فصل 08

8

Édouard Lefèvre, imprisoned, had been charged with handing a fist-sized piece of bread to a prisoner. He had fought back fiercely when beaten for it. How typical of Edouard.

The reprisal camp where he was held was said to be one of the worst the men slept two hundred to a shed on bare boards they lived on watery soup with a few husks of barley and the occasional dead mouse. They were sent to work stone-breaking or building railways, forced to carry heavy iron girders on their shoulders for miles. Those who dropped from exhaustion were punished, beaten or denied rations. Disease was rife and men were shot for the pettiest misdemeanours.

I took it all in and each of these images haunted my dreams. He will be all right, wont he? I said to the mayor.

He patted my hand. We will all pray for him, he said. He sighed deeply as he stood to leave, and his sigh was like a death sentence.

The mayor visited most days after the parading of Liliane Béthune. As the truth about her filtered around the town, she became slowly redrawn in the collective imagination. Lips no longer pursed automatically at the mention of her name. Someone scrawled the word héroïne on the market square in chalk under cover of darkness, and although it was swiftly removed, we all knew to whom it referred. A few precious things that had been looted from her house when she was first arrested mysteriously found their way back.

Of course, there were those who, like Mesdames Louvier and Durant, would not have believed well of her if she had been seen throttling Germans with her bare hands. But there were some vague admissions of regret in our little bar, small kindnesses shown to Édith, in the arrival at Le Coq Rouge of outgrown clothes or odd pieces of food. Liliane had apparently been sent to a holding camp at some distance south of our town. She was lucky, the mayor confided, not to have been shot immediately. He suspected it was only special pleading by one of the officers that had saved her from a swift execution. But theres no point in trying to intervene, Sophie, he said. She was caught spying for the French, and I dont suppose shell be saved for long.

As for me, I was no longer persona non grata. Not that I particularly cared. I found it hard to feel the same about my neighbours. Édith stayed glued to my side, like a pale shadow. She ate little and asked after her mother constantly. I told her truthfully that I didnt know what would happen to Liliane, but that she, Édith, would be safe with us. I had taken to sleeping with her in my old room, to stop her shrieking nightmares waking the two younger ones. In the evenings, she would creep down to the fourth stair, the nearest point from which she could see into the kitchen, and we would find her there late at night when we had finished clearing the kitchen, fast asleep with her thin arms holding her knees.

My fears for her mother mixed with my fears for my husband. I spent my days in a silent vortex of worry and exhaustion. Little news came into the town, and none went out. Somewhere out there he might be starving, lying sick with fever or being beaten. The mayor received official news of three deaths, two at the Front, one at a camp near Mons, and heard there was an outbreak of typhoid near Lille. I took each of these snippets personally.

Perversely, Hélène seemed to thrive in this atmosphere of grim foreboding. I think that watching me crumble had made her believe that the worst must have happened. If Édouard, with all his strength and vitality, faced death, there could be no hope for Jean-Michel, a gentle, bookish man. He could not have survived, her reasoning went, so she might as well get on with it. She seemed to grow in strength, urging me to get up when she found me in secret tears in the beer cellar, forcing me to eat, or singing lullabies to Édith, Mimi and Jean in a strange, jaunty tone. I was grateful for her strength. I lay at night with my arms around another womans child and wished I never had to think again.

Late in January, Louisa died. That we had all known it was coming did not make it any easier. Overnight, the mayor and his wife seemed to age ten years. I tell myself it is a blessing that she will not have to see the world as it is, he said to me, and I nodded. Neither of us believed it.

The funeral was to take place five days later. I decided it was not fair to take the children, so I told Hélène she should go for me I would take the little ones to the woods behind the old fire station. Given the severity of the cold, the Germans had granted the villagers two hours a day in which to forage in local woods for kindling. I wasnt convinced that we would find much under cover of darkness the trees had long been stripped of any useful branches. But I needed to be away from the town, away from grief and fear and the constant scrutiny of either the Germans or my neighbours.

It was a crisp, silent afternoon, and the sun shone weakly through the skeletal silhouettes of those trees that remained, seemingly too exhausted to rise more than a few feet from the horizon. It was easy to look at our landscape, as I did that afternoon, and wonder if the very world was coming to an end. I walked, conducting a silent conversation with my husband, as I often did, these days. Be strong, Édouard. Hold on. Just stay alive and I know we will be together again. Édith and Mimi walked in silence at first, flanking me, their feet crunching on the icy leaves, but then, as we reached the woods, some childish impulse overtook them and I stopped briefly to watch as they ran towards a rotting tree-trunk, jumping on and off it, holding hands and giggling. Their shoes would be scuffed, and their skirts muddied, but I would not deny them that simple consolation.

