The Indigo Rebels: A French Resistance novel

by Ellie Midwood

  “Do you want more water?” Philippe asked, not even knowing why he would ask such a thing. A feeling of guilt started to overcome him for some reason.

  “No, thank you, it’s all right.” Giselle reached for her black leather clutch and, after rummaging through its contents, pulled several Reichsmarks out of it and put them on the coffee table.

  Philippe had just opened his mouth in protest, but she shook her head, stopping him. “It’s for all of you. For food. Or whatever else you need. And please, do tell me if you need anything; I can get almost everything for you.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t want to accept charity from…” Philippe didn’t finish his sentence, cursing inwardly once again at a sense of conscience striking him unexpectedly for insulting the young woman in front of him. She probably meant well.

  “From the collaborator?” Giselle grinned with a corner of her mouth, not showing any signs of being offended. “What if I’m collaborating with you now? And it’s money for the cause?”

  “The cause?”

  “Mais oui. La République libérée.”

  Philippe recognized the mischievous gleam shining in her eyes, which had seemed dull and indifferent just moments ago. She grinned wider, and he caught himself doing the same.

  “I have information for you,” she proceeded, taking up a sitting position and patting a spot on the sofa next to her, offering him a seat.

  Philippe faltered for a second but decided that no harm would come out of sitting next to a collaborator.

  She had enough tact not to tease him for it and continued. “Today one German soldier took me to the forest near the Fontainebleau. Apparently, they’re setting up some wire net around the city for communication purposes, and also to gather intelligence. I saw the exact location of one of those wires, but, according to him, there are more of them somewhere else. I didn’t want to press the matter, but what if we find a way to somehow damage this one? It will disrupt the work of the others, won’t it?”

  “Which Boche in his right mind would take you to the forest to show you a secret object?” Philippe narrowed his eyes in mistrust.

  “He was not precisely in his right mind; you’re right about that.” Giselle chuckled softly. “But that’s not what’s important. What’s important is the question of whether you know people who could carry out this plot, and whether they have access to that part of the wood. It’s being guarded, of course, and so is the wire. However, the sentries don’t seem to take their task seriously. One of them was sleeping, and another one was reading a highly compelling book. Let me warn you before you ask: I’m not going back there, and you are not mentioning my name to your comrades. Deal? I’ll show you the location on a map, and describe how to get there, but that’s where everything ends. You can all die like martyrs if you like, but leave me out of it. Yes, I know, I know – this is typical profiteering capitalist collaborator talk, or whatever you call it, but take it or leave it. I’m not getting physically involved with your Resistance.”

  Philippe studied her a little longer, getting more and more confused with her behavior. No, that’s where she was mistaken. She was everything but a typical “profiteering collaborator.” Whatever the hell she was, he still couldn’t figure her out for the life of him.

  “I don’t blame you. It’s much more dangerous for a woman than for a man,” he concluded quietly. “And yes, I do know the right people.”

  16

  Marcel once again lifted a finger to his mouth, trying to pacify the fuming boys together with Philippe, who’s been whisper-yelling at them for a good ten minutes now. Together with the robust communist, he was able to herd Pierre and Jerome into the furthest bedroom, which was once the Legrand children’s room, to ensure that no neighbors could overhear their indignant shouts.

  The shouts stopped rather fast, though, as soon as Philippe clasped his wide palm on top of Pierre’s mouth after the boy started to raise his voice to a dangerous level.

  “How dare you preach to us the principles of a Free France and talk about the Resistance when you take money from a collaborator?!” Pierre’s blue eyes were shining with angry tears while he was hurling the tirade at Phillipe. “Her Boche’s money! Dirty Reichsmarks, from the very man who took our Papa away! You’re no better than her! I’d rather starve than use that bloody money! Let go of me! I’m not staying here with you!”

  “Pierre, one last time I’m warning you: keep it down,” Philippe growled.

  “No! Let go! You can’t order me around! You’re not my father!”

  Jerome, the younger brother, was biting his bottom lip nervously, watching the confrontation unravel. Giselle had left barely minutes before Marcel returned with the boys. However, the faint smell of her perfume and the German currency still laying on the table were a telltale sign as to whom the recent visitor had been. Needless to say, the brothers didn’t take too kindly to fraternizing with a person from a differing social class and a political enemy on top of it, which they considered her to be.

  “You’re lucky that I’m not. Otherwise, I would tan your hides at every chance possible, and, who knows, maybe you wouldn’t grow into such hot-headed, irresponsible scoundrels!” Philippe hissed without releasing his firm grip on Pierre’s arm. “Allow me to remind you that it’s not her who’s at fault for your father being arrested in the first place; it’s you! You went ahead and did an idiotic thing without considering the repercussions, and now you blame someone else for your deeds! She’s helping us, even though she has all the reasons not to. She’s not the nicest person in the world, I agree with you, but we don’t have the luxury of being selective when it comes to accepting help from the few who are ready to offer it to the cause. So, you will shut your mouths, and you will listen to me and obey me. If not, I’m getting you new papers and putting you on the train to the Free Zone tomorrow, and you can sit together with the rest of the collaborators while we’re fighting for freedom here. I won’t repeat it twice.”

