by Martin Lake
Viviane felt her forehead. It was burning with heat.
‘Maman, I’ve been sick,’ Celeste said. There was a pool of vomit on the floor beside the bed.
‘Never mind, darling,’ Viviane said. ‘Maman will clear it up in a jiffy.’
‘My throat hurts,’ she said.
Viviane felt her throat which made her whimper a little. The glands were up.
‘Stick out your tongue,’ she said. It was red and bumpy with patches of slick white. She peered more closely. Celeste’s face and neck bore a red rash. She touched it gently and it felt like sandpaper. Her first thought was that she had got sunburn although she had not been in the sun for days.
Her hand went to her mouth. A couple of children at the far end of town had developed polio. She racked her brains thinking of the symptoms of this. She couldn’t be certain but she thought they were similar. She fought down the terror which gripped her.
‘I think we’d better take you to see Doctor Langeis,’ she said, trying to sound bright.
‘I don’t want to,’ Celeste wailed.
‘Don’t be silly, he’ll make you feel better.’ Celeste began to cry but got out of bed and pulled her clothes on. She was shaking a little and Viviane had to help her with her buttons.
‘I don’t want any breakfast,’ Celeste said as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
‘That’s fine, darling. We’ll go now. Come on David.’
‘I want breakfast,’ he said, sticking out his bottom lip.
‘We’ll get some bread from Monsieur Blanche,’ she said. ‘Stop complaining.’
As they left the house Viviane remembered to plonk hats upon the children’s heads. Celeste usually complained about this but now she was strangely acquiescent. Viviane’s fears rose even higher.
To her surprise, the Doctor’s door was locked. She hammered loudly on it and finally, Madame Langeis opened the door. She was in her early fifties, a lovely woman. Now she looked frightened. She had obviously just been crying.
‘Are you alright, Madame Langeis?’ Viviane asked in alarm.
‘I am. But my husband has been taken for questioning by the police. They think he is one of the Maquis. But he isn’t, I swear it.’
Viviane nodded in agreement although she too had heard this rumour. She couldn’t believe that the portly, genial doctor would have been involved in any acts of resistance but she thought that he might well visit nearby Maquis camps to deal with their sick and wounded.
‘My little girl is ill,’ Viviane said.
‘I can’t help you,’ Madame Langeis said. ‘You’ll have to go home.’ She glanced at Celeste and then frowned and bent down to examine her more closely. ‘I’m no doctor, Viviane, but I think Celeste should go to the hospital.’
‘Do you think it might be polio?’
‘I think you should go to the hospital.’
Viviane’s heart leapt into her mouth. She nodded her thanks and headed down the street.
I can’t take David, she thought. Too risky to have him there when I’ll be looking after Celeste. She turned left at the next street, hurried down to Sylvie’s house and hammered on the door.
It did not open but the next door neighbour’s door did.
‘She’s gone away,’ the old lady said. ‘Went off with a fancy man to the mountains. Took Monique with her. Sylvie’s fortunate. I wish I still had my looks.’ She shook her head ruefully and shut the door.
‘Now what?’ Viviane muttered under her breath.
She glanced up the street. She was close to her mother’s house. She took a deep breath. She had no choice. She would have to leave David with her.
Viviane saw her mother in her usual place, eyes glued to the window to watch whatever might be happening on the street. Viviane pushed open the door and stepped in.
‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ her mother said, coldly.
‘I need your help, Maman.’
Marthe raised an eyebrow. ‘Why am I surprised? You only ever come when you need something.’
‘Celeste is very ill,’ Viviane said, in too great a hurry to bother to respond. ‘I must take her to hospital.’
‘What’s the matter with her?’ Her tone softened a little.
‘I don’t know. She’s burning and her skin is red.’
‘We’re all burning with this heat. You shouldn’t let her go out in the sun.’
Even now she has to criticise, Viviane thought.
‘I need to go to the hospital.’
Marthe shrugged. ‘So go. Why are you telling me?’