I stooped and put a few handfuls of twigs into my basket, hoping their voices might drown the constant hum of dread in my mind. And then, as I straightened, I saw him in the clearing, a gun to his shoulder, talking to one of his men. He heard the girls voices and swung round. Édith shrieked, looked about wildly for me and bolted for my arms, her eyes wide with terror. Mimi, confused, stumbled along behind, trying to work out why her friend should be so shaken by the man who came each night to the restaurant.

Dont cry, Édith, hes not going to hurt us. Please dont cry. I saw him watching us, and prised the child from my legs. I crouched down to talk to her. Thats Herr Kommandant. Im going to talk to him now about his supper. You stay here and play with Mimi. Im fine. Look, see?

She trembled as I handed her to Mimi. Go and play over there for a moment. Im just going to talk to Herr Kommandant. Here, take my basket and see if you can find me some twigs. I promise you nothing bad will happen.

When I could finally prise her from my skirts, I walked over to him. The officer who was with him said something in a low voice, and I pulled my shawls around me, crossing my arms in front of my chest, waiting as the Kommandant dismissed him.

We thought we might go shooting, he said, peering up at the empty skies. Birds, he added.

There are no birds left here, I said. They are all long gone.

Probably quite sensible. In the distance we could hear the faint boom of the big guns. It seemed to make the air contract briefly around us.

Is that the whores child? He cocked his gun over his arm and lit a cigarette. I glanced behind me to where the girls were standing by the rotten trunk.

Lilianes child? Yes. She will stay with us.

He watched her closely, and I could not work out what he was thinking. She is a little girl, I said. She understood nothing of what was going on.

Ah, he said, and puffed his cigarette. An innocent.

Yes. They do exist.

He looked at me sharply and I had to force myself not to lower my eyes.

Herr Kommandant. I need to ask you a favour.

A favour?

My husband has been taken to a reprisal camp in Ardennes.

And I am not to ask you how you came upon this information.

There was nothing in how he looked at me. No clue at all.

I took a breath. I wondered — Im asking if you can help him. He is a good man. Hes an artist, as you know, not a soldier.

And you want me to get a message to him.

I want you to get him out.

He raised an eyebrow.

Herr Kommandant. You act as if we are friends. So, Im begging you. Please help my husband. I know what goes on in those places, that he has little chance of coming out alive.

He didnt speak, so I seized my chance and continued. These were words I had said a thousand times in my head over the past hours. You know that he has spent his whole life in the pursuit of art, of beauty. Hes a peaceful man, a gentle man. He cares about painting, about dancing, eating and drinking. You know it makes no difference to the German cause whether he is dead or alive.

He glanced around us, through the denuded woods, as if to monitor where the other officers had gone, then took another puff at his cigarette. You take a considerable risk in asking me something like this. You saw how your townspeople treat a woman they think is collaborating with Germans.

They already believe me to be collaborating. The fact of you being in our hotel apparently made me guilty without a trial.

That, and dancing with the enemy.

Now it was my turn to look surprised.

I have told you before, Madame. There is nothing that goes on in this town that I dont hear about.

We stood in silence, gazing at the horizon. In the distance a low boom caused the earth to vibrate very slightly under our feet. The girls felt it I could see them gazing down at their shoes. He took a final puff from his cigarette, then crushed it under his boot.

Here is the thing. You are an intelligent woman. I think you are probably a good judge of human nature. And yet you behave in ways that would entitle me, as an enemy soldier, to shoot you without even a trial. Despite this, you come here and expect me not just to ignore that fact but to help you. My enemy.

I swallowed. That — that is because I dont just see you as — an enemy.

He waited.

You were the one who said — that sometimes we are just — two people.

His silence made me bolder. I lowered my voice. I know you are a powerful man. I know you have influence. If you say he should be released, he will be released. Please.

You dont know what youre asking.

I know that if he has to stay there he will die.

The faintest flicker behind his eyes.

