Hélène didn't need to see her head to recognize Michelle. Her unmistakable tublike shape was backed against the wall beside the kitchen door. Hélène was puzzled by something, and then it came to her. Uncharacteristically, Michelle's hands were folded behind her back. Michelle always had her hands at her hips, never behind her back.
Hélène shifted her gaze to the right. She caught sight of Antoinette lying on the floor. As she watched, a shiny boot stepped on her. She winced as the porcelain face so dear to her shattered with a crunch. Then the boot kicked at the pieces, scattering them.
Suddenly Hélène heard a stilted Boche voice speaking awkward French, so she moved again to peer out in Maman's direction. She was speaking to one of the Germans dressed in black, but her voice was too low to carry. Suddenly there was a resounding slap. Maman's torso jerked as she screamed out in pain.
Edmond recognized Maman's scream. With a strangled cry of rage he started to reach for the dumbwaiter doors to jump out and protect her.
Catherine sucked in her breath and dug her fingernails deep into his arm. 'Didn't you hear what Maman and Michelle said?' she hissed at him. 'We're to take care of the little ones! Or do you want to have all of us killed?'
He settled back stiffly and let out an angry sigh. Catherine was right. Maman and Michelle had given explicit orders.
The Nazi asked something else, again in French. His accent was so bad Hélène had to strain her ears to understand.
'Jacqueline Junot,' she heard Maman reply.
'What?' the sharp voice snapped. 'I can't hear you. Louder!'
'Jacqueline Junot!' Maman yelled back at him. 'Jacqueline Junot!'
'Don't you dare raise your voice at an officer of the Reich!' the Boche barked. There was a crack as another slap rang out. Maman's cry for help was lost in her scream.
'What did you say?' the Boche asked.
'N-nothing,' Maman said in a trembling voice.
'So. . .' The Nazi voice took on a tone of satisfaction. 'Now are you ready to talk?'
'Yes,' Maman said in a hoarse whisper. 'Yes.'
'Then where is the transmitter?'
'Transmitter?' Maman asked. 'I don't know what you mean. What on earth—'
Smack! Yet another resounding slap rang out, this time much harder and louder. Maman moaned and tumbled to the floor, not more than four feet in front of the dumbwaiter. Hélène could see all of her now. She was doubled over on her knees, her head touching the floor. Hélène knew she was in great pain. Her face was flushed. She coughed and vomited, her nose and mouth pouring blood. In shame she turned her face away from the dumbwaiter. Hélène's stomach wrenched in sorrow for her. Above all, Maman would never have wanted her children to witness her humiliation.
The Boche moved toward Maman where she cowered. From Hélène's vantage point all she could see were boots and black breeches standing over her. He made a production of clearing his throat. 'About this transmitter. . .'
'I don't know what you're talking about!' Maman cried, her voice gurgling from the blood in her mouth. 'I swear I don't know!
'Liar!' One of the boots flashed as it kicked out at her, catching her in the belly. An agonized, bile-filled scream reverberated around the room and into the confines of the dumbwaiter. Edmond covered his ears with his hands. He was sobbing quietly.
Hélène closed her eyes. She couldn't bear looking at Maman anymore. Maman had drawn herself up as tightly as she could, her arms wrapped protectively around her swollen belly, around the baby boy or baby girl who was shortly to arrive.
'Maman,' Hélène whispered painfully without making a sound. 'What are they going to do to you, Maman?'
A Boche issued a command. Curious, Hélène opened her eyes. Instantly the soldiers in gray split into four groups. The thuds of their boots echoed clearly as they stomped up the stairs and down into the cellar. Hélène heard doors banging, and then there was a crash as glass shattered. Their voices were muffled as they smashed furniture and tore the house apart. A tremendous crash from above shook the whole house.
'We're going to die,' Hélène whimpered.
'Keep quiet!' Catherine whispered.
It seemed to go on forever. Then someone yelled from the top of the stairs. The Nazi who stood over Maman squatted, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled her head up a foot.
'You fool!' he laughed at her. 'They've already found it. Was it worth it to hold out on the Gestapo? Was it?'
