'What is so funny?' the driver asked.
Catherine pretended to be out of breath. 'Don't you see?' she gasped. 'We weren't kidnapped. We ran away from home!'
He hesitated. 'But. . .why?'
Catherine's face took on a spiteful look. 'Because Maman is a monster!' she spit out vehemently. 'We had to get away from her. She beats us till we're black and blue.'
'But why are you going to Chartres?'
She took a deep breath. 'A friend of mine named Yves happens to live there. It's the only place we have to go.'
'But. . .the newspapers,' the driver said with disbelief. 'They wrote that you were kidnapped. Newspapers don't tell lies.'
Catherine laughed bitterly. 'Don't they?' She looked into his eyes.
'But why?'
'Simple. Maman's a very clever woman. She must have felt that people would look harder for us if they thought we were kidnapped.'
He nodded slowly. 'How could she arrange all this publicity?'
Catherine smiled. 'For a year now she has been seeing a high-ranking German. He's head over heels in love with her, and she can make him do anything.' She tapped the newspaper in his hand. 'Even arrange for things like that.'
He shook his head slowly. 'It sounds so farfetched. Yet I believe you. But much as I hate to do it, I'll have to report you to the authorities. That's my sworn duty.'
'I know,' Catherine said. Suddenly she lowered her eyes. 'I'm too old to let Maman run my life,' she said in a whisper. 'I've grown up so quickly that she never even noticed my needs. She only seeks gratification for her own.'
The driver's interest quickened. 'Needs?' he asked. 'What needs?' Hélène caught a glimpse of his eyes. They shone brightly.
'Oh, you know.' Catherine shrugged. 'Being a woman and not being able to do anything about it.'
He sat up straight. 'Don't you have any other friends? I mean, men friends who will. . .. '
'Other than Yves?' Catherine shook her head and sighed painfully. 'Not really. You see, most men I've met aren't really men. They're all simply terrified of Maman. Only Yves has ever had the courage to face up to her.' She paused suddenly and stared at him intently. 'Would you stand up to her?'
'I. . .I think so,' he stammered.
She smiled and reached out slowly, her fingers gently exploring his crotch.
'No,' he said. 'You must not do that. I have to drop you off at a police station. We shouldn't lose any time.'
She smiled at him again and unbuttoned her coat. Then she took his hand and placed it on her breast. 'I am not a child,' she said. 'I am a woman.'
Nervously he pulled his hand back and drove on again. He wasn't paying much attention to the road now.
'Do I excite you?' Catherine asked.
His voice was a whisper. 'Yes.'
Once again, Catherine's hand began to explore. 'You're getting hard,' she said in an admiring tone. 'My, but it's big.'
'Bigger than your boyfriend's?'
'Much bigger.'
The driver preened visibly. 'Then why don't you undo my fly and get down on it?'
She smiled promisingly. 'No, it's much too big to do just that. I want it. . .inside me.'
The car swerved.
She glanced quickly out the windshield. On the right, a small forest of evergreens was coming up.
'I tell you what,' she said. 'See those trees up ahead? We can pull in there for a few minutes. Nobody will see the car if you drive in far enough.'
He hesitated. 'They could send me to the Russian front if they found out.'
'Don't worry, they won't. Who is there to tell them? Certainly not those little monsters in the backseat.'
Hélène was getting a bit annoyed. Catherine was pushing it a little too far. Monsters, indeed!
'Come on, it won't take long,' Catherine said. 'Afterward you can drop us off at the police station. But first I want you to treat me like the woman that I am.'
The Boche's face broke into a smile. Suddenly he hit the brakes and made a sharp turn onto a dirt road that branched off into the forest. Dipping evergreen branches brushed the sides of the car. It was darker here among the trees. They blotted out a lot of light.
After about ten meters, they pulled into a clearing. It was a log-splitting area; chopped yellow firewood was stacked up in neat piles. Between the graceful boughs of the pines they could catch glimpses of the road, but for anyone to see them, they would have to draw quite a bit of attention to themselves.
The Boche switched off the engine. 'Do you want to send the kids out for a walk?' he asked.
