Partisan

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘One magazine in the gun and one spare.’

  ‘Well, if she wants any more, she will have to take them from a German. But a woman, with a gun . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I should confiscate this gun.’

  ‘We will need it, when we leave here,’ Tony reminded him.

  ‘Well, go and rest up.’ He gave another bellow of laughter. ‘With your two women, eh? Tomorrow you will work.’

  *

  One of Petar’s men led Tony and Boris along the street to the house they had been allotted. The rain had slackened and it was now growing dark, but the villagers were still out in force, passing comments and asking questions.

  Elena and Sandrine were already waiting in the hut. They were both dressed in somewhat heavy gowns, but retained the boots given to them by Mrs Dukic. They had obviously bathed in the stream, which ran quite close to this house; their faces were clear of mud and dust, and in fact they looked more civilised than at any moment since leaving Belgrade, even if quite unlike anything they had ever looked like before.

  But they were not in very good humour. ‘I thought you were never coming,’ Elena complained.

  ‘We had a lot of sorting out to do.’ Tony looked around, assisted by the single candle placed in the centre of the table, which occupied the centre of the single room. But at least there was a table, and two chairs. And . . . He peered at the huddle of blankets in the corner.

  ‘There is no bed,’ Sandrine pointed out unnecessarily. ‘I would have thought there would be a bed. Does your brother not have a bed?’ she asked Ivkov.

  ‘He is the mayor,’ Ivkov replied. ‘He is also the local party secretary,’ he added. This was obviously more important.

  ‘They told us tomorrow we must go out with the women to tend the flocks,’ Elena said. ‘I have never tended a flock in my life. What is a flock, anyway?’

  ‘It’s a collection of sheep,’ Tony said. ‘Well, I suppose in this instance, goats.’

  ‘My God,’ Sandrine said. ‘I will be butted by a goat.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Tony said. ‘Now, I am pretty damn exhausted. And I imagine you are too. You have been fed?’

  ‘If that was food,’ Elena remarked.

  ‘Your stomach is full, isn’t it? I think we should all have a good night’s sleep, for a change. The situation will look brighter tomorrow. Let’s work out how we arrange ourselves.’

  ‘What time is it?’ Elena asked.

  Tony looked at his watch, which miraculously had so far survived. ‘Just gone six.’

  ‘You expect us to go to bed at six?’

  ‘Aren’t you exhausted?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Listen,’ Sandrine said.

  The plaintive tones of an accordion drifted through the evening.

  ‘That is coming from the tavern,’ Elena said. ‘Let’s go down there.’

  ‘You wish to go to a tavern?’ Tony asked.

  ‘Of course. There is music, and there will be people, and laughter, and dancing . . . and liquor. I feel like a drink. I need a drink.’

  ‘Me too,’ Sandrine said.

  They appeared to be friends again.

  Tony looked at Ivkov.

  ‘Well, sir . . .’

  ‘What do you intend to do for money?’

  ‘We’ll have to owe them,’ Elena said. ‘They’ll trust us.’

  ‘All right,’ Tony said. ‘Run off and enjoy yourselves. Get drunk. Just don’t tell me tomorrow that you are too tired to do anything. Or that your feet hurt, Sandrine.’

  ‘My feet do hurt,’ Sandrine said with great dignity. ‘But my head hurts more, not with physical pain, but with all the things I have seen, and heard, and suffered. I need to relax.’

  ‘Okay. Have fun.’

  ‘But you will not come?’ Elena asked.

  ‘I intend to have a good night’s sleep,’ Tony said. ‘Oh, by the way, don’t get too chummy with the mayor. With respect, Boris.’

  ‘What is the matter with the mayor?’ Elena asked.

  ‘He wants to buy you.’

  ‘Me?’ It was difficult to determine whether she was shocked or delighted.

  ‘Well, actually, he wanted to buy Sandrine.’

  ‘Me?’ Sandrine’s squeak was in a higher octave.

