by Bali Rai
‘Wear this until you warm up,’ he told me. ‘I do not need it.’
Mo looked odd without his jacket, however. He still wore the hat and scarf, so most of his face and head were covered. He resembled a bandit.
‘What is it?’ he asked, when he caught me staring.
‘Nothing,’ I replied. ‘I am just sad.’
He nodded and looked away, unsure of what to say, I guess.
Later that day, we emerged from the forest and travelled north-east towards the town of Chauny. The landscape opened up to reveal miles and miles of fields. Now and then, we passed small villages or hamlets, most of them deserted and often destroyed. Many of the fields lay fallow too. An eerie gloom lay over everything, a shroud of despondency and hopelessness. Was this what had become of my country, I wondered. My beautiful, vibrant country, now dazed and beaten, and bloody and worn down.
We didn’t see any sign of German soldiers as we travelled. This was entirely down to luck, of course. By that evening, we were only three miles from Chauny, and my legs ached. Beatrice chose a deserted hamlet to rest in; just four houses, some outbuildings and a barn. The houses were derelict, so Mo suggested we stay in the barn. He led the way, opening the doors and ushering us inside with our bikes. Outside, the snow was returning, the flakes growing ever thicker and more frequent.
The barn was dark and damp, and cold and smelly. Yet it was welcome nonetheless. I could not have put up with another night outdoors. Not in such weather.
‘I’ll start a fire,’ said Mo. ‘Use the torches and see what you can find.’
Beatrice and I began to search. The barn was wide and long, with a second level spanning half of its area. A single wooden ladder gave access to the upper floor. I heard and smelt the tell-tale signs of rodents and other animals, and even heard a strange yelping sound. I put that down to a cat and thought nothing more of it.
‘Here!’ I heard Beatrice shout.
When I reached her, she was pointing at a wooden chest.
‘I wonder what’s inside,’ she said.
She knelt and opened it, and then groaned in disappointment. The chest was empty, save for a rusting knife, a small hip flask and a moth-eaten scarf.
‘I thought it might have something useful inside,’ she told me.
I shrugged but did not reply. When it became clear that we would find nothing of use, we rejoined Mo and took in the fire’s warming glow.
‘Stay here,’ he told us. ‘I will check the other buildings.’
He wrapped up, took a torch and left us to stare into the flames. He had been gone perhaps twenty minutes or so when we heard the dogs barking.
‘Sacre bleu!’ Beatrice gasped. ‘Germans!’
We scrambled up the ladder to the hayloft. Bales of rotting straw lay all around us.
‘Climb over them,’ Beatrice told me. ‘To the far end.’
I thought she would follow me, but instead, she reached into her dress and removed a small revolver.
‘Where did you get that?’ I asked.
‘It belonged to Claude,’ she told me. ‘Now hide, and no matter what happens, do not come out!’
‘But…’
‘Now, Joelle!’ she urged.
I did as she asked, my heart pounding faster, dread causing chaotic thoughts. I was scared for Mo and Beatrice, but not worried about myself. I did not want to hide away, while they faced the enemy. I wanted to fight too.
I heard shouting and harsh words, but the language was French, not German. Very quickly, Beatrice spoke up, shouting to the men outside.
‘We are Resistance!’ she yelled. ‘He is British. He cannot understand you!’
The door to the barn was kicked ajar. There stood a heavy-set man holding a shotgun. Another joined him, leading hunting dogs, and holding Mo.
‘Maquis?’ asked the man with the shotgun.
‘Yes, yes!’ said Beatrice. ‘We were betrayed, and we ran. We are not your enemy!’
The man shrugged.
‘Well, well,’ he replied. ‘You should have said. Welcome, my comrades!’
He lowered the gun and smiled warmly, and I closed my eyes and once more thanked our lucky stars.
FOURTEEN
Beatrice and the men spoke for a while. Mo stood with me, his shoulders tense.
‘It’s okay,’ I told him. ‘They are Resistance, like Beatrice.’
‘How can we trust men we do not know?’ he replied.