Catherine shook her head. 'It's too cold. Besides, this is nothing new for them. They've seen it before.'
'Whatever you say.' He lifted his hips off the seat and undid his fly.
Hélène felt a hand on her arm. She glanced over at Edmond. His eyes were expressionless. He was motioning for her to slip the string off the bundle on the seat beside her.
'It's even bigger when it's out!' Catherine's voice sounded impressed. 'So big and red and swollen.'
Hélène had the string off now. Impatiently Edmond snatched it away from her. Grimly he wrapped some of it around his hands, then stretched the remainder of it taut. At first Hélène thought he was going to play cat's cradle. Then suddenly she realized what he was going to do, why Catherine had lured the Boche into this secluded clearing. She held her breath and waited.
'First take it in your mouth,' the driver was saying. 'It will get even harder that way.'
With a cry, Edmond pounced forward. He brought the string down in front of the driver's neck and pulled back hard, choking him.
The Boche's face began to get beet red. He made horrible gasping noises and his hands flew up to his throat, fingers clawing at the string. Catherine let out a shriek. She shrank into the corner of her seat. Then she leaned down and groped under the seat for something to club him with. She came up with a heavy flashlight. Savagely she began pounding him over the head with it. But the Boche could take a lot of punishment. With a sudden surge of strength he managed to tear the string loose. He shook his head, trying to clear it. In a rage, he lunged at Catherine.
Edmond immediately jumped out of the car. Hélène followed right behind him. There were pieces of firewood lying around on the ground. Without hesitation, he picked up the nearest piece and yanked the driver's door open.
The Boche had his big hands clamped around Catherine's throat. Her mouth hung open, desperately gasping for air, her body slumped in the seat. She was suffocating.
With the log, Edmond began to pound the Boche on the back of the neck. The Boche turned around with a snarl, but his hands wouldn't leave Catherine's throat.
Hélène looked around in desperation. Then she saw a metal tool lying next to a stack of chopped wood. It was a spike, the kind used for splitting logs. The point looked very sharp. She tried to pick it up, but it was too heavy. She tugged at Edmond's arm. 'Use this!' she screamed. 'Use this!'
Edmond threw down his piece of wood. He grabbed hold of the spike with both hands. Once again he flung himself on the Boche. This time, he was armed with a weapon that could destroy. Swiftly he plunged the spike into the Boche's belly.
The Boche screamed. His hands left Catherine's throat and his eyes moved down to his belly. In shock he stared at the protruding spike. Then came the blood.
But he wasn't dead yet.
At that moment Hélène heard the steady footfalls of marching feet coming from the road. Her heart began thumping even faster. That sound could mean only one thing. The platoon they had passed earlier would soon be upon them.
The Boche must have heard it too, for suddenly he rallied his strength and tried to cry out. Quickly Catherine pressed her hands over his mouth to muffle the cries. She winced as he sank his teeth into her fingers, but she held on. Then, struggling fiercely like some wounded animal, he tried to crawl out of the car. 'His legs!' Edmond hissed at Catherine. 'Grab his legs!'
She let go of his mouth and grabbed his pants, trying
to pull him back into the car.
Hélène glanced toward the road. Between the pine boughs she could see the platoon. It was just passing by. And when she looked back at the car, she could see something else. The Boche was trying to reach for the center of the steering wheel. For the horn!
Catherine let go of his legs and tugged at his arm. Each time she pulled it away from the horn, he managed to reach for it again. And again. And again.
Grimly Edmond grabbed the driver by the hair. He pulled his head halfway out of the car and began slamming the door shut on it. The Boche grimaced and groaned, but he didn't cry out. Hélène could hear one sickening thud after another as Edmond pounded the door against his skull. The fifth time, there was a horrible crunching sound and the blood began pouring from the head. And slowly the Boche gave up the fight. His body went limp.
Finally he was dead.
The platoon was gone now, the sounds of marching receding into the distance. The road was clear.
