Sins

by Gould, Judith

  'I have given Monsieur Peguy my answer,' Tante Janine said. 'I have accepted his proposal.'

  Hélène looked at her in horror. Abruptly she got to her feet.

  'Where are you going?' Tante Janine demanded. 'I haven't dismissed you yet.'

  'I. . .I don't feel well, Tante Janine,' she stammered.

  She started to leave the room. In her hurry she overturned her chair. It fell on its side with a clatter. Quickly she bent over and righted it. When she rose, her eyes met Pierre's. He had been staring at her derriere. She shivered. She didn't like the look in his eyes.

  It was the same look the Boche had given Catherine.

  Hélène awoke sometime during the night of Tante Janine's marriage. The room was dark. Pierre and Tante Janine were still up. She could hear mumbled snatches of their conversation coming from the next room. She frowned sleepily. Somehow it did not sound like the type of things that were said on a wedding night.

  'Of course there's a house,' Tante Janine was saying.

  'You're sure. . .this?' Pierre asked.

  'Absolutely. In Mont. . .'

  The conversation was lost on Hélène. They were talking about a house in Mont Something-or-other. Montlucon? Montlivault? She yawned and dismissed it from her mind. A moment later she turned over. She was fast asleep again.

  When she awakened in the morning the sun shone brightly through the window. She sat up, yawned noisily, and stretched. Then quickly she got dressed and went downstairs. She paused at the foot of the stairs and looked around the kitchen. Pierre was sitting hunched over the table, sipping steaming coffee out of a big enamel mug. Monsieur Champagne, the cat, sat alertly on a cold portion of the big stove, intently watching Tante Janine scrambling eggs, his pink nose sniffing the air. The kitchen smelled deliciously of frying ham.

  Hélène's mouth watered. Perhaps marriage had softened Tante Janine, she thought hopefully. She had certainly never cooked such lavish breakfasts before. Usually there was only bread, accompanied by the weak coffee into which they dipped pieces of it. Or, in especially cold weather, hot oatmeal. But today even the coffee smelled strong and delicious.

  'Bonjour,' Hélène said. She covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. 'It smells good.'

  Tante Janine grunted but didn't turn around.

  Hélène went over to the table and pulled out a chair. As the sat down, she stubbed her toe on something. She looked under the table. It was a suitcase. 'Is someone traveling?' she asked in a surprised voice.

  Pierre looked up at her for a long moment. 'I am,' he said hoarsely. Then his eyes fell back to his coffee.

  'Where are you going?'

  'Paris.'

  'Paris!' Hélène's eyes lit up.

  'That's enough!' Tante Janine snapped. She turned around from the stove and flashed Pierre an angry look. 'It's none of the girl's business!'

  He shrugged and sipped noisily at his coffee. A moment later, Tante Janine put an enamel plate down in front of him. On it were eggs and ham and bread. Greedily he picked up his fork and began to eat.

  'You get yours later,' Tante Janine told Hélène. 'He's got a train to catch.'

  Pierre returned from Paris on the afternoon train eight days later. Hélène and Tante Janine were hoeing the ground near the gate when a car pulled up. They stopped working and watched as Pierre stumbled out, paid the driver, and unsteadily lugged his suitcase toward the house.

  Tante Janine sensed that something was wrong. Stiffly she put down her hoe and wiped a strand of hair away from her eyes. Then she walked up to him and gripped his arm. 'Why didn't you walk from the station?' she hissed.

  He looked at her with puffy red eyes. 'I didn't feel like it,' he growled. He laughed when he saw her expression. 'Don't worry! We can afford it. We're rich now!'

  'You've been drinking!' she accused contemptuously. 'I should never have allowed you to go by yourself!'

  He jerked his arm free from her grip. 'Leave me alone, woman!' he growled.

  Tante Janine glowered at him. 'How dare you speak to me like that!' For the first time she noticed his clothes. 'That suit!' she shrieked. 'Where did you get it?'

  'I bought it.'

  'In Paris, no doubt.' She drew herself up. 'That sinful city! Thank God, now that the house is gone there's no more need to go there!'

  Hélène frowned. House gone? In Paris? What house?

