While Paris Slept

by Ruth Druart

I glance up to see him lying down, leaning over the cliff, his hand reaching out for me. Suddenly I realize how far up we’ve come. How far down I could fall.

  “Allez,” he whispers, more loudly this time.

  Closing my eyes, I reach up toward him. He wraps his strong hand around my fragile one and pulls. I push up with my legs, hoisting myself toward him. Rolling onto my side, I land next to him. Thank you, God. I dare not look down as he helps Jean-Luc up.

  Unceremoniously he hands Samuel back to me, making me feel like a bad mother. But I’m not his real mother! How could it be then that fear for him paralyzed me?

  I’m hoping for a little rest after the exertion of that climb, but no, Florentino is straight up again. And Samuel is restless now, moaning and squirming against me. Maybe he can sense my fear and fatigue. But just when I think I can go no farther, Florentino signals for us to stop. We flop down around a large tree, my legs giving way before they hit the ground. Samuel whimpers. “Shh,” I murmur, stroking his head.

  “I’ll feed him,” Jean-Luc whispers in my ear.

  I wonder if he’ll add the cognac as we were told to do, but he doesn’t, and Florentino doesn’t appear to notice. Instead he closes his eyes as he leans against the tree. My muscles heavy and aching, I do the same. As my eyelids drop, I’m vaguely aware of Jean-Luc taking a clean cloth from the bag, folding a new diaper. Then, just as I’m abandoning myself to sleep, Florentino pushes me with his hand. “Allez.”

  “Non! Please, can we rest?”

  “Rest when you’re dead.” He holds his hand out to help me up.

  “I can do it. I can,” I whisper to myself, forcing myself up onto heavy legs.

  “Are you all right to take Samuel?” Jean-Luc looks at me with concern.

  I nod.

  We trudge along, no longer under cover of the trees, and then the climb is up, up, and up, loose sheets of slate slipping beneath our feet. I reach out my hand, grabbing tufts of hard, prickly grass to balance myself.

  We’ve been climbing like this for what seems like hours when Florentino stops, diving behind some rocks. He quickly reappears, snorting as he produces a bottle of clear liquid. He takes a large gulp, passing it to Jean-Luc.

  Jean-Luc sniffs it. “Eau de vie.” He takes a swig, bringing tears to his eyes. He coughs before drinking again, then passes it to me.

  It burns my throat but calms my jittery nerves. I look up to see Florentino grinning at me as I suppress a cough. He holds out his hands, pretending they’re trembling uncontrollably. “Eh, eh?”

  “Yes,” I admit. Of course I’m petrified. But we are alive, and the alcohol has taken the raw edge off my fear.

  He digs in his pockets, coming up with a small paper bag, which he passes to me. Dried apricots. Gratefully, I stuff a couple into my mouth, then pass the bag to Jean-Luc.

  Florentino taps his wrist, holding up five fingers. Five minutes. “Allez! Allez!” he urges.

  Surely it must be lunchtime. I’m still hungry and so thirsty. We’ve been walking for hours, and I need something to keep me going. My reserves of energy have been used up. My thoughts turn to Maman and how she tried everything to stop me from leaving. Now I understand that I could die up here in the mountains, but I didn’t stop to think twice about it. Was that bravery or idiocy?

  The bundle of Samuel is making me hot and sticky, the pillowcase pulling down on my aching neck with his weight. Florentino watches me as I adjust it, trying to make it more comfortable. He holds out his large hand, but I shake my head. Partly due to my pride, and partly because I like the feeling of the baby’s little body lying right next to my beating heart.

  After an entire day of walking, with only momentary breaks, the darkness begins to settle in. Florentino finds us a sheltered spot behind a large rock, and we collapse on the ground. Jean-Luc and I huddle together for warmth; no question of lighting a fire to warm our stiff, tired joints. Florentino passes us some dried ham and a handful of raisins. Then, by some miracle, he produces a whole Camembert, which he proceeds to tear into three parts, spilling out its thick, creamy insides. He hands it out quickly before it runs onto his fingers. I bite straight into the middle of mine, savoring the smooth, rich softness of a pleasure almost forgotten. Florentino makes a lot of noise licking the gooey cheese off his fingers, too much noise for a man who’s insisted on silence. He passes the eau de vie around again, and we knock it back like hardened drinkers.

