Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead

by Julia Navarro

  Katia looked up at the mountains with their sprinkling of snow on top. She thought about how beautiful they were and how much she would have liked to rush down those white paths on a sledge.

  Sister Marie-Madeleine told the children once more that they should say nothing.

  “We’ll go on a trip, you’ll like it,” she said, without letting the sorrow and love that she felt for these defenseless creatures show at all on her face.

  Dalida took the youngest one in her arms, and Sister Marie-Madeleine took hold of a girl who could not have been more than five or six. Katia looked tired, when it all came down to it she was seventy-three years old, but she did not shirk her duty and took another of the youngest children, as did Ivette.

  Jean led the way and insisted that they all be silent. From time to time he shut his eyes and concentrated, as if by doing this he could register all the sounds on the mountainside. François walked at the back, and every now and then disappeared and then came back to whisper something to Jean.

  “They know these mountains like the back of their hand,” Ivette said to Katia.

  A girl stumbled and fell and started to cry. Dalida told her to keep quiet and bandaged her knee as best she could.

  “Look, spit in this handkerchief, the saliva will help cure the cut, you’ll see, it’ll stop hurting soon.”

  “We should go more slowly,” Katia suggested.

  “We should get over the border. Your friends on the other side know the timetable of the Spanish patrols. A minute’s delay could mean that they find us. I’m sorry, we need to continue.”

  But it was hard for the children to walk along these frozen paths where their feet sank into the snow and made them feel even colder and start to shiver. None of them had adequate clothes or shoes. Neither did Katia or Dalida, and Sister Marie-Madeleine was especially badly prepared. It was only Ivette and the men who had mountaineering gear and boots to help them walk through the snow.

  “They’re going to get sick,” Katia whispered.

  “But they’ll save their lives,” Dalida replied.

  They had to stop. The children had started to groan, fatigue was beating them down. The youngest ones fell asleep as they walked.

  “Give us half an hour to rest or the children won’t make it,” the nun begged.

  “Ten minutes, no longer,” Jean agreed. Then he told them to carry on in silence as he sent François ahead to explore the area.

  When he came back he was nervous.

  “There’s a detachment of soldiers very close by. They’re looking for someone. We have to carry on. We have to take a little detour around the summit, there’s no other way to get them off our tail,” François said.

  “The children won’t make it!” Dalida protested.

  “There are only two options: either they manage, or we all get arrested, and I’m not prepared to get onto one of those cattle trains for Jews and Maquis fighters that take them to prison camps in Germany,” Jean replied as he started to walk.

  They followed him. They had no choice. Katia promised a bag of sweets to every child who managed to keep quiet.

  How long did it take them? Katia didn’t remember. All she remembered was that their feet were soaked and the children were shivering with cold. Someone started to cough. The four women forced the children onwards, making them walk, picking them up when they fell, covering their mouths when they began to cry.

  Suddenly Jean smiled and turned back to Katia to tell her:

  “We’re in Spain.”

  “Praise the Lord!” Sister Marie-Madeleine said as she looked up at the sky and muttered a prayer.

  “Are you sure?” Katia said nervously.

  “Yes, we are in Spain,” Jean confirmed.

  He let them sit down for a while underneath a huge fir tree with its snow-covered branches. They were soaked, sweating, starving, but they were safe.

  “Where are the people who are to collect us?” Sister Marie-Madeleine asked.

  “We have gone off the track and we need to walk another couple of miles before we get back to the meeting point. François will go ahead and make contact. Maybe there will be no one waiting for us, as we’re very late.”

  “The children can’t walk another yard,” the nun said.

  “We have managed to avoid the soldiers, Sister, but we aren’t safe. We could still run into Spanish soldiers or the Guardia Civil,” Jean said.

  “And what would they do, send these children back to France? Hand them over because they are Jews?” Sister Marie-Madeleine had raised her voice and was angry.

  “We are at war, Sister, do you think that anyone would care about another couple of orphans? You have saved ten children, and your God may reward you for that, but if the soldiers find us then you are really going to need his help.”

  “Do you perhaps not believe in God?” the nun asked.

  “Please, Sister, what does it matter!” Katia seemed annoyed.

  “No, Sister, I don’t believe in God, but that doesn’t stop me from being a decent person, with a conscience. You saved these children on behalf of your God, and I fight against the Nazis and believe that all humans are equal, no matter their race or their religion. Everyone should act according to his beliefs. Sister, I won’t get involved in your beliefs, and you should leave mine well alone, too.”

  The children couldn’t take another step, so in spite of Jean’s protests, Katia insisted that they be allowed to rest. It was only the fact that they were in Spain that allowed her to feel a little more relaxed. She knew that Franco was Hitler’s ally, but as far as she knew he did not persecute the Jews, he did not send them back to France, knowing the fate that awaited them there. She said as much to Jean.

  “If you want to trust the Francoists, then go ahead, but I won’t. I am an anarchist, Madame, and in Spain they shoot anarchists, and they won’t care if the bullet goes into a Spanish anarchist or a French one. I help save people’s lives by crossing the border, and that’s all. If they don’t want to walk, then I can’t do anything.”

