Liberation

by Ellie Midwood

  He’ll shoot him now. This wasn’t a ploy. Giselle knew very well that Barbie took out his gun with only one purpose; to kill, not to intimidate. Yet, she stared, hard and steady, waiting for the shot to follow, with a feverish gleam shining in her eyes. She’ll probably be the next, shot in the head as well. Giselle wondered if Barbie would throw their bodies together in the same unmarked grave. She had become used to Etienne. He was a good comrade. She wouldn’t mind spending the rest of eternity in his company.

  Etienne twisted his neck to face her; his cheek pressed to the tile at his executioner’s feet. He wished to see her for the last time. He smiled again; such a beautiful, boyish smile. He didn’t mind dying too it seemed.

  “Wait!” A hoarse voice startled Giselle instead of a gunshot. It was the one who they called Max. “Let him be. I’m the one you’re looking for. I’m Max. He only provided me with a safe house. He doesn’t know anything. Let him go.”

  A triumphant grin appeared on Barbie’s face. Etienne closed his eyes, hiding tears behind long, dark eyelashes. What have you done, Jean?

  Giselle stood rigid and pale, refusing to meet Barbie’s eyes. He’d only read defeat in them. It was indeed Max then, and if that’s the torture they did to him just to get his name, she dreaded to think about what they would do to get a full confession out of him. They were all finished. Good and dead.

  Barbie approached her, slowly and deliberately.

  “I never liked you, Sophie.”

  “The feeling is mutual; trust me.”

  “You’re one insolent little bitch; you know that?”

  “I’ve been told that quite a few times.”

  Still holding the gun in one hand, he grabbed her forearm once again, leading her out of the room and heading to the one next to it. It made no difference. They were all reserved for interrogation purposes on this floor. The whole country had been turned into one big Gestapo cellar, full of bodies waiting to be bled dry.

  “If you will be so kind as to wait for me; I’ll just finish with those two and will be right back with you. We’ll have such a great time, I promise!” He had already started for the door after pushing her inside, then hesitated on the threshold for a moment and turned around, a devilish grin splitting his face. “On second thought, I may just give you a taste of what is to come, so you don’t get too bored while you wait for me.”

  He moved towards her swiftly, his hand balled into a fist.

  “I wouldn’t do it if I were you," Giselle shouted, jumping back. She was cornered, but just out of his reach, just for two more seconds, just to win some time. “You might find yourself back on the Eastern Front if you touch me.”

  It is said that fear heightens all the emotions, sharpens the most distant memories, pulling them out of the brain when the situation is not a matter of simple danger anymore, but of life and death itself. And so, Giselle remembered that the Eastern Front was what Klaus was afraid of the most, recalling his face in every detail when he had confided to her once when she confronted him about interrogating women as well as men.

  “You say I beat women? You women are much crueler, much more dangerous than men. I have never hit a woman before; it all started in Russia. That’s how I got into all this. There, it was the women whom we really feared. If you fell into their hands, if you saw what they did to one’s comrades, then you really became hard. One was singing as I led her to the gallows; fancy that? Fearless they were but so very ruthless, I tell you.”

  Now, a shadow of doubt passed over his face but just for a split second. He arched his brow curiously, carefully hiding his true feelings from her. “Is that so?”

  “I work for Standartenführer Sievers. I’m one of his French agents, a ‘turned’ one, of course. He will be very upset if something happens to me.”

  She was lying through her teeth but sneering bravely in the face of the Butcher himself. She didn’t know why she even said the words; maybe she wanted to prolong her existence by a mere few hours while he called people to confirm her story… Merde, she didn’t even know where Sievers was stationed now if he was alive at all. Even if he was, it was Sievers who had put her on the train to Poland without any moral qualms, precisely because she refused to work for him.

  Barbie regarded her for some time.

  “Really?” he drawled, at last, his expression souring for some reason.

  Giselle picked up on that at once, a spark of hope igniting inside of her against all reason. She slowly undid the first three buttons on her blouse, revealing the burns lining her skin.

  “He did that to you?” Barbie sounded doubtful.

  “No. His men did. Unlike you, he finds torturing women distasteful.”

  Barbie walked over to her, studying the marks on her chest with unhealthy interest.

  “Why wouldn’t he inform me about you?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  When he lifted his hand to touch one of the burn marks, Giselle slapped it hard. The Butcher laughed.

  “How shall I call you when I get him on the phone? Not Sophie Benoît, I suppose?”

  “Laure Vignon.”

  “Laure.” He repeated the new name as if tasting it. “Suits you better than Sophie.”

  Giselle breathed out in relief when he started towards the exit.

  “You’d better be telling the truth, Laure,” he threw over his shoulder before slamming the door after himself and locking it.

  Giselle put her blouse back in order, cursing her trembling fingers, and sat on the floor, for the room was devoid of any kind of furniture. They had even removed the rugs from here and put bars on the windows – from the inside, to make sure that no one was able to break the glass and jump out of it. That left only a bathroom with a tub, similar to the one in which Barbie had nearly drowned Etienne. Giselle considered for a moment whether to drown herself in it before Barbie did it for her. Why, it wasn’t such a bad idea now that she thought of it.

