by Bali Rai
‘Where should I bury them?’ he asked.
I pointed to an apple tree, in the corner of the garden.
‘They planted that when I was born,’ I told him. ‘I will help you.’
After I’d translated, Beatrice looked towards the kitchen door.
‘I will get them ready,’ she said in French.
I found a smaller shovel to help Mo. We dug two holes beneath my apple tree, just deep enough to afford my parents some dignity. The cold ground was hard, and I tired very quickly, but I would not stop. Even when my arms began to cramp, I took a deep breath and carried on. When their graves were dug, Mo carried them from the house and laid them to rest. I stood and watched, shivering and wretched, my heart broken in two.
‘I can finish burying them,’ Mo said when he was done. ‘You go inside and get warm, Joelle.’
‘No,’ I told him. ‘I must play my part to the end.’
I often think that I should have buried something with them. A memento of some sort. Something that signified our family, our love, and our lives together. But we had no time, and I felt hollow. Besides, what good would it have done? They were gone, and nothing would bring them back.
‘Hurry!’ said Beatrice when we’d finished. ‘Now, we must stop Vincent!’
ELEVEN
Our next concern was Mo. His appearance would make us conspicuous and easy to capture. I feared that some collaborator might see us and tell the Germans. However, I respected Mo’s beliefs and knew that he would not cut his hair, nor shave. There had to be some other way.
‘There is none,’ Mo said eventually.
‘We are wasting time,’ Beatrice told us. ‘We need to leave now!’
Mo glanced towards my parents’ graves from the kitchen door.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘hair will grow back. You have lost something far more precious.’
Realising what he meant, I shook my head.
‘But you said that Sikhs must not cut their hair,’ I reminded him.
He shook his head.
‘It is an outward show of Sikhism,’ he replied. ‘The truth of my faith lies within my heart. Besides, we Sikhs believe in fate – we call it kismet.’
‘Kismet,’ I repeated.
‘If our survival means that I must cut my hair, then it is meant to be. What other alternative do we have?’
Beatrice was pacing the kitchen by then, muttering under her breath. I could tell that she was scared and anxious.
‘Do you have scissors and your father’s shaving kit?’ Mo asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then fetch them, Joelle. Let us get this done and be on our way.’
I paused for a moment.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked.
Mo smiled and stroked his beard.
‘Please,’ he replied. ‘Before I change my mind.’
Mo sat at the table and unwrapped his pagri, before unwinding his long hair.
‘I would like you to cut it,’ he said to me. ‘It will be our pact. Our seal.’
I nodded yet part of me felt sad. The length of Mo’s hair signified his faith, his absolute trust in all he believed.
‘Please,’ he said again.
I started slowly, cutting off small sections at a time. Meanwhile, Beatrice used another pair of scissors to shorten Mo’s beard. Once it was more manageable, she used Papa’s razor to shave him smooth. When we were done, Mo looked younger and even more handsome.
‘Do you have a mirror?’ he asked.
I handed one to him and he smiled ruefully.
‘You know,’ he said. ‘I quite like it.’
Beatrice’s impatience grew once more.
‘Mon Dieu!’ she cried. ‘Do you wish to get caught?’
We packed a few belongings – food and water, a knife and some other things – and Mo dressed in some of my father’s clothes and put on a peaked hat. He pulled it low over his face, then wrapped a scarf around his neck. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do, and we set off. I didn’t even close the door behind me. Everything I loved was gone. I no longer cared who took the rest.
That was the last time I saw our little house, on the edge of our little town, in the country of my birth. I would never return.
Our second concern was in getting across town, to the planned Resistance meeting. The Germans were on high alert and the streets might be dangerous. Beatrice told us of a few families she could trust, but I was not convinced. If Vincent knew about her contacts too, then they would be prisoners by now, or worse.
‘We can go to Mrs Moreau,’ I suggested. ‘Leave Mo there and then run to warn your friends.’
‘No,’ said Mo. ‘I can’t let you risk yourself, Joelle.’
