by Martin Lake
Gerard slipped out.
A weasel, Schorn thought, but a useful one, no doubt.
WHAT ABOUT DAVID?
Grasse, 12 September 1943
Viviane had barely left her chair all morning. Alain had gone out to see about the food situation and had been longer than she’d expected. They still had coupons in their ration books but since the arrival of the German troops there had not been enough food in the shops for her to use them. The black-market had always provided extras, enough to eke out the food on ration. Now, they realised that it might be essential for them to survive.
Viviane had sent the children out to the yard to play. They seemed to sense her mood for they were not their usual boisterous selves. Even if they had made a lot of noise, she would not have heard them. Monstrous thoughts crowded her head. Some of it was about how to find food for the family. On top of this was the generalised anxiety about what life would be like under German occupation.
But most tormenting of all was what might happen to David. Would Father Benoît and the banker Donati still be able to secure ships to take the Jews to North Africa? Would the couple who were going to take him there still be willing to do so?
Her fingers drummed upon the table. It was seventy kilometres to the Italian border. It would take four or five hours to get there on the motorbike. If they had to walk with David it would take two days. And then they would have to get to some port in Italy. Genoa was the only one she knew of and Alain said that was two hundred and fifty kilometres distant. And, with the roads crammed with Italian soldiers fleeing the Germans, it would take three days by bike and over a week to walk. And what if the ships were going to sail from elsewhere in Italy, even further away?
She wiped a tear from her cheek. This was no good. She would have to get a grip on herself, have to stay strong.
She picked up her bag and pulled out the identity cards: hers, Celeste’s and David’s. She placed them next to each other and began to study them. Then she had an idea, leapt up and rooted around in a drawer which was full of things which the family had once thought important but were rarely used or needed. At the back of the drawer she found it, a small magnifying-glass which Alain had used as a child to look at bugs and clues in make-believe crimes.
She returned to the table and pored over each of the cards with agonising care. Even with the magnifying-glass she could see no differences between the three cards. Father Benoit’s forger had been more skilful or less slipshod than the criminal Chiappe had used. The thumping ache in her head grew a little less intense. She leaned back in the chair and exhaled wearily. If the worse came to the worse, if they were not able to procure a place for David on a ship, then his card might be enough to protect him.
A knock sounded on the door. Viviane leapt to her feet in alarm, her momentary sense of relief overturned immediately.
‘It’s only me,’ came a familiar voice.
‘Sylvie,’ she said, as she opened the door to her friend.
‘I can’t stay long,’ Sylvie said. ‘Could you look after Monique for the day?’ She licked her lips anxiously. ‘I have some work.’
Viviane told Monique to find Celeste in the yard. Then she gave Sylvie a suspicious look.
‘You look worried,’ she said, taking Sylvie’s hand in hers. ‘Please tell me you’re not getting involved in something perverted. It’s dangerous, Sylvie.’
They both knew that some women provided rough services to vicious men. It paid well but left them with bruises, black eyes and sometimes even broken bones. One woman had disappeared from the town completely, either murdered or held captive somewhere.
‘It’s not that,’ Sylvie said. ‘Even I’m not that stupid.’
She said nothing more for a while but then suddenly blurted out: ‘The fact of the matter is that I’m entertaining some of the Germans. Some young officers, not riff-raff. They’re pretty decent.’
‘Sylvie, how could you?’ Viviane looked at her aghast.
‘I don’t want to,’ she snapped. ‘I thought at least you would be sympathetic.’ She began to cry. ‘We’ve got hardly any food, Viviane. Monique is skin and bones. If I don’t do this, we don’t eat.’
‘You could have come to me. I could have given you something.’
‘I have my pride,’ she said, bitterly.
Viviane almost told her that sleeping with the enemy was a peculiar way to prove it but kept silent.
She opened her purse and thrust some money into Sylvie’s hands. ‘Don’t argue,’ she said, as soon as Sylvie opened her mouth. ‘At least it will allow you to have Sundays off.’
