Wolfsangel (18 page)

31

The frigid north wind tugged at my flimsy coat as we headed back to Jacqueline’s flat in the old district, the grief, the bitter disappointment, tearing at my heart.

A group of German soldiers swaggered along the pavement towards us, laughing loudly.

‘
Pon-soir
, mam’zelles,’ one of them said with a lecherous grin. ‘Care to share a drink with us? Warm yourselves on such a cold evening?’

‘No, thank you,’ I said.

‘It seems those pigs have truly made themselves at home here,’ Ghislaine said, as they sauntered away.

‘Be careful,’ I hissed. ‘They’ll hear you.’

‘The Boche control everything now,’ Ghislaine said later, as we got off the trolleybus and continued the rest of the way on foot. ‘Traffic, food, newspapers, movies, the French police. I just wonder what will be left of our city once the war is over. ’

‘At least we have the Red Cross
laissez-passer
,’ I said. ‘They can’t stop us going out at night, when we have to.’

‘I’ll do whatever it takes to get rid of those murderers,’ she said, and even in the dim streetlight I could see the determination in her eyes glinting a steely blue.

‘Don’t forget what Dr. Laforge says,’ I said. ‘The Germans can afford to pay informers well. Trust nobody. Say nothing.’

As we climbed the steps to Jacqueline’s flat, I saw the same woman, clutching her infant son. The girl’s eyes grew wide and she held the boy closer.

‘What a sweet baby,’ Ghislaine said. ‘A boy or a girl?’

‘H-his name’s S-samuel,’ Ellie stammered.

‘The doctor’s our friend, Ellie,’ I said. ‘I heard you tell him you were leaving Lyon, going to a safe place?’

‘It’s dangerous for you here,’ Ghislaine said. ‘They’re rounding up more and more of your people.’

‘I’m taking Samuel to the countryside as soon as I … when I can get the money for our train tickets,’ Ellie said. ‘But thank you for your concern.’

‘Take care, Ellie,’ I said as she scuttled off up the stairs.

‘Poor girl,’ Ghislaine said. ‘How humiliating to have to wear a stupid star, and to live in terror of their roundups. Nazi Bastards.’

‘But the doctor is right,’ I said. ‘She should leave now; it’s only a matter of time before they catch up with her.’

I thought of Max and Sabine, Talia and Jacob in Drancy, or perhaps already in Poland or Germany. I hated thinking of them in some harsh labour camp, working through the frozen German winter. I hoped they would give them enough to eat at least, and clothes to keep them warm.

***

Ghislaine looked as startled as I was, to see Miette Dubois at Jacqueline’s flat.

‘What are you doing here?’ Ghislaine said. ‘Has something happened in Lucie?’

‘My father told me where you’d both gone,’ Miette said, with her usual bright smile. ‘I convinced him, and Dr. Laforge, that my German language skills could be useful here in the city. His sister got me papers; I’ll be working as a courier.’

‘Of course,’ Ghislaine said with a smirk, as we hooked our coats on the rack. ‘The Boche would never suspect such a sweet, innocent face.’

‘How was it at the prison?’ Miette said. ‘I suppose you’d have said if …’

I shook my head. ‘Nothing. No sign of my sister.’

She laid a hand over mine. ‘I hope you get to see her soon.’

In the cramped living room where Ghislaine and I –– and now Miette, I supposed –– shared the sofa bed, we peeled our white caps off, our aprons and blue blouses.

‘I love your new look,’ Miette said, admiring our other “uniform” –– trousers and a shirt like Jacqueline’s, with a forage cap for outdoors.

‘Jacqueline believes if we dress like men,’ I said, ‘it will give women the power to live like them; to gain the same respect as men.’

‘She says we need to be free of men,’ Ghislaine said, tucking her shirt into her trousers. ‘And that we should liberate ourselves from the bonds of this country’s old-fashioned Catholic government.’

Miette laughed. ‘It reminds me of you as a kid, Cél –– Gabrielle, climbing trees and playing cowboys and Indians with Olivier and your brother. Just like another boy.’

