In This Hospitable Land

by Jr. Lynmar Brock

  But it had been difficult for Denise not to spend much of each day with her sister. Geneviève had refused to leave her few good friends and her afternoon teas in Brussels for a shore so windy and cold in fall and winter. Even the invasion of Poland hadn’t swayed her.

  “Why are you all so worried?’ Geneviève had asked. “Hasn’t Hitler already gotten almost everything he wants? He won’t come after Belgium. It’s the British and French who’ve declared war on Germany!”

  Two and a half years wasn’t that great an age difference, but Denise had felt responsible for Geneviève since the beginning of their mother’s long, losing battle with breast cancer. Ida had been gone for a dozen years now.

  Only sixteen at their mother’s demise, Geneviève had always been more fussed-over than Denise and not just because she was the young one until their baby brother Francis came along. Geneviève was the more striking Freedman sister. Denise was attractive and nicely built too, with the muscular arms and legs as well as the confidence and ease in social circumstances developed by playing field hockey for Belgium’s national ladies’ team. But there could be no question which of the two was more stylish: Denise tended toward well-tailored serviceable clothes and practical low-heeled shoes; Geneviève affected Parisian fashions and steered clear of the homely arts of sewing, knitting, and needlepoint Denise had mastered at their mother’s knee.

  Denise loved her sister and had convinced their father to let her go to Saint-Cyr-l’Ecole, arguing that finishing school was not college and that respectable nuns could be counted on to foster a proper appreciation of decorum.

  Geneviève had returned from finishing school as spoiled as ever. Why not? After Ida’s passing Denise had taken charge of the household staff, but maids had always done all the cooking and cleaning for Geneviève and had even laid out her clothes. Geneviève simply expected to be served and actually enjoyed having their father’s chauffeur drive her everywhere. Denise, on the other hand, wished she could learn to drive herself but Jack Freedman believed a woman behind the wheel was as wrong as a woman doctor.

  Whatever their differences, the empathy between Denise and Geneviève had remained deep and abiding, and Denise had been unutterably pleased and relieved when, after Germany invaded Norway and Denmark in April, Geneviève had finally agreed to come to Le Coq.

  Then Geneviève, Alex, Katie, and Philippe had come down with scarlet fever. Alex and the children, using one of the homeopathic remedies Alex favored, recovered quickly and moved to Le Coq at the beginning of May. Geneviève, who almost always sided with her husband but derided his interest in homeopathy, was too sick to travel and had had to stay with André on the Chaussée Vleurgat until this very week.

  Even then the warmth Denise could feel right through her clothes suggested Geneviève still wasn’t well and probably should have stayed in Brussels a little longer. But how glad Denise was now that Geneviève hadn’t waited one minute more!

  Finally feeling compelled to slip from the bed, Denise tiptoed into the living room. Shortly afterward, André woke with a start. The sun was barely above the horizon when he put on his maroon cotton bathrobe, found his slippers under the bed, and strode out to greet his already gathered family. Denise grasped his hands. Her forced smile masked nothing.

  Seated close to the radio Alex looked up and said, “You look better than last night.”

  “What news?” André asked.

  “None good.”

  Alex brought his brother out onto the deck overlooking the sea for a much-needed smoke.

  “Are you all right?” Alex probed.

  “Just tired,” André assured him.

  With the sky so clear and the sun shining brightly on glistening waves it was hard to think of the previous day’s horrors or consider clearly the troubles ahead. If only all of the Sauverins’ worries could wash out to sea as easily as thoughts.

  The brothers smoked without speaking, staring out across the North Sea in silent sympathy. André dropped his cigarette into the sand and watched it smolder, imagining it a miniature dropped bomb about to explode.

  “Can she travel?” André asked Alex in a confidentially low tone.

  “Geneviève? Of course. If necessary.”

  “If?”

  The adults sat down to breakfast while the children, who had eaten earlier, played quietly nearby. Raising and lowering their cups of coffee and tea the Sauverins listened carefully as André provided enough details of his experiences Friday to satisfy without upsetting them unnecessarily. Then he said what he knew would be badly received.

  “I must return to Brussels now.”

  “What?” Denise erupted, leaping to her feet, voice trembling. “But there’s no need! It’s not safe!” She grabbed her husband’s hand and held on tight.

  Slowly and gently releasing himself, André answered softly but precisely, “It’s my duty. To the university, my colleagues, and my students.”

  “What about your family?” Geneviève demanded hotly.

  “It is my duty and I promised.”

  “Surely you don’t think school will be in session!” Denise quailed.

  André stirred and drank the last of his coffee. “We haven’t heard that it won’t.”

  “Let me drive you to the Ostend station,” Alex said as he and the others realized the depth of André’s determination.

  Scant minutes later Denise stopped André long enough to hug him tightly and straighten his tie.

  “Must you go?” she asked warmly, longingly. “Won’t it be terribly dangerous?”

  André kissed her brow with fervor. “Nothing could stop me from coming home to you.”

  “Then why go at all?”

  He kissed her again. “Because I’m the professor!”