  ‘But when I told him that he couldn’t have you, he made an offer for Elena instead.’

  ‘Well!’ Elena remarked.

  ‘You didn’t sell her?’ This time it was difficult to determine whether Sandrine was shocked or delighted.

  ‘Of course I did not sell her,’ Tony said. ‘I told him neither of you were for sale. But that is no guarantee he won’t get fresh when he’s tanked up and discovers I am not with you.’

  ‘Ha!’ Elena commented, by no means mollified. ‘I will take my gun.’

  ‘No you will not. You start shooting, and we’ll be out on our ears. That’s supposing we’re not lynched.’

  ‘And suppose he does make advances?’

  ‘Put him off and come back here. That goes for you too, Sandrine. And incidentally, under no circumstances let on that you are a Croat. I’m holding you responsible for your brother’s behaviour, Boris.’

  Boris pulled his nose, but he followed the women out of the hut.

  *

  Tony was actually relieved to be alone, for the first time since the German bombers had appeared over Belgrade, and he wasn’t at all sure how long ago that was. The fact was, all his considerable military training had never prepared him for anything like this. Flanders had been chaotic, certainly, but compared with this it had been a very ordered chaos.

  The British army had moved forward with the intention of meeting the Germans along the line of the River Dyle. Having taken up their positions, they had learned that the Germans had broken through to the east, at Sedan, had shattered the French forces opposed to them, and were well on their way to appearing to the south and encircling them. Then it had been a case of getting out while they could; Tony had since learned that GHQ’s thoughts had already been turning to Dunkirk and a possible evacuation. That retreat had been chaotic, and had grown more so day by day. But it had always been undertaken by an army in being, with regular and recognised chains of command, and with clear objectives always in view, even if that view had not always been available to the ranker.

  In any event, the retreat had only just commenced when his part in the campaign had ended with the bomb which had broken his leg. Before he had properly known what was happening, he had been safely back in an English hospital.

  But this . . . He presumed Mihailovic was, or thought he was, the most senior officer to have escaped the invasion. And in the circumstances he could not be blamed for attempting to take over the government, civil and military, as all other authority seemed to have collapsed. But he was also apparently interested in maintaining a Serbian government, for the Serbs, and was prepared to treat all Yugoslavia’s other nationalities at best as unfriendly aliens and at worst as collaborators. It was as if England were invaded and Whitehall immediately started treating all Irish, Welsh and Scots as hostile.

  As for these Communist enclaves . . . Was Communism outlawed in England? He had no idea, but he did know that it was very unlike British jurisprudence to outlaw people simply for their political beliefs. Except in time of war. Such as now.

  What a mess.

  More important than political and ethical reflections was deciding what to do next. Tony was very unhappy with their situation, and not just in terms of being fugitives. Petar Ivkov’s hostility was natural in that he was under orders – presumably from Moscow but certainly from whoever was the boss of the Communist Party in Yugoslavia – not to oppose the Germans, instructions which would include not to give aid to anyone who was intent on opposing the Germans. That meant that their stay here had necessarily to be brief. But where were they going to go after leaving here? Linking up with Mihailovic, or any force under his command, was impossible for Elena. But there did not seem to be any
one else. One thing was certain: the four of them could not survive by themselves in these mountains.

  But what was really nagging at the back of his mind were the events of today. The Germans had taken over Belgrade. Thus they had taken over the Yugoslav government, its offices . . . and its files. Thus they would have learned the names and locations of all subversives, as identified by the Yugoslav government. Thus they had come out to Divitsar in the full knowledge that it was a Communist stronghold, had looked around, and driven off again. That just didn’t make sense. Hitler might have struck a deal with Stalin, but that did not mean amelioration of the treatment of Communists in Germany, or, so far as Tony knew, in German-occupied territory – which now included Yugoslavia. Yet the people of Divitsar had virtually been patted on the head and told to get on with it.