Olivier’s cheeky grin flashed into my head, and I felt his lips pressed against mine. How impressed he’d be, to see me like that. Patrick too. Maybe even Maman would finally be proud of me.

‘Yes, it was fun,’ I said with a nostalgic smile. ‘But I’m not that kid anymore.’

No, I was Gabrielle Fontaine now, free of the restraints and flaws that had tied Céleste Roussel to her monotonous, uneventful existence. Yet a part of me still pined for the old life.

‘I know it’s too soon for any word from the boys,’ I said, as we squeezed around Jacqueline’s table. ‘They’ve only been gone a few days, but I can’t stop thinking about them.’

‘Try not to worry too much,’ Miette said, patting my arm. ‘I’m sure they’ll be careful.’

‘Eat quickly, girls,’ Jacqueline said in her no-nonsense manner, swallowing mouthfuls of red wine between picking the stones out of the bowl of lentils. ‘Pierre and Antoine will be over shortly to pick up the news-sheets for tomorrow’s distribution. You’ll take some too,’ she said, pointing her fork at Miette, ‘and I’ll take the rest to my school. The more people we get word out to, the better.’

‘Thank you for preparing a nice dinner, Jacqueline,’ Miette said, passing me the Jerusalem artichokes and rutabagas. ‘And for having all of us here, crowding out your flat.’

‘Dinner was pretty awful,’ Jacqueline said with a snort. ‘It all tastes the same –– of the grease we’re forced to cook with, instead of real butter.’ She pushed her plate aside, lit a Gauloise and flanked one leg across the other. I couldn’t help smiling at her man-like gestures.

‘At least we have food,’ Miette said.

After our pumpkin compote and custard dessert, Ghislaine and I washed up while Jacqueline and Miette set up the printing press.

Jacqueline lifted the piano lid and sat on the stool. She started playing as Miette fed paper into the press, Ghislaine turned the handle and I collected up the single sheets, silently reading the printed words:

Each sabotaged piece, every working minute lost, saves a human life. A fault in the machine –– a tool, an unscrewed nut, a pinhole in a food tin –– hastens the German defeat.

‘Sorry, no more paper,’ Miette said, as Pierre’s coded knock tapped on the door.

‘I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be able to keep this up,’ Jacqueline said, closing the piano lid. ‘With supplies so severely rationed now. I suppose we’ll have to pay some exorbitant price for newsprint on the black market. Or steal it.’

Pierre and Antoine nodded at us wordlessly as they each began wrapping
half the pile of pamphlets around their calves.

‘Do you want coffee?’ Jacqueline said.

Pierre shook his head of straggly hair as he pulled his socks back up over the papers. ‘I timed the German patrol. We’ve only got five minutes before they’re back in this street.’

‘Be safe,’ we all whispered, our words escaping in puffs of vapour as the boys slipped away into the icy night.

We were about to collapse onto the sofa bed when we heard another knock –– Dr. Laforge’s distinctive six-knock code.

The doctor strode in, rubbing his gloved hands together. He looked straight at me. ‘I’m sorry to bring bad news, but your sister has been deported.’

‘Deported?’ Queasy waves fluttered deep in my belly. I gripped Ghislaine’s arm. ‘Where?

‘She left last night,’ he said, as Miette came and held my other arm. ‘On a train bound for a place called Ravensbrück. I believe they’ve sent Madame Wolf and her children there too. I have no information about the father though.’

‘Ravensbrück?’ I said. ‘Where’s that?’

‘It’s in Germany,’ Miette said.

‘Yes,’ Dr. Laforge said. ‘A
Reich
prison. I’m so sorry.’

‘If it’s just a prison,’ I went on, still confused, ‘why didn’t they simply leave Félicité at Montluc? Why bother sending her all the way to Germany? I don’t understand.’

32

Ghislaine and I exchanged nervous glances as Pierre set the thick leather-bound book on Jacqueline’s kitchen table. He took a ruler and carefully cut out a square chunk of most of the pages.

