by Erika Robuck
“He’s all right?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“He arrived with Sophie.”
Lavi’s eyes go dark. He rubs his hand across the stubble on his chin.
“I don’t have to explain the danger it puts everyone in,” she says. “They both know agents shouldn’t be running around together.”
“I’ll talk to them when we finish here.”
“Please do. They refuse to listen to me.”
He nods, and then motions for the men to join them. Before she starts instruction, she takes stock of the men before her. Though still rough and slightly feral, their faces have filled out and their eyes are brighter. They look less like prey and more like predators. They give her their full, rapt attention.
“D-Day is coming,” she says.
A cheer goes up around her.
“When?” they ask.
“HQ won’t even tell me, but it’s imminent. When that day comes, the Allied forces need you to rise.”
There’s more cheering.
“And not just in battle with guns and grenades. Strong as you are, one hundred men do not match the forces of their armies. Your value behind and within enemy lines is destroying it from the inside out. Specifically, the railways. Your sabotage will force the Nazis to use slower transport means, cutting them off from much-needed supplies and manpower.”
While there are still shouts of affirmation, some of their faces grow dark, the stark realization of what they must do beginning to dawn on them.
“I know this will be painful,” she says. “But if we do our job well, we can avoid civilian casualties. Most of the men who work the rails are resistors. With their help, we’ll know who’s riding, what’s being transported, and where to make the cuts.”
“My God,” says one. “We’re destroying our country.”
“No,” she says. “Your country is destroyed. It’s a dead man on a stretcher. Tell me, does a medic worry about breaking the ribs of a soldier who isn’t breathing when doing chest compressions, or does he do them, hoping to bring the man back to life?”
“He does them.”
“You’ll need to break a few ribs. More than a few. But that can all be fixed after the war. And if you don’t do it, there will be no ‘after the war.’”
She stares at them a moment longer, and when she sees they’ve received the message, opens the explosive pack and sets out each component—a block of claylike material, detonators, wire, and timed fuses.
“Plastic explosives. Simple to assemble, not especially sensitive, naturally adhesive, highly effective.”
She scans the group for an assistant, one she can mark to become the expert. Seeking to elevate the weaker among the ranks, she looks through row after row until she settles on a small maquisard in the back. He’s so meek he’s made no impression upon her until this moment. When she nods her head for him to join her, his look is so grateful it warms her. She instructs him to cut three kilograms from the block for the demonstration. She shows him how to soften the material by rubbing it between her hands and forms the claylike substance into a circle. She attaches the detonator to the fuse and passes it to him to bury it deep within the explosive. His small, dirty hands are nimble and sure.
“Follow me,” she says.
The group files behind her as she leads them to a dead tree about fifty yards from camp, where she sticks the explosive to it. She sends the men a safe, observable distance away, instructs the small maquisard to light the fuse, and they hurry to join the rest of the group. The flame burns like a little firework all the way to the plastic. In a moment, there’s a blast. When the sound dissolves, they lift their heads. Once the smoke clears, they see the dead tree split in half down the middle, folded out like a great, curly V.
“Victory,” says the maquisard.
The group cheers and slaps their new explosives expert on the back. Then each maquisard raises his hands in the subversive V gesture Churchill encourages among Allies and resistors.
She looks around at all of them, with their hands held high. All at once, victory feels as if it might be on the horizon.
* * *
—
Lavi tells Virginia to give him a head start back to the house. She stays with the men, going over explosive techniques, amounts of charge necessary for each level of destruction, and practice with timers. After an hour, she leaves them. The boy meets her along the way pulling a small red wagon. He is uncharacteristically quiet, looking back and forth from the wagon to Virginia.
“What is it?” she says.
“Nothing.”
His reply is quick and strained. They walk in silence, the wheels rusty and squeaking. He starts and stops himself from speaking a dozen times, but she remains silent. Finally, just before they get to town, she looks down at him. He bursts forth, near tears but strangely elated.
“I did it,” he says.
“You did what?”
“Maman said I shouldn’t tell you because you’ll be angry.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“I can’t stop myself.”
“If your maman said not to, you shouldn’t.”
“But I think you might be proud.”
“It’s best for the Resistance to keep their duties secret, especially if their superiors command it.”
“But—”
“No buts. Did your mother tell you to keep a secret from me?”
“Oui.”
“Then it must be vital to the Resistance for you to do so.”
He purses his lips and screws up his forehead.
“Do you know why you must keep this secret?” she says.
“Because the Ten Commandments say to honor our fathers and mothers.”
“Do you know why—as a resistor—you must keep this secret?”
“No.”
“Because if I learn it, and the Nazis catch me and torture me, they could make me tell the secret. That would put you, your mother, and anyone else who knows it in danger. Then, the Nazis could catch you and your mother, and torture you to find out more secrets. Now, do you still want to tell me?”
He shakes his head in the negative.
“I will be a good son,” he says. “And a good resistor.”
“Good,” Virginia says. “Now, we shouldn’t be seen together. Go.”