  Exhausted and forbidden to talk, we quickly fall asleep. When I wake, suddenly, I can only see a few inches in front of me, but I sense something is terribly wrong. Leaning over, I touch Samuel’s cheek. It’s surprisingly warm. I lean toward Jean-Luc; he’s breathing heavily, his mouth slightly open. Then I turn to look at Florentino. My heart jumps up into my throat. The space where he was lying is empty.

  A sudden cracking sound shatters the silence. I suppress a scream. A gunshot rings out. Shouting. More shots.

  Jean-Luc jumps up, grabbing Samuel. Together we huddle behind the rock. A small cry escapes from the baby. Jean-Luc leans over him, stifling the noise.

  Then we see Florentino running toward us. “Allez! Allez! Now!”

  Grabbing our bags, we run, stumbling over rocks, slipping on slate. Thank God Florentino told us to keep our shoes on to sleep. I feel Jean-Luc at my side, breathing heavily. My head is swimming, the ground swirling beneath me. It takes all my strength to keep going.

  “Stop!” Florentino whispers under his breath, pointing to a thick tree. Bending over, he points to his back. He wants us to climb on him to clamber up the tree.

  I take Samuel back from Jean-Luc. “You go first. I’ll pass him to you.” Don’t think, I tell myself. Just do it.

  Jean-Luc climbs onto Florentino’s broad back, hoisting himself up onto the lowest branch. I do the same, Florentino raising himself to half standing so I can pass the baby up to Jean-Luc. Then I grab the same branch, pulling myself up into the tree. In a moment, Florentino is beside us. I can’t work out how he did it with his great bulk.

  Samuel lets out a whimper, and Jean-Luc immediately gives him his finger to suck on. Thank God, he goes quiet. I don’t doubt for a minute what Florentino might do if he felt he had to.

  In the distance I hear footsteps crunching on the ground. Holding my breath, I freeze myself into the tree, pretending I am part of it.

  The footsteps grow quieter. Can we dare to believe they are retreating?

  We wait a further thirty minutes, my joints growing stiff and numb, but I will not let myself move till Florentino gives the order.

  “Down! Allez!” he whispers across the branches. “They’re going after another party.”

  I scramble down the tree. My ankle catches on a stub, and I tumble backward. The air is knocked out of me as I hit the hard earth. I roll over and vomit. The ground spins before my eyes. Lying facedown in the dirt, I wish for oblivion.

  I feel Jean-Luc’s arms around me, pulling me up, but my legs are like jelly. I slip and slide against him. “Charlotte.” I hear him whisper my name, but his voice sounds miles away. “Charlotte, you have to get up.”

  “You go on,” I hear myself answer as my knees buckle beneath me. “Take Samuel. Leave me here.”

  But his arms hold me tight. “I’m not leaving you anywhere.” He buries his head in my hair. “I’m not going without you.”

  His words make me want to cry. My exhausted body just wants to surrender, but I have to go on. I must. I can’t give up. On trembling legs, I force myself upright, and with Jean-Luc’s arm around me, we stumble through the darkness. I soon realize that neither of us is carrying Samuel. Florentino, five steps in front of us, has him. The passeur belongs to these mountains. They are tough, unforgiving, and enduring, just as he is. But the mountains do not know us. We are intruders.

  Eventually we come to a stream, where we take a few minutes to stop and drink. The sun is just rising behind the trees. Samuel, maybe sensing the dawning of a new day, lets out a cry. Yes, it is breakfast time.
r />   “Can we feed him?” I ask Florentino.

  He nods. “Don’t forget the cognac.”

  I watch Jean-Luc add a glug of cognac to the milk before taking Samuel back from Florentino. I’d quite like some myself. My nerves are still raw.

  As we march on, Florentino carrying Samuel again, I hear the river before I see it. Then, through the trees, I glimpse swirls of blue. It’s flowing fast. I swallow the fear growing in my throat. Maybe we will be able to take the bridge, but we were told it is usually guarded; only to be used as a last resort, if the water is in full flood.

  We clamber along the riverbank looking for a good place to cross, my feet slipping and sliding in the soggy earth as I try to keep up.

  After about twenty minutes, Florentino stops. “No,” he whispers.

  We look at him, confused.