‘You look tired,’ I said to Antoine. He didn’t look especially tired, I just wanted to talk –– anything to calm my jangling nerves. Miette, who I could always count on for a comforting chat, was away on an overnight courier job.

Antoine said nothing, his eyes fixed on the book as Pierre placed the bottom half of a small box into the cut-out square, into which he laid three sticks of dynamite. With steady, practised fingers, he connected the wires to the battery and set the clock.

By day, Ghislaine and I continued our nursing work at Montluc Prison which, with the endless raids and massive arrests of Resistance members, was bursting with prisoners. So far, our night-time work had involved letting down Nazi truck tyres and pasting news-sheets to the walls of telephone boxes, public urinals and
métro
tunnels, printed with such slogans as:
vive le Général de Gaulle
and
nous sommes pour le Général de Gaulle
. But tonight they’d assigned us our first real job, and I sensed Ghislaine was as nervous as I was.

Pierre closed the book. ‘All clear with the address, your instructions?’

‘We’re ready,’ I said, carefully placing the book in my classy leather bag.

‘
Merde
then, girls,’ Pierre said, and we left Jacqueline’s flat, the wintry December air freezing on our cheeks.

Snow fell lightly, mixing with city grit, as our high heels slipped about on the cobblestones. A few people hurried by, men in overcoats, women in coats with the wool hoods pulled up, all anxious to be home before curfew. We walked in silence, passing people huddled in doorways, shivering.

It was a week since Dr. Laforge told us they’d sent Marie-Félicité to Ravensbrück, but I still hadn’t found out anything about the place. Nobody seemed to have heard of it. The thought then struck me –– surely Martin would know about it. I’d been back to Lucie only once, when Dr. Laforge gave me the all clear, but there was no message in Au Cochon Tué. I was certain Martin would be back any day though. As we hurried on through the old district of Lyon, I felt a pulse of warmth, and hope, at the thought of seeing him again.

With people home for curfew, the cold streets had fallen quiet, the snarls of two fighting cats the only sounds piercing the darkness.

We rounded a corner, almost colliding with a group of officers in black uniform. My eyes leapt to their symbol gleaming in the lamplight –– a sideways Z with a vertical line through the middle: the wolf’s hook, or Wolfsangel. Despite the Renaissance buildings around us clinging to their timeless French aristocratic air, that sinister insignia of the
Reich
’s SS only shouted the message louder: our city was truly under the enemy’s heel.

The SS men passed us with curt, polite nods and we veered off down another dimly lit street. We’d only walked a few steps when Ghislaine stopped in the angle of an iron staircase zigzagging down a sooty wall. She pointed down into the shadows.

‘What’s that?’

I took her arm. ‘It looks like people, lying on the ground.’

Our steps hesitant, we walked over.

‘Oh God!’ I gripped Ghislaine’s arm tighter.

We stood motionless, staring in horror at the two corpses, and the surprised looks on their faces, flung back in the agony of death. Blood had leaked from the gaping slashes across their throats, staining the surrounding snow patches the colour of rust.

There was no martyr’s halo glowing about their blood-matted hair, no medals pinned to their still chests, only the rats that had come to gnaw at their bodies, cast aside like rubbish.

‘These two,’ Ghislaine said, hacking her words into the freezing air, ‘are why we’re doing this tonight. And for all the others those monsters have murdered.’

A church bell chimed eight-thirty. ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘there’s nothing we can do for them now and if we don’t hurry, we could end up with our throats slashed too.’

We finally reached rue de la Charité. Distracted as I was, searching for the street number, I didn’t notice the two French police officers come upon us.

‘And where might two lovely ladies be going on such a vile night?’ one of them said, running his eyes over our made-up faces, our fur-lined coats, the nylons and high heels.

‘We’re invited to a book launch,’ I said, as we handed them our papers, along with our Red Cross
laissez-passer
.

