by Levy, Marc
Just as he was nearing Sam’s hiding place, he heard a rustle, followed by heavy breathing from the end of the tunnel where the cases of weapons were stored. Robert gripped the gun firmly in one hand and raised the lantern with the other. The glow of the flame revealed a form huddled against the wall. It was a woman, crouching on the ground. As she raised her haggard face, Robert saw that it was Hanna.
He rushed over to take her in his arms, but she began howling and thrashing about as soon as he touched her. Robert realized he must be unrecognizable in the dark with his face all swollen, and Hanna must have thought he was a militiaman come to force himself on her. He begged her to calm down, and Hanna seemed to recognize the sound of his voice. She curled up in Robert’s arms, her entire body trembling as she recounted in a daze what had happened earlier that day . . .
A truckload of armed militiamen had arrived at the foot of the trail in late afternoon. Raoul was stationed at his lookout post nearby and quickly surmised they hadn’t come to those woods for mere reconnaissance this time. He ran up to the hunting lodge, warned everyone inside, then grabbed a Sten submachine gun and bravely raced right back out to keep the enemy at bay as long as he could, to buy time for the others to make a run for it.
Sam refused to leave. His legs simply weren’t strong enough. The old man begged the Resistance fighters to take Hanna with them, but as soon as Antoine was shot dead outside, everyone realized it was too late, the lodge was completely surrounded. As the partisans opened fire, Alberto, the one built like a bear, sent Sam and Hanna to hide in the cellar. The militiamen were specifically on the hunt for Resistance members, and with a little luck, they might just spare an old man and his daughter. Sam made Hanna enter the narrow passage first, then covered up the entrance with one crate after another. Hanna desperately stuck her hand through, begging her father not to leave her in there alone, but Sam had insisted.
“You must stay alive . . . for me, for your mother, for all the others! Reach for the stars, my darling. Make the most of your life, and never forget that you’re Sam Goldstein’s daughter. Remember those dreams of peace we shared, all our wonderful trips together, and all that I’ve taught you. Take the flame I have passed down to you, and light a thousand torches, enough to illuminate the sky. One day you will have children of your own. Tell them about your parents, tell them that your mother and I will always love them. Wherever I’m going, I will be watching over them, just as I’ve watched over you.”
Sam kept telling his daughter he loved her as he finished building the wall of crates to hold her inside. Soon his voice was drowned out by the sound of gunfire and blasts above. He moved the last crate into place, and Hanna’s world plunged into darkness.
The gunfire above soon came to an end, and she could hear voices. A man opened the trapdoor and came down to search. Hanna fled to the farthest end of the tunnel and could hear the man barking at his comrades.
“There’s nobody down here, nothing but dirt and cobwebs. I’d like to get home before midnight.”
“What do we do with the bodies?” asked another from the living room.
“Take their papers,” a third replied. “The families will be notified, and they’ll come get them. No reason we should have to do the dirty work.” Hanna heard snickering above; then the solider climbed back up the ladder, closed the trapdoor, and all was silent.
As her story came to an end, Hanna moaned sorrowfully, wailing like a wounded animal. She rocked back and forth, calling out for her father again and again, her cries filling the cavernous space. Robert feared she might be going mad and knew he had to get her out of there, quickly. He took Hanna by the hand and led her down the tunnel, snuffing out his lantern before they climbed above. “We have to be sure,” he said. “They might have left somebody behind to watch over those woods.”
Robert was lying. He hoped to spare Hanna the grisly sight of those brave, fallen men who had sacrificed themselves to keep the militiamen from finding her. The two walked through the lodge in darkness. But as soon as they made it out to the porch, Hanna stopped and begged to go see her father. Robert adamantly refused.
“You don’t want this,” he said in a choked voice. “Please believe me. You’d never be able to unsee it.”