Fatigued, Edmond threw himself to the ground. He sat there, a weary expression on his face. Right beside him, the Boche's head hung out of the car. From the backseat, Hélène could hear Marie's whimpers starting up. Incredibly, she had slept through the entire incident.
Catherine stumbled out of the car. She had to hold onto the car to steady herself as she came around it. She took one look at the driver, then bent over and vomited.
'The newspapers,' Edmond said in a whisper. He was still breathing heavily. 'We'll have to. . .carry them. . .a distance away. Burn them. Or bury them. They mustn't get to Chartres.'
Catherine nodded wearily and dropped to the ground beside him.
They rested for fifteen minutes. By then Edmond and Catherine had some of their strength back. Hélène helped them lug the newspapers to a spot about fifty meters from the car and burn them. To hide the evidence of a fire, they covered up the charred remains with pieces of wood and pine boughs.
7
It was pitch dark by the time they found shelter for the night. They had discovered it by accident. They had walked more than three kilometers along the road to Chartres when they saw a car's yellow headlights bobbing in the distance.
'Quick!' Edmond said. 'Into the ditch!'
They scrambled off the road, and there it was, right in front of them. A large round culvert that connected the ditches that ran along both sides of the road. Here, directly under the road, they would be well hidden. The bottom was filled with water, but it had long since turned to ice. Although cold, they would at least be safe.
After the car passed by overhead, they set out to make the shelter as comfortable as possible. Edmond had them pull out shrubs from the roadside.
He figured that they could stuff them at each end of the pipe, thereby blocking out some of the wind. But the shrubs were stubborn: their roots were frozen into the ground. All they managed to collect were some bare branches. These they spread out over the ice. Then they lay down on top of them.
They slept curled up together, cold and hungry, using their body heat to try to warm each other, to try to draw some comfort from their closeness. But Hélène didn't sleep well; Marie cried a lot that night. And when dawn finally came, Hélène awoke shivering, her teeth chattering noisily. Even before she opened her eyes, she sensed that Edmond was gone.
An hour later, he returned. He had been to loot a house in a nearby village, and he brought back some milk, small slabs of cheese, two thin sausages, and a little sugar. The sugar was still in its blue-and-white ceramic bowl. He had also come across a bottle of brandy. He pulled out the cork, and taking turns, they each took a swig. It tasted bitter and burned all the way down their throats, but then they would feel a comforting warm glow spreading through them. They even wet Marie's lips with a little taste of it. To their surprise, it quieted her down.
'The brandy seems to silence her,' Edmond said. 'We'll give her some whenever we need to keep her quiet.'
After they finished eating, they moved on. They headed southwest across yet more barren fields and then through forests which lacked underbrush. Over the centuries, the bushes and brambles had been cleared away, and Hélène imagined that in summer the earth would be carpeted with moss. Right now it was covered with yellowed pine needles and fallen cones. Overhead, the sky was thick and gray, looking like snow.
In the afternoon, it began to sleet.
It caught them unawares, while they were still in the middle of the forest. Numb with cold and soaked to the skin, they finally found a shelter. It was a deserted woodcutter's cabin, and it even had a fireplace. Stacks of chopped wood were piled up along the outside walls, and they carried some into the cabin. Edmond built a fire. Wet wood doesn't burn well, and the cabin got very smoky. It made their eyes water, but they were grateful for the warmth.
Realizing that they might be snowed in for days, they ate sparingly in order to stretch their rations. And when there was no more milk, they fed Marie a mixture of sugar and warm water.
It looked like the storm would continue for some time, so they took the opportunity to wash Marie's diaper. It must have suited her well, for that night she slept soundly.
But getting soaked hadn't done them any good. Catherine and Hélène came down with colds. They both sneezed and coughed a lot, and Catherine got laryngitis on top of it. That night, the sleet turned to snow.
Two days later, the weather cleared. They stepped outside the cabin and gazed around in wonder. The temperature had plunged even lower, but the air was crystalline and pure. The sky overhead was of the palest blue, and everything was covered with a blanket of thick, glistening snow. Even the branches of the trees looked as if someone had piled cotton on top of them. To a young girl it was a fairyland.