I tried to keep still, acutely aware of the explosive secreted in my bag, the precious seconds ticking away. I was sure they could hear the slow, dull thud of my rebel heart.

‘Mmn, Red Cross nurses,’ he said. ‘Take care out at night on your own,’ the first one said, his smile showing bad teeth. ‘It’s dangerous for young ladies on these streets.’

‘
Oui
, monsieur,’ we both said with winning smiles as they walked off.

A little further along, I pointed across the street to the bookshop. ‘There it is, Librairie Voltaire.’

Ghislaine and I retreated into the shadows of a bombed building, which had a good view of Librairie Voltaire. As Jacqueline had predicted, the shop was brimming with Germans, for the launch of some book one of them had written –– spouting a fountain of hateful Nazi propaganda, no doubt.

We watched the crowd of Germans, their uniforms a sickly green in the amber light, and the city women hanging off their arms, decked out in their tight-fitting suits, platform shoes and coquettish hats perched on wavy hair rolls. Elegant hands clutching fake crocodile purses, slender fingers wrapped around glasses filled with champagne, they grinned and laughed at everything the Germans said.

‘How can they do that?’ Ghislaine hissed. ‘Sleep with the enemy?’

‘Stupid whores,’ I said, thankful of the darkness to mask my burning cheeks.

‘You wouldn’t catch me with one of those filthy Boche for all the money in Munich.’

‘God, me neither,’ I said. ‘Anyway, we don’t care about them. I should go now. Ready?’

Ghislaine nodded, her eyes peeled for patrolling police as I crossed the street, my stride jaunty in my society clothes.

I waited for a group of guests to enter the bookshop and tagged along with them. Once inside, I mingled and smiled at people, and eyed the table displaying a collection of books. Soft music played and I moved between the people to the table, on which the German’s new book sat.

As other people were doing, I picked up different books ––
Devant L’Opinion, Philippe Pétain, Les Décombres
–– flicking through each one. I glanced at my watch. Five minutes.

When I was certain nobody was watching, I pulled the leather-bound volume from my bag, slid it beneath the book I was holding and placed them, one on top of the other, on the table.

I didn’t realise I’d been holding my breath until, as I turned to walk out of the shop, it gushed from me.

I’d almost made it to the door when a German officer stopped me.

‘
Bonsoir
, mam’zelle. May I see your invitation?’

I groped in my bag, my hands starting to shake as I caught a glimpse of my watch. Three minutes.

‘Oh dear,’ I said with a coy smile. ‘I must have left it at home.’

‘Sorry, mam’zelle, invitation only.’

‘Oh well,’ I said, my voice level, flippant even. ‘I’ll just have to go back and get it.’

‘You do that,’ he said with a leer. ‘And hurry back, I’ll be waiting for you.’

I hurried out of the bookshop, almost stumbling on the high heels to get away, across the street.

Once back in the shadows of the bombed building, I grabbed Ghislaine’s arm. ‘They wanted to see my invitation.’

‘
Merde!
We didn’t plan on that. But did you get the book on the table?’

‘Of course I did. Now let’s get out of here.’

A minute later, as we turned off rue de la Charité, a great boom and the sound of smashing glass broke the quiet of the night. The sound of sirens soon followed and, in the streetlight, I saw Ghislaine’s blue eyes glazed with excitement, and venom.

As we hurried back to the old district of Lyon, I understood that look on Ghislaine’s face. I saw how the occupation had changed us; how the Resistance had brought together people from every level of society and turned us all –– from the aristocrat to the simple farm-girl –– into counterfeiters, thieves and murderers.

It was a strange thing to realise how effortlessly I had become Gabrielle Fontaine the killer, helping rid my country of its enemy. It felt almost as if some human part of me had disappeared; vanished into the winter air that stiffened my face. Once the war was over, would I still be the same cool killer –– a girl I barely knew, but one of whom I felt proud?

***

Jacqueline opened the door to our coded knocks. ‘Come in and get warm,’ she said, giving us one of her rare smiles.