  Suddenly it dawned on her. There was only one house she knew of in Paris. A shudder passed through her. Not Maman's house, she thought. Oh, God, no! Not the house in. . .Montmartre! Suddenly she remembered the conversation she'd overheard the night of Tante Janine's wedding. The 'Mont' meant Montmartre, of course! Why hadn't she thought of it? She closed her eyes. That was the house, all right. She could still see it in her mind. The canary-yellow door and the curlicued window bars and the white domes of Sacre Coeur rising in the distance. The little park across the street. Oh, God, no. She had never given any thought as to whether Maman had rented or owned it.

  Another wave of dread passed through her. If it had been owned, it would have been hers! And Edmond's! A place where she could have lived in Paris! Why hadn't she thought of it before? Perhaps she'd blocked the house from her memory because of the bad things that had happened there.

  Slowly she approached Tante Janine and Pierre. 'What are you talking about?' she asked in a whisper.

  Tante Janine glowered at her. 'It is none of your business! Get back to work!'

  Hélène stood her ground. 'It was Maman's house, wasn't it?' she said with sudden knowledge.

  Tante Janine looked away. 'What if it was?'

  'You had no right to sell it!' Hélène cried. 'It belonged to Edmond and

  Tante Janine whirled around and stabbed a finger at her. 'You ungrateful child! Who took care of you for all these years! Who fed you and clothed you? Who took you in?'

  Yes, Hélène thought dully. Who indeed? Who went around collecting castoff clothes for her? Who fed her the cheapest, starchiest foods money could buy? Who made her slave away in the nursery? Who indeed?

  'Edmond's not going to like this,' Hélène said between clenched teeth.

  'Is that supposed to frighten me?' Tante Janine asked shrilly.

  'Who's Edmond?' Pierre asked drunkenly.

  Tante Janine glared at him. 'Her brother.'

  'Yes,' Hélène said. 'My brother. Tante Janine knows what he's capable of. Don't you, Tante Janine?' Hélène looked at her tauntingly. 'When he was eleven he murdered the Boche who raped Catherine! I wonder what he'll do to the thieves who stole Maman's house.'

  Pierre's eyes flashed and dimmed.

  'I don't want to hear any more!' Tante Janine snapped in a wavering voice. 'Get back to work!'

  7

  Hélène felt Jeanne's hand on her arm. She turned and looked at her future sister-in-law. Jeanne's eyes were reassuring and her gentle touch gave Hélène courage. Together they went into Monsieur Lefevre's dim, musty-smelling office.

  Hélène was nervous. She had been to the lawyer's only once before. That must have been more than six years ago. She could still remember the day. Tante Janine had made sure that she and Edmond were scrubbed pink and clean, and then she dressed them in their Sunday clothes. Even then, this office had smelled musty and oppressive. But what she remembered most was that an interminably long and boring discussion that she couldn't understand had taken place. It seemed that she and Edmond had to sit stiffly for hours, well-behaved and confused, while vague things about their future were being discussed. Hélène remembered that her legs hadn't quite touched the floor when she sat in the chair.

  Now she was back in this office because she had told Jeanne about Maman's house having been sold out from under them.

  Monsieur Lefevre heard the complaints, pursed his pink lips, and went over to an old wooden filing cabinet. Slowly he dug through a stuffed drawer.

  Finally he pulled out a worn folder. 'Here it is,' he said. 'Junot, Edmond and Hélène.' He went around behind his desk, sat down, and s
lowly flipped through the pages, humming softly to himself as he read.

  Hélène glanced at Jeanne. Jeanne nodded and smiled encouragingly.

  Monsieur Lefevre finally closed the file, folded his fat hands on the desktop, and looked at Hélène. 'The paperwork was filed between 1945 and 1946. In April 1946 your aunt, Janine Junot, filed for formal adoption of you and your brother. For some reason or other, she never followed through with it. She was, however, appointed your legal guardian.'

  'Which means?'

  'Which means, quite simply, that she was considered legally fit and competent for raising you and your brother and looking out for your best interests.'