'Isn't it beautiful?' Hélène said to Edmond.
He nodded. 'Yes, it is very beautiful,' he agreed. But beauty, apparently, didn't weigh heavily on his mind right now. There were more important things to think of. He turned to Catherine. 'Is there any sugar left?'
'A little.' Her voice was a hoarse croak.
'Mix whatever there is in some warm water and give it to Marie,' he said. 'Then, when she's done eating, prepare her for the cold. We shall be moving on shortly.'
Catherine nodded obediently and went inside the cabin to wake Marie. A moment later, she rushed back outside.
Edmond stared at her. 'Is something wrong?'
'It's Marie,' Catherine said huskily. 'She's burning up. I think she has a fever!'
Edmond pushed her aside and entered the cabin. Swiftly he crossed over to where Marie was lying and touched her little forehead with his hand. 'I'm afraid you're right,' he told Catherine grimly. 'She really is sick.'
Hélène did as he had done and laid her hand on Marie's forehead. It was wet with perspiration, but ice cold. 'What are we going to do?' she asked.
Edmond stared down at Marie. 'What we must do,' he murmured. 'Find a doctor for her.'
Catherine looked at him. 'No doctor will come here.'
'Then we must go to him,' he replied simply.
Catherine took him firmly by the arms and shook him. 'But it's too cold!' she said sharply. 'It's dangerous to take her outside in her condition!'
Edmond began to strip off his coat. Hélène watched as he gently wrapped Marie in it. 'This will keep her warm,' he said.
'But what about you?' Catherine asked. 'What are you going to wear?'
He shrugged. 'I'll be all right. I don't have the fever.'
Catherine stared at him. 'Have some sense! You'll freeze to death!'
'Maybe,' he said. 'But that can't be helped.' Then he raised his voice. 'Enough of this. Hurry up and get ready. We'll leave right away.'
Catherine threw up her hands in exasperation. Then she stomped around the cabin gathering up their few belongings.
As Hélène buttoned her coat she looked at Edmond. 'Don't doctors cost money?' she asked.
He nodded.
'Does that mean you'll steal some?' she whispered hopefully.
&nb
sp; 'No, I will not,' he said sharply.
'Oh.' She frowned. 'Then how are we going to pay the doctor?'
He patted his breast pocket. 'We'll have to use Maman's ring. Although I hate to part with it, I think Maman would understand.'
Hélène nodded. He was right. Under these circumstances, Maman would.
Each time they neared a village, Edmond had them wait out of sight while he took Marie and went off to find a doctor. Doctors, it turned out, were a scarcity in the country. It was only after a few hours that he finally found one. He left Marie there and hurried back to where Catherine and Hélène waited. Once again, he was wearing his coat. 'Come along,' he said. 'The doctor's house is nice and warm. A little heat won't hurt us.'
Catherine looked at him with apprehension. 'Do you think the doctor can be trusted?' she asked.
'I hope so,' he answered. 'Anyway, we have little choice. I left Marie with him.'
'Is the doctor in the village?' Hélène asked, pointing at the sleepy clusters of houses in the distance. 'Or is he in one of the farmhouses?'
'In the village. Come along.' Their footsteps crunched on the snow as he led the way up the peaceful main street. At the last house, he opened a gate into a small front yard, and then they waited on the steps while he knocked on the door. It was opened by a heavyset middle-aged woman. She recognized Edmond. 'Come in, come in,' she said, herding them inside with her hands. 'The doctor is upstairs with the little one.'
They stepped into a dark, narrow hallway. After the woman closed the door behind them, she gestured at their feet. 'Take off your shoes, they're probably soaked through. Leave them by the door. Then come along with me.'
They followed her down the hallway. She opened a door with opaque glass panels set into the frame. This was the kitchen. There was a huge enamel-and-tile stove in the corner, and a lot of heat radiated from it. Quickly the children drew around it, holding out their hands over the glowing top, trying to warm them.
'Sit down,' the woman said, gesturing at the table. 'You look like you could do with some food. I was just preparing a hot lunch.'
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