Страница 19 из 21
Via
The Sturmba
The crowd stood there a moment longer, uncertain whether it was safe to move. No one wanted to be seen as taking the first step, and then suddenly they were moving, pack-like, toward the open doors that led them outside.
“Bastards,” Isabelle said as they moved into an alley.
“And I was so sure they’d let us keep our guns,” Rachel said, lighting up a cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling in a rush.
“I’m keeping our gun, I can tell you,” Isabelle said in a loud voice. “And our radio.”
“Shhh,” Via
“Général de Gaulle thinks—”
“I don’t want to hear that foolishness. We have to keep our heads down until our men come home,” Via
“Mon Dieu,” Isabelle said sharply. “You think your husband can fix this?”
“No,” Via
Via
“Your sister may not be so wrong,” Rachel said as they passed the Norman church on the edge of town.
“If you take her side in this, I may be forced to hurt you, Rachel.”
“That being said, your sister may not be entirely wrong.”
Via
“She will have to learn propriety.”
“You teach her. She has proven singularly resistant to improving herself or listening to reason. She’s been to two finishing schools and still can’t hold her tongue or make polite conversation. Two days ago, instead of going to town for meat, she hid the valuables and created a hiding place for us. Just in case.”
“I should probably hide mine, too. Not that we have much.”
Via
At the gate to Le Jardin, Via
“Why do we have to give them our radio, Maman?” Sophie asked. “It belongs to Papa.”
“We don’t,” Isabelle said, coming up beside them. “We will hide it.”
“We will not hide it,” Via
“Welcome to the Middle Ages, Sophie,” Isabelle said.
Via
Via
Via
“Are you expecting anyone?” Isabelle asked.
Via
“Maybe we shouldn’t answer,” Isabelle said. “Pretend we’re not here.”
“It’s most likely Rachel.”
There was another knock at the door.
Slowly, the doorknob turned, and the door creaked open.
Yes. Of course it was Rachel. Who else would—
A German soldier stepped into her home.
“Oh, my pardons,” the man said in terrible French. He removed his military hat, tucked it in his armpit, and smiled. He was a good-looking man—tall and broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, with pale skin and light gray eyes. Via
“Mademoiselle,” he said to Via
“Madame,” she corrected him, wishing she sounded haughty and in control, but even to her own ears she sounded scared. “Madame Mauriac.”
“I am Hauptma
She took the paper and frowned down at it. “I don’t read German.”
“What do you want?” Isabelle demanded, coming to stand by Via
“Your home is most beautiful and very close to the airfield. I noticed it upon our arrival. How many bedrooms have you?”
“Why?” Isabelle said at the same time Via
“I will billet here,” the captain said in his bad French.
“Billet?” Via
“Oui, Madame.”
“Billet? You? A man? A Nazi? No. No.” Isabelle shook her head. “No.”
The captain’s smile neither faded nor fell. “You were to town,” he said, looking at Isabelle. “I saw you when we arrived.”
“You noticed me?”
He smiled. “I am sure every red-blooded man in my regiment noticed you.”
“Fu
Via
“Ah, so you would rather leave the house to me. How difficult that must be for you.”
“Leave?” Via
“I believe you aren’t understanding the captain,” Isabelle said, not taking her gaze from him. “He’s moving into your home, taking it over, really, and that piece of paper is a requisition order that makes it possible. And Pétain’s armistice, of course. We can either make room for him or abandon a home that has been in our family for generations.”
He looked uncomfortable. “This, I’m afraid, is the situation. Many of your fellow villagers are facing the same dilemma, I fear.”
“If we leave, will we get our home back?” Isabelle asked.
“I would not think so, Madame.”
Via
“I am not the general, alas. I am simply a captain in the Wehrmacht. I follow orders, Madame, I do not give them. And I am ordered to billet here. But I assure you that I am a gentleman.”