He leaves her, running ahead with the squeaky wagon trailing behind him. She allows herself to smile when she’s sure he doesn’t see.
When Virginia arrives at the house, Sophie is gone, and the group is sober. Mimi nods at Virginia and leads her son upstairs while he whispers all the way. Lavi smokes by the fireplace. From where he sits on the couch, Louis gives Virginia a contrite look.
“I’m sorry,” he says, gazing up at her. “I forgot myself and put everyone in danger. Please forgive me.”
“I’m not worried about myself, so it isn’t my forgiveness you need to seek.”
“I’ve apologized to my family. Sophie has, too. We won’t appear together here again.”
“Here? Louis, I should hope you mean everywhere.”
“Well, it will be hard to stay away, seeing that we’re engaged.”
Virginia feels her face warm, and a rising panic gives way to anger.
“Engaged?”
Lavi stubs out his cigarette and leaves them.
“Hard to stay away?” she continues. “Have I taught you nothing about invisibility? After all we’ve seen—all we’ve lost. Instead of hearing ‘invisibility,’ you’ve mistaken it for ‘invincibility’!”
Louis stands, and crosses the room to meet her.
“I was there, too, you know,” he says. “You’re letting them win by being this way.”
“What way is that?”
“Cold as
the Pyrenees.”
“How dare you.”
“You have to move on from Lyon,” he says. “You don’t know our people are dead.”
“I saw the doctor get dragged away. I saw one of our girls.” Her voice catches.
“Yes, one of our girls with her face ravaged, but was she dead?”
Virginia shakes her head, both to concede and to rid her mind of the image of the Lyon prostitute tortured by Klaus Barbie.
“No,” says Louis. “She wasn’t dead. And I don’t believe the doctor is, either. And the nun. And the old couple. Have faith in your people. You helped make us, Diane! Do you doubt yourself?”
I helped make you, she thinks, but I let a betrayer destroy you.
“Imagine the Gestapo capture you,” he continues. “How long were we trained to remain silent under interrogation?”
“Forty-eight hours,” she mumbles.
“That’s right. Enough time to let your people get away. You trained them all to do that. Now imagine they put you on a cattle car to a concentration camp. How long do you see yourself lasting?”
“Until the liberation.”
“Exactly. You wouldn’t have come back here if you thought you’d die.”
“You’re wrong about that.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe you’re on a suicide mission. Maybe you will die. But that won’t be my fault. Or Vera’s. Or Wild Bill’s. Will it?”
“No.”
“And if you do die, you’ll do so heroically, with honor. In the name of goodness and freedom. The same as any of us.”
She stares into his eyes, desperate for his vitality to fill her, willing his words to satisfy her emptiness. The hunting accident that took her foot happened shortly after her split with Emil, and she hasn’t allowed herself any intimacy since. Is it the shame of feeling physically incomplete? Or is it because of the war? Her heart so often feels like a stone in her chest. Another prosthetic. Will it ever come back to life?
Louis reaches out to pull her into his arms. She can’t resist, and returns the embrace, allowing a wave of his warmth to crash over her.
“I’m sorry, but I’m sick over the betrayer,” she says. “I shouldn’t have ignored my gut, and now he haunts me. When I’m awake. In my nightmares.”
“It’s the same for me.”
She pulls back and stares at him.
“I have nightmares, too,” he continues. “Sometimes I’m not even asleep when I have them.”
It’s an enormous relief to hear this—that she’s not going crazy. At least not alone.
“Sometimes I think hunting him would help,” Louis says.
“That has crossed my mind. But I can’t think of it right now.”
“Then I’ll find him.”
“No, you absolutely cannot lose focus any more than you already have.”
“What, you don’t think I can manage it? Have you taught me nothing?”
“Not this. Not now. We have bigger battles to fight.”
Mimi, Lavi, and the boy file into the room, ending their discussion.
Louis crouches down in front of his nephew, adjusting the boy’s dagger strap.
“Keep them safe,” Louis tells the boy.
“I will,” he replies in a solemn voice.
“Don’t do anything foolish.”
“Like you.”
The group laughs, releasing the tension. Louis swats the boy on the shoulder before standing and then kisses him on the head. He hugs his family and Virginia once more. Then, after giving them a long look, he slips out the back door and disappears into the shadows.
Chapter 13
The biscuit tin Louis brought contained a treasure: a new thirty-hour battery Virginia desperately needed for her B2. HQ is pleased with the number of Maquis in the region, and promises more supplies on the next drop, which—weather permitting—will be best if it’s done in a week and a half, during the next full moon. If Virginia lasts until then, she’ll have survived more than six weeks in France. She hardly dares to imagine it and the morale boost that will follow.
Now that two regions have supplies, and Lavi’s Maquis are partially armed, each night she listens to the BBC, hoping for the words—the violins of autumn. She holds her breath over and over, but still, she’s unsatisfied. When will D-Day come?
