move up through the gap slowly, gaining confidence with every step I take. I hear Jean-Luc’s labored breathing as he comes up behind me. For a moment I wonder how he’s managing to hold on with his injured leg, but I dismiss the thought. All that matters is that he is doing it.
“Allez,” Florentino whispers urgently from above.
