by Robert Rigby
And from the sighs and embarrassed looks, and the way he became strangely tongue-tied and unsure of what to say, Josette soon realized how Didier felt about her.
“Didier?”
The iron clamp almost fell from Didier’s hands as he heard her voice above the machines. He spun around.
She was standing in the doorway. She smiled when she spotted Didier’s embarrassed look. She couldn’t resist teasing him now, as she often did. “Why are you sitting there with your mouth open? You look like a drowned fish.”
Didier closed his mouth and tried to think of what to say.
“My father wants to see you.”
Didier nodded; the right words still hadn’t come.
“Don’t you want to know why?”
Didier swallowed. “Why?”
Josette shrugged her shoulders. “He didn’t say.”
“I … I … I…”
“What, Didier? What are you trying to say?” Josette gave an innocent smile, knowing exactly the effect her presence had on him.
Didier took a deep breath and the words he had been trying to perfect for more than a fortnight came tumbling from his mouth. “I wondered if you would like to come out with me on Sunday? We could go for a ride on the bike.” Didier’s proudest possession was his motorbike. “I’ll ask your father’s permission, of course.”
Josette laughed. “Permission?” she said, teasing. “But you’re not asking to marry me.”
Didier’s eyes widened, but he didn’t reply. He was lost for words again.
“I don’t have to ask Papa’s permission for everything I do.”
“But I will still ask,” Didier said hoarsely, managing to find his voice. “It’s only right.”
“Please yourself,” Josette said with a shrug. “You can ask his permission, but I may be busy on Sunday.”
Didier felt his heart sink. “Busy? Where?”
After a quick look behind her to ensure no one was listening, Josette took a step into the workshop. She spoke quietly. “I may be with other friends.”
“Which friends?”
Josette stole another look onto the factory floor and then, in little more than a whisper said, “I’ve heard there may be a meeting, Jean-Pierre Dilhat and others. I want to get involved; be part of it.”
“Involved!” Didier said loudly, leaping to his feet, unable to hide his concern.
“Ssshhhh!”
“What do you mean, ‘involved’?”
“Oh, don’t you start,” Josette hissed. “It’s bad enough having Papa telling me not to do anything.”
“Did Dilhat tell you about this meeting himself?”
“No,” Josette answered sheepishly, her face dropping. “I’ve never actually spoken to him. But I’ve heard him speak. He’s wonderful; we need people like him, to save France.”
“And the meeting,” Didier said, suddenly more confident, “is it for real? Have you been invited?”
Josette shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s really happening or if it’s just a rumour. So many people are saying so many different things.”
“Then don’t listen to them,” Didier snapped. “And be careful of what you say too. You don’t know who you can trust these days.”
Josette sighed. “You sound just like my father.”
SEVEN
Steam rose from the German officer’s greatcoat as he stepped into the wheelhouse, wiping the raindrops from his spectacles with a clean white handkerchief. It was sweltering inside, the heat rising up through the open doorway from the cabin, where the pot-bellied stove burned as usual.
The officer replaced his glasses, slowly and deliberately folded the handkerchief and returned it to his pocket, all the time resting his eyes on Albert, who was leaning against the wheel.
“We are searching for a runaway boy.”
Albert said nothing.
“He is aged sixteen and from Antwerp.”
Albert shrugged his bulky shoulders. “This is a working barge, no place for boys.”
“Let me see your papers.”
As Albert turned to reach for his own and the Marina’s documents, he spotted the two tin mugs on the shelf. He cursed silently and, as he turned back to the officer, quickly shifted his body to hide the mugs from view.
The officer began to leaf through the papers. Two more soldiers stood nearby, each holding a rifle; another waited on deck, his shoulders hunched against the pounding rain.
“If you refuse to cooperate, I will have you arrested and this old tub impounded, you realize that, don’t you?” the officer said, without looking up.
“That wouldn’t please the authorities in Berlin,” Albert replied. “The coal I’m carrying is going to German factories, as you’ll see if you turn to the next page.”
The German read quickly and thrust the papers back into Albert’s hands. “We received information that the boy escaped on a barge,” he said. Then he gestured to the two soldiers. “Search thoroughly.”
The two men hurried down the stairs into the living quarters. The officer moved closer until he was standing next to Albert, looking through the window down the length of the Marina. Albert could feel perspiration beginning to break out on his brow. If the German were to glance even slightly to his left he would instantly spot the two mugs.
Slowly Albert moved so that he too was looking straight ahead, raising his left arm to hide the mugs. “There are a lot of barges on Belgian waters, you know. Searching them all could take some time.” He gestured towards the side window. “Your soldier out there is getting very wet, poor fellow. You can invite him in, I don’t mind.”
The officer looked at the soldier, instead of the mugs. “This is not a social visit and our men are trained to endure far worse than a few raindrops.”
Albert shrugged. “He doesn’t seem very happy.”
“There is a bicycle outside on deck,” the officer snapped. “In a stand.”
“I made it myself. Not beautiful, I know, but it works.”
“The stand is for two bicycles, yet I see only one.”