  That could only mean one of two things. The first was that Petar Ivkov had made some kind of a deal with the invaders, in which case a messenger might at this moment be hurrying to the nearest German command to inform them that he had four prizes for them; the only saving grace here was that, were they taken, Petar’s brother would also be taken . . . but Tony had gained the impression that Petar was not all that fond of his brother.

  The second possibility was that the Germans were following some agenda of their own. In which case this village was doomed. But Petar seemed blissfully unaware of that.

  The door suddenly opened and Tony sat up, reaching for his revolver as he did so. It was now utterly dark, and he had no idea who it was; the door closed again.

  ‘Identify yourself, or die,’ he said.

  Sandrine dropped to her knees beside him. ‘You are so military.’

  ‘It’s my business. Where are the others?’

  ‘Getting drunk.’

  There was alcohol on her breath as well, and he had no doubt about what she had returned for.

  ‘Won’t they miss you?’

  ‘Not for a while. By then I shall be asleep.’ There was a considerable rustling noise, and then her fingers plucked at his blanket. ‘Will you not make room for me?’

  He wished he had the time to consider the situation, to decide whether this was something he really wanted to happen, or dared allow to happen. But oh, how he wanted it to happen. And in any event, she was already beneath his blanket, and when he put his hand down, it encountered naked flesh.

  She rippled to his touch. And discovered the reverse of the coin. ‘You have clothes on.’

  ‘I thought it might be a good idea.’

  ‘I want you without clothes,’ she said, getting to work on some buttons.

  He didn’t try to stop her. ‘I thought you didn’t like men,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t, as a sex. I am very selective.’

  She slid his pants down past his thighs.

  ‘What about Bernhard?’

  ‘Fuck Bernhard. No, I shall never see Bernhard again. And if I do, I am going to cut off his balls. Ah!’

  She found what she was looking for, and seemed pleased.

  ‘Do you realise that we have never even kissed each other?’ he asked.

  She had been nuzzling his chest. Now she raised her head, her hair flowing across his face; he thought it remarkable how sweet-smelling it was, after all it had been through over the past week.

  She kissed him, still holding him and working her body against his just as she worked her tongue against him.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh! I am going to have one.’

  He had never doubted for a moment that, exhausted as he was, he was going to have one too. Because, no matter how hard he tried to resist it, he had wanted this woman from the moment he had started to rub the ointment on her legs.

  She subsided, sighing.

  ‘You are an astonishing woman,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well . . . women aren’t usually so . . . well . . .’

  ‘That is my trouble,’ she said. ‘I am always quick. Men take advantage of me.’

  ‘I am sure they do.’

  ‘But you did not take advantage of me. I wanted you to. I asked you to. But you did not.’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘You are a good man.’

  ‘You keep making these unsubstantiated statements. Right now I don’t feel like a good man.’

  She raised her head to peer at him in the gloom; again her sweet-smelling hair flopped across his face. ‘You did not want it?’

  ‘Well, of course I wanted it, Sandrine. But—’

  ‘And you were quick, too. I think we are in love. Can you make it again?’

  ‘No,’ he said definitely. ‘Not tonight. And we can’t be in love. I am in love with Elena.’

  She blew a raspberry, and then emitted her favourite expression: ‘Shit.’

  The door was opening.

  ‘I am asleep,’ she whispered, and rolled off him to lie with her back against him.

  There were several thumps across the darkness.

  ‘Be careful,’ Elena warned in a loud whisper. ‘He is asleep.’

  Tony hastily pulled up his pants and buttoned his shirt. ‘I’m awake.’

  ‘Ah.’ More bumps and thumps. ‘Stop that!’ Elena commanded.

  Ivkov gave a high-pitched giggle.

  Elena knelt beside Tony. ‘Listen. Sandrine has gone off. She just left. I don’t know where she is.’

  ‘I am here,’ Sandrine said, contradicting her previous decision.

  Elena reached across Tony in search of the voice. ‘What are you doing there?’

  ‘It is where we happen to be living, remember?’

