by Michael Smth
When she arrived at the door to Mother’s office, Eva banished her smile and knocked. She waited a moment, opened the door, and entered. Mother sat behind her desk, directly ahead.
“Young lady, how can you possibly be so stupid?”
The sound bewildered Eva. The voice seemed unnatural. Like something dreamed. The words themselves slipped elusively by her, like silvery fish flitting below a pond’s surface—barely perceived and certainly not grasped. It took a moment for Eva’s vague inkling to become clear realization: Mother’s was not the voice she had heard. Eva turned to face the person she suddenly knew was there on the side, crouching in ambush.
“Uncle Henri?” Eva’s eyes were wide.
Henri sat on the edge of his chair, a compressed spring. His eyes were embers, glowing darkness, and his expression, lemon sour. “It’s come to my attention that you have been trysting with one of the occupiers.” He jumped up. Moving close to her, he growled, “Can you appreciate what you are risking? What trust you’re betraying?” Glancing at Mother, he caught himself. “Have you anything to say for yourself?”
Eva felt like she’d fallen in a pit. She looked pleadingly at Mother, who first opened her mouth to speak, but kept quiet.
Eva knew an explanation would change nothing. Still, there is the truth of the situation. “Uncle, I have several times walked with one of the German boys—the one who saved me after I’d fallen. But we do no more than walk and talk together. Nothing else at all. I didn’t think—”
“Finally some truth!” The vein at Henri’s temple bulged purple. “You didn’t think.”
Mother could no longer stay herself. “Monsieur Messiaen, young Krebs does seem a good boy.” She raised her index finger. “Now, I don’t for a minute—”
Without looking at the nun, Henri showed her his palm. “Thank you, Mother Catherine, but I’ll handle this.”
Mother tilted her head and raised her hands. “I was just going to say that youth—”
Henri shot her an electric look. “Thank you, Mother.” He turned back to Eva, now small as a mouse in the center of the room, and glared. “Because of your antics, I have instructed Mother Catherine that you are to be confined to the convent buildings through Tuesday next.” He snapped his fingers. “You will not see this Krebs again.”
Eva looked at the floor. “As you wish, Uncle.”
Henri’s lips pursed in a frown. Or was it a smile suppressed? “Not just my wish, young lady. A statement of fact.” He slapped his palms to his thighs, a signal that the session was over. He turned to Mother. “Now I must be going.”
Mother’s face was wan. “I’ll have Sister fetch your wraps.” She spoke to Sister Arnaude in the hallway and returned. “Thank you again for provisions you brought. We were completely out of flour, and I didn’t know what we would do, what with the rationing and the paucity of other sources. God bless you, Monsieur Messiaen.”
He shrugged. “I do what I can. My business takes me away so often, it’s not as much as I might like. Now remember, Eva is to be kept in through Tuesday.” Henri turned to Eva and shook his finger. “You, child, no more monkey business. Mark this—” His glare was razor-sharp. “—you no longer have the luxury of leeway.”
“Yes, Uncle, you are right.”
Henri nodded. “Always so.”
He turned on his heel with military precision. Sister Arnaude was waiting in the hall with his hat and overcoat. Henri took them without breaking stride, and tossing coat over arm, he stepped outside. He raised his face to the warmth of the springtime sun and inhaled deeply, proudly, as if the air’s fairness was of his making. He had his chauffeur Pruvot lower the phaeton’s top while he sat on the maroon velvet rear seat paging through the magazine, Le Temps. When the top was down, Pruvot started the powerful engine and, with Henri still reading, the large tan automobile roared away.
Inside, Mother gazed at Eva with affection. “There will be many boys to walk with, Eva. You’re just eighteen.” With her fingertips, she raised Eva’s chin to bring the girl’s eyes up to meet her own. “Such a pretty face! You’ll have every boy asking to stroll with you.”
Eva stared coldly ahead. Then she turned and left the room.