“You are very observant,” Albert answered.
“So where is the other bicycle?”
Albert smiled and spoke softly. “Between you and me, there is no other bicycle. The other side of the stand is used by my girlfriends.”
“Girlfriends?” the officer replied, looking Albert in the eye.
“I travel a long way in this barge,” Albert said. “I have girlfriends in certain towns along the rivers and canals. Sometimes they come to visit me.”
The officer scowled. “On their bicycles?”
Albert nodded. “On their bicycles. Not all at the same time, of course.”
“And you expect me to believe that?”
The smile on Albert’s face widened and he winked. “You know what they say about women liking sailors? Well, it’s perfectly true.”
The officer did not return the smile, but instead glared down into the cabin. The infantrymen were shifting furniture and bunks, and opening and rummaging through cupboards and lockers. They had failed to discover the secret compartment beneath the floorboards.
Eventually they trudged back up the steps. “Nothing, sir,” announced the first of them to emerge into the light.
“Then search the cargo holds. And take Schumann with you.”
“There’s nothing down there but coal,” Albert said.
“We shall see about that,” the officer replied coldly.
Paul heard the movement, the shifting and sliding of coal, as the three soldiers dropped one after the other from the ladder onto the treacherous black surface. They were near the stern, but in the vast, cavernous space the slightest sound travelled freely, echoing from the damp sides of the vessel.
Albert and Paul had acted swiftly once they spotted the Germans on the canal side, instantly swinging into the emergency plan. While Albert brought the Marina to a standstill in mid canal, Paul rushed down into the hold and ran as quickly as he could acro
ss the shifting coal to the shallow pit they had dug out before the voyage.
After jumping into the pit, Paul began to cover himself with the coal stacked on either side. A clean sack lay close by and when Albert arrived to complete the operation, Paul’s body was almost buried. He watched his young friend sink back into the dusty blackness, turn his head to one side and place a hand against his face, covering his nose and mouth. Albert took the sack, rested it over Paul’s head and upper torso and covered it carefully in coal. Within seconds Paul was totally buried. “Stay strong,” muttered Albert, leaning close before hurrying back to the wheelhouse.
Now Paul lay in suffocating heat and coffin-like darkness, listening to the German soldiers moving towards him. They had flicked on powerful torches and fixed bayonets to their rifles.
Slowly, they edged closer, their boots slipping on the uneven surface. After every few paces they prodded their bayonets into the coal. Paul heard muffled voices and glimpsed flashes of brilliant light as the torch beams bounced from the coal onto the Marina’s tar-drenched sides.
The heat was stifling. Paul’s muscles were stiffening through lack of movement. But he remained absolutely still, refusing to allow himself to shift even one centimetre. The slightest movement could start a coal slide and give away his hiding place. He could hear his own breathing slowing, becoming shallower.
The soldiers came nearer, their boots sounding heavier, their voices louder, still thrusting their bayonets into the coal after every few steps.
Paul’s cramped muscles felt as if they were screaming in agony. He could taste coal dust in his throat and mouth; worse, it was clogging his nose, making it more and more difficult to breathe. And the heat was almost unbearable. He was desperate to cough, or sneeze.
And then, despite himself, he did. One small, half-choked sneeze escaped from his nose and mouth, and his entire body jerked slightly. It was enough to cause lumps of coal to tumble away from his hiding place, like a small landslip on a ski slope.
He froze.
The three soldiers froze.
The hold was totally silent.
Seconds passed. Four. Five. More. Terrifying seconds of silence. Paul could do nothing but hold his breath and focus on Albert’s words: Stay strong. Stay strong.
Then the Germans began to speak, almost in whispers, as though they were somehow afraid of the sound they had heard.
“You heard it too?”
“Over there, on the right.”
Flashes of light darted and danced above Paul as he lay completely still, dreading that the tumbling coal had revealed part of his body or the sack covering his head.
“Go over, take a look.”
One soldier took a hesitant step forward. And then a second step, and a third.
Suddenly there was another sound; another sneeze, but much louder.
The soldiers froze again.
“What the—?”
“What’s going on?”
“Look, there, over there. No, in my torchlight! There!”
The light flicked away from Paul, plunging him back into darkness.
And then, unbelievably, he heard the Germans laughing.
All three soldiers were laughing. And then one of them started to clap his hands. He was applauding.
“Look at the size of that rat.”
“And the cat! He’s bigger than our dog back home.”
“He’s bringing it to you, Kurt. Look, he’s bringing you a present.”
“Thank you, thank you, my friend. Yes, you’re very clever. And you look very pleased with yourself.”
There was more laughter and Paul heard the soldiers speaking again.
“So what are you going to do with your gift, Kurt?”
“Maybe I should give it to Hauptmann Mueller; might cheer him up.”
“Huh! Nothing’s going to make Mueller smile until we find the kid.”
“Well, there’s nothing down here but a dead rat and a cat that’s bigger than my dog. Come on, let’s get out. Hauptmann’s information must be wrong. Maybe the kid escaped by bike.”