Viviane pushed David forward. ‘I can’t take David; we may be at the hospital a long while. Would you look after him?’
‘A stranger? In my house?’ She shook her head.
‘Please Maman.’
‘Go to one of your fine friends. That whore, Sylvie if she can clamber out of bed.’
‘I tried her. She’s not in town. Please Maman.’ She hated that she had to beg but had no choice.
‘Let the boy stay,’ came Georges’ voice from the back room.
Marthe’s face grew angry. ‘It’s all right for you, old man,’ she called. ‘You won’t have to look after him all day.’
‘I’ll take him down to the river. Show him the fish.’
‘And break your neck trying to get there?’
Georges came into the room on his crutches. He looked skinnier and more care-worn than ever. ‘He’ll be all right with us, Viv, don’t fret.’
He gazed at Celeste, carefully. ‘Your mother’s probably right, it looks like sun-stroke. But get her checked over at the hospital.’
Viviane kissed him on the cheek and then did the same to her mother, although with visibly less enthusiasm. Then she grabbed Celeste by the hand and hurried out of the house.
Marthe and Georges stared at David. He stared back at them. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said.
Georges patted him on the head and laughed. ‘Me too little feller. Let’s see what Grand-mere can get for us.’
‘I’m not…’ Marthe began but then thought better of it. She went into the kitchen, muttering to herself every step of the way.
They had a breakfast of bread and jam with warm milk almost on the turn. Georges’ military pension was small but he was a popular man and many of his friends would leave a little food on his doorstep. He had been surly about this at first, ashamed that they thought him in need of charity. But lately, as food got ever scarcer, he was grateful and thought himself lucky.
Needless to say he did not take David to the river. The trip would have been too arduous for him at the best of times but was unthinkable in this heat. Instead he took him into the back yard and let him tinker with an old clock which he had always intended to mend but never got around to.
It was relatively cool out here and as Georges helped the little boy dismantle the clock, he found a peace he had not experienced for a long time. It was interrupted a little later when Odette arrived. Even out here he could hear the excitement in her voice as she loudly regaled her mother with some juicy piece of gossip.
‘You don’t say,’ Marthe kept saying. But Odette did, at great length and volume.
The sun crept over the back wall at ten o’clock and Georges decided that they should go inside. He allowed David to take in the clock-face and some of the larger components. His face shone with excitement as he followed Georges inside, his arms overflowing.
Odette looked David up and down as if he were a stray dog, unable or unwilling to keep the contempt from her face. Georges scowled at her but kept his counsel. He had learnt long ago that sparring with his eldest daughter was hard and painful and, at best, he would only ever scrape a draw.
‘Don’t start,’ he contented himself with saying and then picked up a book.
‘Look at that,’ Marthe said to Odette. ‘Nose in a book as usual when he was the one who offered to take the boy in.’
‘How long will she be gone?’ Odette asked.
Marthe shrugged. ‘The
re’s a lot of illness around. The boy could be here all day.’
It was as if her words sparked something in David. ‘I want a pee-pee,’ he announced.
‘The toilet’s in the yard,’ Marthe said.
‘Can you manage, little feller?’ Georges asked.
David nodded. ‘I’m a big boy now.’ He started towards the kitchen.
Then Odette said, ‘We don’t want him to make a mess of himself,’ and darted after him.
Georges looked surprised as she went past. Perhaps she’s discovered her caring side, he thought.
He found his place in the book and Marthe seated herself at the window, staring in turn at the street and her husband.
Odette appeared at last, holding David tightly by the hand. She had a look of triumph on her face.
‘You’ll never guess what I discovered in the toilet,’ she said. ‘The little guttersnipe is a Jew.’
Marthe’s hand went to her mouth in dismay.
Georges gave a groan. This could be dangerous and it had to be dealt with.
He flung down his book. ‘Whether he is or not, doesn’t matter. The boy’s been taken in by Viviane. He belongs to her and so he belongs to us. I never want to hear you repeat this outside these walls. Either of you.’
His voice had taken on a hard and decisive edge, the sort that had carried across the killing fields of Verdun and the Somme.
