by Martin Lake
Benoît pulled at his long nose. Pope Pius XII believed that he needed a harmonious relationship with the Fascists in Rome, which was understandable. Yet there were other rumours which were more troubling, rumours that he had been less forthright than he might have been in condemning German persecutions of the Jews.
Yet, as he considered this, Benoît realised that here was an opportunity to put all such rumours to rest. If the Pope supported the plan to transport Jews to North Africa, then suspicions that he turned a blind eye to persecution would be proved wrong.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said, taking Donati’s hands in his. ‘I shall go to Rome to seek the support of the Pope.’
Donati got to his feet and shook Benoît’s and Alain’s hands. He opened a bottle of the very best Italian wine and poured three glasses.
Alain sipped his thoughtfully. ‘If the plan goes ahead,’ he said, finally, ‘would my little boy be able to go to North Africa?’
Donati shrugged. ‘How old is he?’
‘Four and a half.’
Donati sighed. ‘That is young. Would your wife be able to go with him?’
‘She’s not a Jew. The boy’s not really ours. We took him in. And there’s my daughter to consider.’
Donati sat down and nursed his drink for a while. ‘If your wife were to go with the boy, the authorities might conclude she is a Jew. That is a perilous risk for her to take.’
‘Perhaps the whole family could go,’ suggested Benoît.
Donati shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. This would take the places needed by Jews who are in mortal danger.’ He did not say what was also on his mind, that this option might be seized by unscrupulous people as a way to escape from France.
‘But you’d take the boy on his own?’ Alain asked.
‘Perhaps,’ Donati said. ‘If we can find a family to take him with them. But I’ll be honest, Monsieur, it is not that likely.’
Alain nodded. It might not be likely but Donati had not ruled it out.
ABANDON HIM?
Grasse, 13 and 14 May 1943
Alain pondered what Donati had told him throughout the journey back to Grasse. What puzzled him most was why the man had so recently come up with the plan to send the Jews to North Africa. It seemed that the Italians were more humane than the French had proved, so what on earth was the hurry?
His face must have betrayed his emotions because Viviane immediately picked up that something was troubling him.
‘You didn’t get the papers?’
‘No, I have them here.’ He produced the papers and passed them to her.
‘So Gabriel really is a friend,’ she said.
‘In a way. Although he wasn’t able to get them for me.’ He told her all that had happened that day.
‘And Father Benoît’s papers are better than Chiappe could produce?’ she asked anxiously.
‘I presume so. I can’t see the sort of flaw which Villiers pointed out, at any rate.’
He took her hand. ‘I have other news, though.’ He glanced at the children. ‘I think they should go out to play.’
She looked alarmed and ushered the children out into the yard. Alain poured some wine.
Viviane listened intently as he relayed all that he had learnt about Donati’s plan. She remained silent after he had finished, her mind replaying every comment, weighing every word.
‘So they would take David if he went with another family?’
‘I think so. But Donati couldn’t guarantee it.’
‘And do you trust him?’
Alain thought back to his impressions of Donati. ‘Yes, I do. He didn’t strike me as a pious man like the friar. He’s just an ordinary person, but one who is doing what he can to fight a great wrong.’
‘Just like us,’ she said. Her voice was matter of fact.
He nodded. He hadn’t thought about it in this way but it was the truth. And he would never have considered that he might do such a thing. Perhaps he wouldn’t have done so were it not for Viviane. Were it not for David.
‘So what should we do?’ he asked quietly.
Viviane’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t know, Alain. I really don’t.’ She gazed out of the window, listening to the noise of Celeste and David playing. ‘He’s become part of our family. Celeste loves him.’ She paused. ‘And I’ve come to love him, as well.’
Alain nodded. ‘Me too,’ he said quietly.
She gave a tiny smile at his admission that he felt the same.
‘I know it might be for the best,’ she continued. ‘David would be safer away from here. Physically safer, at least.’