The week passed quickly. Early the next Wednesday morning Eva bolted through the door, dashing to the barn to get Caspar. Then the two of them were off, running in the morning mist, elated at being outdoors. Eva wondered if Johannes would be waiting there at the oak. Probably shouldn’t go at all. But I could just explain what happened and say goodbye. She found herself walking straight there, quickly. Camille’s Rule #1 came to mind—If you’re going to sin, best to do it quickly, before your conscience trips you. Eva felt a thrill on spying the huge tree beyond the fence line of the still-sleeping orchard. “Our oak!” A step or two later, it struck her. She’d said ours. Just saying it seemed to Eva like surrendering her heart. Not really surrendering, she allowed, because in the end, walks with Johannes will be a thing of the past. But at least it’s not complete surrender to Uncle, either.
Thirty meters from the tree, Caspar ran ahead, barking. Eva’s heart was pounding. But before the dog got to the tree, he turned and scampered back to her. His look was complete disappointment. So Krebs isn’t here. Eva’s shoulders sagged.
When she got to the oak, Eva walked around its broad, rough trunk. Behind the tree she saw it, stuck to the bark with a penknife. Until that moment, she’d held a shred of hope that Krebs might be hiding. Seeing the envelope, touching it, reading the Mlle E. M. address on it, Eva knew she’d not see him that day. She opened the envelope carefully. I’ll write a reply on his note and leave it the same way for him—like something in a romantic film. She fumbled in her pocket for a pencil.
Eva unfolded the one-page note. The writing was done in a careful hand.
6 April, 1942
Dear Mademoiselle Eva,
Since it now is Monday and you don’t walk, I think I won’t see you before I must this evening depart. This is the thing of most regret.
I am suddenly reassigned. I go to a Panzer unit deploying to the East. My train’s leaving is just hours hence. Perhaps there’s to be an all-out push to take Stalingrad, now that the jaws of winter begin to lose their snarl. Only such a reason can I make for such abrupt orders. (Aren’t the words orders and reason, sitting together there, an odd couple?) It doesn’t suit me, but do they care?
Eva lowered the note and put fingertips to quivering lips. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and raised Krebs’ note again.
I knew things were here too good to last. So now I trade keeping the peace in a peaceful place and wandering with you for battling Red Ivans. A rotten bargain, for sure.
I only hope a quick victory can return me from that savage wasteland. They say, if things go well, the war may end soon. Anyway, my enlistment halts in only ten months, so I won’t be part of it for long.
What I attempt to say is that, when fate allows, I will make return to this place, minding to again see you. If you would so permit.
I wish for every good thing to you coming.
Your humble servant,
Johannes
The color was gone from Eva’s cheeks. She sat on the log next to the oak. Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered Krebs dusting it of snow with his cap. She held out her arms and called Caspar, and he jumped into her lap.
Eva held the dog’s face and peered into his eyes. “You see everything, too, don’t you, Caspie? I feel so guilty. Sure, when a mouse eats poisoned cheese, it’s the poison that kills. Yet he wouldn’t eat but for the cheese, would he? Though she’s an unwitting accomplice, Mademoiselle Cheese can’t be excused. I should have known better.” Eva put her arms around the dog and nestled her cheek to his ear. “At least Johannes doesn’t see the treachery. Only you and I do.” She looked into the distance, tears glistening in her eyes. “When I came to St. Sébastien, I was happy thinking I’d be out of uncle’s clutches, finally my own person. Doing important work. But now I’ve c
ome to see its poisonous side, too.” She kissed the dog’s head. “Caspie, you’re my only confidant. I’d be lost without you.”
Huntress and Prey
Summer never came in 1942. Spring hung on and on, and spun smoothly into autumn. So, plates at St. Sébastien held leafy greens and boiled turnips, but little else.
One July evening, Clarisse LaCroix rehearsed her lines one last time, then shattered the dark quiet in the dormitory after lights out. “Christ, are we fucking rabbits? Every morning I rouge the sickly cast of my cheeks. God, if every green leaf in Belgium withered brown, I’d starve happily. I swear, when this shitty war is over, I’ll choke myself on bloody red meat.”
Clarisse sat still, waiting wide-eyed in the dark. The only reaction she got was silence, topped with quiet sobs. She shook her head in disgust. “My best dramatics—wasted like a fireworks show for a morgue of corpses!”
More silence. Finally Eva replied, with a voice soft as flannel, “You can’t shock saying what all of us feel, Clarisse. Especially at night when the hunger is worst.”