Maman drew back and winced. Then he spat in her face. Hélène saw her grimace and blink as the spittle hit her and ran down her cheek. He let go of her hair and her head dropped back onto the carpet. But not before Hélène caught a glimpse of his face under the visor of his peaked cap.
She stared at him incredulously. His face was as lean and narrow as a skull, with lips that were thin and cruel and bloodless. A tiny crescent-shaped scar stood out on his cleft chin. But it was his coloring that left her in shock. His skin was as pale as a corpse's, while his eyes were hideously pink. If he'd had horns, he would have looked like the devil himself.
He got to his feet, straightened his tunic, and went upstairs. Hélène felt a wave of relief when he had gone. Somehow she was more terrified of his ugliness than of his cruelty. Two soldiers in gray came and stood guard over
Maman. Each time she moved as much as a finger they swiftly delivered her a vicious kick.
Hélène shifted position and peered toward Michelle. She hadn't moved from the kitchen door. There was a grim expression on her moon face, and her arms were still behind her back.
She heard the thuds of many boots coming down the stairs. They were all returning to the dining room. Apparently they had found what they'd been looking for. One of the soldiers carried it downstairs. It was a bulky, complicated-looking metal box covered with little dials and switches. Hélène had never seen it before.
The sinister, white-faced Boche gestured to the men standing guard over Maman. 'Show her how we punish liars and traitors,' he said in an authoritative voice. 'And when you're through, take her to headquarters!' Then he left the room, the back of one gloved hand tucked into the small of his erect back.
The guards clicked their heels. 'Zu befehl!' they chorused. Then they glanced down at Maman. She was silent, but her eyes were wary. Two of the soldiers bent over and pulled her to her feet. She stood swaying unsteadily. As Hélène watched, one of the Boches in black approached her and made a fist. Suddenly he slammed it into her belly.
'Traitor!' he shouted.
Maman let out a wrenching scream and collapsed. 'My baby!' she screamed. 'I'm losing my baby!' Tears were pouring down her cheeks.
Again the fist punched into her belly. Again she screamed. Hélène was filled with a murderous hatred.
Suddenly she noticed movement by the kitchen door. With the stealth of a huge cat, Michelle crept forward toward the soldiers. One of her fat red hands moved slowly from behind her back, and Hélène's eyes caught some¬thing flashing—a kitchen knife. It was the longest and sharpest one in the house.
With a cry Michelle dived forward upon the nearest Boche and plunged the knife into his back. He let out a howl and sank to his knees. Blood spewed from his gaping mouth and his eyes widened as if in surprise. Then they froze in a glassy, unseeing expression. He pitched forward, and Hélène saw that the knife was buried in his spine. The dark brown haft still quivered.
The others faced Michelle with a mixture of shock and surprise. One of them pointed his rifle at her. Instinctively she raised her hands out in front of her. There was an orange flash and the room seemed to explode. Michelle was jerked backward against the kitchen wall. Then, like a limp puppet, she slid downward into a ludicrous sitting position. In her lap, a large red spot was forming. Her glazed eyes seemed to stare straight through the knothole at Hélène.
Angry Nazi hands clawed at Maman and dragged her outside to the trucks. She was hunched over, her face smeared with blood. Suddenly Hélène noticed that her gray-stockinged legs were stained with blood too
. Twice she tripped and fell to her knees, and each time she was pulled along and kicked.
'Vive la France!' Maman shouted with a last surge of strength. 'Vive la Republique!' The brave words echoed gloriously into the street like a forbidden song. Even in the confines of the dumbwaiter, the cowering children heard it clearly. Then there was a moment's heavy silence before the motors of the car and trucks roared to life and drove off.
Two soldiers, however, still remained in the room to guard the house and wait for a detail to clear away the bodies. They had taken off their helmets and leaned their rifles against the kitchen doorframe beside Michelle.
One of them struck a match and lit a cigarette. The other was talking in moody tones. Cursing, he kicked at a chair and it overturned.
It was then that Marie started crying.
The soldier who had kicked the chair turned and listened. Then he walked over to the dumbwaiter. Hélène's view from the knothole went dark. Suddenly the doors flew open with a clatter and blinding light streamed in.