  “It’s too dangerous. No crossing today.”

  “What?” The word jumps from my mouth like an accusation.

  “Too dangerous,” he repeats.

  What are we supposed to do now? Go back? We hired him because he could cope with the danger, and now he’s scared! We have to go on. The thought of turning back is more frightening to me than the river.

  “Please.” I put my hand on his arm, begging him with my eyes.

  “Not today.” He pauses. “In the dark. Tonight. We’ll wait for night.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The South, June 3, 1944

  CHARLOTTE

  Maybe Florentino is right after all, and it’s better to wait before crossing the river. It’s the most dangerous part, and now we’ll have time to recuperate before taking it on.

  We walk on for about another hour, then he points to a large boulder a little farther back from the bank, and we settle down behind it. I heave a sigh of relief, grateful to be able to rest for a while, though one of us always needs to be awake, keeping a lookout. I’m terrified I’ll fall asleep when it comes to my watch; I’m so exhausted, I almost drop off when we’re walking. So when it’s my turn, I make sure it’s time to feed Samuel. I’ve got the hang of it now, and enjoy watching him drink from the bottle, his eyes becoming drowsy as his little fingers open and close as though searching out something to grip hold of. I give him my first finger, and he immediately grabs it, clinging to me as though he’s scared I’ll disappear. His need for me pulls at my heart, urging me to fulfill it. “Don’t worry,” I whisper. “I’m not going to leave you.” His legs kick up and down as he drinks. I take hold of a foot, bringing it to my lips.

  In the afternoon, we move on down the river, careful to keep watch for patrolling soldiers. I dare not watch the water as it gushes past, shooting sparks of fear through me, making my pulse race, then slow, then race again. We can no longer even whisper to each other, the river drowning out any other sound.

  After a light supper of nuts and cheese, we wait for dusk. Slipping off our espadrilles, we push them into Jean-Luc’s backpack. I take Samuel, who is awake again and peeking out with unfocused eyes, as if he can sense the danger.

  “Get a good foothold. The current is strong.” Florentino stares at me.

  I almost roll my eyes at him, but stop myself and turn to Jean-Luc. “Can you make sure the pillowcase is tied properly behind?”

  For the third time, Jean-Luc checks that the long pillowcase is wound tightly around me, holding Samuel firmly in against my chest. “Yes, he can’t fall out.”

  Florentino bends down to roll up his trouser legs, then steps into the water. When he’s found a foothold, he holds his hand out for me, but I can only just see it in the fading light. Taking a deep breath, I put a foot in, holding Samuel to my chest with one hand, reaching out for Florentino with the other. The icy water makes me gasp, while the current tugs viciously at my legs. I squeeze Samuel up against my chest, my stomach shriveling with fear, terrified now that the pillowcase will come undone. But my arm’s not long enough. I can’t reach Florentino.

  “Allez!”

  Wedging one foot behind a small rock, I pull the other into the river, my legs trembling with the effort. I stretch my arm farther. It’s still too far.

  “Give Samuel to me.” Suddenly Jean-Luc is next to me, his hand on my shoulder. But we agreed I’d take Samuel because of Jean-Luc’s leg. Anyway, I wouldn’t risk passing him over while standing in the gushing river.

  “I can do it!” I reach again for Florentino, but he’s too far. It’s hopeless. I’m stuck. If I lift my foot to move nearer to him, the force of the river will suck me down. Yet I have no choice.

  I pull my foot up. Suddenly I’m lunging forward, wildly off balance. I grab for the nearest stone. Samuel lets out a sharp cry. Then another.

  “Get up!” I hear Florentino yell.

  One hand tight against Samuel, ignoring his cries, I raise myself up, digging my feet into the riverbed, my legs shaking wildly. Again I reach for Florentino. This time I touch his fingers. Instantly he wraps his large hand around my wrist, pulling me toward him. “Shut the baby up! Get Jean-Luc’s hand.”

  Samuel screams louder and louder, but the river carries his cries away. The realization of what I have to do hits me like a fist in the stomach—I have to lift my hand away from Samuel so I can pull Jean-Luc toward me. I know the pillowcase was tightly tied, but what if it’s come loose with the effort of that one step? Why, oh why, did Florentino put me in the middle with the baby? He should have taken Samuel himself. Hatred for our guide pulsates through me. I close my eyes.