‘I will go alone,’ said Beatrice. ‘You can both hide with that old witch.’
‘Don’t call her that!’ I snapped.
‘Sorry,’ said Beatrice. ‘I was just trying to cheer you up.’
I nodded, then smiled.
‘It’s fine,’ I told her.
Beatrice led the way, taking every side street and alleyway she knew. We were lucky. The streets were quiet, and the Germans seemed to have gone. At least, it felt that way. I knew that they would be back soon enough. And what if we were too late to help our comrades?
‘The others might have been arrested already,’ I said. ‘What then?’
Beatrice shrugged.
‘Then, we are finished,’ she whispered. ‘My brother and your parents died for nothing.’
I explained our conversation to Mo, and he shook his head.
‘Not for nothing,’ he said with certainty. ‘Their bravery and their sacrifice will not be in vain.’
We reached Mrs Moreau’s bookshop and I knocked with urgency. My old friend appeared a moment later, her eyes widening with delight that did not last. Once again, I was reminded of a sickly blackbird. I burst into tears as the door opened and the blackbird began to tremble.
‘My dear Joelle,’ she said, taking hold of me. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘Maman and Papa are gone,’ I whispered.
‘Gone?’ she said, eyeing both Beatrice and Mo. ‘What do you mean, gone?’
‘They were killed,’ Beatrice told her. ‘The Germans…’
Mrs Moreau’s mouth fell open and her trembling increased. Already slight and weak, I feared the shock might kill her too.
‘No!’ she said. ‘I refuse to believe it. This is some cruel trick…’
‘It is true,’ I told her. ‘I am sorry.’
The old lady ushered us inside before locking the door behind us. She swore several times and then turned to Beatrice.
‘Some of my neighbours called by earlier. They said that people are being arrested. Resistance people…’
‘We have been betrayed,’ Beatrice told her. ‘Claude was also killed.’
‘No!’ said the old woman. ‘Will these scoundrels stop at nothing? They have our country already. Must they kill our people too?’
Finally, she looked Mo up and down.
‘And you?’ she said. ‘Are you part of this?’
I took Mrs Moreau’s hand.
‘We should go into the back,’ I told her, wary of someone spotting us through the windows.
I led the way, past the piles of dusty books and the stuffed animals that had once seemed so comforting. With my parents gone, even those had lost their charm. In the kitchen, Mo removed the hat and scarf and Mrs Moreau gasped.
‘You are an Indian!’ she said. ‘I met many like you during the last war.’
‘Mo is a British pilot,’ I explained. ‘He crashed, and we hid him. The Germans are looking for him.’
She nodded.
‘Can we stay here, while Beatrice warns the others?’
Mrs Moreau smiled and nodded.
‘Of course, chérie,’ she replied.
Beatrice left us then, to run her errands. Only, she did not take long. She was back within the hour, her face pale.
‘They’ve been taken,’
she told us. ‘All of them…’
I translated for Mo, but he had already guessed.
‘We need a new plan,’ he replied. ‘Can Beatrice contact Vincent?’
‘Yes,’ Beatrice replied for herself. ‘Why?’
‘I have an idea,’ he replied.
TWELVE
We stayed with Mrs Moreau until darkness fell. She made us coffee and gave us cheese and stale bread, and I wondered how she would cope without my parents’ support. Without me. Once we left, I knew that I would never return. That I would never see her again.
‘You seem sad, my love,’ she said when she saw my expression.
‘I am,’ I replied. ‘I must leave here tonight, and I cannot come back. I worry for you.’
‘Pah!’ she replied. ‘I existed long before you were born. I will live on once you are gone, child.’
Her reply was surprising, and my face betrayed my feelings.
‘Now, now,’ she added. ‘Do not feel hurt, Joelle. I still love you. I will miss you with all of my heart. But please don’t worry about me.’
I hugged her then and shed more tears.
‘You are in the spring of your existence,’ she told me. ‘For me, winter has set in. Cry for your beloved parents, but not for me, chérie. I have lived a long and mostly happy life. Yours is only just beginning.’
