The Corsican Woman

by Madge Swindells

  Robin had already discovered that hit-and-run tactics were ideally suited to the island, at least until the men were more disciplined. Soon he was able to make use of the younger men hiding in the maquis: those who had been at school prior to the invasion. These boys were often slovenly, they were bored, and they were pathetically grateful for even a small job in a man’s world. He put them together in twos and threes and sent them to steal camping equipment as well as supplies of tobacco from German stocks. They were also useful for helping the villagers to supply food for the Resistance. Keeping up morale was his biggest problem. The men needed constant successes, however minor, which he took care to publicize well.

  Slowly Rocca began to take a back seat as Robin emerged as the acknowledged leader of the Corsican Resistance.

  Chapter 35

  Why don't you brand me? Yes, go on, why don't you? Just burn the word into my skull — disonorater. You might as well. Everyone can see it as plain as the nose on my face.

  Or so Xavier thought as he forced a glimmer of his mirthless smile, gritted his teeth, and settled down to guard duty on Moore’s instructions, while the younger men went off for a lightning raid on a supply truck that their lookout had spotted labouring up the mountain road.

  Soon he was alone with his humiliation. He lit his pipe slowly and contemplated his problems. By far his greatest resentment was reserved for Captain Robin Moore.

  God save me from Americans! They have no subtlety. Naive like children, always believing in goodness, justice, mercy and truth, together with fairies at the bottom of their gardens — I shouldn't be surprised. Evangelists — each one of them — touting the American dream and American morals. What makes them think that what they have is better than what we have?

  Xavier sat on a rock and puffed moodily at his pipe. He contemplated the cave filled with Allied largesse that they periodically tossed out of their aircraft. It was little better than charity, to Xavier’s mind. The Allies thought it gave them the right to dictate to Corsicans how and when they would liberate their island. Now they had their representative, namely Captain Robin Moore, pushing them all around.

  If I hadn't insisted on a guard here, Leca and Castelli would have most of this lot salted away, ready for a postwar revolution. If Moore had his way, they'd succeed, too. He's pushing the commies into the limelight, and personally challenging me, the Wolf, for leadership. But how to beat him? He controls communications with the outside world and therefore the supply of arms, explosives, and ammunition. He's been sent here to take charge, hasn't he?

  In the brief five months since the invasion, Xavier’s swagger had crumpled. Even Gus sensed it. Nowadays the dog spent most of his time head hanging, slinking around the camp. Yet another of Rocca’s humiliations was the behaviour of Michel, who no longer tried to keep his private life secret.

  It doesn't seem to worry Michel, or Angelo, when they're seen holding hands in the woods or when they make frequent disappearances. The men try not to comment for fear of raising my wrath.

  As for Angelo. I'll settle his hash one of these days. He and his cherubic face, and his wriggling, plump, woman's buttocks. He's like a fetid bog, and Michel's fallen into it. Well, more fool he, but one of these days I'll have to haul him out. Michel is, after all, my only son, and I can whistle for more grandchildren while Angelo's around. Maria's fault. She brought the boy up too soft.

  His thoughts veered back to Robin like fingers to a scab. He could never relax, not for an instant. It would never do to show his men the slightest glimpse of his distress. So he sat back and kept smiling his famous, mirthless, wolfiike smile while he seethed inside.

  Chapter 36

  Easter came at last. The villagers errupted with an unprecedented show of joy, which was not altogether due to religious fervour, Father Andrews realized. It had much more to do with the improved war news and the return of their sons and husbands from their camps in the maquis to spend a quiet holiday at home. The women greeted the priest with smiles, the first he had seen for a long time. ‘Christ is risen,’ they called to him happily. 'Yes, indeed, Christ is truly risen.' Even Maria decided to shed her mourning for Carlotta’s death and enjoy having her family back at home for once.

  Sybilia, too, returned to Taita to see her son. On Thursday evening, veiled and trembling, she went to confession. When her turn came at last, she hurried into the familiar cell, but the heady scent of incense, the feel of the polished wood under her nervous fingers, even the sight of Father Andrews’s profile in the dim candlelight, did nothing to calm her anxiety. If anything, her agitation increased.

  ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.’