Marthe bowed her head in acquiescence. Odette looked as if she might argue but thought better of it.
Viviane returned later on that afternoon with better news than she had feared. Celeste had scarlet fever, not polio. She could go home, although the doctors told her to have David sleep in their room until Celeste had recovered.
‘So that’s good news,’ she said.
Then she caught a wary look in her mother’s eye.
‘We know,’ Odette cried triumphantly. ‘We know the boy’s a Jew. I’ve seen that he’s been circumcised.’
Georges struggled to his feet and slapped her face. She crouched to the ground, as if she were about to leap at him.
‘And I said that it doesn’t matter,’ Georges cried. ‘David’s family and we should all remember it.’
Despite his words Viviane felt the fragile bonds that held her to her family beginning to unravel before her eyes.
‘Thank you, Papa,’ she said. Then she grabbed David and ran out of the house.
HIGHS AND LOWS
Grasse, 25 July 1943
The summer was as lovely as the spring. The only thing which dampened Viviane’s spirits were her worries about Odette. What might she do now that she had discovered that David was a Jew? Her father’s adamant decision to embrace David as part of the family would ensure her mother said nothing. But Odette might be a different matter.
Alain had been in touch with Father Benoît who promised that he and Donati would search for a Jewish family to take David with them to North Africa. They waited anxiously and at the end of July they got a message that an elderly couple were willing to take him with them.
Viviane was unhappy about him being cared for by older people but Alain persuaded him that it was probably only a temporary measure. She still had misgivings but agreed to the arrangement. There was no indication of when the ships would make the perilous journey across the Mediterranean, or indeed, if Donati had managed to arrange the transport. As the weeks drew on they decided to put all thought of David leaving out of mind.
Dorothy invited the family for a picnic on the last Sunday of the month. She seemed to have more food and wine once again and she was very generous with it so Viviane was more than happy to accept. Besides, Alain often pointed out how important it was to hear the point of view of a foreigner. Particularly one who was as well informed as Dorothy.
She was remarkably knowledgeable about what was going on across France and beyond. She used her radio to pick up foreign transmissions but Alain wondered if she was also in touch with elements of the Resistance.
It was a glorious day. The sky was a vivid blue with a few fleecy clouds floating high over the distant mountains. The sun was hot but a cool breeze blew off the Mediterranean which made the temperature more bearable. The cicadas were chirping without pause and there was the sound of birdsong from the tall trees sheltering the villa. Butterflies skimmed across the lawn and fat bumble bees sampled the vintage of the nectar from the flower-beds.
Dorothy and Marie had arranged the garden furniture under the shade of a huge old Cedar of Lebanon. Pierre had clambered up to its lowest branches to fasten a swing for the children to play on. Lucile had been hard at work all morning preparing the food.
‘I don’t know how she does it,’ Viviane said to Dorothy when she saw the food spread out on the tables.
‘Nor do I,’ Dorothy said. ‘Things are getting harder to find, as I’m sure Alain will tell you.’
Alain nodded. ‘I’m having a bit better luck with the Italians. Are you as well, Dorothy?’
She blushed a little. ‘If you’re referring to my admirer, then yes. Emilio Marinelli is a delightful old darling.’
She gave him a defiant look. ‘In fact, he’s heard about our little get-together and invited himself to join us.’
Alain and Viviane exchanged glances. They knew that Dorothy was on good terms with the captain but were not sure that they wished to be. It was one thing for an American to fraternise with the enemy, quite another for them to do so.
‘Ah well,’ Alain said. ‘I suppose we’re supposed to be on the same side. Germany, Italy, France. All part of the brave new world order.’ He squeezed Viviane’s hand. ‘And if he brings some Chianti…’
No sooner had he said the words than Marinelli’s car raced up the drive. The driver opened the passenger door and the captain bounced out, holding two bottles of wine in his hand. He dismissed the driver who cast an envious look at the food before getting back in the car and driving off.