  “That’s the whole point!” the boy argued, a long-contained tear finding its way on his cheek. “We aren’t fighting! We aren’t doing anything at all! What good will spreading these flyers do? Nothing at all. The Boches don’t even bother with them anymore. We need to start doing something. Doing!”

  “And what do you suggest you ‘do,’ young man?” Philippe arched his brow skeptically.

  “Going out and actually killing them! We don’t have the numbers, but why not ambush them, when they return from their clubs and whore houses at night? Let’s set up an ambush and kill one or two. It doesn’t have to be the whole battalion! And we don’t need too many people for that – two or three is more than enough. I’ll go if I need to. And Jerome will go with me. I’ll prove to you that I’m not afraid.”

  “I know you’re not afraid, Pierre.” Philippe sighed, releasing the boy’s arm at last. “Only, as Général de Gaulle said himself, leave the fighting to the army. Killing even one Boche will end up in such havoc, that the rest of them will make our lives impossible here. Killing one of them? Really? Do you think the Boches will just shrug it off and go on with their lives? Do you not think they will not want to retaliate?”

  Pierre lowered his wheat-colored head with its matted hair and pursed his lips, without replying anything.

  “We will not sit idly anymore, comrade.”

  The boy’s head shot up when Philippe addressed him in the official Party manner for the first time in his life.

  “Mademoiselle Legrand didn’t just come here to bring us money. She also learned some very important information, and if we succeed with the plan concerning that highly valuable information, the Boches will have their hands full for the next few weeks. But, if you want to be a part of our cell – a responsible, sensible part that is – you will have to promise me right now that you will not throw tantrums anymore, and you will listen to everything I tell you. Deal?”

  Pierre fumbled with the button of his worn cardigan for a few moments before raising his eyes, with re
solution in them, to the communist leader and nodded firmly.

  “Yes. It’s a deal. Comrade.”

  The next morning Philippe and Marcel stepped out into the street, which was damp with a September mist that shone on the cobblestone road, making it even more slippery than usual, and completely blocking the sun. Just a few months ago a similar street in the residential area would be empty and quiet, with its habitants snuggling peacefully in their beds. Only the workers, like Marcel and Philippe, would disturb the silence with their steps and usual banter, heading to the morning shift in the factory. Now, the street was crawling with life even at such an early hour, with mothers pulling their crying children by the arm, muttering that if they wanted their dinner that night, they’d better move their feet before the shop run out of meat. God knows the line over there must be tremendous already!

  Men, with sunken cheeks and defeated looks on their gaunt faces, walked by to their respective working places as well, trying their best not to look around. Few of them were young people; instead, they were mostly the veterans of the Great War, who loathed seeing their country under the occupation of ones whom as they thought they had beaten once and for all some twenty years ago. The Great War mangled all of them, in one respect or another – if not in a physical sense, then in psychological ways, that’s for sure. Marcel sighed, thinking of his father, whose face he kept seeing in every single man that passed him by. And just like his father, these men were all too weary and old to start a new fight, which meant only one thing: it was now his, Marcel’s young generation’s task to step up, to pick up the tricolor and carry it proudly to absolute victory, so that their fathers wouldn’t be ashamed to walk the streets next to them.

  “You think the boys will keep their word?” Marcel asked Philippe as the two shared the match to light their harsh, cheap cigarettes – the only ones that they could afford.

  “For now they will. But we’ll still need to keep an eye on them and keep them occupied.”

  They walked in silence for some time, until Marcel nudged his comrade with his elbow slightly. “Thank you for speaking up for Giselle before them. I know you don’t like her, so I appreciate it even more.”

  Philippe grunted instead of a issuing a reply, and with that, the subject was dropped.

  Giselle opened the door to her apartment with her keys and crouched to rub Coco behind the ear. The Pekinese rushed to her, shivering and squealing with excitement, obviously relieved to have her mistress back.

  “You missed me, didn’t you, my little one?”

  Giselle picked up the dog into her arms and laughed as Coco feverishly licked her face.

  “I missed you too, my precious. Otto didn’t forget to feed you, did he now?”

  Expecting to be alone, Giselle was surprised to hear steps as Karl walked into the living room, looking even more austere than usual. Giselle took in his stiff posture with arms crossed over his chest, mouth pressed into a hard line and a deep scowl in place, and touched her hair self-consciously.

  “Oh, hello. I thought you were at the Prefect’s.”

  “Where have you been?” The question was given without a reciprocal greeting.

  “At my sister’s, I told you.”

  “I called her this morning. No one was home.”

  Giselle glowered, not liking his interrogatory tone nor the fact that he was checking on her whereabouts as if he had any right to do so.

  “I left early,” she replied curtly, passing by the stern-looking German and heading into her bedroom. She heard his steps following her, and added, without looking back, “Kamille probably left with Violette for a walk, or went shopping. That’s why no one was home to answer.”

  “Where were you all day today then?”