  “Now! Do it!” Florentino shouts above the gushing of the river.

  “Charlotte,” Jean-Luc calls out. “Samuel is safe! Give me your hand!”

  But my hand refuses to leave the baby.

  Jean-Luc digs his cane into the riverbed, pulling himself across. Helpless, I watch his arms and legs trembling with the strain. He takes one large step, thrusting his hand out to reach mine. For a second my hand leaves Samuel as I reach out to grab Jean-Luc’s, gripping it tightly.

  Violently, without warning, Florentino tugs my other arm. Stumbling on the slippery rocks, I lunge forward again. Samuel jolts upward. I scream.

  “Give the baby to me!” Florentino shouts. “Now!”

  I can’t do it. His anger terrifies me. It sounds like he wants to throw Samuel into the river. But his enormous hand is already reaching for him. “Now!”

  While I’m still fumbling with the pillowcase, he snatches the baby away from me, pulling him out by his arm, as though he were pulling a rabbit by its ears.

  I scream. Then, gulping back my tears, I continue to sidestep across the river, Florentino pulling me on one side, while I pull Jean-Luc on the other. When we eventually reach the other bank, I collapse on the ground, shivering and shaking uncontrollably.

  Florentino thrusts the crying baby into my arms. “We were very lucky. I said no baby.”

  I bury my head into Samuel, trying to smother his cries. He’s wet through and screaming with terror. I hold him tight, rocking backward and forward on my knees. Surely we will all die by this damned river! Then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  “We’re in Spain, Charlotte!” I hear the crack in Jean-Luc’s voice as he starts to cry. “We’re in Spain!” He falls down next to me, his arm coming up, wrapping its way around Samuel and me. Together in a tight knot, we sob. Then we laugh—hysterical mad laughter.

  I feel Florentino tugging at me, pulling me up. He takes Samuel from me, not roughly like before, but gently, holding him around the body. As I watch him, I’m vaguely aware of Jean-Luc scrabbling in the rucksack, looking for dry clothes. Already Florentino is peeling off the baby’s wet rags, then he undoes his own jacket, and by the light of the moon, I see his large hairy chest as he lays Samuel against it, doing the jacket up again. Samuel’s crying is muffled, but I can hear already that the sound is fading.

  “Make the bottle!” I turn to Jean-Luc, who is already adding a dose of cognac to the milk.

  Florentino snatches it from him, pushing it down under his jacket, into Samuel’s mo
uth. Then we’re up again, running through the trees. Florentino, still holding Samuel, pulls me along through the darkness, and I pull Jean-Luc along.

  I lose track of time as we move blindly through the night. Every crack of a branch, every scuttling animal makes my heart jump. Then we’re heading downhill, and it’s easier. At last Florentino draws to a stop. “There now. See the light?”

  I stare out into the blackness, seeing nothing. Then I spot a glimmer of a light; it seems to grow brighter the longer I look at it.

  Laughter spills out of my mouth. I can’t control it.

  “Charlotte, shh.” Jean-Luc squeezes my hand, but I’m still laughing as we half run, half hobble toward the house.

  I fall into the arms of the woman who opens the farmhouse door. Then it’s all a blur. I am only vaguely aware of a blanket being placed over me. Then nothing. Blissful nothing.

  Part Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Santa Cruz, July 10, 1953

  JEAN-LUC

  “Mr. Bow-Champ, we have reason to believe that Samuel isn’t your real son.”

  Jean-Luc can’t move, can’t breathe. “She’s alive?” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else. It can’t be true. No one survived.

  They stare at him. Bradley nods, but no one speaks.

  “How did she… How is it possible? Are you sure it’s her?”

  “You admit it, then: Samuel isn’t really your son?”

  “What? Yes. No.”

  “You’re under arrest for kidnapping. Anything you…”

  He must have misheard. His head is spinning. “Kidnapping?”

  “Yes.” The tall officer looks at him with cold eyes. “You have the right to remain silent, but anything you say can be used in court.”

  “Kidnapping?” He grips the sides of his chair.

  No one replies. They continue to stare at him.

  “But I didn’t kidnap him! You’ve got it all wrong. He would have died if I hadn’t taken him.” Kidnapping? The word spins in his head. He has to make them understand it wasn’t like that.