‘Because we have no choice,’ I reminded him. ‘And just look at them. They are obviously on our side.’
The man with the shotgun sensed our gaze. He turned, smiled, and gestured for us to join them. When we did, he ruffled my hair.
‘Beatrice tells me that you are a true hero of France,’ he said. ‘That your parents sacrificed themselves for our cause.’
The pain of my parents’ demise must have shown on my face. The man grew sorrowful and asked my forgiveness.
‘I did not mean to upset you,’ he added. ‘I too have lost family. A brother and an uncle, taken by these animals.’
I nodded.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I told him.
‘And I yours,’ he replied. ‘I am Thomas.’
He wore muddy boots, grey trousers that seemed to be made from an old sack, a thick black coat and navy cap.
‘Joelle Breton,’ I said.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘We meant no harm. You are all welcome here.’
He nodded towards Mo.
‘And you,’ he said in heavily accented English, ‘you are pilot for the British?’
‘Yes,’ said Mo. ‘I am trying to get back to England.’
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
‘But you head north?’ he said. ‘That is not good. Too many Germans.’
Mo shrugged and said nothing, and Thomas changed the subject.
‘Hungry?’
We nodded.
‘We have rabbit stew and bread. Come!’
Thomas led us past the first three derelict houses and through the door of the fourth. The ground floor was uninhabitable – open to the elements and freezing. Thomas went to the rear, where junk lay piled up. He pulled aside old wooden crates and sacks of woodchips until I saw a secret hatch.
‘A cellar,’ I said, as I remembered my old house.
‘Our hideaway,’ said Thomas.
His friend left the dogs to roam the upper floors, before joining us with Beatrice.
‘This is Jean,’ Beatrice told us.
He was younger than Thomas but of the same build – stocky and powerful, with wide shoulders.
‘He is my son,’ Thomas confirmed.
Just inside the hatch, an oil lantern hung from the stone wall. Thomas lit it and led the way. I was expecting a narrow, damp space, but the cellar was deep and wide and cosy.
‘We widened and reinforced it,’ Thomas explained. ‘It is linked to the ones beneath the other houses.’
‘We have several escape hatches around the hamlet too,’ Jean added.
‘It is a warren!’ Beatrice exclaimed. ‘A perfect hideaway.’
Thomas gave a proud smile.
‘When the Germans invaded, we decided to dig in,’ he explained. ‘We are active in the Resistance too.’
I glanced at Mo, who seemed uninterested. He hadn’t relaxed at all.
‘What’s the matter?’ I whispered.
‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘I am simply being careful.’
I nodded and left him alone. After our betrayal at Vincent’s hands, Mo’s reluctance was no surprise. I wondered whether I was too trusting of Thomas and Jean. Should I have been as wary as Mo, perhaps?
‘Sit, sit!’ said Thomas, clapping his hand across Mo’s back. ‘We eat, then we talk!’
We ate and chatted and shared stories of our time under the Germans. Thomas and Beatrice then left us to discuss Resistance matters and Jean went to check on his dogs. I turned to Mo, who seemed more relaxed than earlier.
‘What you said?’ I began.
‘Was it true?’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘When you said you’d take me with you?’
Mo’s offer had been playing on my mind since we’d left my home. Left Mrs Moreau and the bakery, and the buried remains of my dear parents. I was all alone, except for Mo and Beatrice, and I knew that a choice was coming. Soon, I would have to decide whether to remain with Beatrice or to follow Mo. My head told me to stay, but my heart had other plans. Yet, that longing to leave France seemed silly and ill-judged. I hardly knew Mo and life in a foreign country seemed unimaginable.
‘Sikhs live by a moral code,’ Mo told me. ‘Part of which is to remain true to our oaths. I have given you my word, Joelle. I will not let you down.’
‘But I am not your family,’ I replied. ‘You have no duty to me.’
Mo shook his head.
‘We are all family,’ he said. ‘Every man, woman and child on this Earth. I believe that all of creation is one whole. We are bound together, each of us, by invisible links, and all are equally important.’