Footsteps sounded. They were moving away, back up the ladder towards daylight.
A long, slow breath emerged from deep within Paul’s body and, at last, he allowed himself to breathe.
EIGHT
“Didn’t I tell you? Baron is the most intelligent cat I have ever encountered. His brain is much bigger than mine – but, then, it’s not difficult for a cat to have a bigger brain than mine.” Albert laughed, from relief as much as at his own joke. “He deserves a medal!”
Albert was calling down from the wheelhouse to the cabin, where Paul had been washing away the visible traces of his terrifying time in the cargo hold. He coughed for what felt like the hundredth time. His mouth, his nose, his throat, his entire body still felt thick with coal dust.
“He probably saved our lives, Paul,” Albert went on. “Both of us. You realize that, don’t you?”
Paul coughed again as he continued towelling his hair dry. He grinned at Baron, who was sprawled on his chair, taking no notice of the praise being lavished upon him.
“How are you feeling now?” Albert called.
“I’m fine,” Paul managed to say, before sneezing loudly, which seemed at last to clear his nose. He threw down the towel, walked over to Baron and stroked him behind the ears.
“Thank you,” Paul said softly. “You are a hero.”
Baron purred.
“Is it all right if I come up?” Paul called from the bottom of the cabin steps after a couple of minutes.
“Yes, we’re safe for the moment.”
Once back in the wheelhouse, Paul went straight to the deck door, pulled it open and gulped the fresh air. The rain had stopped and the Marina was pushing steadily on through calmer waters.
“An hour more and we’ll stop for the night,” Albert said. “I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to my first beer. You know, we almost gave the game away ourselves.”
“How?” Paul asked, closing the door and moving to join Albert at the wheel.
“Our two coffee mugs were sitting on the shelf there. I managed to hide them from that smug officer just in time.”
“Lucky.”
“Not luck, Paul, it took skill and nerve. Nerves of steel, I have.” He laughed. “And it was a good idea to leave the other bike back in Antwerp, eh?”
“A very good idea,” Paul agreed. “Now the Germans are out there somewhere searching for a boy on a bicycle.”
“You should have seen the officer’s face when his men told him about Baron and the rat. He couldn’t get ashore quick enough.”
Paul stared through the window towards the darkening horizon. He was buzzing with excitement, elated that they had succeeded in outwitting the Germans. But there was a nagging worry. “How did they know I was on a barge?”
“I’ve been wondering about that myself,” Albert said. “I suppose it’s like Jos Theys says, there must be someone in Antwerp betraying the whole set-up. The bastard.”
They stood in silence for a few moments, each deep in his own thoughts.
Finally Albert broke the silence. “The Germans didn’t know which barge though. The officer just said they had information that you were were escaping on a barge. But then, perhaps…”
“What?” Paul asked.
Albert shook his head. “Nothing, just my stupid thoughts leading nowhere. You’re in real danger, that’s for sure. But after tomorrow perhaps you’ll be in a little less danger.”
Before Paul could reply, Albert pointed ahead. Another barge was approaching from the opposite direction. It was a good hundred metres away, but Albert was taking no chances. “I never got to finish my coffee, and neither did you. How about you go and brew some more?”
Paul nodded and went below. By the time he returned, the other barge had long passed.
Albert sipped the hot coffee from the tin mug, knowing that Paul was waiting for him to speak. “Tomorrow you leave me, Paul. I wa
s going to tell you tonight, but it’s only fair that you know now.”
The news was unsettling for Paul, as he was just getting accustomed to life on board the Marina. “I’ve liked being with you,” he said. “And Baron.”
Paul saw that his words had pleased Albert. But the bargeman’s eyes hardened almost instantly. “In these uncertain times, it’s probably safest and wisest not to become too attached to anyone.” He paused to let his words sink in. “On the Marina you’re virtually a sitting target; at best a very slow-moving target. If there is, as Jos suspects, a traitor in Antwerp, we’ve been making it easy for him.”
“Or her?” Paul said.
“Yes, that’s possible,” Albert answered with a shrug. “From tomorrow you become more difficult to trace, especially when you leave Belgium, away from the control of Antwerp. And even though the Resistance movement isn’t fully organized, there are already a few rules. One of those rules is that when we’re moving someone, someone like you, each of us knows only the next person in the chain. On either side, of course.”
Paul’s brow creased. “I don’t quite understand.”
“It’s like this,” Albert said. “I know only Jos and the person I pass you on to. That person knows only me, and the person he passes you on to. And so on. Everyone knows who they need to know, and what they need to know, and nothing else. You see?”
“Yes,” Paul said. “But surely back in Antwerp they know everyone in the chain?”
Albert shook his head. “No, in Antwerp they know your ultimate destination but not exactly who you’re travelling with, or the route. That’s left to the contacts on the ground. It has to be; they know the area and the potential dangers. And it’s much safer that way. If someone in the chain is taken by the enemy, they can’t reveal what they don’t know.”
Albert took another sip of coffee and then spat it back into the mug. “I know one thing; I’ve had enough of this stuff. I need a beer.”