  “I was walking, enjoying the weather. You said it yourself that you would be spending Sunday at the Prefect’s house, and I didn’t want to be stuck here alone all day. Are Sunday walks prohibited as well now?” Giselle snapped back, not able to contain the sarcasm.

  He was standing in the doors of her bedroom, refusing to allow her any privacy to change her clothes. Giselle tried to avoid the apprehensive look of his black eyes while taking off her watch and earrings. However, when he didn’t move, even when she undid the zipper on the side of her dress, she turned to him sharply and spoke with an authority to her voice which had never failed to intimidate her former lovers, “Do you mind? I’d like to take a shower.”

  “I do mind.” Karl didn’t budge. “And you will not go anywhere until you tell me where you were these past twenty-four hours.”

  “I have told you exactly where I was. Karl, you’re being ridiculous now. Move, please.”

  They stood face to face, her scowling irritably, and him unmoved and menacing as always.

  “One more question, Gisela. What were you doing in my study?” His accent sounded even harsher now, interlaced with ice.

  Giselle caught herself swallowing involuntarily. She wasn’t prepared for this question by any means. How did he know that she had stolen two Ausweis passes from that thick pile? He didn’t recount them one by one every morning most certainly, and she had pulled them out of the middle of the stack. They weren’t even numbered in succession!

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” She offered him a sheepish smile, wisely deciding to drop the arrogant tone for now, or at least until she found out what he knew exactly. “I couldn’t possibly enter your study – you have the only key. And besides, why would I go there in the first place?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he replied calmly. “And I will.”

  “Karl, come now, be reasonable. You know perfectly well that I was not in your study.” She traced her fingers on top of his uniform, feverishly trying to worm her way out of the very unnerving situation. “You made this up only to get to me. You most likely are simply jealous, thinking that I was somewhere out with another handsome compatriot of yours. But Charlie, mon amour, I truly was just enjoying my sister’s company. Why don’t you call Kamille again? She’s probably home by now, and she’ll tell you that I was with her.”

  For the first time in her life, her playful tone and a sweet smile didn’t produce any effect on the man in front of her. He brushed her hand off his uniform jacket and repeated slowly, separating every word, “What were you doing in my study?”

  “Karl, I was not—”

  He clasped her forearm with enough force to leave bruises. Giselle couldn’t suppress a startled yelp.

  “Don’t lie to me. We both know that you were there. Now tell me what were you looking for?”

  “Karl! Let go of me!” She struggled to yank her arm free, which only resulted in him holding it tighter. “You’re hurting me!”

  “If you call that hurting, you haven’t been hurt in your life yet,” the German replied with a threatening sneer. “Now answer me: what were you looking for in my study?”

  Coco’s relentless barking made him raise his voice even more. “Answer me!”

  “I didn’t go into your study!” Giselle yelled back, struggling with his unyielding grip.

  Coco snapped at the man, who was attacking her mistress, and received such a hard kick with a polished black boot that she let out a loud cry and disappeared into the living room.

  “You heartless bastard!” Giselle screamed, furious, but the man in front of her refused to let go despite her attempt at releasing herself.

  “Fine. You’ll go with me. Maybe a more suitable place will help you loosen your tongue.”

  He almost dragged her by the arm out of the bedroom and into the living room, while Giselle frantically tried to find her little pet with her eyes, fearing that the vicious kick could have easily broken the little dog’s ribs. Coco was nowhere to be seen, probably shivering uncontrollably in some hideout.

  Karl meanwhile opened the door and pushed Giselle onto the staircase, slamming it behind him.

  “Where are you taking me?” Giselle hissed, discarding the idea of making a r
un for it just out of spite. He would have caught up with her in no time anyway, but even if that wasn’t the case, she simply refused to back down even though she had long ago admitted to herself that the situation was out of control. Well, fine indeed; she never backed away from a confrontation, and wouldn’t do it now because of some Boche’s threats. What would he do to her, really? Throw her in jail? She didn’t think so.

  “You’ve always been curious about my work. I think it’s about time I show you what exactly I do when people question my authority.” Karl clutched her forearm again, leading her downstairs.

  Giselle started laughing. “I’m intrigued, truly. Please, do tell: are you planning on throwing me into some dark cell and to have your people torture me?”

  “By all means, no. It’s such a cliché, and you as a writer should know it. Nein. I’m planning to take you to my office and to question you myself.”

  “I’m all attention. Maybe I’ll get some nice material for my manuscript out of such an exciting experience. My main villain is falling a little flat, but maybe you will be able to inspire me to breathe some life into him.” Giselle spoke with poisonous irony oozing out of every word as he led her to his black car which had little red flags above its headlights.

  “It’ll be my pleasure.” He opened the passenger door and pushed her inside rather rudely.

  Giselle was still fuming about him hurting her dog but set her mind on doing anything in her power to show him that he didn’t frighten her. He didn’t, for now, anyway. She had heard about the Gestapo, she had heard about arrests and German camps, but those were for the hardened criminals, not for someone like her. Since the beginning of the occupation, there were hardly any shootings. Most certainly the governments of both countries wished to keep peace and calm by every means possible, and would hardly do anything to a woman on top of it.