by Martin Lake
There were half a dozen women standing in the shade of the church, guarded by three men with rifles. Sylvie was one of them.
She pushed past the guards and embraced Viviane. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
Viviane shook her head. She could not speak.
‘This one’s the last,’ the librarian said.
A thick-set man nodded and gestured to the guards. ‘Then let’s begin,’ he said.
The women were herded down the steps into the open space on the other side of the church. Despite the hot sun beating down on them, many shivered, although not from cold.
Three men sat at a table, with papers stacked in front of them. The women were paraded in front of them. One of the men, a failing notary by the name of Albert Mignard, read out the charges. They were all identical. Sleeping with the enemy.
Sylvie and Viviane were the last two in line. A man pushed Sylvie forward. She stared at Mignard with a look of defiance. Unlike with the others, he refused to look her in the face.
‘Guilty,’ he said, although more quietly than before.
‘But I’ll still see you later, as usual?’ Sylvie said, loudly. ‘Just after lunch, when your wife takes her nap?’
Several people in the crowd began to laugh but a glance from the men guarding the women soon put an end to it. Mignard gestured for her to be taken away.
A guard thrust Viviane in front of the tribunal.
‘Sleeping with the enemy,’ Mignard said.
‘Who accuses me?’ Viviane demanded.
The three men looked disconcerted by the question and began to glance at the papers.
‘Who accuses me?’ she repeated.
‘I do,’ came a voice from the crowd.
Odette stepped forward and folded her arms. ‘I accuse the whore of sleeping with the German Colonel.’
Viviane stared at her in horror. They had never got on but surely she could not be this cruel?
A long hiss came from the crowd. A stone skittered at Viviane’s feet and then another. Gerard was not the only man in the town who had been frustrated by her lack of interest in them. A few more men picked up stones.
‘We should stop them,’ Lieutenant Johnson said.
Captain Dunkley shook his head. ‘We’ve had our orders. The French must deliver their own justice. It’s not our affair.’
‘But the girl might be stoned.’
‘I don’t believe so.’
He was right. The half dozen men who had picked up stones to throw at Viviane found themselves the focus of hundreds of angry eyes from the crowd, men as well as women. The square fell silent and then came the pitter-patter of the stones being dropped.
‘She’s still guilty,’ Odette said. She banged herself on the chest. ‘And I say this, who am her sister.’
The crowd stared at her. Few were taken in by her charade.
‘Guilty,’ Mignard cried, eager to defuse the situation.
But Viviane turned to the waiting crowd, her eyes bright with anger.
‘How dare you?’ she cried. ‘Am I to be condemned because I chose to survive? Chose to protect my daughter?’
The crowd stared at her sullenly. A stone hit her on the head.
She bent immediately and flung it back.
‘Or is it because I chose to protect a Jewish child who many of you would have betrayed? Yes, I slept with a German. And I’m proud I did. Because I did it to save a little boy’s life.’
The crowd fell utterly silent.
Then Dubois walked towards her, seized her arm and marched her off to join the other women. There were eight of them. None had been able to answer the accusation. No one stepped forward to speak in their defence.
Three chairs were placed in the middle of the square and three women were forced to sit on them. Three men approached, scissors in hand, and began to hack at the women’s hair.
The women bent their heads in shame. Most of the crowd began to cheer at the sight of the locks drifting to the ground but many were subdued and silent.
Three more women were given the same treatment. Then it was the turn of Sylvie and Viviane.
Sylvie glanced at the man behind her chair and smiled. ‘It’s nice to have it short for the summer,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I’ll get you to style it when autumn comes.’ A ripple of laughter came from the crowd.
Viviane was pushed into the chair. She was silent. She could see only two things. One was her sister who wore a look of triumph. The other was the priest who stood in the church doorway, looking anguished and powerless.
She felt the scissors shearing her hair, felt the locks falling past her face. She refused to lower her head in shame.
Then she heard a voice beside her. ‘Cut mine, you bastards.’ The accent sounded more American than she had ever heard before.
She turned and saw Dorothy standing beside her. Behind her, the men from the tribunal rose and shook their heads, gesturing the men with the scissors not to move.
Dorothy snatched the scissors from one of them and began to hack at her own hair. She had sheared most of it before Viviane cried out in anguish.
‘You and me, baby,’ Dorothy said. ‘You and me.’
She continued to hack.
‘She’s American,’ Johnson breathed.
Dunkley didn’t reply but gunned his jeep into life, sweeping into the square.
‘Enough he bellowed. Enough.’
Dorothy stared at him. ‘The cavalry,’ she said. ‘But not quite in the nick of time.’
AFTERMATH
Grasse, 1945
General Charles de Gaulle was now head of the French Government. He swiftly ordered an end to summary executions and all other punishments but some women still experienced surreptitious beatings or worse.
Roland was convinced that those who were most active in acts of retribution were collaborators themselves, attempting to hide the fact with their fervour in dealing out punishment.
He still shared his house with Odette but refused to speak with her.
Viviane wanted to return home, wanted to be reunited with Alain. But Roland advised her against it. Emotions were still running too hot.
It took months for Viviane and Dorothy’s hair to grow respectable again.