I know you are a gentleman. A scholar. I know you care about art. Surely to save an artist you admire would be – My words faltered. I took a step forward. I put a hand out and touched his arm. Herr Kommandant. Please. You know I would not ask you for anything but I beg you for this. Please, please, help me.

He looked so grave. And then he did something unexpected. He lifted a hand and lightly moved a strand of my hair from my face. He did it gently, meditatively, as if this was something he had imagined for some time. I hid my shock and kept perfectly still.

Sophie —

I will give you the painting, I said. The one you like so much.

He dropped his hand. He let out a sigh, and turned away.

It is the most precious thing I have.

Go home, Madame Lefèvre.

A small knot of panic began to form in my chest.

What must I do?

Go home. Take the children and go home.

Anything. If you can free my husband, Ill do anything. My voice echoed across the woodland. I felt Édouards only chance slipping away from me. He kept walking. Did you hear what I said, Herr Kommandant?

He swung back then, his expression suddenly furious. He strode towards me and only stopped when his face was inches from mine. I could feel his breath on my face. I could see the girls from the corner of my eye, rigid with anxiety. I would not show fear.

He gazed at me, and then he lowered his voice. Sophie — He glanced behind him at them. Sophie, I – I have not seen my wife in almost three years.

I have not seen my husband for two.

You must know — you must know that what you ask of me — He turned away from me, as if he were determined not to look at my face.

I swallowed. I am offering you a painting, Herr Kommandant.

A small tic had begun in his jaw. He stared at a point somewhere past my right shoulder, and then he began to walk away again. Madame. You are either very foolish or very —

Will it buy my husband his freedom? Will — will I buy my husband his freedom?

He turned back, his face anguished, as if I was forcing him to do something he didnt want to do. He stared fixedly at his boots. Finally he took two paces back towards me, just close enough that he could speak without being overheard.

Tomorrow night. Come to me at the barracks. After you have finished at the hotel.

We walked hand in hand back round the paths, to avoid going through the square, and by the time we reached Le Coq Rouge our skirts were covered with mud. The girls were silent, even though I attempted to reassure them that the German man had just been upset because he had no pigeons to shoot. I made them a warm drink, then went to my room and closed the door.

I lay down on my bed and put my hands over my eyes to block out the light. I stayed there for perhaps half an hour. Then I rose, pulled my blue wool dress from the wardrobe, and laid it across the bed. Édouard had always said I looked like a schoolmistress in it. He said it as though being a schoolmistress might be a rather wonderful thing. I removed my muddy grey dress, leaving it to fall on to the floor. I took off my thick underskirt, the hem of which was also spattered with mud, so that I was wearing only my petticoat and chemise. I removed my corset, then my undergarments. The room was cold, but I was oblivious to it.

I stood before the looking-glass.

I had not looked at my body for months I had had no reason to. Now the shape that stood before me in the mottled glass seemed to be that of a stranger. I appeared to be half the width I had been my breasts had fallen and grown smaller, no longer great ripe orbs of pale flesh. My bottom too. And I was thin, my skin now hinting at the bones underneath collar bone, shoulder and rib all forced their way to prominence. Even my hair, once bright with colour, seemed dull.

I stepped closer and examined my face the shadows under my eyes, the faint frown line between my brows. I shivered, but not from the cold. I thought of the girl Édouard had left behind two years ago. I thought of the feel of his hands on my waist, his soft lips on my neck. And I closed my eyes.

He had been in a foul mood for days. He was working on a picture of three women seated around a table and he could not get it right. I had posed for him in each position and watched silently as he huffed and grimaced, even threw down his palette at one point, rubbing his hands through his hair and cursing himself.

Lets take some air, I said, uncurling myself. I was sore from holding the position, but I wouldnt let him know that.

I dont want to take some air.

Édouard, you will achieve nothing in this mood. Take twenty minutes air with me. Come. I reached for my coat, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and stood in the doorway.

I dont like being interrupted, he grumbled, reaching for his own coat.

I didnt mind his ill-temper. I was used to him by then. When Édouards work was going well, he was the sweetest of men, joyful, keen to see beauty in everything. When it went badly, it was as if our little home lay under a dark cloud. In the early months of our marriage I had been afraid that this was somehow my fault, that I should be able to cheer him. But listening to the other artists talk at La Ruche, or in the bars of the Latin Quarter, I grew to see such rhythms in all of them the highs of a work successfully completed, or sold the lows when they had stalled, or overworked a piece, or received some stinging criticism. These moods were simply weather fronts to be borne and adapted to.