‘Great job, girls,’ Dr. Laforge said, already seated at Jacqueline’s table, a whole salami, three different goat’s cheeses and a bottle of Juliénas wine in front of him.

‘What a feast,’ Ghislaine said, slotting between Miette and me.

‘Though naturally,’ Dr. Laforge said, filling our glasses with wine, ‘there will be reprisals. And tonight’s success doesn’t mean we can forget those less fortunate –– those arrested, tortured and gunned down.’

‘But all that,’ Ghislaine said, ‘and those hideous cattle trains, where they don’t even allow the people to take their suitcases, only makes me more determined.’

Dr. Laforge swallowed a mouthful of the heavenly wine. ‘Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgement, Lucie.’

‘Still no news of your sister?’ Miette said.

I shook my head. ‘Not a word. And I still don’t know a thing about Ravensbrück.’

‘We never seem to get news of
any
deportees,’ Ghislaine said. ‘People like Gabrielle’s sister, and her father.’

‘They took Papa for labour service back in February,’ I said. ‘And we’ve not heard a word since July. Six months ago!’

‘It does seem strange that not one person we know of,’ Miette said, ‘has received a single one of those pre-printed postcards listing every possible situation: so and so is in good health/slightly/seriously ill/wounded/deceased.’

‘Apparently a few messages have reached families of Resistance members,’ Dr. Laforge said. ‘But it’s true, the Jews do seem to be shrouded in the strangest silence. We know the police are relentlessly tracking down the last ones in the city.’ He waved an arm upstairs, in the direction of Ellie Kohen’s flat.

‘Why doesn’t she just leave, right now?’ Miette said.

‘I got the feeling she doesn’t have the money for the tickets,’ I said.

‘Why didn’t you say so?’ Dr. Laforge said. He slapped his napkin onto the table, got up and strode out of the flat.

‘You’d think we’d have heard something on the BBC at least,’ Ghislaine said, as I listened to the thud of the doctor’s feet climbing the stairs to Ellie’s flat. ‘Surely some information would be filtered out of the camps? I mean, a few people have escaped.’

‘Perhaps the BBC doesn’t have any information,’ Jacqueline said, draining her wine glass. ‘Or maybe those high up in the network have reasons to hide or conceal certain things. This is war and nobody can be trusted.’

‘I’m afraid only God alone really knows what goes on in the camps, Miette said.

‘I’ve never heard of jailers inhuman enough to forbid the sending and receiving of mail,’ I said.

‘And why hasn’t the Red Cross intervened?’ Ghislaine said. ‘Surely they would?’

‘Speaking about the Red Cross —’ Dr. Laforge said, as he came back inside.

‘Did you see Ellie?’ Jacqueline said.

The doctor shook his head. ‘Nobody home.’

‘Maybe she’s already left the city?’ I said. ‘Or … Oh, it’s so unjust. Poor Ellie, and that sweet baby boy.’

The doctor cleared his throat and looked at Ghislaine and me. ‘As I was about to say, you two have been at Montluc for some time now. It’s not safe to stay in a job for too long. If people see the same faces for any length of time they get suspicious; start asking questions and delving deeper into backgrounds … especially after tonight.’

‘But we feel useful there,’ I said.

‘You would also be useful working at Perrache train station,’ the doctor said. ‘Supplying the needy passengers with food. And, of course, distributing news-sheets and delivering messages.’

‘That’s a good idea!’ I said, excited, for a fleeting instant, at the notion of prisoners arriving home for Christmas by train. But even as I blurted the words out, I acknowledged they were simply the naïve dreams of desperation.

Dr. Laforge glanced sharply at his sister. Jacqueline puffed away on her Gauloise, refusing to meet my eyes.

‘I don’t want to dampen your spirits,’ the doctor said. ‘But I doubt any of your family will be home for the festive season.’

‘Oh I know. I know,’ I said with a flick of my hand, tears smarting my eyes. ‘I just hoped … I was only dreaming.’