Dorothy insisted that Viviane and the children stay with her and Marie at least until Christmas was over. Food was more plentiful now that the German army had retreated and Dorothy made the most of the fact. They enjoyed the best Christmas since the war had begun.
On the last day of the year, Dorothy took Viviane into the dining room and poured two large glasses of cognac.
She seemed almost embarrassed as she gave one to Viviane.
‘I’m going to leave for the States once there are ships available for civilians,’ she said. ‘I’m taking Marie with me. She’ll love Hollywood.’ She took Viviane’s hand. ‘And I’d like you and the kids to come with me.’
Viviane was speechless at the offer but she shook her head. ‘I can’t Dorothy. I’ve got to wait for Alain to return. The children and I miss him dreadfully.’
On New Year’s Day Roland called on them.
‘I think Hitler’s goose is cooked,’ Dorothy said as she poured him a drink. ‘The end of the war’s in sight.’
‘I think so too,’ Roland said. ‘Things are getting back to normal. And that’s one of the reasons I’m here.’
He looked at Viviane. ‘I’ve decided to leave Odette. I cannot forgive her for what she did to you.’
‘So will Odette go back to Maman?’ she asked.
Roland shook his head. ‘She refuses to do so. She’d consider it capitulation. Besides, I have too many unhappy memories of our house to wish to stay there. I shall move out.’
‘But where will you go?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I was wondering if I could stay in your house.’
Viviane gave a tiny smile and nodded. ‘I was planning to return soon, anyway.’
‘Then I can be your lodger,’ Roland said, his
voice betraying his relief. ‘I have a little camp bed I can set up downstairs.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Viviane said. ‘I’ll feel safe if you’re around.’
She moved out of the villa at the end of the month. Roland had already moved into her house. She was amused and pleased that he had used neither her nor the children’s room even when he was alone in the house. His camp bed was tucked away in the corner with a few sparse belongings on a table beside it. Her bedroom was exactly as she had left it, more than a year before.
The people of Grasse were not exactly as they had been when she had left them. Now they were like strangers to her.
Some sought to befriend her because she had protected a little Jewish boy. Other shunned her because of it.
As much as possible she kept to herself.
On the eighth of May, Germany surrendered. The war in Europe was over.
Dorothy called at Viviane’s house a few days later. She gave Celeste and David a chocolate bar to share and then took Viviane’s hand. Her eyes were wet with tears.
‘Marie and I are going to Le Havre to make the crossing to the US,’ she said. ‘There are berths on the ship still available. We’d love it if you and the kids came with us. I’ll pay for you.’
Viviane burst into tears. ‘That’s such a generous offer, Dorothy. But my home is here. And so is my husband. I’ve got to wait for Alain. Who knows, maybe when he returns, we’ll all come to join you.’
A sudden desire to do so came over her. She had lost all love for Grasse and no longer felt at home here. Maybe it would be good to make a new life in America.
‘When Alain returns, we’ll see.’ She embraced Dorothy tightly. ‘I’ll never be able to repay you for what you did,’ she whispered.
‘We all pay our debts in the coin of love,’ Dorothy said. ‘That’s more than enough for me.’
She ruffled the children’s hair, turned and left.
Spring went by and summer came. But still Alain did not return.
Viviane spent long months scanning reports of members of the Resistance who had been killed or wounded. Alain’s name was not among them. Finally, she decided to go to Nice to try to find out for herself.
It took her days to track down Gabriel Chiappe. He was doing very well for himself; he liked Nice and was now a big boss here.
He made her very welcome and immediately asked how Alain was.
‘That’s why I’m here,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d know where he is.’
He looked anguished and shook his head. ‘But he returned home to you. Eighteen months ago.’
She stared at him speechless.
Chiappe’s mouth moved but he could find no words. A look of heartfelt pity came to his face and he reached out and held her hand. It was answer enough.
Viviane began to sob, soundlessly, but with terrible anguish.
She did not know how she managed the journey back to Grasse.
She stood outside her house for a while, summoning up the courage to go in. She went into the empty room. She picked up a picture of Alain from the sideboard.
Holding it very carefully, she hung it on the place where the picture of Maréchal Pétain used to hang.
Life in Grasse began to grow normal again. Roland met a young widow and they decided to get married. The woman insisted that he move out of Viviane’s house and he lodged with his old friend Lassals until the wedding.
Without him the house seemed even emptier. If it were not for the need to put a bright face on things, Viviane would have fallen into despair.
At the beginning of July there came a knock on the door.
Viviane’s heart leapt as it did every time this happened. Every time she thought it would be Alain, knocking as a joke, to surprise her at his return.
She opened the door. It was Roland. Beside him was a young woman. She was gaunt and frail-looking. Her arms were as thin as sticks and the skin stretched tight against her skull.
‘I’ve come back for him,’ she said, quietly.
Viviane shook her head in confusion.
‘For my son,’ the woman continued. ‘I’m David’s mother.’
Viviane stared at her, unable to speak.
‘I’ve been in the death-camps,’ the woman said. ‘But I survived.’
Viviane felt the ground sway beneath her feet. This could not be happening. She had lost her husband. Was she now about to lose David?