  Alex steered the big Buick out of the driveway. The usually quiet road west teemed with oversized army transports heading the other way. André would have suggested turning back since taking the tram could have been faster, but once they had entered the stream of vehicles, reversing direction would have been as difficult as forging ahead. Besides, Alex wanted to talk.

  “Don’t worry about anything here.” Alex braked for the stop-and-go traffic. “I’ll convince them all to pack so we can be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. After I drop you off I’m going to the bank to get as much cash as possible: Belgian and French francs of course, but also British pound notes just in case. By the way, where did you put the diamonds? I assume you brought them home last night.”

  The diamonds: still locked in the basement safe on the Avenue Émile Duray. On moving out Alex had taken everything but the diamonds, which he felt would be safest there.

  “Oh dear,” André admitted. “I never gave the diamonds a thought.”

  “Then I guess it’s good you’re going back to Brussels.”

  André sighed. “I’ll get them. But warn everyone I might not be back tonight. With all I’ve got to do I’ll probably have to stay on the Chaussée Vleurgat.”

  No one in his right mind would go to Brussels this morning without a rifle on his shoulder, Alex thought after dropping his brother at the station.

  Alex did his business at the bank, filled the Buick’s tank, and started back toward the villa. He turned on the car radio just in time to hear the announcer say that the “impregnable” fortress of Eben-Emael had been captured by a detachment of glider-borne German paratroopers.

  Even after hearing of that disaster, the rest of the family remained indecisive about leaving. At this stage of her life, Rose said, she really didn’t care who was in charge of the country as long as the street she lived on was quiet and safe. Louis questioned the French nation, their most accessible haven, as a way station, given its history of anti-Semitism.

  “I know they’re not as bad as the Germans,” he acknowledged as lunch hour approached and his stomach rumbled, “but these problems run deep. The French have been known to turn on the Jews like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  The Sauverins had limi
ted experience of anti-Semitism. In Belgium there was far less stress between the Jews and the Christians than between the Walloons and the Flemish. But Alexandre Sauverin wasn’t about to sit on his hands.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you. I’m going to pack.”

  What a dreadful Saturday. The children needed care and distraction but so did the adults.

  Rose and Louis agonized. Geneviève, spotting cars of escapees from the Ardennes, moped miserably through her unhappy birthday. Over in the other villa, Alex packed frantically. The children became infected by the grown-ups’ sour dispositions though they didn’t understand the cause. Even Juli, overhearing a BBC broadcast in Flemish, became inconsolably upset.

  On top of all that: no André. Alex had warned Denise not to expect him Saturday night but that hadn’t stopped her from hoping or from feeling heartsick when he didn’t show up.

  Sunday was worse. Expected every minute, hour after hour André failed to appear.

  Well after dark, Denise, once more posted at the front window, finally saw him approaching—on a bicycle! His coat draped over the handlebar, his black tie loosened, his shirt open at the neck, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and a clip on each pant leg to keep them from getting caught in the bicycle chain, he somehow balanced a small suitcase on his lap.

  “Oh, André!” Denise called, racing through the door.

  André pedaled doggedly. Sighting Denise hurrying down the front steps, he pumped as quickly as his exhausted legs and sore back would allow. Filthy, dehydrated, and inexpressibly weak, he stumbled off of the bicycle, leaving it and everything else to drop into the grass.

  “It’s been a long ride,” he said in a daze, pulling his handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe sweat from his face and neck.

  Denise embraced and gave him a long, intense kiss. Ida and Christel careened down the steps to greet him.

  “Oh, Papy!” Ida cried, burying her face in his side. “We were so worried!”

  Clinging to his legs all Christel could say was, “Pa…pa.”

  “What are you doing up so late, my little ones?” André asked hoarsely.

  “We couldn’t sleep until we knew you were home!” Ida explained.

  With a weary smile André kissed each daughter on both cheeks in the Sauverin way.

  “We thought you’d never get here,” Denise sighed, leading her husband inside and just as on Friday putting him straight to bed.

  Riddled with anxiety, everyone had difficulty sleeping that night. The rumble of trucks headed for the fighting didn’t help—light ones followed by heavy ones then by tank carriers. Brief spells of silence were equally disquieting.

  The government had issued orders for a total blackout so all the shades were drawn in both villas. Only a small light was left on in each kitchen to provide the faintest glow.

  At four-thirty in the morning, Alex decided to step outside for a smoke on his villa’s back deck. He was only momentarily startled to find André doing the same and crossed the way to join him.

  Side by side they looked out to sea, listening, thinking, smoking. Apart from a half-moon the coastline was devoid of light. Even the ships audibly steaming up and down the channel were blacked out.

  “The diamonds?” Alex asked.

  “Got ‘em.”

  A policeman bicycled along the beach, his civil defense helmet clapped on his head, a red flashlight guiding his way. He waved to the brothers and offered a quick, quiet hello.

  “Don’t forget to keep the lights off,” he warned as he rode off.

  Monday morning Juli took the children out to play on the beach again. Over breakfast André told his latest stories.