‘But…’
‘The decision is yours to make,’ he told me. ‘If you trust in my care, I will always look after you. If you choose to remain in your own country, that I will also accept.’
‘And this is what Sikhism teaches you?’ I wondered aloud.
Mo shrugged.
‘Perhaps,’ he replied. ‘But life teaches me this too. Fate brought us together, Joelle, and gave me a duty. I accept it with gratitude.’
‘What will people think of a French girl and an Indian man travelling together?’ I asked.
‘They will think whatever they choose,’ he said. ‘It is of no consequence.’
‘But what of the details?’ I added. ‘Where to live and school, and such things…’
‘One step at a time,’ he told me. ‘There is no other way. These are unusual times, and we are victims of circumstance.’
Neither of us spoke again until Beatrice returned, a smile across her face.
‘Thomas has promised us transport,’ she explained. ‘A small truck to get us towards Lille.’
I frowned.
‘Won’t that make us conspicuous?’ I asked.
‘Perhaps,’ she replied. ‘But our journey will be faster. Besides, we can take country lanes and steer clear of German patrols.’
I wasn’t so sure, and Mo said nothing. Beatrice smiled again.
‘Get some rest,’ she told us. ‘We leave before dawn.’
We bid Thomas and Jean goodbye in the darkness, setting off towards the north once more. The vehicle was an old farm truck, with a flat bed and crude suspension that jolted our bones as we trundled over rutted tracks. Thomas had given us a rifle and ammunition, and food for the journey. As light broke, we were well advanced, and Beatrice seemed to enjoy the drive. She’d handed me a crudely drawn map, with various towns and cities pinpointed in pencil – Chauny and Cambrai, Lens and Lille. Written below was a warning to avoid any major roads.
‘The Germans will not patrol the country lanes,’ Beatrice repeated from the previous evening. ‘At least, that is my hope…’
‘And if they do spot us?’ I asked.
‘Then we fight,’ said Beatrice, her face set.
I explained what had been said to Mo, and he nodded.
‘We have no choice,’ he said. ‘We go where fate takes us.’
Fate seemed to smile on us too. We made great progress and soon passed Chauny, the first of our markers. Bar some well-meaning locals, we saw no one and sensed no danger. It was almost pleasurable, like a scenic drive towards a summer vacation spot.
But it did not last…
FIFTEEN
‘GERMANS!’
I awoke with a start, having dozed off earlier. Beatrice swore and swerved from the road, between some trees. I hung on as the truck shuddered to a halt, using my arms to brace myself.
‘What now?’ Beatrice asked in English.
‘They will have seen us,’ he replied. ‘We need to get out and hide.’
I was still dazed and stumbled out behind Mo, who had grabbed Thomas’s rifle and some ammunition.
‘I fell asleep,’ I told him. ‘Where are they?’
‘About a quarter of a mile away,’ said Mo. ‘A roadblock with two jeeps. Three or four men at most.’
Beatrice pointed to the road.
‘Wait here,’ she said.
I watched her edge towards the treeline, right where we’d left the road. She crouched by an oak tree and peered towards the roadblock. Suddenly, she turned and sprinted back to us.
‘They come!’ she shouted. ‘Quick!’
Mo took my hand and pulled me away, into a thicket. I was immediately reminded of our first meeting. Already, it felt like a lifetime ago. We pushed through the bushes, Beatrice right behind us.
‘Hurry!’ she called.
Only, we were almost past the thicket. Any further and there would be no cover for us. Beatrice drew her pistol and tapped Mo on the shoulder.
‘We fight?’ she asked.
Mo glanced my way, his eyes full of resignation and sadness.
‘You must hide here,’ he told me. ‘Do not come out; do not watch what happens. And cover your ears, Joelle. This is not for you.’
I wanted to protest. To say I was not a child. But that is exactly what I was in that moment. A scared child faced with yet more loss.
‘Don’t fight,’ I begged them. ‘You will be killed, and I will be left alone.’
‘We must,’ Mo insisted. ‘If they find us, they will not spare us. You know this.’
‘But…’
Mo embraced me for a moment.