2
They blinked in the sudden light.
'Ach, seh' mal was ich hier gefunden habe!' the soldier called out. His face was a shadow against the bright room behind him. He turned toward his partner and gestured him over.
Edmond and Hélène huddled closer to Catherine. They clung together like frightened puppies who had been abandoned. Hélène could feel Catherine's shivers. Eyes downcast, she was holding Marie tightly against her breast. Marie's cries were louder now, and Hélène could see her squirm fitfully.
The second soldier came over and peered in for a moment. Then he grunted, and there was the scraping of a match. In the flickering light Hélène saw both of the Boches' faces clearly, their lips spread in hungry grins. Their eyes ignored her, Edmond, and Marie, staring greedily at
Catherine with the same look Hélène had seen on children eyeing the cakes in the windows of the neighborhood patisserie. Catherine, though the oldest of them, suddenly looked the most helpless and frightened. Her lips were tense, her brown eyes wide and wary.
'You,' the second soldier said to her in bad French. 'You come out from in there.'
Catherine looked up at him but did not move. She stayed cowering as the children clutched each other tighter than ever.
'You!' the soldier said in a cold voice. 'Do I have to pull you out?'
Trembling, Catherine solemnly handed Marie over to Hélène. Then without a word she pushed Edmond aside and slid slowly out of the dumbwaiter. Clumsily she stumbled onto her knees.
'Ah-hah!' the Boche exclaimed, leering at her with appreciation while, like a shark, he slowly circled his prey.
The other soldier threw the remains of his cigarette on the carpet, carelessly ground it out with the heel of his boot, and looked at his comrade with a hard expression. 'Ich gehe zuerst,' he announced with finality. For emphasis he poked a thumb toward his chest.
The other one vehemently shook his head. 'Nein! Ich habe Sie von dort 'raus gebracht!' He gestured toward the dumbwaiter.
Still on her knees, Catherine stole a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes met Hélène's. Her lips were pressed tightly together and her body had gone limp. Hélène had seen that look far too often on the streets—the look of defeat.
Ashamed, Catherine turned away from her and looked toward the stiff, awkwardly seated Michelle. Hélène looked too. The blood that stained the front of Michelle's dress with a huge maroon splotch had already coagulated. A horrible nausea swept over Hélène and she looked quickly away.
The Boches' arguing had now turned to grumbling. One fished in his pocket and took out a leather change purse. He unzipped it, poked through it, and extracted a coin. Going through a weird ritual, he rubbed it, kissed it, and tossed it high into the air. It spun and flashed and then fell. Expertly he caught it with a swift downward motion of his hand and slapped it onto his wrist.
They both peered closely at it. The Boche who had won Catherine grinned widely. The other one mumbled sourly.
The victor carefully replaced the coin in his change purse and put it back in his pocket. Then he bent down and grabbed Catherine by the shoulders of her coat. With one swift movement he jerked her to her feet.
'A pretty young thing,' he said in his bad French. 'Well, we will soon see just how pretty you really are. Probably too skinny.' He made a face. 'All French are too skinny.' He patted one of her cheeks with his big hand.
Instinctively Catherine flinched and pulled away.
Amusement glinted in his eyes. 'She's a virgin,' he said to the other Boche. 'I can always tell. A nice sweet virgin. Really nothing like it.'
The other shrugged. 'I've had virgins,' he replied in equally weak French. 'No big deal.'
Hélène exchanged glances with Edmond. 'What are they going to do?'
Edmond's eyes were cold as he looked at her. 'Do not be afraid,' he whispered in a voice far more mature than his years.
She nodded solemnly. 'I'll try not to be.'
There was a shout from across the room. 'Silence!'
Hélène jumped. Edmond gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and smiled. But she noticed that his eyes were not smiling.
At the other side of the room, the Boche had stuck his face close to Catherine's. 'It is not every day a man finds for himself a virgin, is it?' he taunted in a loud voice.
Suddenly he let out a shriek, spun Catherine around, and threw her away from him. With a thud she landed against the edge of the dining-room table. Her hair was hanging over her face and she was gasping for air.