‘Buongiorno,’ Marinelli cried as he approached. He placed the two bottles on the table. Chianti, Alain was pleased to see.
The Italian took Viviane’s hand and kissed it in a polite and proper manner.
Then he beamed at Dorothy. ‘Ciao Bella,’ he said. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, rather more intently than he had Viviane’s and certainly for a longer time.
‘There’s plenty of food, Emilio,’ she said, pulling her hand away. ‘No need to eat me.’
He gave a good-natured chuckle and flung himself into a chair. ‘Where are your beautiful bambini, Signora Renaud?’ he asked.
‘They’re playing on the swing, Capitano.’
He turned and watched the children for a while. Viviane felt he looked a little sad as he did so. Alain took the opportunity to examine the wine labels. They were a good year. He wondered where he stored them.
‘Beautiful bambini,’ Marinelli repeated as he turned back towards them. He gestured to the laden table. ‘This is a delightful feast, Dorothy. I am flattered that you invited me.’
‘I could hardly not,’ Dorothy said. ‘After all, you provided the ham and the desserts.’
‘We have desserts?’ Viviane gasped.
Marinelli kissed his fingers. ‘A fine Italian one, Signora, Torta Barozzi. It’s a coffee and chocolate cake, although sadly this one lacks the chocolate.’ He raised his hands in an apologetic manner. ‘The war.’
‘I wish this darn war were over,’ Dorothy said. ‘I crave chocolate.’
‘We all wish it, Signora. But we have hopes that the Allies will sue for peace. The war is not going well for them.’
Dorothy gave him a thoughtful and considered look. ‘I’ve heard they did OK in North Africa.’
‘For the moment.’
‘They’ve kicked out the Germans and the Italians.’ She offered Marinelli a piece of bread. ‘And I hear rumour that they’ve invaded Sicily.’
She gave a long, dramatic pause. ‘And, of course, your king has sacked Mussolini.’
Marinelli said nothing, almost as
if he had not heard. But his face betrayed him, an incredible range of emotions. Shock, disbelief, doubt, anger, fear.
‘I would like a drink,’ he said, at last.
Alain stared at Dorothy in amazement. Mussolini had lost power? What would this mean for the war? For the people of their town?
He pulled the cork on one of the bottles, filled one glass and passed it to Marinelli. Then he filled the remaining glasses.
Marinelli stared at the wine as if he did not know what it was. He was too overwhelmed to drink it.
‘What do you mean?’ he stuttered, at last. ‘About Il Duce?’
‘It’s just a rumour,’ she said, airily, ‘nothing more. I can’t recall who told me it, to be honest.’
She took a long sip at her drink, enjoying the Italian’s discomfort. ‘My, but this is good Chianti, Emilio. You’ve done us proud.’
‘About Mussolini?’ he repeated.
Alain and Viviane exchanged glances. It seemed that Dorothy knew more about the war than Marinelli.
‘Well,’ she drawled, ‘I hear that Patton and Montgomery have given your General Guzzoni a good whopping. Your army won’t be able to hold Sicily much longer. Because of this the Grand Fascist Council voted to give the King back his constitutional powers. And this afternoon, the King dismissed Mussolini.’
Marinelli wiped his mouth a couple of times and forced a smile to his face. ‘As you say, Dorothy, this is rumour. I have heard nothing of the sort.’
‘Then I must be mistaken,’ she said with a self-deprecating air. ‘I should learn never to listen to gossip. I must say, I had my doubts when I first heard it.’
Viviane wondered if Marinelli would ask Dorothy who she had heard the rumour from but he said nothing. Either he didn’t want to know or he was too unnerved by the news to think to ask.
‘Anyway,’ Dorothy said, with a clap of her hands. ‘Let’s put all this miserable talk of battles and war behind us. We should enjoy the day. Time for the picnic.’
‘I’ll get the children,’ Viviane said.
She ran over to get Celeste and David, bringing them back, still chattering with delight at their time on the swing. But once they saw the food on the table, they stopped their noise and stared wide-eyed in wonder.