  “Come on, Jean, don’t get angry,” Ivette said. “You have young children yourself, imagine them having to go through what these children have gone through.”

  But Jean was inflexible and made them start walking again. Afternoon was wearing on when they heard some footsteps behind them. They stayed still and silent and Jean went out to see who was moving about so close to them. He came back with four men. One of them was François.

  “There is a house not that far from Puigcerdà. A mother and a daughter live there, the husband is a smuggler but they arrested him and shot him. You can rest there until the truck comes to pick you up and drive you to Barcelona,” François explained.

  They said goodbye to Jean and François and handed themselves over to the mercies of these three Spaniards who carried the most exhausted of the children in their arms. All three also carried rifles.

  No one saw them enter the farmhouse at the foot of the mountain.

  “Good Lord, the poor children!” the owner of the house exclaimed as she saw them. She must have known Ivette, as they kissed each other twice on the cheeks.

  “Nuria, can you give them anything hot to eat?” Ivette asked.

  “The first thing they have to do is take off their wet clothes, I’ll hang them out by the fire,” Nuria replied. She was a redhead, with chestnut eyes, neither very tall nor very short, but as filled-out as Ivette was.

  “They’ll catch their deaths if you make them take their clothes off,” Sister Marie-Madeleine replied.

  “They’ll die if they don’t. I’ll put some cushions on the floor, and we’ll cover them with blankets; Ivette, give me a hand. You can start heating some milk, it’s in the pitcher over there.”

  A good while later, Sister Marie-Madeleine had to admit that Nuria had been right. The children were dry, wrapped in she
ets and blankets, and all of them fast asleep, after having drunk a few generous mugs of warm milk.

  Katia and Dalida had accepted dry clothes from Nuria, but Sister Marie-Madeleine just coughed and tried to dry herself by the fire.

  “Do you really think God will care all that much if you take your habit off for a while to let it dry?” Nuria asked.

  The nun didn’t answer. Her head hurt and she felt a burning sensation in her chest that kept her from breathing.

  “The woman’s ill,” Ivette said, addressing Nuria.

  Katia convinced her to go change in Nuria’s room, and to cover herself with a shift while her habit dried.

  “No one will see you, sister, I promise.”

  “Being a nun is a decision that involves the acceptance of a series of norms which no one other than yourself forces you to keep. I understand that it might seem absurd for me to refuse to accept other clothes, as you and Dalida have done.”

  “I’m not judging you, Sister, but I insist that you behave logically. Let your habit dry, and stay in my room until it has done so. No one will see you. I’m sure you can accept that.”

  Nuria told them that the three men who had taken charge of the group were guarding the house.

  “We won’t see them unless we look out the window, but they are keeping an eye on us and will come immediately if there’s any danger.”

  “Why do you work with the Resistance?” Katia asked.

  “Do you know how many Spaniards there are in the Resistance? It’s not for that, I just want the Allies to win the war and then help free us from Franco.”

  Night had fallen when there were some dull knocks at the door. Nuria opened it with one hand, the other holding the pistol she concealed in the pocket of her apron.

  One of the men who had accompanied them told them that the truck had arrived and was ready to take the children. The little ones had all rested and eaten enough to have regained some of their energy, but Sister Marie-Madeleine was not well. She had a fever and couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Stay here, Sister; we’ll take the children to Barcelona. We’ll pick you up when we return,” Katia insisted.

  The nun was not prepared to allow her fever to beat her, so she put on her habit and prepared to go with them.

  “They say that Franco is a very Catholic man, so it’s better if I go with you, no one will refuse to trust a nun.”

  They could not convince her not to, and managed to get her into the truck as best they could.

  It was a tiring journey. They were stopped once en route by a couple of men from the Guardia Civil. The driver explained that he was taking a nun and some children who were suffering from tuberculosis to the convent of the Sisters of Charity in Barcelona. The men gave a quick look into the truck and let them continue.

  “We’ve been lucky,” Katia said.

  “It wasn’t luck, God was protecting us,” Sister Marie-Madeleine insisted.

  “Why doesn’t God protect everyone who needs protection? Sister, do you know how many children have lost their parents and how many parents have lost their children? Tell me, why does God allow there to be war? If we are all his children, just as you never tire of telling us, then why has he allowed us, his children, to spend centuries being persecuted simply for the fact of being Jewish?” Dalida had raised her voice. She hadn’t seen God’s handiwork for a long time. Sister Marie-Madeleine had no answer for her.

  In spite of the damage caused by the Civil War, Barcelona seemed a majestic city. The driver seemed to know where they had to go. The children were exhausted.

  The house was in the Paseo de San Juan. The driver told them to wait while he announced that they had arrived. A tall woman opened the door, her salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a chignon. She spoke to the driver for a few seconds then came over to the van to tell them to get out.

  “Hurry up, hurry up,” was all she said as a greeting.

  Once they were in the house, the woman introduced herself to them as Dorothy. She was American and was a part of a group that helped to rescue children from the clutches of the Germans.

  “We work with the Jewish Agency, we do what we can, but it’s not enough; though at least some children will survive the war.”