  Arriving in Brussels Saturday on an almost-empty train, he had had to struggle through the terminal to the street, bucking huge crowds hurrying into the station and scurrying toward the gates, everyone clamoring for seats on westbound trains. The shock of the Germans’ invasion and steady advance had given way to panic and hopelessness. A run on stores meant food would soon be impossible to come by.

  The streetcars were still running and when André boarded his, a well-dressed and well-groomed young man climbed on behind him. As André moved to a seat the young man attacked the conductor for no discernable reason. It took half a dozen passengers to pull him off his victim and eject him into the street.

  The conductor recovered his composure and drove on. Everyone eyed everyone else warily. Even André had to wonder who among his fellow passengers might be a German sympathizer, a card-carrying fascist, even a spy.

  A man and a woman spoke together loudly, as if hard of hearing.

  “That fellow over there comes from Germany I know,” the elderly gentleman said.

  “There are those who admire Hitler and think his policies are right,” his equally aged seatmate added. “And they might not be wrong.”

  “Of course they’re right,” a young fellow in ragged clothes declared unashamedly. Hanging on an overhead strap as the streetcar rumbled down the cobbled street, he leaned in and frightened the old couple. “Everyone knows there are too many Jews in power!”

  “Did anyone answer that?” Alex demanded, disgusted, when André reached that point in the story.

  “No, they just ignored him,” André explained. “Everyone’s afraid. No one wants to risk being reported for anything, to anyone.”

  At the Free University controlled chaos reigned. Entering his laboratory André was caught off guard by a confusing tumult. As he reached for his lab coat Dr. Pinkus appeared.

  “Ah! Monsieur le professeur.” Pinkus flushed. “I’m delighted to see you, especially considering our previous discussion.”

  “I don’t understand,” André said, watching his students frantically pack up the room.

  “Word has come down from the administration,” Pinkus explained. “We need to move everything out—equipment, notebooks, chemicals, all—so nothing can fall into German hands.”

  “Where will it go?”

  “Various departments in the south of France have been reserved for Belgians. Army trucks are already lined up in the courtyard to take away the crates by tomorrow night. Our precious diagnostic equipment and chemicals may end up in an abandoned barn on some rural farm.”

  A tremor passed through Pinkus from head to toe. Taking off his pince-nez he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his beaded brow.

  “André,” he said, startlingly dropping his accustomed formality for the first time and approaching André confidentially. “It isn’t official yet, but today or tomorrow the university will release professors who wish to go—the minute everything’s out of here in fact.” Lowering his voice further Pinkus asked, “Where will you go? The south of France sounds good.”

  Interrupting André, Geneviève wailed, “Why is everyone so anxious for us to go?”

  “I only wish Pinkus would consider leaving too,” André said. “‘I’ll be fine,’ he told me. With all my heart I hope he’s right!”

  “He’s a good man,” Denise put in quietly.

  “Yes,” André agreed. “‘When you get to France,’ he said, ‘let us know where you are, if you can. When all this is over I hope we can work together again, contributing to the future instead of watching its destruction.’” André sat silently for several moments gathering the strength to go on. “After my students were gone and only the permanent fixtures remained, my lab felt spiritless. As I gathered my personal papers one of the few remaining undergraduates came in and gave me a note from the rector stating classes were suspended until further notice and I was free to leave. A few minutes later I went to lock the door behind me by force of habit and stopped. What was left to protect? The Free University was no longer a center of learning, discovery, and scientific advancement, just a hollow shell. I placed the key into the lock and walked away. When I reached the courtyard I saw a line of army trucks slowly snaking out onto the street. Soon every last army truck would be gone and with them what remained of my beloved university.”

&
nbsp; “You mustn’t despair,” Rose consoled. “It will all come back and so will you!”

  André sat silently once more then roused himself to say, “After that I made my way back to the Avenue Émile Duray to retrieve our diamonds.”

  All the Sauverins felt sad recalling that location. Thanks to Jack Freedman, André, Denise, Alex, and Geneviève had lived there in elegant twin apartments from their wedding day until…until things changed.

  Denise was anxious to know about Madame Jaspart, the concierge who had been so attentive to them and especially good with the children.

  “She’s anxious, concerned, of course,” André explained. “She told me, ‘You are the lucky ones, who can get away.’”

  “Even a concierge knows we need to flee,” Alex said angrily.

  André laughed. “It wasn’t funny then, but when I got down to the basement I realized with a start that I didn’t know the combination to the safe!”

  “Oh no!” Denise exclaimed. “What did you do?”

  “Besides panic and perspire? I tried to put myself in Alex’s mind!”

  “No small feat!” Denise teased.

  “I thought the combination must be easy to remember, probably someone’s name. There were several possibilities, but considering Alex’s healthy ego…”

  “No!” Denise cried out.

  “I dialed the lock back and forth lining up the letters: ‘A…L…E…X.’ And voilà! The diamonds were saved!”

  Everyone laughed except Alex. “I guess the joke’s on me,” he said, “but my ego got us back our diamonds.”

  “On my way out,” André continued, “I noticed my old bicycle and carried it up to the courtyard. I knew I wouldn’t need it but someone else might.”