  Klaus Barbie was a curious man. She must have intrigued him with that wild claim about Sievers. He must be on the phone with him already, Sievers laughing at him and breaking the news that Laure Vignon was dead, buried near one of the train stations somewhere along the way to Germany. Philippe stole her from that train. Sievers couldn’t possibly know that. And so, Barbie would call her bluff and torture her to death anyway.

  Giselle had always listened to the voice of logic. She had always considered every possible scenario before making an informed decision. She never followed her emotions (truth be told, she wasn’t a particularly emotional creature, unlike her sister Kamille or even her little brother Marcel) and prided herself on being not only a skeptic but a nihilist, who didn’t believe in anything, any higher power, except for herself and her own abilities. She was a good strategist; that was true. But good strategists always knew when to admit defeat. She couldn’t sweet-talk her way out of this predicament. Barbie didn’t need her; more than that, he disliked her and clearly, he would torture her just to enjoy the process. She had no reason not to believe otherwise.

  Giselle pushed herself off the floor and walked to the bathroom. An empty slot stared back at her instead of the mirror, which they had removed so no one could break the glass and slash their own throat with it. For some reason, it only amplified the suffocating feeling of desperation. Feeling sick to her stomach, disgusted with the idea that this was how she would have to go, Giselle lowered down to her knees and opened both faucets, trying the water with her hand out of habit. Well, at least she’d die comfortably, in warm water. Barbie would hardly allow her such a luxury. He liked his tubs ice-cold, with his victims in them, struggling for air.

  She watched the water fill the tub and thought about Philippe, hoping that at least he had escaped arrest. They weren’t allowed to meet while here in Lyon, but they disobeyed Etienne’s orders and sometimes sat across the square facing each other, on their respective benches. On so many occasions Giselle fought the desire to get up and walk over to him, to snuggle into his embr
ace and to hell with all protocols. But she didn’t, and that willpower of hers might have just saved Philippe his life.

  Giselle thought of Kamille and wondered how she was doing; how her little niece Violette was doing; how Marcel… Marcel followed Philippe like a shadow, so he was safe then. The tub was half full. This should do. Giselle closed her eyes, mentally saying goodbye to everyone.

  “What are you doing?”

  A voice, with notes of curiosity in it, sounded right above her ear, startling her. Giselle turned around swiftly and came face to face with Obersturmführer Barbie, who was crouching behind her. How the hell did he manage to sneak in so quietly?

  He seemed to read the question in her eyes and snorted with amusement as he answered, “the water. You didn’t hear me come in because of the water running.”

  “Of course.”

  “Were you planning on taking a bath?”

  Giselle only stared hard at him. He knew perfectly well what she was planning on doing.

  “Your bath will have to wait, I’m afraid. Standartenführer Sievers is coming from Paris specially to see you. And he gave me strict orders not to let you out of my sight. So,” he got up, offering her his hand, palm up, almost with theatrical gallantry, “if you’ll allow me…”

  Giselle got up from the floor, ignoring his hand. He still took her by the wrist and led her back into the living room, where he put her in the corner and cuffed her to the water pipe.

  “Wait here, if you would be so kind. He’ll be here shortly.”

  And just like that, she had jumped out of the frying pan straight into the fire.

  16

  Montluc Prison, Lyon. June 23, 1943

  Etienne had been transferred to the Montluc Prison and thrown into one of the cells – until further notice. Gently probing his cheek, on which Barbie had hit him twice, Etienne shuddered at the thought of what Moulin must be enduring now at the hands of that torturer. His head still buzzed from the blows. Barbie sure had a surprisingly heavy hand, for a man of such light build.

  The floor was filthy; a waste bucket stood in the corner, empty yet emanating an overpowering stench. The cot was bare, no mattress. And a small, barred window under the roof, through which he could see the day slowly dying. Etienne sighed and sat on the cot, clasping its edge with his hands until his knuckles turned white. Last time he was in Montluc he was on an inspection with the Chief of Police, right before the Germans had marched into the Free Zone. After that, the SS took it over and restricted all access to it, civil servants included. It was no wonder why; people would be appalled if they saw the conditions in which the incarcerated were held. As they were walking along the corridor, Etienne saw quite a few doors marked with instructions in German: Kein Essen, Kein Ausgang – no food, no going out. Another means of breaking the spirit, invented by Obersturmführer Barbie, no less. Etienne wondered if his cell door would sport the same markings any time soon. Perhaps, they wouldn’t bother with him though and would simply shoot him together with the others.

  Giselle. He let out another ragged breath. Barbie still had Giselle. When Etienne asked the Chief of the Gestapo about her fate, the latter only sneered. “I would have long ago had that bitch executed and her body thrown into the Rhône, but some big shot is coming from Paris to deal with her.” That couldn’t possibly be good.

  Etienne let his throbbing head drop into his hands, for the first time in his life feeling utterly helpless.