The high from the first drop is short-lived, and the men are again growing restless. They’re less enthusiastic now when Virginia visits. They argue and fight among themselves. They miss their loved ones. Hiding is a prison unlike any other. It’s preferable to forced labor in German camps, but it’s its own kind of hell, especially when many don’t have contact with their families. It’s safer if their women and children don’t know where they are.
We need more weapons, they say. When can we wire the railways? When can we kill Nazis?
Wait, she tells them. If you do it now, you’ll only bring hell on innocent people. If the Nazis aren’t occupied fighting the Allies, they’ll occupy themselves with revenge.
Virginia passes on a few of the more egregious reprisal stories—including the fates of the three musketeers—to deter the men from acting on their anger, but that will hold them back for only so long. Lavi tries to defuse the tension, but the chorus of their voices is louder than his. It’s at her ear when she leaves them. It plagues her through the nights. It stabs deeper every time the poem isn’t said over the broadcast.
Tension also boils with Sophie. Virginia wasn’t able to unload on Sophie when she’d reprimanded Louis, so she’s constantly doing so in her mind. She’s aggravated to see Sophie is once again adorned with her red lipstick and styled hair, but refuses to remind her of such dangers any longer. If they had more time, she’d find another courier, but they don’t. Deep down Virginia knows what really bothers her about the young woman is how much she reminds Virginia of herself before the war losses. In fact, Virginia is disgusted to realize she could be her own mother chastising her young self for falling so hard and so quickly for Emil.
One rainy morning, when the boy is at school and Mimi is at the market, Sophie brings news. Virginia lets her in and returns to her place at the dining table, where she works out coordinates on maps of the surrounding areas for the next drop.
“We were in Paris on Tuesday,” says Sophie, “so I was able to connect with Aramis.”
“‘We?’” Virginia says, looking up at Sophie.
So, she and Louis do continue to see each other. At least they’re not meeting in Cosne, but it still stokes the fire of Virginia’s anger.
Sophie blanches from the slip, and quickly sidesteps the question.
“Aside from a near miss with the Milice, Aramis is well established. He has three new safe houses, two of which are occupied by Allied airmen on escape.”
“Let me guess. You wrote them down?”
“No,” says Sophie. “I would never do anything so foolish.”
Her voice trails off, and the word and its implication sit between them. Sophie looks away, and a tense, heavy silence falls. After a few minutes, Sophie clears her throat.
“When you’re ready, I’ll tell you,” Sophie says.
Virginia sighs with impatience and grabs a piece of paper. She has developed a shorthand and will hide the note in the fireplace until her next transmission. Sophie recites the addresses and code phrases while Virginia scribbles.
“Aramis wanted me to apologize to you on his behalf,” Sophie says quietly. “He realizes coming in place of a courier put you and your hosts in unnecessary danger.”
“Anything else?” Virginia says.
Sophie continues to stand before her, eyes wide. She knows Sophie is trying to build a bridge, but frankly Virginia’s in no mood, especially because she has no doubt Sophie will continue to see Louis against her advice.
“Is that all?” Virginia says.
S
ophie’s shoulders fall. She pulls on her kerchief to prepare to leave, but when her hand is on the doorknob, she turns back to Virginia. It seems to take her great courage to muster her words.
“You know, Diane. All of us—we aren’t the enemy. Does it help you to be so angry all the time? So cold?”
Virginia feels her temperature rising. This girl needs to leave.
“Even Louis says you’re different,” Sophie continues. “He says you aren’t the same woman he used to know.”
Virginia flinches. That hurts, especially because—in spite of his nightmares—Louis’s personality hasn’t changed. He’s the same bright young man with the same joie de vivre, yet she’s as old and hollow as the identity she has taken. Regardless, Sophie needs to respect Virginia’s authority.
“What do you want from me?” Virginia asks.
“Kindness,” Sophie says. “And maybe a bit of gratitude or praise.”
“Why do you seek my approval?”
“It isn’t about approval. It’s about simple human courtesy.”
“Really? Well, you know what I value? Discretion. A lack of excitability. Extreme care for the lives and safety of those who harbor agents like us.”
“I care about all those things.”
Unable to contain herself any longer, Virginia slams her fist on the dining table.
“You don’t!”
Virginia feels outside herself, watching, like an angel on one shoulder losing to the devil on the other. She knows her anger indulges a darkness that shouldn’t be given release, but she’s so tired, so tightly wound, so frustrated that she has no more control over her own temper than she has over the woman in front of her, she can’t help it.
“You parade around war zones like a schoolgirl on her way to meet her sweetheart on holiday,” Virginia says. “You gossip about me with other agents. You meet with Louis, endangering all of us over and over again. You have no self-control. No discipline.”
“No discipline? How dare you—you’ve no idea what I go without to travel all hours of the day and night. The danger I put myself in. The sleep I lose to keep you connected.”
“You aren’t special. That’s all of us. But all of us aren’t indulging in wartime romances while men atrophy in the woods, alone, like caged animals.”