  As he said the blessing, the priest’s heart leaped with pleasure to hear her voice.

  ‘It is two months since my last confession. These are my sins.’

  She listed them to the best of her ability, not forgetting her anger at her parents for marrying her to Michel. ‘I can’t find it in my heart to forgive them,’ she murmured. ‘Never! Never. How can I?’

  He listened while she vividly described her anger at Michel and Angelo for their shameless public displays of affection. ‘All yesterday they were in the bistro together. People are talking. This morning I heard the women at the washing troughs. They could scarcely talk about anything else. Why are they doing this to me?’

  ‘But listen to me, child. We’re here to discuss your sins, not Michel’s sins. You must try to forgive and be patient. Perhaps with time Michel will see the error of his ways and come back to you.’

  ‘I don’t want him,’ she said contemptuously. ‘How could I take him back, knowing what he is?’

  Sybilia had intended to confess her growing obsession with Captain Robin Moore. Now she realized that she was not ready to talk about it. Besides, Father Andrews would never understand. How could he? He was a priest. He had never experienced nights of torment. He’d never known what it was like to physically need someone to the point of agony.

  She accepted her penance and hurried away, entirely missing the joy she usually felt after confession.

  To Robin, this brief interlude in homely surroundings was paradise. Good manners and the need to keep up appearances had forced Rocca to invite Robin to make use of his spare room, and Robin had joyfully accepted. He needed a rest badly and hoped to find the opportunity to talk to Sybilia.

  After sleeping for forty-eight hours, he surfaced on Saturday evening and went to look for a familiar face. As he thought, the men were in the bistro. To his astonishment, Angelo was there, too. Robin deduced that Michel had found his friend accommodation elsewhere in the village. Xavier Rocca seemed civil enough, but Robin could sense his suppressed rage.

  Robin stayed to buy a round of drinks and listen to Antoine Romanetti singing his heart out, and then he returned to the house, where he found the women slaving in the kitchen as usual.

  ‘It’s not right. Why should you two work all night? It’s Easter for you, too, isn’t it? I’ll help you.’

  They looked astonished.

  ‘Well, don’t just stare at me, Madame Rocca. Give me a job. I’m a pretty good cook,’ he said. ‘I can even bake bread. Want me to make a few hamburgers? You can bet those boys’ll be back from the bistro good and hungry pretty soon.’

  Maria complained a great deal but finally agreed. She brought him an apron, which he put on, but Sybilia seemed offended. Robin was making a fool of himself. She must tell him so.

  ‘You’ll never be able to command these men if you hang around the kitchen like a woman,’ she whispered in English.

  ‘Watch me,’ he said. ‘Now, where’s the mincemeat?’

  The men who had homes in Taita went back to eat. Some took their friends with them. About two dozen Maquisards trooped into Rocca’s living room. Soon Rocca was demanding supper in a loud voice.

  When their commanding officer appeared, carrying a large tray of hamburgers, followed by the women with salads, olives, and cheeses, there was a long, embarrassed silence.
>
  ‘Don’t be shy,’ Robin said, grinning oafishly. He had drunk a fair amount of Rocca’s homemade brandy, and he was feeling overconfident. ‘Tonight we’re making like Americans.’

  ‘This is one of those droll habits we’d hoped you’d keep to yourself,’ Rocca said dryly.

  ‘Well, let’s go the whole hog. Tonight it’s a buffet. Grab a plate, help yourselves, and find a chair somewhere. We’ll help with the cleaning up afterward.’

  Sybilia gasped. He was going too far. She pulled Robin’s sleeve and gestured for him to come into the kitchen.

  ‘Xavier cannot insult his guests with such a humiliating task — ’ She broke off as they heard a loud voice laughing contemptuously.

  It was Ambrosini, a shepherd. ‘This is the American’s secret weapon. Do we eat them or throw them at the Boche?’

  Robin and Sybilia walked back into the living room. ‘Hey there, you lousy bastard. Why don’t you taste one before you start throwing insults around?’ Robin was only half-serious.

  ‘Hush,’ Sybilia whispered. ‘Don’t tangle with Ambrosini. He’s a mean man. I don’t like him. Besides, he’s the champion wrestler around these parts, and he fights dirty.’

