“You will not leave. I forbid it,” Jacques answered adamantly. “I am your father and I will not allow you to go.”
Jean Pierre looked directly at Jacques. For the first time Jacques heard anger in his son’s voice. “You have nothing to say about it, Father,” Jean Pierre snapped. “I’m thirty-seven now, not the child you sent to Canada.”
Jacques looked at his son. “I love you,” he said. “I don’t want anything to hurt you.”
“And I love you, Father,” Jean Pierre said. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
For a moment they embraced, and then Jean Pierre spoke. “I have to be on my way, Father. The British are bringing a transport plane to take my intelligence group to London.”
17
Maurice awakened slowly from his nap at five-thirty. He rolled over on his bed and pressed the button on the night table to call the butler. By the time he had sat up and put the pillows behind his back, the butler was already there with the afternoon tea.
The butler placed the tray with its legs across his lap. Quickly he poured the tea in the cup and added a little milk. Then he took the sterling silver cover and lifted it off of the small plate of cookies.
“Merci,” Maurice said, and saw the note that had been left by the telephone. He sipped his tea for a moment and then gestured to the butler to call Jacques. He had already eaten the first cookie by the time the call went through.
“Why have you gone home so early?” he asked Jacques.
“I’ve invited Monsieur Weil, the banker, here for dinner. I thought it would be an appropriate time to rearrange our bank loans. Interest is still low and I know the rates will go higher now that the Germans are in Paris and Pétain is already negotiating an armistice with the Germans.” Jacques’s voice sounded depressed.
“And what did the Jew bastard say to that?” Maurice asked.
“He agreed with me,” Jacques said. “He also suggested that I borrow even more money.”
“That’s strange,” Maurice answered with curiosity. “Weil is never anxious to lend us more money. Usually we have to kiss his ass for it.”
“Monsieur Weil is worried. He has learned that the Nazis are already slaughtering the Jews in the other countries that they have occupied,” Jacques said. “Now that Pétain has capitulated and is begging Germany for an armistice, he is afraid that the Germans will destroy France like they have the other countries that they have been in. He is giving his best customers the opportunity to borrow more money.”
“Then what does he plan on doing, if he is frightened of the Germans? He’s not going to loan out all of his money. He is a Jew—he will keep plenty for himself,” Maurice said sarcastically.
“You’re smart, Father,” Jacques said. “Weil is smart as well; he has already sold his property in France. His family has been sent to Switzerland, and he has made a business partnership with a private Swiss bank. He plans to finish all of his business and will be in Geneva in two weeks.” Jacques laughed. “I thought he was nuts. France is not like other countries. The Germans have too much respect for the French.”
“He’s not that crazy, he’s a Jew,” Maurice said. “France was crazy to believe in Pétain. He gave the country away for free.”
“Are you afraid, Father?” Jacques asked. “Do you want to return to Paris?”
“I’m not that crazy,” Maurice answered. “I am safer here than in Paris. The Côte d’Azur will always be a recreation area. There’s no reason for a war to come here.”
Jacques paused for a moment. “Jean Pierre has gone to England with de Gaulle. He has promoted him to captain.”
Maurice laughed proudly. “The little son of a bitch is smarter than all of us. He will be important with de Gaulle, he speaks as the Americans do, and he will be a great asset to them. In time de Gaulle will become the savior of France and in time president.”
“But Jean Pierre hasn’t even stepped into the business world,” complained Jacques. “He’s spent his life just having a ball. He has fucked more men than I have ever dreamed.”
Maurice laughed out loud again. “You’re just jealous of your son. Now he’s a man. He sees into the future. He’s the new generation.”
“Damn!” Jacques swore. “And what generation are we?”
“The last generation,” Maurice answered. “It won’t be long until our generation will be a memory.”