The Boche cursed and gingerly touched his lower lip. It was bleeding. He glanced at his finger, grunted, and wiped the blood on his thigh.
The other Boche giggled hysterically. 'Mensch,' he called out. 'Kannst Du nicht einmal ein Madchen handeln?'
The bitten one glared at him. 'Halt's maul!' he snarled. Then he lunged savagely at Catherine. His hands tore at her coat and pulled it off.
'No!' Catherine screamed. 'Oh, please God, no!'
The Boche grinned and licked his lips. Catherine backed against the table, her steepled fingers held pleadingly out in front of her as if in prayer. Hélène could hear fabric ripping as he tore the dress Maman had sewn for her. Buttons popped and bounced on the tabletop. The dress fell around Catherine's ankles.
'Please,' Catherine whimpered. 'Please. . .'
Something else ripped; her brassiere. Desperately she held on to it, but it was torn out of her grasp. Protectively her hands flew up to cover her small breasts.
'Please. . .please don't,' she begged in a low voice.
'Quiet!' There was a sharp report as he slapped her across the face. She recoiled as if stung. Then she curled her fingers into claws, and with a cry of rage she fiercely swiped his cheeks with her nails. Almost instantly four red streaks seeped to the surface.
'Verdammt!' Hélène heard him curse under his breath. Then more slaps rang out as he flung her onto the tabletop. Catherine kicked and squirmed as he pulled her wool stockings and panties down to her ankles. She was naked now, her tears streaming. He grabbed her and yanked her off the table. She struggled to get her footing, tripped on the garments collected around her ankles, and fell headfirst to the carpet. Not wasting a second, the Boche loosened his pants and pounced on her.
3
A searing rage tore at Hélène's stomach. She had never known hatred, but she had her first taste of it that afternoon as her sister was spread-eagled to the floor, a Nazi pinning her down. Nausea rose from her churning stomach to her throat like gaseous fire, and it took everything in her to swallow and hold it down.
'No,' Catherine gasped. 'No!' Her firm, boyish breasts rose and fell with each terrified breath.
'Let her go!' Hélène suddenly screamed.
Amused, the soldiers glanced toward the dumbwaiter and grinned. Then the one holding Catherine down by the wrists glanced at her groin. She tried to raise her hands, but her strength was no match for his. Her wrists were held down firmly, and her arms only redden
ed and trembled uselessly under the pressure. She bit her lips in pain.
'Mensch, mach's schnell!' the watching soldier snapped impatiently.
The Boche atop Catherine ignored him.
Edmond almost imperceptibly nudged Hélène and slowly glanced toward the kitchen door. She followed his gaze. Surely Edmond didn't expect her to stare at Michelle. No, there must be something else. Something very important. . .Then she understood. Beside Michelle, the soldiers' rifles were propped against the doorframe. She glanced back toward her brother. Their eyes met grimly, and she nodded ever so slightly. Even without speaking she knew what they had to do. Carefully she set Marie down on the dumbwaiter floor. Then they awaited their opportunity.
The Boche pinioning Catherine to the floor placed his groin close to her and with one vicious thrust of his body entered her. Catherine's drawn-out scream seemed to hang in the air forever. For one long, agonized moment her back arched and Hélène was certain her sister was going to throw him off, but after a moment Catherine slumped back wearily, horrible sobbing sounds escaping through her teeth.
Hélène shared in Catherine's humiliation and pain. So did Edmond. He sucked in his breath sharply. 'Soon,' his lips mouthed soundlessly. 'Soon.'
Hélène answered with a blink.
Flesh slapped obscenely against flesh while Catherine tossed her head from side to side in agony, horrible grimaces deeply etched on her face. The eyes of the other soldier were fixed on the rape taking place at his feet. He undid his belt and let his pants drop around his boots in anticipation of his own turn.
Edmond nudged Hélène. It was time. She watched as he hopped soundlessly out of the dumbwaiter. He waited a second and glanced cautiously at the men. They were too intent on Catherine to notice. Like a crab, Edmond scuttled behind the dining-room table and motioned Hélène to follow.
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