  Hélène leaned forward suddenly. 'Tell me, Monsieur Lefevre,' she said in an oddly quiet voice. 'Was the adoption procedure abandoned before she was appointed our guardian or after?'

  He looked at her with respect. She certainly caught on fast. 'After,' he replied.

  Hélène nodded slowly. So Tante Janine had been ready to adopt her and Edmond until she found out that it wasn't really necessary. She'd have complete control over them anyway.

  'What about the property my father and mother owned?' Hélène asked. 'Is Tante Janine free to dispose of it?'

  'Property such as what?'

  'There was a house in Paris. Tante Janine and my. . .'—Hélène swallowed—'my new uncle just sold it. Don't my brother and I have any claim to it?'

  The lawyer sighed heavily. 'I'm afraid not. You see, your aunt was placed in a position of trust. As long as it is related to your welfare, any decisions regarding you and your property can be made as she sees fit until you are twenty-one.'

  As the weeks wore on, Hélène found excuses to spend less and less time at home. Pierre's drunkenness—worse since the sale of Maman's house—had made life there increasingly unpleasant for her. For days at a time Pierre would go off on drunken binges or sit sullenly in the kitchen with his bottles of wine. Tante Janine would stare venomously at her husband, but instead of doing something about it, she let her anger fester. When it exploded, it was vented on Hélène.

  Hélène retaliated by purposely flunking a series of mathematics and history exams. As usual, this ensured her staying late after school. Then, defying Tante Janine's orders to head straight home, she would go to Jeanne's apartment and wait there until Jeanne got home from work.

  A close friendship had developed between the two young women. Jeanne was the first real friend Hélène had ever known. She helped Hélène to open up, to gain self-confidence, and it was from Jeanne that Hélène learned about the intricacies of womanhood. Like an older sister, Jeanne was always there when she was needed. And she was needed more and more as Hélène's home situation deteriorated.

  'Where is Tante Janine?' Hélène asked. Pierre was sitting alone in the kitchen with a half-empty bottle of wine in front of him.

  He took a swig out of the bottle and laughed. 'Out,' he said drunkenly. He staggered to his feet and came toward her. She drew back. His hot breath smelled sour from the wine, he hadn't shaved, and his face was purplish-red. 'You're sort of pretty, you know,' he said, lurching forward.

  Adroitly Hélène sidestepped him and he stumbled against the table.

  'I can make you feel real good,' he whispered. 'You got meat on you. Not like that bag of bones I married.'

  'Stop it!' Hélène whispered. She was becoming frightened. 'Stop it!'

  He leered at her. 'Don't you want to feel good? Pierre knows how to make a woman feel like a woman!'

  Hélène turned to go upstairs, but he caught her arm and pulled her toward him. Suddenly he pressed his scratchy face against hers, sloppily trying to kiss her. His mouth missed her lips and he ended up kissing her nose. She grimaced and pushed him away. With her sleeve she wiped his saliva off her face. 'You pig!' she hissed. 'If you ever touch me again, you're finished! I'll tell Tante Janine and she'll throw you out of the house!'

  He laughed. 'No she won't!' he cackled. He looked at her craftily. 'She'll blame you! I'll tell her that you led me on.'

  Suddenly she was furious. Without warning she slapped him across the face. 'You wouldn't dare!' Then she turned and ran upstairs. But even when she closed the door of her room she could still hear his drunken laugh.

  That night she wedged her chair against the door handle before going to sleep. It wouldn't keep him out, but if he tried to come in, it would fall over. The noise would wake her. At least she would be warned.

  Despite her preparation, she lay awake for hours, expecting to see the door handle moving in the pale moonlight that filtered in through the thin curtains. Finally she decided that he must have passed out in the kitchen, and she allowed herself to fall asleep. It was an uneasy sleep. She kept waking up, expecting to find him standing at the foot of the bed. But he didn't try to come into her room that night. When she was awakened in the morning, it was by a different sound. The cacophony of trucks.

  Curious, she got out of bed, found her slippers, and went over to the window. She pushed the curtains aside, swung the window wide, and leaned out. The morning air felt brisk and cool. She watched as a small convoy of construction vehicles ground to a halt outside the nursery gate. She counted a bulldozer, a big cement-mixing machine on a flatbed truck, and two dump trucks. The big engines idled noisily and the air was filled with the odor of gasoline.