‘But without you, and Maman and Papa, and Beatrice and Claude, I will be left all alone. Who will I turn to when I need help or advice?’
She touched my chest, right over my heart.
‘You carry us in here,’ she told me. ‘Trust what you know and what you believe. Be kind, be brave, be strong.’
‘But…’
‘Shh!’ she insisted. ‘Let me smell your hair for one last time. You know, I did so when you were first born?’
I nodded.
‘Sweet Joelle,’ she said. ‘My beautiful love.’
We left an hour later, and Mrs Moreau told me not to look back. Mo sensed my pain and took my hand.
‘I did not understand the words you spoke,’ he told me. ‘Only the emotions. But I am here for you now, Joelle. I promised your mother and I will not break that oath.’
‘But you will leave for England eventually,’ I replied. ‘What will become of me then?’
‘I will not leave without you,’ he told me. ‘Even if I have to take you with me.’
‘To England?’
He nodded.
‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘It is my duty to protect you now.’
Beatrice shushed us.
‘We must move quickly,’ she said. ‘The Germans will be on our trail.’
We took an alleyway that ran beside the main square, behind my parents’ bakery and on towards the north end of town. I faltered a moment, thinking about how the ovens would grow cold now, without Papa to tend to them. Had hope died too, I wondered. Had all been lost?
‘The ovens?’ asked Mo, as though he’d read my mind.
I nodded.
‘Carry the fire within you,’ he told me. ‘Like my hair, the ovens are just the outward sign. The real hope lies inside you.’
We reached the street and stopped, stepping into shadows as a two-man patrol passed by. The soldiers seemed bored and lacking in focus. They did not notice the alley in which we were hiding.
‘Now!’ said Beatrice.
We hurried across the narrow road and down another alley. Ahead of us lay the northern part of town, and beyond that open countryside.
‘The safe house is near,’ Beatrice told us. ‘We must be careful.’
Stopping in the shadows, we caught our breath and waited. The streets were quiet and there was no sign of the enemy.
‘What shall we do when we arrive?’ Beatrice asked.
‘Make sure it’s safe,’ Mo replied. ‘Any danger and we run.’
‘But, Vincent?’ Beatrice added. ‘He must pay for betraying us.’
‘We need him,’ Mo told her. ‘Otherwise our plan will fail.’
I kept quiet, trusting in Mo and his scheme. Five minutes later, we arrived at the safe house – a stone cottage that sat with three others on the edge of town. We checked for soldiers and for anyone watching from the cottage windows. The coast was clear. There was an outhouse, only fifteen feet from the door but well in shadow. We used it as cover. Mo went over the plan once again.
‘Right,’ said Beatrice in French. ‘Here we go…’
She stepped from the shadows and walked quickly along the path. At the front door, she knocked three times. Mo tensed, as though he was expecting trouble.
‘If anything happens,’ he whispered to me, ‘you stay here. Understand?’
I nodded. Vincent opened the door and looked past Beatrice.
‘Where is he?’ I heard him ask.
‘He is heading south,’ Beatrice told Vincent. ‘We heard of the arrests and made a new plan.’
‘But your orders were to bring him here yesterday!’ Vincent told her.
He was angry.
‘After what happened?’ asked Beatrice. ‘No – we must all run.’
‘You are going after the pilot?’
Beatrice shook her head.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m heading to Lille, to stay with family there. After Claude’s death, I have no other choice.’
Vincent considered her words. I could almost sense his Judas brain working overtime. He was weighing things up, I was sure of it. Did he betray Beatrice, or did he run and tell his masters where Mo was going? Eventually, he nodded.
‘Okay,’ he replied. ‘But I will stay and rebuild the Resistance here.’
Beatrice clenched her fists then, and I worried that her rage might ruin our plan. I could understand her hatred for Vincent. My own ran as deep, but we had no choice. We needed the traitor to fall for our plan. Thankfully, she soon relaxed and bid Vincent farewell. The traitorous dog shut the door on her, and she headed back our way. As she neared, she whispered.