The image of his mother’s desperate pleas flashed into her mind. ‘But he’s already lost one set of parents. Is it fair for him to lose a second?’
No sooner had she said this than thoughts of her own parents came to her. She had lost her mother to her sister long ago. But not her father. Perhaps thinking on this would give her the answer.
‘Maybe we should sleep on it,’ she said at last.
‘Maybe.’ Alain rubbed his mouth vigorously. ‘But what bothers me is why now? Why is Donati seeking to transport the Jews now? He said himself that the Italians are treating his people better than Pétain and his crew.’
‘Perhaps Donati thinks the Italians won’t do so for much longer. Or that they’ll begin to do what Hitler wants.’
Alain shrugged. It was beyond him. The world appeared to have lost its mind. He had never placed much faith in the institutions of life: country, government, religion, laws. But even this small amount had been revealed to be futile.
Finally, he had an idea, if only the glimmer of one. ‘Perhaps we should ask Dorothy,’ he said.
She looked confused. ‘Why?’
‘Because she knows more than we do. About what’s happening in the war. And most importantly, she can tell us how the Americans might respond to hordes of Jews arriving in the middle of a war in North Africa.’
She heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Good. We’ll sleep on it and then see what Dorothy thinks.’ The burden of decision already seemed a little lighter.
Viviane managed to get a baguette from Monsieur Blanche’s boulangerie. It was still warm when she got it home and the whole family wolfed it down.
Alain had been finding it harder to get as much food since the capture of Marseille. Imports from North Africa had dried up and the German Occupation west of the Rhone sucked up most of the surplus from there. The family’s stock of food was getting very low and they were all getting gaunt and thin. This was the first breakfast Viviane had eaten in days.
Alain disappeared after breakfast in search of more petrol. It was in very short supply and it took him several hours and visits to many of his suppliers before he managed to get as much as he needed. He finally roared up to the house at twelve o’ clock.
Alain hurried into his store-room while Viviane and the children clambered onto the motorbike and sidecar. It was not as powerful as the one he had abandoned in Marseille. The sidecar was smaller and uncomfortable but the children did not complain. It was amazing how adaptable they were, Viviane thought, taking some comfort from this.
Alain came out of the store, padlocked it shut and thrust a bottle of wine beside Celeste’s feet.
‘No drinking it,’ he said, waving a finger in admonishment. ‘This is for Madame Pine.’
Celeste giggled at his jest. ‘We don’t have a cork-screw,’ she said.
Alain wiped his forehead in mock relief. ‘Thank goodness for that. I don’t want you arriving at Madame Pine’s drunk.’
He climbed into the saddle, kicked the bike into life and started off.
It was gone twelve when they arrived at the villa. Viviane cursed herself for not thinking to come in the afternoon. It might look to Dorothy that they had come at this time in order to get some lunch.
She need not have worried. Dorothy rushed out of the door the minute they arrived.
‘Come in, come in,’ she cried.
Viviane
and Alain had never seen her so excited. They exchanged puzzled glances and followed her into the house. The children were already scampering after Groucho, Dorothy’s cat, shrieking with pleasure as he raced away from them before stopping and purring, enticing them to chase him.
Dorothy led them, not into any of the living rooms but into the kitchen and then into a tiny, windowless pantry. The handyman, Pierre Sorel was there, fiddling with something on a shelf. He turned when they entered, a look of alarm on his face, then put his fingers to his lips.
So this is how she gets her news, Alain thought. It was a very modern radio, capable, he thought, of hearing news from sources his old set would not be able to tune into. Perhaps sources like the Allied military.
Dorothy approached Pierre and he held up a pair of headphones. She took one of the earpieces and pressed it to her ear, while Pierre did the same with the other one.
They stood like that for several minutes, as silent and immobile as statues in a graveyard. Viviane and Alain looked on with growing concern.
Suddenly Dorothy gave a yelp and kissed Pierre on the cheek. She thrust the headphones at him and gave Viviane a fierce hug.