  Her words were a challenge to Robin.

  ‘They taste like shit,' Ambrosini spat a mouthful on the floor.

  ‘Why, you dirty son of a bitch,’ Robin said, ignoring the insult. ‘This house is spotless. You’re going to clean up that mess you made there.’

  ‘Who says so?’ Ambrosini turned away contemptuously.

  ‘I do.’ Robin lunged out and kicked Ambrosini in the backside. He watched the man lurch forward, then spin round, a stiletto in his hand. His face was taut with anger.

  Suddenly the room was quiet.

  As Ambrosini lunged at him, Robin sidestepped, took his arm, and pulled him over his shoulder. He staggered through the door, running half-crouched with Ambrosini’s massive weight. They collapsed in a heap in the darkness.

  Sybilia grabbed a knife and ran to the door, but Rocca caught hold of her. She heard the dull smack of fists pounding flesh. Then a groan and a thump. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but the next moment Robin returned, trying to grin. She could see it was an effort.

  ‘I guess it’s my night for cleaning up stinking messes,’ he said, and fetched a cloth from the kitchen.

  ‘Please let me — ’

  ‘Sybilia, you’re not going to do it. Hey, Leca,’ Robin called out as he went to the kitchen, ‘Ambrosini’s out cold. You’d better see he gets to his digs.’

  ‘Well now… ‘ Rocca tried to hide his disappointment at Moore’s reappearance. ‘Personally I like American food. Did I tell you that I toured California? Let me see now, that was nearly thirty years ago… ’

  When they had finished eating and were sitting around smoking, Xavier said, ‘Captain Moore, I respect your ways, but you must respect ours. No Corsican would ever wash dishes. That’s women’s work.’

  ‘How about spying on the German High Command; risking her life every minute of the day? Is that woman’s work, too?’

  ‘Not in my opinion,’ Rocca said gravely. ‘I told her to stay in Taita. Jules needs her.’

  ‘That’s my viewpoint exactly. She’s a liability in Bastia.’

  Sybilia reacted angrily. ‘Oh, how could you? How dare you! I was the one who told you about the convoy of arms. Good heavens… I thought — ’ Sybilia broke off and bit her lip.

  Michel rushed to support her. ‘She’s doing a good job, Robin. She can look after herself.’

  ‘No, she can’t,’ Robin snarled. ‘It’s just a matter of time before they catch on to her.’

  ‘Someone has to do it,’ Leca said. ‘She’s a good linguist.’

  ‘If she were just any dame, with a face like any other dame, I’d say okay. But look at her. She sticks out like a lily in a turnip patch. She doesn’t match the ignorant peasant woman she’s supposed to be. The whole idea is crazy. Whoever thought of it must be blind as well as stupid. Believe you me, now Dino Renucci’s seen her, he won’t rest until he gets his hands on her. He’ll be sniffing around, prodding and prying, and something will give her away. Goddamnit, what’s the matter with you all? She’s lovely,’ Robin said. ‘Or hasn’t anyone noticed? Rocca, you’ve got eyes to see, haven’t you — even if your son hasn’t.’

  Rocca jumped to his feet, sending a chair crashing to the floor.

  ‘I guess that was uncalled for,’ Robin said uneasily, realizing he had overstepped the bounds of good manners. He was, after all, a guest in Rocca’s house. ‘I apologize. It’s just that I’m scared for her, as you should all be.’

  My God, look at their faces. You'd think I'd pissed on the carpet. I must be drunk as well as stupid. Why did I open my big mouth? But someone had to say it, and I can 't quit now.

  He turned to Sybilia. ‘If only you would believe me. You are in terrible danger.’

  Michel crossed the room and switched on the radio. It was tuned in to the BBC.

  Hell. She's as stubborn as the rest of them. Look at her, with her bottom lip stuck out like an obstinate child. What does she know about war? It's just a game to her.

  ‘Hey,’ Michel called out, ‘listen to this.’ In silence they heard that British and American troops were advancing on two fronts in the North African desert. The two forces were about to meet up. After two years of bitter fighting, the desert war was about to be won. The villagers drank another toast. In the celebrations that followed, everyone pretended to have forgotten Robin’s indiscretion.