‘Does he watch from the windows?’ she said in English.
‘No,’ Mo whispered in reply. ‘He’s probably already on the radio to the Germans.’
Beatrice ducked into the outhouse and I pulled the door shut. A narrow gap in the frame allowed Mo to continue watching the cottage. It took ten minutes, but eventually Vincent appeared. He picked up a bicycle and rode off, completely unaware of our proximity.
Once he was gone, we emerged.
‘So, what now?’ I asked.
Mo shrugged.
‘Vincent will tell the Germans everything,’ he said. ‘They’ll probably ignore Beatrice and go south. I’m much more valuable to them.’
‘But if they go south, our journey becomes far more difficult,’ I replied. That hadn’t been part of Mo’s original plan.
Mo and Beatrice smiled.
‘We’re going north,’ said Mo.
‘North?’ I asked. ‘But that will take us deeper into the German-controlled zone.’
‘Exactly,’ said Mo. ‘It would be a suicide mission and completely silly. They won’t suspect a thing.’
We raided the cottage for supplies and tools, filling three bags. We also borrowed coats and gloves, and Mo changed into different boots. Then we stepped back into the biting cold, ready to make our journey north.
‘Are you sure about this?’ I asked.
Mo had a scarf and hat around his head. I could only see his eyes, nose and mouth. He smiled.
‘Don’t worry, Joelle,’ he said. ‘I have a new plan…’
THIRTEEN
To my shame, we stole three bicycles as we left town. As we rode away, entering the Forest of Retz for cover, I wondered what Maman and Papa might have said. Ordinarily, they would have scolded me for stealing. Yet, this was no longer everyday life. This was a time of war. A time to be bold. Orphaned and on the run, I had little choice but to use what I could find. Morals and teachings about the kindness of the human heart were afterthoughts at such a time. I had to make tough decisions.
Thinking of my
parents caused much pain and left me feeling glum. I said nothing as Beatrice led the way through the forest. I knew that Lille was far away, perhaps a hundred miles or more. Our journey would be slow and hazardous, even if we made it. We were travelling deeper into the German-controlled area of France. Heading towards the enemy. It made no sense, based on what I knew of the Occupation. Yet I trusted Mo, and was willing to follow him. Besides, what else was there? Without Mo and Beatrice, I was on my own.
The Forest of Retz lay north-east of Paris. It was thick with woodland and the perfect cover for us. Beatrice seemed to know every path and lane, and she refused to stop, even after two hours or so. However, even she tired eventually, and we rested.
‘We go to Chauny,’ she said in English. ‘Then Cambrai. This route is quiet, no?’
Mo shrugged.
‘I do not know your country,’ he told her. ‘But I trust you.’
Beatrice smiled.
‘And I trust you, also,’ she replied.
When I failed to speak, she glanced at me. Her expression showed sorrow.
‘Dear Joelle,’ she said in French. ‘This is not what I wanted, but we have no choice.’
‘I know.’
‘I have an uncle in Cambrai, and more friends. You are welcome to live with us now. It would make me very happy.’
‘You told Vincent you were going to Lille,’ I replied.
‘I lied,’ said Beatrice. ‘It was the least he deserves. I wanted to kill him.’
I nodded but said nothing more. I knew what she meant. The emptiness I felt within was Vincent’s fault. He had caused this, and now he would remain free. He would not pay for his crimes. At least not at our hands. The thought depressed me further. I was not supposed to feel such things. I was not supposed to think that way. I should have been playing with Grace Deschamps, going to school, sitting beside the fire with Maman and Papa. I should have been a child.
Mo built and lit a fire. We sat around it, trying to keep warm. At some point, I fell asleep. I dreamed of my parents and our house, and the garden where I had played. I dreamed of Maman’s warm embrace and Papa’s ready smile. When I awoke, dawn was breaking above the treetops and I was frozen.
‘Come, Joelle,’ said Mo. ‘We must move on.’
He removed his jacket and placed it around my shoulders.