  She leaned farther out to get a better view. Men were jumping down off the vehicles. Then she saw Tante Janine striding purposefully toward the gate. She was pointing to the left and the right, shouting instructions Hélène couldn't hear over the din of the idling motors.

  Quickly she closed the window, got dressed, moved the chair away from the door, and ran down the stairs two at a time. A few seconds later she was outside. She found Tante Janine standing in the midst of a group of workmen. Hélène went over to her and touched her arm. 'What's going on?' she asked.

  Tante Janine looked at her with irritation. 'They're going to do some work around here,' she said tersely. Then she went on talking to the men.

  Hélène then wandered around trying to piece together bits of information she overheard. She had no idea what—or how much—work was going to be done. Not until she stopped to listen to two of the men.

  One of them was lighting a cigarette. 'She bought two hectares of adjoining land,' he said as he extinguished the match by waving it in the air. 'All with cash. I know because my sister sold it to her.'

  The other one was impressed. He let out a whistle. 'What did she do? Win the lottery?'

  'Either that or she robbed a bank.' He laughed at his own joke. 'She's got fifteen giant hothouses going up.'

  Hélène stood there with a stunned expression on her face. She couldn't believe what she had just overheard. Suddenly she turned and ran into the house.

  Tante Janine was expanding the nursery. Hélène didn't need to ask where the money had come from. She already knew.

  From the sale of Maman's house.

  She knew if she stayed with Tante Janine much longer she would go crazy. She had to get out. The time had come to break free. She would go see Madame Dupre the next day.

  8

  'Bonjour, madame,' Hélène said politely.

  Madame Dupre came around from behind the counter and smiled warmly. 'It's a pleasure to see you again. It has been too long.'

  Hélène nodded. 'I was afraid of bothering you, madame.'

  'Nonsense!' Madame Dupre said reprovingly. 'You are never a bother. You should know better!'

  For the first time, Madame Dupre looked closely at Hélène. The girl had changed, she suddenly realized. She had grown taller. But that wasn't all. She looked older. And she was certainly turning into a remarkable-looking young woman. Especially with those eyes. Strange, she'd never really noticed how vividly violet they were. All Hélène needed to do was lose some of her baby fat.

  'I beg your pardon?' Madame Dupre said. 'My mind was wandering.' She smiled apologetically at Hélène. 'I must be getting senile.'

  Hé
lène swallowed nervously, her throat tight and dry. 'I was asking. . .' Suddenly she seemed to have lost her voice. Somehow she felt undignified, like a beggar. 'A job, Madame Dupre!' she finally blurted out desperately.

  Madame Dupre looked at her in surprise. 'But aren't you still going to school?'

  'Oui, madame. But I'm going to quit.'

  Madame Dupre frowned. She went over to the window and looked out thoughtfully. There was something pathetic about Hélène's lack of composure. The girl wasn't asking for a job because of her love for fabrics and her talent for sewing. There was another, more desperate reason. She could see it written all over her face. Yet underneath, she somehow knew there still lurked a cold ambition.

  Madame Dupre hesitated, but only for a moment. She knew that Hélène's talent was exceptional. Something—instinct, perhaps—told her that she should hire Hélène. Anyway, she rationalized, Danielle, the girl who operated the sewing machine, wouldn't be working for much longer. She would soon be getting married. Hélène would learn very quickly at the machine.

  Madame Dupre turned and looked at Hélène. The girl was tense, clearly preparing herself for a refusal. Madame Dupre smiled. 'You have yourself a job,' she said.

  The desperation suddenly vanished from Hélène's face. She looked young again and her eyes shone joyfully. She wanted to fling her arms around Madame Dupre and show her how happy she was, but she stopped herself just in time. It wouldn't do to embrace one's employer.

  'Don't be too excited,' Madame Dupre warned. 'The hours are long and the wages are low.'

  'I don't care,' Hélène whispered. She took a deep breath. 'When can I start?'

  'Whenever you wish.'