They followed the path down into the dark woods. Robert wondered if Hanna would even be able to ride the tandem. But even if she could, he hadn’t the faintest clue where to go. Then he remembered Alberto once mentioning guides who smuggled refugees across the Pyrenees mountains. Spain was just over a hundred kilometers away. It would take three days to reach the border on the tandem, maybe less.
Five hundred yards from the hunting lodge, Robert sat Hanna down at the foot of a tree and stared into her eyes.
“I have to go back to the lodge to get some clothes. Mine are soaked through with blood, and if I’m spotted looking like this out on the road, we’ll be stopped at the first checkpoint. We need provisions, and most of all, I need to get your papers.”
“I don’t care about your clothes or those fake papers!” Hanna yelled. “I forbid you to leave me here alone!” Robert clamped his hand over Hanna’s mouth to muffle her cries. They weren’t far from a road where German patrols could easily be on the prowl.
“I have no choice. I’m on a mission, and I have to get my map with all the local weapon caches. I promised your father I would watch over you if anything ever happened to him, and I’m going to keep that promise. Hanna, look at me. I won’t leave you, I swear I won’t. You have to trust me. I will come back—it’ll be a half hour, at most. Until then, you sit and try to gather your strength. We have a long road ahead of us. Most of all, stay absolutely silent.”
Hanna had no choice but to let him go. Robert started the trek back up to the lodge. Once inside, he went to his bedroom and changed into fresh clothes, then went to check the kitchen. All the jars of preserves had been shattered, save one that had rolled under the table. Robert stuffed the jar into a large satchel he found hanging on a nail near the fireplace. Then he climbed down the ladder into the cellar and the darkness swallowed him.
They pedaled until the break of dawn, when Hanna was too exhausted to go further. Robert wasn’t faring much better himself. In the distance, through the hazy mist of sunlight glimmering on the plain, they could just discern the outline of a house with a barn beside it. Robert steered the tandem onto the dirt driveway toward the farm, where he hoped they could rest for a few hours and, with a little luck, find food and drink.
Hanna awoke after noon, opening her eyes to see a farmer with a rifle pointed straight at Robert.
“Who are you?” the farmer barked. “Talk. Now.”
As Robert rose cautiously to his feet, Hanna spoke for him. “We’re not thieves, and we’re not here to hurt you. Lower your weapon, I beg of you.”
“First, tell me what you’re doing in my barn.”
“We were traveling through the night, and we needed rest,” Hanna continued.
“And what’s with your friend? Can’t he speak? He hasn’t said a single word.”
“Why should he, if I tell you all you need to know?”
“If you’re traveling at night, it means you’re on the run. He’s a foreigner, is that it?”
“No,” Hanna assured him. “He can’t talk. He’s mute.”
“Ah. Well, maybe I can give his ass a nice little kick and we’ll see how mute he is! This fool has had his face pounded into mush. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why and who you two are. I don’t want trouble. Not with soldiers, not with partisans. So, gather up your things and get out of here.”
“Get out? With my face all pounded into mush?” Robert asked. “We can’t travel in broad daylight, it’s far too dangerous. Let us stay in here until nightfall, then we’ll be on our way.”
“American or English?” asked the farmer.
“Foreigner, like you said. That’s good enough. And you won’t have any trouble with the Resistance as long as you don’t make any trouble with the R
esistance.”
“Ha! He’s got balls, your boyfriend,” the farmer told Hanna.
“All we’re asking is for you to let us stay a few hours,” she said. “Pretend you didn’t see us. Is that so much to ask?”
“Listen. I’m the one holding the gun, so I’ll call the shots. First, no one’s going to come threaten me on my own land. If you wanted something to eat or drink, all you had to do was ask. Politely.” The farmer lowered his weapon and sized the two up for a moment. “You don’t look too dangerous. My wife’s prepared lunch and you can join us. But first, go and wash at the well. You’re both a total mess.”
The water at the pump was so frigid that it stung Robert’s wounds and even reopened the gash on his chin. Hanna took a rag from her pocket and put pressure on the cut to stop the bleeding. Robert winced as she pressed on it. “Come on, toughen up,” she said.