I was not always so saintly.

Édouard grumbled all the way along rue Soufflot. He was irritable. He could not see why we had to walk. He could not see why he could not be left alone. I didnt understand. I didnt know the pressure he was under.

Very well, I said, unhooking my arm from his. I am an ignorant shop girl. How could I be expected to understand the artistic pressures of your life? Well, Édouard, I will leave you to it. Perhaps my absence will bring you some contentment.

I stalked off down the bank of the Seine, bristling. He caught up with me in minutes. Im sorry.

I kept walking, my face set.

Dont be cross, Sophie. Im simply out of sorts.

I glared at him, then took his arm and we walked some distance in silence. He put his hand over mine, and found that it was cold. Your gloves!

I forgot them.

Then where is your hat? he said. You are freezing.

You know very well I have no winter hat. My velvet walking hat has moth, and I havent had time to patch it.

He stopped. You cannot wear a walking hat with patches.

It is a perfectly good hat. I just havent had time to see to it. I didnt add that that was because I was running around the Left Bank trying to find his materials and collect the money he was owed to pay for them.

We were outside one of the grandest hat shops in Paris. He saw it, and pulled us both to a standstill. Come, he said.

Dont be ridiculous.

Dont disobey me, wife. You know I am easily tipped into the worst of moods. He took my arm, and before I could protest further, we had stepped into the shop. The door closed behind us, the bell ringing, and I gazed around in awe. On shelves or stands around the walls, reflected in huge gilded looking-glasses, were the most beautiful hats I had ever seen enormous, intricate creations in jet black or flashy scarlet, wide brims trimmed with fur or lace. Marabou shivered in the disturbed air. The room smelt of dried roses. The woman who emerged from the back was wearing a satin hobble skirt the most fashionable garment on the streets of Paris.

Can I help you? Her eyes travelled over my three-year-old coat and windblown hair.

My wife needs a hat.

I wanted to stop him then. I wanted to tell him that if he insisted on buying me a hat we could go to La Femme Marché, that I might even be able to get a discount. He had no idea that this place was a couturiers salon, beyond the realms of women like me.

Édouard, I –

A really special hat.

Certainly, sir. Did you have anything in mind?

Something like this one. He pointed at a huge, dark red wide-brimmed Directoire-styled hat trimmed with black marabou. Dyed black peacock feathers arced in a spray across its brim.

Édouard, you cannot be serious, I murmured. But she had already lifted it reverently from its place, and as I stood gaping at him, she placed it carefully on my head, tucking my hair behind my collar.

I think it would look better if Madame removed her scarf. She positioned me in front of the mirror and unwound my scarf with such care that it might have been made of spun gold. I barely felt her. The hat changed my face completely. I looked, for the first time in my life, like one of the women I used to serve.

Your husband has a good eye, the woman said.

Thats the one, Édouard said happily.

Édouard. I pulled him to one side, my voice low and alarmed. Look at the label. It is the price of three of your paintings.

I dont care. I want you to have the hat.

But you will resent it. You will resent me. You should spend the money on materials, on canvases. This is – its not me.

He cut me off. He motioned to the woman. Ill take it.

And then, as she instructed her assistant to fetch a box, he turned back to my reflection. He ran his hand lightly down the side of my neck, bent my head gently to one side, and met my eye in the mirror. Then, the hat tilting, he dropped his head and kissed my neck where it met my shoulder. His mouth stayed there long enough for me to colour, and for the two women to look away in shock and pretend to busy themselves. When I lifted my head again, my gaze a little unfocused, he was still watching me in the mirror.

It is you, Sophie, he said, softly. It is always you —

That hat was still in our apartment in Paris. A million miles out of reach.

I set my jaw, walked away from the mirror and began to dress myself in the blue wool.

I told Hélène after the last German officer had left that evening. We were sweeping the floor of the restaurant, dusting the last of the crumbs from the tables. Not that there were many even the Germans tended to pick up any strays, these days – the rations seemed to leave everyone wishing for more. I stood, my broom in my hand, and asked her quietly to stop for a moment. Then I told her about my walk in the wood, what I had asked of the Kommandant and what he had asked in return.

She blanched. You did not agree to it?

I said nothing.

Oh, thank God. She shook her head, her hand against her cheek. Thank God he cannot hold you to anything.

But — that does not mean I wont go.