18
Jean Pierre tasted his pastis, then held his glass to Louis, the lieutenant who shared the apartment. The officers had to share apartments because there was not enough space to house all of de Gaulle’s intelligence department. They had all cursed Pétain because he did not really like de Gaulle or his men and had made it very cramped and difficult for them. There were too many times that de Gaulle had disagreed with Pétain publicly. Now that de Gaulle had gone to Britain, Pétain called him a traitor for not supporting the armistice.
Louis tapped their glasses together in a toast. “Cheers,” he said. “I am sorry that I am not going to be with you.”
“That’s the luck of the draw,” Jean Pierre said. “You know how the names were called. You’ll make it on the second flight.”
“But I will not be with you,” Louis said, his voice breaking. “I love you, Jean Pierre, and I know that you will find another friend the minute you are away from me.”
“Louis, don’t be silly,” Jean Pierre answered. “You’re young, only twenty-two years old, and you have many years to be with me when we are in England.”
“You don’t love me the way that I love you.” Louis was already crying.
Jean Pierre reached out to Louis and stroked his chest. “Stop the tears. We still have time to love. I don’t have to be at the airfield until midnight.”
Louis kissed Jean Pierre on the lips and reached to open his trousers. Jean Pierre’s penis came out, already hard. Louis bent down and slowly spread his mouth over Jean Pierre’s throbbing penis and tried to swallow him completely.
“Slow down a minute,” Jean Pierre said huskily. “We might as well be comfortable. The bed is still here. Let’s take off our uniforms.”
“I love your cock!” Louis mumbled, his mouth already filled with saliva.
Jean Pierre pulled him toward the bed while Louis was trying to drop his trousers. He grabbed his derriere. “I want to fuck you, I don’t want to just come in your mouth. I want to be inside of you.”
Quickly, they got out of their clothes. Jean Pierre rolled Louis on his back. Jean Pierre reached over to his night table and took out a jar of Vaseline. With his fingers he smeared Louis’s anus with it and then covered his penis.
Louis moved up to Jean Pierre’s mouth, his tongue probing wildly. Then he whined like a cat as Jean Pierre shoved his penis deep inside of him. Slowly, Jean Pierre began to slide his penis in and out until he settled into a pulsating rhythm.
Jean Pierre reached down with his left hand and clasped Louis’s hard penis and held it close against his belly and felt the semen dripping from Louis’s penis between them.
“For God’s sake, come!” Louis gasped, grabbing Jean Pierre’s testicles and squeezing them.
Jean Pierre felt the orgasm tearing through his body. He lost his breath as he felt the semen pouring from him. “I can’t breathe!” he shouted.
“I felt the hot cum inside me,” Louis said, kissing Jean Pierre. “Now you will really have to marry me. I’m pregnant!”
Jean Pierre smiled, kissed him, and held him close to him. “You are my lover!” he said. Then he looked at Louis. Louis was already asleep. Jean Pierre smiled and closed his eyes.
19
Jean Pierre stretched as he looked at his wall clock. It was ten o’clock. It was almost time for him to get ready to leave. The telephone rang. He was curious. He wondered if de Gaulle had changed his plans.
Louis woke as Jean Pierre picked up the telephone. Jean Pierre recognized the voice. It was his father.
“Your grandfather is in the hospital at Sunny Bank. He has
had a stroke and the doctors think that he may not live twenty-four hours. He has begged that you come to his side.”
“Jesus,” Jean Pierre said to his father. “When did this happen? I know that you speak to each other every afternoon.”
“The butler found him on the floor when he went upstairs to take his dinner to him,” Jacques replied. “I already have two tickets for the Blue Train. It leaves here at midnight; we will be in Cannes by eight. I have already asked Robert to pick you up at your apartment and then take us to the station.”
“Father,” Jean Pierre said. “Have you forgotten that I am supposed to leave for London at midnight?”
“Your grandfather is more important. You just cannot go to London. Call your colonel, your superior officer. He is a Frenchman. He will understand the love of your grandfather.”
“Of course, Father,” Jean Pierre answered. “I will try and arrange it.” He hung up the phone and looked at Louis.