‘To go to confession?’ Sylvie said.
They both laughed at her jest. It started quietly but all too soon verged on the hysterical. Yet it gave them both a little relief.
‘I can’t remember when I last cried with laughter,’ Viviane said.
Sylvie nodded. ‘Me neither. Most of mine are tears of despair.’
A heavy gloom threatened to overwhelm them.
But then Sylvie gave a long, contended stretch. ‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate the money, Viviane,’ she said. ‘But a glass of something wouldn’t go amiss.’
Viviane went to the cupboard and brought back a bottle of local wine. It was thin and rather tasteless but, at that moment, it tasted like nectar.
Suddenly the door was thrown open and Alain stepped into the room. He gave Sylvie a nod and then took hold of Viviane’s hands.
‘I’ve just had a message from Signore Donati,’ he said.
She grabbed his hand. ‘The ships are ready?’
Alain shook his head. ‘They never will be. The Germans have occupied most of Italy and nobody’s going anywhere.’
Viviane took a deep breath. To her astonishment she found that she was relieved.
‘So we get to keep him?’
Alain nodded. He looked bleak with dismay for a moment but then forced a smile on his lips. ‘So it’s turned out alright. He’ll be better with us.’
Viviane nodded. She picked up the magnifying-glass. ‘I’ve only just looked at his identity papers. They’re perfect. Nobody will suspect a thing. And, anyway, the German soldiers won’t be interested in checking people’s papers.’
She glanced at Sylvie and smiled. ‘In fact, they may not have the time or energy.’
Alain looked confused but neither of the women chose to enlighten him.
‘Will you stay for something to eat, Sylvie?’ Alain asked. He put a bag on the table and pulled out a can of haricot beans, a length of saucisson and three onions. ‘Here’s the makings of a casserole.’
Sylvie nodded gratefully and followed Viviane into the kitchen.
Viviane stared at her as she entered, wondering at the expression on her face.
‘I’ve guessed about David,’ she said.
Viviane gave her a wary look. ‘Guessed what?’
Sylvie sighed. ’Isn’t it obvious? I know David’s a Jew.’
Viviane took a deep breath. ‘How long have you known?’
‘To be honest, soon after you got him. And it was more obvious every time I saw you grow more anxious. And now, after what Alain’s just told you…’
Viviane wrapped her arms around Sylvie, hugging her close. ‘I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to incriminate you.’
‘I guessed that. I was a little hurt but I knew the reason.’
‘You’ll keep it secret?’ Viviane shook her head, angry at herself for even asking the question. ‘Of course you will. How stupid to even ask.’
‘Better than Alain at any rate,’ Sylvie said. ‘I hope he’s never as foolish with others as he was just now in front of me.’
‘He thinks of you as family. And perhaps he thought I’d already told you.’
Sylvie picked up an onion and began to peel it, her face growing ever more thoughtful.
‘Isn’t it odd how we’ve all started keeping secrets from each other,’ she said quietly. ‘And we don’t even question it anymore. You ke
pt David’s Jewish background a secret from me, Alain thought you had told me, and you never told him that you hadn’t. What is this bloody war doing to us?’
‘It’s breaking us, that’s what,’ Viviane said. ‘I wonder if we’ll ever be able to put the world back together again.’
‘At least we’ve got each other,’ Sylvie said. ‘Those we love. Family, friends.’
Not my family, Viviane thought. Her mother had been even more unpleasant than usual when she saw her two weeks before. And she couldn’t recall when she had last seen her sister.
‘And,’ Sylvie continued in a more optimistic tone, ‘if all the Germans are as nice and polite as some of my officers then things won’t turn out too bad.’
A loud knock sounded on the door and Viviane held up a finger to silence her. They heard the creak as Alain opened it a fraction. Then the door shut once more and Alain called to her.
‘Viviane, Roland is here.’
