Suite Française

Nearby he saw a man, his head covered in blood, stumble like a drunkard into a thicket; he sat there between the branches in a bizarre and uncomfortable position, his knees folded under him, his chin resting on his chest. He heard an officer shouting angrily, "No doctors, no nurses, no ambulances! What are we supposed to do?"

"There's a beat-up ambulance in the garden of the toll-house," someone replied.

"What am I supposed to do with that, for God's sake?" the officer repeated. "Forget it."

The shells had set fire to a part of the town. In the splendid June light, the flames took on a transparent pink colour; a plume of smoke drifted up to the sky, flecked with gold by the sunlight, tinged with sulphur and ash.

"Well, they're off," a soldier said to Hubert, pointing to the machine-gu

"But why?" Hubert shouted, dismayed. "Aren't they going to keep fighting?"

"With what?"

This is a disaster, thought Hubert with a sigh. This is defeat! I am here, watching an enormous defeat, worse than Waterloo. We are all lost. I'll never see Mother or any of my family again. I'm going to die. He felt doomed, numb to everything around him, in a terrible state of exhaustion and despair. He didn't hear the order to retreat. He saw men ru

Hubert was suddenly gripped by a feeling of hopeless courage, almost madness. He realised that he was ru

Afraid he might encounter more Germans, Hubert left the road and entered a small wood. Now and again he stopped, wondering where he was. There was no doubt whatsoever that the motor convoys that had taken only five days to invade half of France would reach the borders of Italy, Switzerland, Spain by tomorrow. He wouldn't be able to escape them. He had forgotten that he wasn't wearing a uniform, that nothing showed he'd been fighting. He was sure he'd be taken prisoner. He kept ru

But what have I done? he thought all of a sudden. I haven't fired a single shot! He felt so ashamed of himself that he started crying again, bitter, painful tears. "It's not my fault, I didn't have any weapons, just my own two hands." Suddenly he pictured himself trying in vain to drag the bundle of wood to the river. No, he hadn't even been able to do that, he who'd wanted to rush the bridge, lead the soldiers, throw himself on the enemy tanks and die shouting "Vive la France!" He was wild with exhaustion and despair, yet nevertheless some oddly mature ideas passed through his mind: he thought about the disaster, what had caused it, the future, death. Then he wondered about himself, what would become of him and, little by little, he came back to reality. "Mother is going to be furious!" he muttered and his pale, tense face, which seemed to have aged and grown thin in only two days, lit up for a second as he gri

He found a track between two fields, which led deeper into the countryside. Here there were no signs of war. Streams flowed, a nightingale sang, a bell chimed the hours, there were flowers in all the hedges, young green leaves on the trees. He washed his hands and face in a stream, drank some water from his cupped hands and felt better. He desperately tried to find some fruit on the trees. He knew very well it was the wrong time of year, but the young believe in miracles. At the end of the track he was back on the main road. There was a sign: CRESSANGE, 22 KILOMETRES. He stopped in confusion, then saw a farm. After hesitating for a long time, he finally brought himself to knock on the shutter. He heard footsteps inside the house. They asked who he was. When he said he was lost and hungry, they let him in. Three French soldiers were asleep inside. He recognised them. They had defended the bridge at Moulins. Now they were stretched out on benches, snoring, their filthy haggard faces thrown back as if they were dead. A woman watched over them, knitting; a cat chased her ball of wool as it rolled along the floor. The scene was at once so familiar and so strange after everything Hubert had seen during the past week that his legs gave way under him and he had to sit down. On the table he saw the soldiers' helmets; they had covered them with leaves to stop the moonlight reflecting off them.

One of the men woke up and pushed himself up on to his elbow. "Did you see any, lad?" he asked in a low hoarse voice.

Hubert realised he meant the Germans. "No," he said quickly, "no, not one since Moulins."

"Seems like they don't even want prisoners any more," the soldier said. "Too many. They just take their guns and tell them to bugger off."

"Seems like it," said the woman.

They fell silent. Hubert ate what they'd given him: a bowl of soup and some cheese. "What are you going to do now?" he asked the soldier.

His friend had opened his eyes. They debated. One wanted to go to Cressange.

"What for?" the other one replied, sounding devastated. "They're everywhere, everywhere…" He looked around him with the sad, frightened eyes of a stu

He seemed convinced there were Germans all around, ready to capture him. Now and again he let out a sort of clipped, bitter laugh. "Good God, to have fought in '14 and then see this…"

The woman kept on knitting calmly. She was very old and had on a white fluted bo

Hubert listened to them in horror. They hardly seemed real to him, more like groaning ghosts conjured up from the pages of his History of France. My God! The present with all its tragedy was more important than the glories of the past and its stench of blood. Hubert drank a cup of hot black coffee, despite the grounds. Then, thanking the woman and saying goodbye to the soldiers, he set off, determined to make it to Cressange by morning. From there he could get in touch with his family to let them know he was all right. At eight in the morning he found himself in front of a hotel in a small village a few kilometres from Cressange; he could smell the delicious aroma of coffee and fresh bread coming from inside. Suddenly Hubert felt he couldn't go on, that his legs wouldn't carry him. He walked into the hotel where he found a large room full of refugees. No one could tell him if there were any beds. The owner had gone to see if she could find some food for this horde of hungry people; she'd be back soon. He went back out into the street.