‘Great news,’ she cried. ‘Wonderful news.’
‘What is it?’ Alain asked.
‘The last of the German and Italian forces in North Africa have surrendered to the Allies.’
She gave a little skip of delight. ‘Unconditional surrender. The Italian General had tried to cut a deal but the Allies demanded unconditional surrender.’ She clapped her hands with joy.
‘What does this mean?’ Viviane asked.
Dorothy gave a whoop of delight.
‘It means no good for the Italians,’ she said. ‘Perhaps not much better for the Germans, either. The Italians have lost all of their African conquests and as for the famous Afrika Korps…’ She rubbed her hands vigorously as if wiping away some dirt.
‘This calls for a drink,’ she said. ‘You too, Pierre.’
‘Might there be more news?’ he asked.
‘I doubt it,’ she said.
He nodded and began to hide the set.
They followed Dorothy back into the morning room. She gestured to Lucile to follow her and yelled for Marie to bring some bubbly and six glasses.
‘Here’s to Ike,’ she said, sipping at the wine. It was an Italian bottle for she had run out of champagne.
‘Who’s Ike?’ Viviane asked.
‘General Eisenhower,’ she replied. ‘His nickname’s Ike. He’s the head of the Allied forces in North Africa and he’s really trounced the bastards.’
‘So what will this mean?’ Alain asked. ‘For the war?’
‘It’s good news, obviously?’ Viviane said. There was a trace of doubt in her voice. She had grown wary of expressing hope.
‘In the long run, sure,’ Dorothy said.
‘In the long run?’
Dorothy did not answer immediately. She worried that an Allied victory in North Africa might lead to the Germans and Italians consolidating their hold on Europe. This was not a thought she wanted to ponder too deeply.
‘Well we’d be foolish to think we’ll win the war overnight,’ she said. ‘But it’s a big step forward.’
She gave a consoling smile to Marie and Lucile. Pierre raised an eyebrow in a sardonic manner.
‘You’ll stay for lunch?’ she asked Viviane to change the subject.
‘No, we couldn’t —’
‘Yes you could. There’s nothing fancy but you’re very welcome.’
Lucile and Marie went to the kitchen to prepare lunch while Pierre disappeared.
‘So he’s a radio operator?’ Alain quipped.
‘He’s my handyman,’ Dorothy said, sharply. ‘And none of you say anything about the radio.’
The meal was vegetable soup with croutons, followed by apple tart. Dorothy may have said it was nothing fancy but it was tastier than anything the family had eaten for months.
The moment they had finished, Celeste begged to go out to play.
‘But don’t get dirty,’ Viviane called as she and David disappeared in search of the cat.
‘They’re lovely kids,’ Dorothy said. ‘You must be very proud.’
Viviane was unnerved by this comment. It was almost as if Dorothy had guessed the reason they were here. She looked at Alain who stared back in silence.
Viviane sighed, realising that Alain would not say why they had come and that it was down to her to broach the subject.
Hesitantly she began to relate the possibility of sending David with other Jews to North Africa.
Dorothy listened in silence. It seemed to her that it was an almost impossible dilemma. Keeping David was a never-ending peril for the family. Sending him away was risky and might be upsetting for him. But if it guaranteed his safety it might be a course worth taking. And not only his safety but theirs.
Viviane fell silent at last and gazed at Dorothy.
Dorothy took her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘It’s a terrible choice to have to make,’ she said. ‘I’m glad it’s not me who has to make it. David’s been with you what, almost a year?’
‘A year in August. Yet he thinks of us as his parents now.’
Dorothy did not answer but her face looked a little doubtful.
‘You don’t think he does?’ Viviane asked in surprise. ‘He calls us Maman and Papa.’
‘I don’t know what he thinks, Viviane. And neither do you, I guess. If he does think of you as his parents then maybe he’ll come to think of others in the same way in just as short a time.’