“Maybe you’re right, Blondie.” Clarisse flopped down on her pillow. “Damn Boche—can’t even light things up around here anymore.”
In August, things got worse. Belgium was being called on to surrender an increased portion of her food for shipment to the Eastern front. That made scarcity life’s constant backdrop when Mother Catherine summoned Eva to her office one afternoon in October.
Eva listened to her steps echoing down the dark hallway. Now what does she want? Since she turned me in to uncle for walking with Johannes, snow packs the space between us. Snow too deep for summer to melt. Too cold for a smile to thaw. She can just get used to it.
Eva knocked and entered Mother’s office. When the nun looked up from her work, Eva nodded cautiously. “Yes, Mother Catherine?”
Mother put down her pen and folded her hands. “Eva, please sit. We all know first hand that food is terribly short these days and getting worse with each passing week. The generosity of your uncle, bless him, has helped us get by, but now there is less he can do. I have prayed for a solution, and perhaps my prayers have been answered.”
Eva glanced at her fingernails. “Dieu merci for prayers that put bread on the table.”
“Last night I fell asleep praying on the matter.” Mother got up and walked toward Eva. “I had a dream, one right out of the biblical story of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. I was standing at the door to the kitchen, looking out, wondering how to feed us all, and I could think of nothing. Then I saw you approaching, and you were holding three brown rabbits by the ears, and they were swaying as you walked. You said they had come to you and offered themselves for our table, because they knew we were hungry. And Sister Martine made a stew of their sacrifice and it was thick and rich and miraculously there was plenty for the fifty-one of us—all that we could eat and even some left over—and it was delicious. Everyone seemed happy for the first time in so long. And after dinner I led the girls in a prayer of thanks for the sacrifice of the three and for you who brought them to our kitchen. And you smiled. That smile was a second miracle for me, as nourishing as the first, because I’ve missed it so.”
Eva wanted to grasp the olive branch, but pride held her back. “Everyone knows food is scarce, Mother. I doubt you’ve called me in just to tell me about dreams.”
Mother paused for a moment, then cleared her throat. “This morning at breakfast, Sister Arnaude told me she’d found Father Celion’s old shotgun and some ammunition while cleaning the stables. Before the war, he sometimes hunted on the convent property. Sister grew up in the countryside—her papa managed the game and the grounds of a large estate. With no brothers, she often accompanied him on hunting forays. She practiced and eventually became a huntress cordon bleu. Sister wishes she could hunt the convent grounds to supplement our larder, but heavy as she is, that’s not possible. I mentioned my dream, and she said, ‘Eva is at home outdoors. If she’s willing, I could teach her how to hunt, and she could be our savior.’ My dream and sister’s discovery coming together like this—I can only see it as God’s hand opening a door. You’re the only girl up to this challenge, Eva. Could you do it?”
Eva swallowed hard. “Is it even allowed under the regulations?”
“It seems to be, my dear. Monsieur Tellier down the road hunts his orchard grounds. What I’m asking is, could you bring yourself to shoot one of God’s creatures?”
Eva thought about Françoise’s legs, now spindly as a stork’s. And the way the others were wasting, too. She had no choice. Eva squared her shoulders like a soldier coming to attention. “St. Sébastien is my family. It’s the truest cowardice not to kill, when necessary to save one’s family.” Eva glanced at the ceiling, already planning. “I do see rabbits and quail on my walks, but Caspie likes to chase them. I’ll have to leave him here.”
Mother fumbled with papers on her desk. “Yes, Sister Arnaude mentioned Caspar. Just having him here probably keeps some of the smaller game away, Sister thinks. As another mouth to feed, he’s been in my thoughts as well. He doesn’t require much I’ll grant, but—”
“But what?” Eva sizzled. “Caspar’s one of us, so there’s nothing to talk about.”
That afternoon Sister Arnaude showed Eva how to load and handle Fr. Celion’s single-barreled shotgun. Eva discharged it twice, hitting an empty meat tin hung by a white string from a branch of an old oak—the one the Owls called The Morel Tree because of its shape.