‘Roland?’ Sylvie mouthed. She had no wish to be in the same room as Viviane’s brother-in-law.
‘You stay here,’ Viviane said. ‘He won’t be long.’
Viviane went into the living room. Alain was already pouring two glasses of wine.
Roland perched on a chair in his uniform, looking uncomfortable. He took the wine with a word of thanks and took a swig.
‘Is Odette all right?’ Viviane asked. She was surprised to discover that she was a tiny bit concerned. Perhaps family meant more than she imagined.
‘She’s fine,’ Roland said. ‘Perfectly fine. That’s not why I’ve come.’
He swallowed the rest of the wine in one gulp. Viviane felt her heart begin to pound at the sight of this.
He took a deep breath and the words came tumbling out. ‘I’ve come to tell you that the Gestapo have established themselves in Police headquarters. Five of them. And they’re on the hunt for Jews.’
‘What’s that got to do with us?’ Alain asked.
Roland looked astonished.
‘David,’ he said. ‘I know about David.’
Viviane cried out, vainly trying to stifle her words.
‘How do you know?’ Alain said, signalling to her to keep silent.
‘It was a guess at first,’ Roland said. ‘I’ve been a policeman all my life and I can sense when things are amiss. But then Raoul Villiers told me that David’s papers were forgeries.’
Viviane gasped aloud but Roland held up his hand to try to calm her.
‘Villiers did it for the best of reasons, Viviane. He’s no friend to the Germans, quite the contrary. Nor to our own government to be frank. He thought it best that I knew. In case of…well, just in case. He thought I’d be able to protect you.’
‘And can you?’ Alain asked.
Roland avoided his gaze. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll do what I can, I really will. But this Gestapo Chief appears clever and devious. I doubt it will be easy to pull the wool over his eyes.’
‘So what should we do?’ Viviane asked.
‘Keep quiet. And keep out of the way.’ He paused. ‘I’m concerned about the flaws in David’s papers.’
‘Alain got better ones.’ She handed him the identity papers and magnifying-glass.
He studied the papers carefully for a couple of minutes. ‘They look fine to me. But would it be alright if I asked Villiers to come over to check them out? He’s trained in this sort of thing.’
‘I suppose…’ Viviane began.
‘Can we trust him?’ Alain asked.
‘Absolutely,’ Roland answered. ‘The only other one I’d say this of is Henri Lassals, my old sergeant. He’s honest and loyal to me.’
‘Can we trust honest men?’ Alain asked. ‘Might not their honesty incline them to give us away?’
Roland sighed. ‘Perhaps. You may be right.’ He closed his eyes for a while.
‘I always believed that I was honest,’ he said at last. ‘That I would do what the law required, exactly as it stipulated. But now?’ He climbed to his feet wearily. ‘Now I’m not so sure.’
He kissed Viviane on the cheek and shook Alain’s hand.
‘Keep David out of circulation as much as possible,’ he said. He went to the door and paused. ‘And, if I were you, I’d not visit Odette. Or your mother.’
Viviane felt sick at his words. Alain closed the door behind Roland and leaned against it, as if by doing so he could keep the whole world at bay. But nobody could. Not anymore.
DEATH OF GEORGES
Grasse, First week in October 1943
The family sat mute around Georges’ bed. His breathing was shallow now, the sound of his breathing faint in the morning air.
I thought I would feel more pain, Viviane thought as she gazed at her father. But then she realised that she had been waiting for this moment all her life. Her father had always been an invalid, always been frail, a man who had ever seemed caught in death’s unforgiving clasp.
She wondered, for the first time, if he had lived his life in constant pain. It was said that when some people lose a limb they never escape the feel of it. Like an unforgiving ghoul it haunts the body it once belonged to. Was this so for her father? And if it was, then did the phantom leg still hurt? Did he constantly feel the agony of the bomb blast which shattered his leg, the ordeal of hours in a shell-hole, the torture of the amputation without anaesthetic?