Viviane was shocked and upset by this suggestion. But at the same time, she realised how true it might be. She closed her eyes a moment, trying to work out if she wanted to keep David for his sake or for her own.
She looked from Dorothy to Alain. They both appeared as tortured as she felt.
‘You think we should let him go?’ she whispered to Dorothy.
‘I can’t make that decision for you, Viviane. But I can say that the Allies will look after him. New York is full of Jews and they’d be happy to take such a little fellow in.’
‘But he’s safe here,’ Alain said. ‘The Italians are not like the Germans. Or like the bastard government in Vichy.’
‘I agree. The Italians are much less dangerous than the Germans for the moment. But who knows what may happen if the war turns against them?’
‘You think it will?’
‘I’m sure it will.’
All three of them fell silent. The weight of what they had to decide seemed impossible to bear. A thought came to Dorothy and she made to say it, then thought better of it.
‘What?’ Viviane said immediately. ‘What were you going to say?’
Dorothy sighed. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Viviane. And don’t get alarmed. But it seems to me that you have to think not only about David but about yourselves.’
‘What do you mean?’
Dorothy shook her head. ‘The Italians may be more tolerant of the Jews but they don’t love them. And the French are the same. If things get worse what might happen to people who are shielding them? What might happen to your family?’
Viviane burst into tears. This was the thought that had been gnawing at her, unacknowledged for the last ten months. She wept and wept and nothing that Dorothy or Alain could do could stem her tears.
Finally, exhausted, she lay her head back against the chair. She felt drained and empty. She seemed to have no fight left in her, no strength at all. The world was slipping away from her, leaving her behind, and she lacked the will to try to keep up with it. A cold despair seized her but even that now held no terrors. The world was nothing more than blood and ash and she doubted that she could wade through it any longer.
But she had to, she knew.
She took a deep breath. ‘Then David goes away,’ she said.
Alain nodded. ‘But we must say nothing of this to Celeste or to David until the day comes for him to leave.’
HE
AT AND FEVER
Grasse, 17 July 1943
The town panted under ten days of fierce sun and still air. The streets were hot underfoot and children dared each other to place their hands on walls as hot as ovens. Wherever people walked it felt like they were wading through air which resisted every step. Bakers had always worked in the early hours of the morning but now they worked from midnight, desperate to avoid the heat. It did little good for the night was almost as stifling as the day. Many other shopkeepers shut up shop.
Viviane poured some water in a basin and rinsed her face. It made little difference for her face was hot and the water was tepid. She was envious of Alain for he had gone to Nice for a few days and would enjoy its sea breeze. There was rumour that a dozen trucks carrying Tuscan olive oil had gone missing on the road. He hoped to procure several cases of the precious stuff. Most French oil was now dressing German salads and, although the French thought Italian oil a poor substitute, many were willing to pay a high price to get it.
David hopped down the stairs. He had just discovered how to hop and preferred it to walking. ‘Not on the stairs,’ Viviane said. ‘Anywhere else but not on the stairs. It’s dangerous.’ Even to her own ears she sounded tired and listless.
She put some water on to boil and shook the jar of coffee beans. There were just enough to make a cup for herself with a drop left over to flavour the children’s milk. She had a sudden thought, went to the pantry and sniffed at the bottle of milk. Her gorge rose. It had gone rancid. She glanced at the cheese which lay in a saucer sitting in a bowl of water. It had gone as soft as butter, oozing across the saucer as if trying to make an escape for freedom. It wouldn’t last, she decided; they may as well eat it this morning.
‘Where’s Celeste?’ she asked David when she returned to the kitchen.
‘She hurts,’ he said. ‘In her head and throat.’
Viviane looked surprised, Celeste was rarely ill and if she was, she would always insist on coming down. A sudden pang of fear hit her. She ran up the stairs and into the bedroom. Celeste was laying on the bed with the sheet screwed up on the floor.