  Sybilia felt a warm glow inside her. Robin cares. He really cares. And I’ve been worried sick because I thought he didn’t trust me. How could I have been so wrong? Nevertheless, I won’t give in. He has no right to tell me what to do.

  Chapter 37

  Dressed in her shabbiest black skirt and blouse, Sybilia strode through the dappled, dew-drenched forest, feeling thrilled by the profusion of spring flowers. Noisy birds were twittering in the trees, warmed by the April sun.

  She was going to gather mushrooms, she had told Maria. The truth was she wanted to wander freely through the mountains, as an antidote to months of confinement in the stuffy cupboard.

  Mushrooms were few and far between. They were scattered among leaves and grass, and it was difficult to find them. She had saddled Pierre with two large baskets, which she hoped to fill. Stooping frequently, she passed from one glade to the next. Sybilia began to think about Michel as she hurried along. Last night she had begged him to stay with her. Why had she been such a fool? she wondered. She should have had more pride. Was it because they were home? She was reminded of their first stumbling attempts to build a relationship. They had been happy for a while. So she had longed to hold him and to be loved, but he had been anxious to leave. He was going to Angelo. Shame and sadness had kept her awake for most of the night.

  Maria had noticed. She had not said anything, but her blue eyes had been full of compassion and disappointment.

  Sybilia made an effort to pull herself together. How stupid to be gloomy on such a lovely morning. She had a great deal to be thankful for, she reminded herself. Jules was an adorable and healthy baby. Maria seemed to be saner lately, perhaps because she had someone to love.

  She passed a flat boulder and sat down to munch her sour bread, while Pierre grazed on grass growing in the ditch. Her thoughts turned to Robin. Now there was a real man… She went over last evening in her mind, remembering what Robin had said about her. He had made her feel warm and loved and more sure of herself as a woman. Was that why she had wanted Michel to love her? Forbidden thoughts!

  She stood up abruptly, smoothed the pine needles from her skirt, and tugged at Pierre’s reins. Eventually he plodded after her. When she came to the river she picked her way over stepping-stones and continued uphill until she came to prairielike grasslands, where their flock grazed in summer. As she had hoped, the field was full of large mushrooms.

  She had been picking them for a few minut
es when she heard a shout from the trees.

  ‘Sybilia!’ The voiee echoed around the mountains. Robin’s voice.

  ‘I’m here,’ she called. Her heart lurched. Suddenly she felt happy.

  Robin emerged from the trees and looked around. Then he hurried toward her. T followed you, but then I lost you. Can you believe it?’

  For once Sybilia allowed herself the luxury of looking at him, taking in his size and strength. She had never been able to do that in public. He was wearing army trousers, a thick homespun checked shirt, and a leather windbreaker. He was a big man, with wide bony shoulders and a long, lean body. His dark red hair was cut short and brushed back vigorously. For the first time she saw that he had high, pronounced cheekbones and a strong square chin. It was a belligerent face. Only his sensuous lips and deep blue eyes gave an impression of caring.

  At the moment his face was twisted into a shy grin. She had a sudden recall of last night. He had looked ferocious when he’d tackled Ambrosini. Yet, on the whole, he was a gentle man, she felt.

  ‘I followed you because I want to talk to you.’

  He stood looking down at her so seriously. What was she supposed to gauge from that long, meaningful glance?

  She turned away and groped for a few more mushrooms. Talk away, Captain Moore,’ she said, making an effort to sound light-hearted.

  Robin gazed at her. She was quite exquisite. Everything about her was lovely. Yet the real essence of her attraction lay elsewhere. It had something to do with the truth and goodness that shone from her eyes.

  He realized he was staring. ‘Can’t we sit down?’ He saw a fallen tree trunk at the edge of the forest and pointed to it. ‘Let’s sit over there.’

  Sybilia hesitated, scanning the mountainside guiltily. They seemed to be quite alone. Robin took her hand and led her toward the tree. The touch of his hand on hers sent the most unusual sensations thrilling through her whole being. She could hardly breathe. She moistened her lips with her tongue and stared away, hoping Robin would not notice her flushed cheeks and burning eyes.