Her mother sniffled and, almost immediately, Odette did the same. Her mother’s grief was genuine, of course. Viviane was less sure of her sister’s.
Her mother stared at Viviane with a reproachful look, as if to say: it is wrong of you not to cry as your sister and I do, not to display your hurt, not to parade your feelings in an obvious manner.
Viviane bowed her head, partly from grief but mostly to hide the fact that it was secreted so deep within her she could not display it.
She knew that she had always been her father’s favourite and had relished this. He always allowed her more freedom than he ever did Odette.
But no, she suddenly realised, that was not the case. It was not that he didn’t allow Odette licence, more that she never asked it of him. Odette was content to play the dutiful daughter, perhaps at the same time resenting it.
Viviane, on the other hand, delighted in the fact that she was the wild daughter, the one her father expected would break the rules and never punished with any great enthusiasm when she did.
But her father and she never presented such a united and implacable front as did Odette and their mother. Had they and not the Maginot Line been blocking the advancing German armies, France would still be free.
Viviane smiled at this thought, which brought the ire of her mother down on her head.
‘You find your father’s death a matter of amusement?’
‘Not at all. I was thinking of happy memories. That’s all.’
Her mother grunted, disbelieving her daughter’s words.
The priest stood up and leaned over her father. He was more adept at sensing the arrival of death than any doctor. He opened the Bible although he had no need to for the ceremony was part of his being. He began to intone soft words.
Finally, he fell silent and made the sign of the cross.
‘He has passed,’ he said, his voice filled with wonder, an emotion which never changed. Mankind might be frail and predictable, he thought, but God never was. He was always able to surprise mere mortals.
The priest gave the final offices, bowed to the dead man and then made to retire from the room. He had liked the old man but never cared much for Marthe nor her family.
‘I’ll find you in a moment,’ Odette told him. ‘You’ll take a drink and a little something for church funds?’
The priest inclined his head with great politeness. The rituals must be observed in every particular.
The funeral was held two days later. Viviane decided it would be best if the children did not go.
Sylvie offered to take them to the woods to look for mushrooms, an adventure which would hel
p dispel any sadness. They were very excited, and Celeste was adamant that they might chance upon fairies as well as mushrooms. Her friend Monique looked a little doubtful of this; she was three months older than Celeste and considered herself more worldly-wise.
David was agog at the thought of seeing such magical creatures and asked Celeste to describe the fairies again and again. She smiled with the condescension of greater knowledge and told him all she knew about fairies with ever greater elaboration.
Viviane kissed them goodbye, shut the door behind them and gazed at Alain. ‘You’ll be too hot in that.’
Alain demurred. ‘I always wear my overcoat to funerals. It looks appropriate.’
‘But I know you,’ she said. ‘You’ll get too hot, take if off and trail it around like a piece of rag. You’ll look better in just your suit.’
Reluctantly he agreed. He knew that however he looked, the rest of the family would find fault with it. He had even been denied the role of pall-bearer. That honour had been allocated to Roland Boyer and three of Marthe’s cousins, two of whom the old man had actively disliked.
It was one of those October days which paraded its beauty, with a bright sky dotted with fragile clouds and a sun as warm as that of June. The trees waved gently in a breeze, their leaves like flame and embers.
It would be better if the day were dreary, Viviane thought as she looked about her. This was a day which seemed more suited to celebration, not the sorrow of a funeral.
But then she smiled a little. Perhaps this was as her father would have wished. He had experienced too much sorrow in his life. He would not wish it at his funeral.
There were over seventy people in the church, for her father had lived in the town all his life and was well-liked. The priest looked at ease, this is my house as much as God’s his manner seemed to say. Odette would not like that at all, Viviane thought.
The funeral went with all possible dignity. Somewhat to her relief, Viviane felt tears begin to flow the moment the coffin was lowered into the ground. It would not have been seemly if she had been dry-eyed when her mother and Odette appeared racked with regret and anguish.