My sister sat down abruptly at a table, and after a moment I slid into the seat opposite her. She thought briefly, then took my hands. Sophie, I know you are panicked but you must think about what you are saying. Think of what they did to Liliane. You would really give yourself to a German?

I — have not promised as much.

She stared at me.

I think — the Kommandant is honourable in his way. And, besides, he may not even want me to — He didnt say that in so many words.

Oh, you cannot be so naïve! She raised her hands heavenwards. The Kommandant shot an innocent man dead! You watched him smash the head of one of his own men into a wall for the most minor misdemeanour! And you would go alone into his quarters? You cannot do this! Think!

I have thought about little else. The Kommandant likes me. I think he respects me, in his way. And if I do not do this Édouard will surely die. You know what happens in those places. The mayor believes him as good as dead already.

She leaned over the table, her voice urgent. Sophie – there is no guarantee that Herr Kommandant will act honourably. He is a German! Why on earth should you trust a word that he says? You could lie down with him and it would all be for nothing!

I had never seen my sister so angry. I have to go and speak with him. There is no other way.

If this gets out, Édouard wont want you.

We stared at each other.

You think you can keep it from him? You cant. You are too honest. And even if you tried, do you think this town wouldnt let him know?

She was right.

She looked down at her hands. Then she got up and poured herself a glass of water. She drank it slowly, glancing up at me twice, and as the silence lengthened, I began to feel her disapproval, the veiled question within it, and it made me angry. You think I would do this lightly?

I dont know, she said. I dont know you at all these days.

It was like a slap. My sister and I glared at each other and I felt as though I were teetering on the edge of something. Nobody fights you like your own sister nobody else knows the most vulnerable parts of you and will aim for them without mercy. The spectre of my dance with the Kommandant edged around us, and I had a sudden feeling that we were without boundaries.

All right, I said. Answer me this, Hélène. If it were your only chance to save Jean-Michel, what would you do?

At last I saw her waver.

Life or death. What would you do to save him? I know there are no limits to what you feel for him.

She bit her lip and turned to the black window. This could all go so wrong.

It wont.

You may well believe that. But you are impulsive by nature. And it is not only your future in the balance.

I stood then. I wanted to walk round the table to my sister. I wanted to crouch at her side and hold her and be told that it would all be all right, that we would all be safe. But her expression told me there was nothing more to say, so I brushed down my skirts and, broom in hand, walked towards the kitchen door.

I slept fitfully that night. I dreamed of Édouard, of his face contorted with disgust. I dreamed of us arguing, of myself trying again and again to convince him that I had only done what was right, while he turned away. In one dream, he pushed the chair back from the table at which we sat arguing, and when I looked he had no lower body his legs and half of his torso were missing. There, he said to me. Are you satisfied now?

I woke sobbing, to find Édith gazing down at me, her eyes black, unfathomable. She reached out a hand and gently touched my wet cheek, as if in sympathy. I reached out and held her to me and we lay there in silence, wrapped around each other as the dawn broke.

I went through the day as if in a dream. The Germans came, without the Kommandant, and we fed them. They were subdued I found myself hoping, as I often did, that this meant some terrible news on their side. Hélène kept glancing at me as we worked I could see her trying to decide what I was going to do. I served, poured wine, washed up, and accepted with a curt nod the thanks of those men who congratulated us on the meal. Then, as the last of them left, I scooped up Édith, who was asleep on the stairs again, and took her to my room. I laid her in the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. I gazed at her for a moment, gently moving a strand of hair away from her cheek. She stirred, her face troubled even in sleep.

I watched to make sure she wouldnt wake. Then I brushed my hair and pinned it, my movements slow and considered. As I stared at my reflection in the candlelight, something caught my eye. I turned and picked up a note that had been pushed under the door. I stared at the words, at Hélènes handwriting.

Once it is done, it cannot be undone.

And then I thought of the dead boy prisoner in his oversized shoes, the raggle-taggle men who had made their way up the road even that afternoon. And it was suddenly very simple there was no choice.

I placed the note in my hiding place, then made my way silently down the stairs. At the bottom, I gazed at the portrait on the wall, then lifted it carefully from its hook and wrapped it in a shawl, so that none of it was exposed. I covered myself with another two shawls and stepped out into the dark. As I closed the door behind me, I heard my sister whisper from upstairs, her voice a warning bell.

Sophie.