‘Please, Joelle,’ he said.
I nodded, wiped away tears and did as he asked. Beatrice kept low, the pistol ready, and went to the left, deeper into the trees. Mo went right, using the rifle to push past thick undergrowth until he was hidden. I heard German voices and then two of the soldiers appeared in the clearing between my hiding place and the treeline protecting Beatrice. Each held a rifle at shoulder height as they scanned the area.
I closed my eyes and covered my ears, but not for very long. Curiosity is a strange thing – so intrinsic to our being as humans that even fear can be overcome. I simply could not ignore what was happening, much as I might regret it afterwards. Only, I had grown immune to such things since my parents’ death, or so I thought at the time.
I opened my eyes and uncovered my ears in time to hear the first shot from Beatrice’s pistol. One of the soldiers screamed and fell, and then the other began to fire wildly. His shots were aimless, ripping into tree trunks but finding no foe. With his concentration on Beatrice’s position, he did not sense Mo, who also fired. More screams and then Beatrice appeared and finished the job, and my stomach grew tight and swirled with knots.
‘GO!’ she called, as more Germans entered the fray.
Mo was already in hiding, and I watched Beatrice sprint around to flank the newcomers. She was not stealthy enough and the soldiers spotted her. They began to fire too, and Beatrice yelped and then fell into the undergrowth. I screamed then, giving away my position, and the soldiers turned to me. I watched in horror as they raised their rifles, ready to fire indiscriminately.
Suddenly, Mo appeared behind them. He aimed and fired, and the lead soldier fell. The other turned too slowly and Mo’s aim was true once more. With both men down, he rushed towards me, diving into the thicket.
‘Hurry!’ he gasped. ‘We must get back to the road.’
‘Beatrice!’ I screamed.
I pointed to where she had fallen and led Mo towards her.
‘She was hit,’ I told him. ‘I am sure of it.’
Mo slung the rifle over his shoulder, and we hurried to find her. But as we entered the treeline on the far side of the clearing, Beatrice stood up.
‘I’m okay,’ she said in French, before switching to English. ‘Good, good!’
I rushed to embrace her.
‘I thoug
ht they had killed you!’
Beatrice shook her head.
‘No, no,’ she insisted. ‘I slipped and fell. There was a rabbit hole. My ankle is sprained.’
The three of us turned back towards the road. Beatrice was hobbling, each step causing her to grimace. We made slow progress, but it did not matter now that the soldiers were dead.
‘What shall we do?’ I asked Mo.
‘We push on,’ he said. ‘Once the patrol is missed, the Germans will flood the area. We need to be far away when that happens.’
‘I did not obey you,’ I admitted. ‘I saw everything.’
Mo considered me for a moment before replying.
‘Then,’ he said, ‘we will deal with that later. For now, we must move on.’
I nodded before helping Beatrice back into our truck. She reversed on to the road and we continued on our way. At the roadblock, Mo scavenged what he could from the two jeeps and destroyed the radio. He found a bag of sweets, which he shared with me, and canisters of water that were even more welcome.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘There is no time to lose.’
Behind us lay four dead human beings. And yet I did not feel a thing. It was just another incident. Something else to be endured. There was no horror, no sadness, no feelings of disgust. Just the cold and harsh reality of war. In that respect, my heart had grown as hard as the roads along which we travelled.
SIXTEEN
The remaining miles to Cambrai passed without incident. No one came after us. The further north-east we travelled, the bleaker the landscape became. The smallest villages and hamlets were deserted, and crops lay rotting in the fields, as though we were passing through some dystopian nightmare. A landscape inspired by darkness and destruction, leeched clean of warmth and joy and love and life. Only the major towns were busy, and those we avoided, in order to bypass German patrols.
As dusk gave way to darkness, we arrived at a small town called Bourlon, to the west of Cambrai. There, Beatrice stopped at a farmhouse and a stout man resembling her brother Claude came out to greet us. He was older than Claude had been, with white whiskers and hair, and a rugged and pitted complexion compounded by a bulbous and seemingly scarlet nose.