Louis looked solemn. He already knew what had happened. “Jean Pierre,” he said. “I am sorry about your grandfather. Perhaps I can take your place on the plane. Just give me your pass and I am sure that Colonel Nicol will understand the situation.”
Jean Pierre looked at the younger man. “You will do that for me?”
“I told you that I love you,” Louis said.
“You are wonderful, but why are you so sure that the colonel will agree with you?”
Louis laughed. “Maybe you’re more of a baby than I am. Colonel Nicol loves my cock and asshole more than anything.”
“You little bastard!” Jean Pierre laughed. “And I thought that I was your one and only true love.”
“You better hurry, Jean Pierre. Take your shower and I will repack your valise with civvies, because I understand that the whole German army vacations in Cannes. You will have to be careful,” Louis said.
“Okay, General,” Jean Pierre kidded. “I will straighten you out when I see you in London.”
20
Jean Pierre waited in the car while Robert went inside the house and came back with two valises. A moment later Jacques came down and quickly got in the automobile. He embraced Jean Pierre. “My son, my son,” he said in a husky voice.
Jean Pierre looked at his father. He had never seen his father so pale, his face so drawn. His eyes were still filled with tears. “Father,” he whispered as the car began to move out into the street. “Please, Father, try to remember, Grandpa is a very strong man and he will survive any illness.”
Jacques looked into his son’s face. “Your grandfather is over eighty-six years old. Time wears out even the strongest of men.”
Jean Pierre was silent as he looked at the busy crowds walking down the sidewalk. He took a deep breath. The people looked sad. Maybe all of France was depressed and ashamed because of the Germans’ easy victory over them. “Damn,” he muttered into the window.
“What did you say?” his father asked.
“I can’t believe it,” Jean Pierre said. “I should have gone on that flight tonight. Instead, I am on my way to the train going to Cannes.”
“I’m glad you didn’t take the plane,” Jacques said. He looked at his son. “You were able to get out of your flight with no problem?”
“My friend Louis took my place,” Jean Pierre said.
“So it was easy. And I thought that de Gaulle was very disciplined with his soldiers.” Jacques shrugged.
“It was Louis that called and explained the problem.” Jean Pierre smiled. “The colonel simply accepted the change.”
“You’re smiling.” Jacques looked at his son curiously. “There is something peculiar. I thought that Louis was your lover.”
“I, too, thought that he was my lover,” Jean Pierre answered, still smiling. “But I was wrong. He told me that he and the colonel have been lovers for many years, since he was sixteen.” He reached for a cigarette inside his coat pocket. “So, Papa, that is how I made it here so quickly.”
“Are you upset about this news?” Jacques asked.
Jean Pierre dragged at the cigarette. “No, Father. He’s still a chicken. I have had many like him before and there will be many others. C’est vrai, Papa.”
* * *
It was ten o’clock in the morning when the Blue Train moved into Cannes. Jean Pierre looked out from the window. He turned to his father. “The station is filthy, just like the train. Plus we’re late—it usually takes eight hours from Paris. Tonight it took almost ten hours.”
Jacques looked at his son. “Don’t be silly. The schedule is not controlled by the French Railroad anymore. It’s the Boche army. If you noticed, that is why we stopped six times for the German soldiers on the way from Paris.”
“There are no porters to help us with our valises,” Jean Pierre grumbled. “All the African porters have been taken by the Germans for slave labor. But we are not cripples, Papa. We can carry our own valises.”
“Stop grumbling,” Jacques said. “Just remember we’re Frenchmen, and we are alive. Now let’s look for Grandfather’s butler, Hugo. He said he will be at the street in front of the station until we come in.”
Hugo was there. Quickly he placed their valises in the front seat next to him in the Renault while Jacques and Jean Pierre climbed into the tight seat in the back.
Hugo called back to them. “We will go to the villa first so that you can both have a bath and breakfast. By the time you are ready I can take you to the hospital.”