  “Where will they be taken?” Katia asked.

  “They’re safe here for the time being; later on we’ll take them to Palestine if we can, but it’s getting more and more difficult, the British are doing all they can to stop even one more boatload of Jews from getting through. I cannot tell you where exactly, only that they will be safe.”

  “They’ve told us that they are welcome in Switzerland,” Katia said.

  “You mustn’t worry, I promise you they will be safe.”

  “Don’t you think that there’s a danger that Franco will adopt the Führer’s racial policies and deport all the Jews that are here in Spain?”

  “I can’t guarantee anything, all I can say is that such a thing has not yet happened. We are trying to be discreet and I think that this is our best weapon.”

  “And why do you help the Jews?” Dalida asked.

  “My dear, I am a Jew. My family was from Thessaloniki, but my parents immigrated to the United States. I was born in New York and I feel the need to help the Jews as much as I can, especially children.”

  “My mother’s family is also Sephardi, from Thessaloniki as well.” Dalida felt calmer now that she knew the American was a Jew.

  Dorothy insisted that a doctor take a look at Sister Marie-Madeleine, who was sweating rivers because of her fever.

  They had to stay in Barcelona for a few more days until the nun felt a little better. Dorothy showed them the city.

  “It’s very beautiful, but a shame that the people are all so sad,” Dalida said.

  “And how would you have them be after a civil war? All of them have lost someone, a father, a brother, a wife, a son, a nephew . . . The worst of it is that apart from those who died at the front, the rest know who killed their nearest and dearest. Especially in the villages, where everyone knows everyone else. A couple of generations will have to go past before the Spaniards forgive themselves,” Dorothy said.

  Katia and Dalida felt attracted to this American, not because she was a Jew, but because she was so clearly a good person. She was married to another American, who worked for the United States government. Dorothy did not tell them what he did and they didn’t ask.

  Dorothy helped all the Jews she could who came secretly over the border from France.

  “Aren’t you worried that the police will arrest you?” Katia asked.

  “I don’t think they will, but also, though Franco and his men are allies of Hitler and Mussolini, it is also the case that they don’t want to upset the British or the Americans. He’s put some of his eggs in our basket, if you can put it like that. And we’re not naïve and try not to be too open about what we do. Like I said, it’s about acting with discretion.”

  The result of this operation was not only that Katia and Dalida saved the lives of those children, but they also made Sister Marie-Madeleine another member of their group.

  It was difficult to convince David and Samuel that they should trust the nun.

  “Katia, don’t be so incautious. Things went well this time, but why should she want to be involved in saving more Jews? Also, our friends in the Resistance won’t allow us to involve a nun in our business. They’re not going to risk their lives trusting her.”

  Dalida spoke to Armando about the nun. The Spaniard listened to her without accepting what she had to say.

  “I’m not going to put my men’s lives in the hands of a nun.”

  “We would not have saved those children if it hadn’t been for her,” Dalida argued.

  “You know how we work here, so stick to doing what you have been doing. Don’t think about telling this nun about us. You may tr
ust her, but I have no reason to.”

  “I know that the church in Spain supports Franco, but this is France,” Dalida replied.

  “Don’t insist, girl, or else . . .”

  “Or else what?”

  “You can go your own way. I’m not going to put the organization at risk simply because a nun has decided to do some charity and save some Jewish children. I’m not just fighting to save the Jews, I’m fighting to smash fascism. I’m fighting for freedom. I’m fighting for France, and Spain. If we win this war, I hope they will help me recover my country.”

  Dalida understood that Armando would never accept the help of Sister Marie-Madeleine. For him, priests and nuns were Franco’s allies, and he couldn’t see beyond his own hurt, the hurt that he felt at having lost not only a war, but who knows what else.

  She knew next to nothing about Armando, personal matters didn’t exist in the Resistance. But she had heard that Falangists had entered his village and ordered all the “Reds” to shave their heads, and then had shot all the men whom they knew to be loyal to the Republic. They said that his wife was one of the victims. But she didn’t know if this was true. She had never dared ask him.

  She told Samuel about her argument with Armando. Her father said that the Spaniard was right.

  “I understand that you and Katia feel close to Sister Marie-Madeleine, but that’s not enough for the Resistance to trust her. We don’t ask other people to adopt our cause or to do more than they need to. This nun has helped us, but it would not be fair to insist that she do more.”

  Dalida paid him no attention. She liked to argue about God with Sister Marie-Madeleine, who more often than not had no answer to her questions. The nun was not a theologian, she was a brave woman who followed the Gospel by helping others. She did not do this for political reasons, but simply because she saw the persecuted Christ in the faces of the persecuted, and the murdered Christ in the victims of murderers.

  “You know what? Sister Marie-Madeleine has joined this war because of her faith. We all fight for a cause, why should hers be less than our own?” Dalida argued.

  Samuel grew impatient with your sister Dalida, Ezekiel. As you know well, your father never had any religious feeling. He always thought of Judaism as a burden, as something that stopped him from being like the rest. He couldn’t understand the interest Dalida felt toward Catholicism, much less that she would sometimes go to church on Sundays to hear the nuns sing Mass.