Eva and Sister Arnaude went out early the next morning. Sister Arnaude waited in the orchard, watching her pupil move through the meadow to the thicket and woods across the stream that bisected the convent grounds. She heard five pops spread over the next thirty minutes. Finally, Eva emerged from the thicket. As she crossed the meadow, Sister Arnaude was encouraged the apparent heft to the burlap bag Eva carried in her left hand.
As Eva drew near, the nun called, “I heard the shots. Did you bag anything?”
“Two quail and a rabbit.” Eva tried to look nonchalant. “Probably beginner’s luck.”
“Quail,” Sister said reverently, “and rabbit.” She crossed herself. “God be praised.” The nun closed her fleshy eyelids, already tasting the evening’s fare.
After the study hour that afternoon, just before dinner, the students went to wash up. Most of the girls scrubbed their hands with lye soap and tepid water. Clarisse LaCroix sat on the cold radiator next to a cracked-open window and smoked a cigarette.
Dani rushed in from kitchen duty. Her eyes were wild. “Guess what, everybody!”
“By the look on your face, l’Hôpital,” Camille said, “I’d say you have to pee.”
“No.” Dani looked annoyed. “Guess what we’re eating tonight. Guess!”
Simone groaned from a toilet stall, “Like yesterday and the day before—turnips.”
Dani replied, “No, No. Much more savory and exotic.”
Eva quietly slipped out the door.
Clarisse blew a smoke ring. “Savory and exotic, eh? Then my guess is shit soup. Troutsie, you should flush twice—it’s a long way to the kitchen.”
Half of the girls giggled, and half of them groaned.
Dani said, “Because of your mouth, Clarisse, I’m not telling.”
Clarisse mimed wiping tears from her eyes. “Boo hoo hoo. I’m so sorry for infecting your virgin ears, Danielle. Please, pretty please, won’t you tell us?”
“No, I won’t, and you’re to blame, you toad.” Dani bit her lip. “Well, maybe I’ll give you a clue. It involves M, E, A, and T!”
Girls squealed, and all at once, they jostled for the door. They scurried down the corridor to the dining hall like a coursing avalanche. The mob slowed only when they passed Sister Eusebia in the hallway. As they moved by the kitchen, the wonderful aroma of game stew got every tongue wagging, even Clarisse’s. Each girl raced to her place, and the dining room buzzed.
The giddy noise stopped with Mother Catherine’s first step in
to the room. With all eyes on her, she glided to her place at the head of the center table and stood behind her chair. Mother waited a dignified moment. “My flowers, tonight we enjoy a meal made special, I should say possible, by the bounty of the Lord, by the hand of Sister Martine, and by the sharp eye of Eva Messiaen. A lovely hunter’s stew of quail and rabbit, carrot and turnip.” Applause and squeals rippled through the dining room, chased by Clarisse’s piercing whistle. “In honor of the occasion, I brought three bottles of wine up from the chapel vault, just as on Christmas and Easter. Each of you may have a sip. Now rise and join me in singing our grace.”
This was a meal that St. Sébastien girls talked about for years afterward, even long after the war had ended, when they were grown with children of their own. And those children could never understand how a meal, especially one that seemed meager by the standards of the day, could hold memories their mothers cherished so dearly.
Eva had the game-finding instincts of a pointer. She moved quietly as a cat. And her shot flew with the accuracy of an owl’s talon. For the first few weeks she usually came home with several quail, rabbits, or squirrels—enough to fortify the soup. She let herself dream of coming onto a deer or a boar, though she never did. But soon there was an obvious drop off in her game bag’s heft. In the eighth week, Eva came back from her excursion empty-handed for the first time. Soon after, it happened again. By mid-November, she counted it a good day when she came back with anything at all.
With the chill of winter setting in and food sources dwindling, the outlook in December 1942 for those at St. Sébastien became bleaker than ever. It was in that month, just ten days before Christmas, that Caspar disappeared. Eva came to the barn that morning and was surprised when he didn’t race out to meet her. She called, but there was no sign of him. Eva spent thirty minutes whistling for him and running to places like the door to Sister Martine’s kitchen where he might be. It was as if the earth had swallowed him up. She raced back to the dormitory. No one had seen Caspar. She went to Mother Catherine’s office. Sister Eusebia was there alone.