Then she took a deep breath, one so deep and terrible she shuddered with its fury.
‘Come in,’ she said, finally. ‘We can both get him ready to go with you.’
It took only a quarter of an hour to gather together David’s possessions. A woman from the Red Cross took them out to a waiting car.
David looked at his mother in confusion. He could recognise her voice, just about, but she looked like a stranger. He clung to Viviane’s skirt until she gently unlocked his fingers.
‘This is your real Maman,’ she said. ‘She’s come to take you home.’
David looked up at her. ‘But this is my home.’ He began to weep.
Viviane hugged him tightly. ‘Your home is with your Maman,’ she said. ‘But I’ll always be here, my darling. And if your Maman lets you, then you can come back to see Celeste and me.’
She straightened up and gazed into the woman’s eyes. Both knew that this could never happen.
Rachael held out her hand for David’s and grasped it tight. She turned and headed for the car but then stopped and came back. She did not speak but she reached out and touched Viviane on the arm. Her hand was thin and bony, almost like a claw. But it pulsed with warmth and life.
Viviane watched until the car had disappeared from sight.
She looked at Celeste who was sitting on the ground weeping. She pulled her to her feet and held her tight.
‘David won’t forget us,’ she whispered. ‘And we’ll never forget him.’
Nor Alain, she thought. Nor Ernst.
And then she smiled. And nor her very good friend, Dorothy.
CHARACTERS IN CRY OF THE HEART
Viviane Renaud
Alain Renaud
Celeste Renaud
Rachael Klein
David Klein
Marthe Loubet, Viviane’s mother
Georges Loubet, Viviane’s father
Odette Boyer, Viviane’s husband
Capitaine Roland Boyer, Odette’s husband
Gerard Pithou, Alain’s friend, member of the Milice
Jeanne Greuze, Odette’s gossipy friend
Sylvie Duchamp, Viviane’s friend
Monique Duchamp, Sylvie’s daughter
Madame Canet, shopkeeper
Monsieur Blanche, baker
Gendarme Raoul Villiers
Sergeant Henri Lassals
Dorothy Pine
Marie Robinne, Dorothy’s maid
Yvonne Robinne, her mother
Lucile Arnauld, Dorothy’s cook
Pierre Sorel, Dorothy’s handyman
Isabelle Blois, cafe owner
Maxime Blois, her husband
Theo Joubert, Alain’s older friend
Sergei Guizot, hotel owner in Marseille
Gabriel Chiappe, Marseille criminal and friend of Alain
Le Taureau, Marseille criminal boss
Capitano Emilio Marinelli, Italian Army
Oberst Ernst Weiser, German Wehrmacht
Major Otto Mundt, Wehrmacht
General Johannes Blaskowitz, Wehrmacht
Private Wilhelm Ferber
Private Alphonse Dahn
Gestapo Kriminaldirektor Heinrich Schorn
Gestapo Kriminalinspektor Karl Buchner
Gestapo operative Ludwig Gort
Admiral Carlo Leonetti
Père Benoît, Capuchin monk
Brother Lawrence, a young monk
Angelo Donati, Member of the Jewish Resistance
Captain Tom Dunkley, US Army
Lieutenant Niall Johnson, US Army
THAN
KS AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you for buying Cry of the Heart. I hoped you enjoyed it,
No book is solely the work of the writer. It needs inspiration and nurturing, as does, often, the writer.
This book is inspired by the story of a Jewish friend. His mother was being hunted by the Nazis through the streets of Antwerp and she gave her tiny child to a stranger to hide. It was a terrible and desperate decision for her. I was intrigued by the woman who risked everything, including her own liberty and life, to take in and protect a little child.
In the writing of this book I have had the unstinting support of my wife, Janine, who also read it and gave me many points and suggestions. I ever grateful for all she does.
Some members of my writing group were also kind enough to read early drafts of the novel and make suggestions, improvement and point out the errors I had missed. So a big thank-you to Shirley Medhurst, Charlie Baddeley and Heather Lounsbury. Historical novelist Carol M. Cram gave generous and unstinting advice in the final draft of the novel. Any mistakes still remaining after this are solely down to me.
Finally, I must pay tribute to all the courageous people who risked everything to protect children and others in the terrible trauma of the Second World War. Some of them figure in this book, others are fictional and can only represent the unknown saviours of so many people.
The recommendations and comments of readers make all the difference to the success of a book. I would be very grateful if you could spread the word about the book amongst your friends.
It would also be a great help if you could spend a few moments writing a review and posting it on the site where you purchased the book, Goodreads or any other forum you are active in.
To post a review on Amazon please click, tap or paste here: viewauthor.at/MartinLake
OTHER BOOKS BY MARTIN LAKE
Here are some other books which you may wish to take a look at.
A Love Most Dangerous. Her beauty was a blessing…and a dangerous burden, As a Maid of Honor at the Court of King Henry VIII, beautiful Alice Petherton receives her share of admirers. But when the powerful, philandering Sir Richard Rich attempts to seduce her, she knows she cannot thwart his advances for long. She turns to the most powerful man in England for protection: the King himself.