The farmer and his wife offered both of them clean clothes. Hanna looked like a perfect tomboy in a pair of baggy trousers and a man’s shirt. The farmers acted friendly and cordial as the four ate lunch, watching as Robert swallowed down all his stew without any prompting, but noticing Hanna had hardly touched her plate.
“Eat!” the farmer insisted. “Even if you’re not hungry, you’ve got to eat. Where are you two headed anyway?”
“For the Spanish border,” replied Robert.
“Well, you won’t get far on that silly bicycle.”
“What’s it like on the roads around here?”
“Quite busy as of late. Between the ones who’re fleeing east, those heading northwest to fight with the Allied Forces, and people like you heading due south . . . a whole lot of folks, you see.”
“Wait . . . what’s this about the Allied Forces?” asked Robert, stunned.
“Well, I’ll be damned, have you been living under a rock? Four days ago, they started landing in droves on the beaches of Normandy. It’s all over the radio. The Germans aren’t giving in, but with the English already at Bayeux and Canadian troops advancing toward Caen, some say this infernal war will soon come to an end.”
Upon hearing the news, Robert leapt straight out of his chair and hugged the farmer. Hanna, meanwhile, remained planted in her seat, her eyes welling up with tears. Robert knelt before her and took her hand.
“They were so close to the end, only to die,” she lamented. “Papa will never get to see France liberated.”
“I’m here for you, Hanna,” Robert said softly. “You’re going to be all right. I’m taking you home with me.”
The farmer’s wife motioned to the man to fetch drinks, and he went to the liquor cabinet, coming back with a bottle and glasses.
“So sorry for your trouble, my dear,” he grunted. “Drink up. Some pear brandy will do you a world of good.”
Hanna helped clear the table after the meal, while Robert was asked to lend the farmer a hand baling hay outside. Robert spent the whole afternoon out in the fields. It was a bit awkward at first, but he quickly got the hang of it, even eliciting a compliment from the gruff farmer. “Not bad for a Yankee!” the man snorted.
Robert recounted the events of the previous day to the farmer out in the fields, describing Hanna’s situation and the promise he had made to Sam. At the end of the story, the farmer sighed, eyes full of compassion, and offered his help.
“I’ll take you two as far as I can. We’ll leave tonight. We’ll stow your bike under straw in the back of my truck. Given the time it will take to drive there and back, I’d say I could get you as far as Aurignac, which would put you roughly sixty-five kilometers from the border. But be careful, crossing the Pyrenees is no walk in the park, even at this time of year. In any event, I’ll have done my part, and the rest is your problem.”
Between the news of the landing and this new development, Robert had been given two glimmers of hope on the same day, at a time when hope was what he needed most. He went back to the farm, washed his face at the well, and ran inside to tell Hanna the news. He found her standing alone in the kitchen.
“I thought you were with the farmer’s wife.”
“Her name is Germaine and his name is Germain, isn’t that completely ridiculous?”
Robert tried to find an American equivalent, but his mind was far too scattered, and Hanna quickly beat him to it.
“Can you imagine a couple named Jess and Jessie?” she mused.
“Why not? If they love each other, who cares?”
“I’m not sensing all that much love in this house.”
“I think you’re mistaken.”
“All I know is they’re sure going to love being rid of us. Germaine seemed irritated that I was here. She left without even trying to make conversation.”
“Well, maybe she’s perceptive and was following your lead. You have to admit you’re not the world’s most talkative woman.”
“I make up for it with other things. Although I don’t see what’s so special about being a blabbermouth anyway. What time do we leave? This place gives me the creeps.”
“As soon as the sun goes down. Germain offered to give us a ride to Aurignac in his truck. It’ll save us an entire night on that bicycle.”
After coming down with a serious migraine, Germaine didn’t reemerge to say goodbye. Her husband apologized on her behalf, saying that she was furious at him for taking such risks for total strangers.