“Why can’t we go to the hospital first?” Jacques asked anxiously.
“Sunny Bank does not allow visitors until eleven,” Hugo answered. “And also Dr. Guillemin wants to see you before you see your father.”
“It doesn’t sound good to me,” Jacques said with concern. “He is my father and we should have the right to see him whenever we want.”
“There is one more thing,” Hugo interrupted. “If he should become ill or have an accident, he has left a large legal envelope that the monsieur had a notaire prepare and deliver to you. I now have it in the small safe in my room. I will give it to you the moment we arrive at the villa.”
21
Jean Pierre showered and dressed and went to his father’s room. Jacques was already dressed and seated at the small desk near the window. He had already opened the large envelope and begun to read the letter his father had written and signed before the notaire.
Jean Pierre looked down at his father. Once again he saw his father’s face was drawn and pale, with the hint of tears. “Father,” he asked, “is there anything I can do to help you?”
Jacques shook his head. “No, nothing can help. Grandfather knows it all. He knows he will go and he has told me everything that he wants us to do.”
“He is very brave,” Jean Pierre said.
“First, he wants us to bring him to our farm in Plescassier and place him in the small family cemetery next to his father and his grandfather. Before he is buried, he wants us to give him a room at the Athenaeum in Cannes and all of his friends can come to visit him for the last time. Then on the third day, he has requested that we will all go to Plescassier and spend time remembering the love we all have for each other.”
Jacques read the last few lines of the letter out loud:
“I love you, Jacques, my son, and Jean Pierre, my grandson, and also Raymond, my grandson who has gone before me.
Au revoir, my children, when we will all once again be together.
Love from your loving father and grandfather, Maurice”
Jacques looked up at his son. This time they both felt the tears in their eyes. Again they embraced.
Then the telephone rang. It was Hugo. “Dr. Guillemin is downstairs in the library, messieurs.”
* * *
Dr. Guillemin was a young man, much to their surprise. They all shook hands. Jacques liked the doctor’s handshake. It was firm and strong. “I am surprised, Doctor. You’re younger than I expected.”
Dr. Guillemin smiled. “I was four years as a resident in
neurosurgery at the Hospital de Lyons. Then I was ordered here as captain in the Army Medical Corps. Now since the surrender, I have heard nothing from Pétain’s headquarters. I have accepted the offer from two hospitals in Cannes and I was allowed to open my own office and practice.”
Jean Pierre nodded. “I am not surprised that you have not heard from General Pétain’s headquarters, and I guarantee that you will never hear from him. If you still want to join with the French, please, get in touch with me in General de Gaulle’s office in London. He has formed the Free French Army.”
The doctor seemed not to be interested in Jean Pierre’s suggestion. “At the moment,” he said, “I want to bring you up to date on your father’s condition.” He looked directly at Jacques as he spoke. “The butler, Hugo, found him on the floor beside his bed. Brilliantly, Hugo called the ambulance right away and had him taken to the hospital. If he had touched your father, he might have perished before we got him to the hospital. The hospital called me after your father had been brought in. I examined your father quickly and realized that there was a purple clot from the top of his head to his right cheekbone. His pulse was weak, and his breathing was labored. He asked me to please contact you and your son. I immediately put him on oxygen and then called the technician to do an X ray of his skull. By this photograph, we observed he was hemorrhaging in his brain. The carotid artery was torn and was bleeding like a waterfall. Then there were three other supporting blood arteries that had also torn apart. Your father is in a coma right now. He may awake for a few minutes, but we don’t know. But I can tell you that there is no medicine that will help him. Anything that I might give him would only bring more damage. All I can suggest is that we pray that he does not have to live with pain.”
“My grandfather can overcome anything. He will come out of this, too,” Jean Pierre said, almost pleading with the doctor.
Dr. Guillemin stared at him. “Only by the grace of God. There has been significant damage.”
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