  Elena was moving her hands up and down Sandrine’s body. ‘I meant, what are you doing next to Tony, with nothing on?’

  ‘I always sleep with nothing on,’ Sandrine reminded her. ‘And next to Tony is warm.’

  Elena’s hands moved to Tony. ‘But you are fully dressed.’

  ‘I feel safer this way.’

  Never had he been so serious.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I also want to be warm.’ There was a rustling sound. ‘And I also sleep with nothing on.’ She cuddled against him. ‘I don’t suppose—’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘You are too tired,’ she said sympathetically. ‘I will wait until tomorrow.’ She suddenly turned her head. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I also wish to get warm,’ Ivkov said.

  ‘Well, do it by yourself,’ Elena told him. ‘And put your pants back on.’

  *

  At dawn Tony lay awake thinking, with a naked woman on either side of him – which in the abstract was a very happy position to be in, but which concretely added another problem to those he already had.

  He wasn’t sure whether or not he should feel guilty, at least partly because he didn’t know the truth about Elena, no matter how Sandrine had tried to defend her. The fact was, whether or not she had ever sold her favours, Elena was vastly more sexually experienced than he. He had only ever had one woman before her, and that had been in a French brothel in the autumn of 1939. He had not enjoyed it, having been brought up with a totally different set of manners and mores. Elena’s enthusiastic approach to life and love had been a revelation, one he had vastly enjoyed. Being the man he was, and with the upbringing he had had, the mere fact that she had been prepared to share her all had immediately driven him in the direction of ‘doing the proper thing’, which began with marriage, and then . . . But he had known it could never happen, even if she were not a whore.

  While Sandrine . . . Her background, professional status and general outlook on life made her far more suitable to being the wife of an army officer than Elena could ever be. And yet, she was equally representative of an approach to life which was utterly outside his knowledge, or that of his parents and friends at home, or even his brother officers. Most of them, anyway.

  So was he meaning to throw Elena over for Sandrine? That he could never do until this crisis was over and she was reunited with her family. And now he was having his doubts as
to whether that would ever happen.

  Remarkably, he had slept very soundly. Or perhaps it was not remarkable at all, given his exhaustion and his erotically comfortable situation. But, as was so often the case, daylight brought with it a reconsideration of his problems. Overall, they remained immense and very nearly insoluble.

  He didn’t know how drunk Sandrine had been the previous night, or how affected she had been by the utter intimacy into which they had been thrown over the preceding few days, or how much she had felt she genuinely owed him a favour. But to his great relief she seemed to be utterly sated, and even, he suspected, a little ashamed. In any event, she appeared content to resume her original role as Elena’s closest friend, and made no effort to return to his side the following night. She slept on the far side of the hut, having to repel Ivkov to do so; Tony, who could not help but regard her as even more his responsibility after their get-together, would have interfered had he considered it necessary, but Sandrine was more than capable of taking care of herself – certainly as regards someone like the bath-keeper, whose desires were confounded by his anxiety to remain acceptable to them, and particularly to Tony.

  Elena seemed entirely to have regained her good humour, now that she was not in any immediate danger of either being shot or raped. As for her own desires, over the next week these were largely submerged by the combination of alarm and amusement. She and Sandrine were indeed required to accompany the women into the hills to watch the goats, and weed or draw the cabbages and carrots from the vegetable patch. This was a totally new experience for both of them.

  Elena would probably have been grotesquely out of place on the Champs Élysées, but she was most definitely a city dweller, and even with her physical strength she had found the previous week’s unceasing activity exhausting; following a flock of goats up and down hillsides was only slightly less enervating. In addition, despite her deliberately careless attitude towards the possible fate of her family, and even more of her brother, she was clearly very worried about them.

  This applied even more to Sandrine, for whom the Champs Élysées was most definitely a natural habitat. Not only had she found their recent adventures even more exhausting than Elena had, but her feet still hurt, and she had not been joking when she said she feared being butted by a goat, a species of animal she had only previously viewed from a distance.