They loaded the tandem into the back of the truck and climbed into the cabin. The lidded headlights weren’t especially bright, but they did keep the vehicle discreet at night. The Berliet rattled and jerked its way down the road. With both hands on the wheel, the farmer began to whistle as he drove.
“Your wife is right to be upset,” said Hanna. “It must be dangerous on the road these days. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“It’s more than dangerous; it’s strictly forbidden. Lucky for you, the Germans and the militiamen like to stuff their faces with only the best. They expect to have their milk and eggs delivered, poultry too. So, if you’re a good farmer, you get an Ausweis and can move about as you like. Rest assured, my papers are in order. If we get stopped, pretend you’re asleep and everything will be fine.”
“Be sure to thank your wife for us,” Robert insisted.
“Of course, of course, no problem.”
The engine made an infernal racket as they drove onward. By L’Isle-Jourdain, Hanna had fallen asleep. They passed Saint-Lys, Sainte-Foy-de-Peyrolières, and Rieumes without the slightest hint of trouble. Robert dozed off as well, lulled by the movement of the truck. Near Savères, the loud sound of shifting gears woke him up with a jolt. The farmer was slowing down in a hurry.
“What’s wrong?” Robert asked.
“I think there may be a patrol at the next crossroads. We’re still a way off, but I saw some lights on the horizon, and at this time of night, farms would be shuttered up and pitch-black. Just stick with the plan, and everything will be fine. Let the little lady sleep, it’s better that way.”
Robert glanced over at Hanna, her head resting against the window with her eyes closed and still. And yet Robert could feel her hand slide down his back, closing around his gun and pulling it right out of his belt. As Germain reached for the gearshift, Hanna sat bolt upright and pointed the gun at him.
“Turn off the headlights and pull over!” she ordered in a steely tone that left Robert dumbstruck.
“What is this? Some sort of hustle?” the farmer balked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. How much were you going to make by turning us in, huh? Twenty francs? Fifty? What’s the going price for an American these days? Maybe you could even get a hundred!” Hanna snarled, jabbing the barrel of the gun into the man’s cheek.
“The girl’s gone insane! Completely mad!”
Germain hit the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. He raised his hands in surrender, shaking with fear and anger. “Germaine was right all along. I stick out my neck to help you damn foreigners, and this is how I’m repaid? Well, off wi
th you. Run along. What are you waiting for? Take your damn bike and go!”
“You have any idea how to drive this thing?” Hanna asked Robert, who was still frozen in shock.
“Sure, at least . . . I think I can. Driving trucks was part of my training in England.”
Hanna turned back to the farmer. “You can get out now,” she ordered. When Germain hesitated, Hanna slipped her finger onto the trigger to let him know she meant business.
“I lost my father yesterday after being double-crossed by a rat just like you, so believe me when I say nothing would make me happier right now than blowing your brains out on the side of the road. You’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out.”
Germain cursed under his breath and scrambled out of the truck. Robert quickly took his seat. As the Berliet lumbered away down the road, they could hear Germain shouting after them. “My truck! You goddamn thieves! Come back here with my truck!”
“Head that way,” Hanna told Robert, pointing up a winding side road to their left. “And keep the headlights off.”
“What in the world are you thinking? The guy was offering us help and you just—”
“That guy’s help would’ve got us killed, believe me. He’s a collaborator. Honestly, for a secret agent on a mission, your observational skills could use some work. The farm had nothing but wheat and pigs, not a hen or cow in sight. Just how do you think he bought this truck or got his hands on something as vital as a pass to move about freely? If the man’s working the black market, just who do you think he’s selling to?”
“How the hell did you put all that together?”
“I’ve been hiding out a lot longer than you. Survival is a question of staying sharp and always observing. You’ll understand soon enough. We stay on the road until dawn. German convoys are easiest to spot by night. During the day, by the time you see them it’s already too late. At daybreak, we’ll have to switch to that bike of yours. How fast can you go?”