  Who was he fooling with all that bravado? He was never one of them, a true résistant. He was simply born into a different class of people, wealthy and respected, with a well-established name and social standing. That was the biggest mistake he had made; he always felt invincible due to that very name, his wealth and social standing and now the sad truth was thrown into his face. To men like Barbie, none of that mattered. He would break every bone in his body and in the evening, he would meet his French girlfriend Odette in the Lapin Blanc, or the Grillon, or Les Glaces, and grope her under the table, just like he groped his secretaries while he watched his victims being beaten to near death by his men – Giselle had told Etienne about witnessing such habits of his firsthand.

  Etienne suddenly experienced a desperate desire to smoke. Barbie wouldn’t even leave him his cigarettes. Merde. Putain!

  He slammed his fist against the metal of the cot in an unusual fit of anger, raked his fingers through his hair and froze in his place. A young German guard had opened the door to the noise and peered inside, checking on his prisoner. Apparently, Etienne deserved the high honor of having a personal guard positioned near his door.

  “Everything fine?” the German asked in his thick accent.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any disturbance,” Etienne apologized out of habit.

  The guard nodded and shifted from one foot to another with uncertainty. “You need anything?”

  Etienne’s head shot up. “Yes. Yes, if I could just borrow one or two of your cigarettes…”

  “Kein Problem.” The guard took five cigarettes out of his pack and even left a box of matches on the cot, commenting on Etienne’s gold watch as he did so. “Very nice. My father make watch. Good quality. Beautiful work. Swiss?”

  Etienne started, looking up at the young man. “Yes. Swiss. Very expensive. You want?”

  The German frowned slightly, appraising the situation.

  “I won’t be needing it soon anyway,” Etienne was already removing the watch from his wrist. “Please, you’ll do me a favor if you take it. I would like for it to end up in the hands of someone who appreciates it.”

  The guard scowled again but this time from the abundance of French words which he didn’t understand. Etienne closed his eyes for a second and forced himself to smile brightly again, nearly forcing the watch into the man’s hands. “Take it. It’s yours. For your kindness.”

  That he understood, judging by his toothy grin.

  “Danke shön!” He quickly hid the watch in his pocket and threw a glance over his shoulder before asking in a low voice, “you want anything?”

  Etienne sensed that the man was offering him a favor in return and that it could be his only chance to warn the rest of his cell, even if it might be the last thing he did in his life. “Could you pass a note for me?”

  “Your girlfriend?”

  “Something like that.” Etienne patted his pants but realized that he was wearing his camouflage clothes and not a three-piece suit as usual. His small, leather-bound notebook together with a pen was left in its breast pocket. The German seemed to guess the gesture and offered him his army-issued notebook and a pencil, its end bearing multiple bite marks. Etienne quickly scribbled a few words on the top piece of paper, tore the page out and wrote an address on top. “Just drop it in the mailbox, will you?”

  “I will.”

  The guard disappeared behind the door. Etienne lit up one of his cigarettes and inhaled deeply, sorely missing his freedom and his father’s watch. Hopefully, the guard would keep his word and deliver the note like Etienne had asked him to. If not, Philippe, Marcel, Patrice, Yves and many more would soon join him in Montluc, and share the courtyard with him in front of the firing squad.

  Hotel Terminus, Gestapo HQ. June 23, 1943

  If someone had told Giselle that she would be so delighted to see the Chief of the Paris SD just a few months ago, she would laugh in their face. It only took for Sievers to appear in the room, one annoyed glare in Barbie’s direction (“Well? Will you take those cuffs off or do you expect me to sit on the floor while I’m talking to her?”), and one handshake – a rather demonstrative one – and Giselle was ready to kiss those gloved hands of his. He might have been the lesser evil of the two, but he made Barbie disappear (with a dismissive wave of the hand, no less) and for Giselle, in her current situation, it was more than enough.

  “It certainly is nice to see you alive and well,” he commented after they were finally left alone.

  “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t ha
ve been so well in the near future. Or alive, for that matter.” Giselle looked at him with unfathomable delight. Putain, she was genuinely glad to see him.

  “So I thought. I hope you appreciate that I came all this way for you.”

  “I do appreciate it, Monsieur Sievers. More than you think.”

  He studied her for a while with his bright blue eyes and a slight grin, then outstretched his hand and removed the glasses from her face.

  “Let’s not hide those pretty green eyes of yours behind such ugly lenses.”

  He hadn’t changed at all; still a charmer. Giselle took in his tailored uniform, the cap in his hands, his blond, almost silver hair neatly parted on one side, his slightly mocking sneer. “Do you still carry that fine cognac of yours on you? I could use a drink.”

  “I can imagine.” He lowered his hand inside his pocket and handed her a silver flask, the same one she remembered from their very first meeting, with an eagle on it.

  Giselle took several generous gulps and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, cringing. Jürgen Sievers observed her with amusement.

  “Why did you come?” Giselle asked, at last, feeling braver now.

  “How could I not, when I heard your name from that brat?”

  Giselle tilted her head to one side, giving him a certain glare. “Why did you really come? Not because you wanted to help me, bien sûr. After all, it was you who put me on one of those fine trains of yours, half-breathing at that.”

  “I came because I wanted to look you in the eyes and ask you, why did you call for me?”

  “He was about to beat me to death.” Giselle motioned her head towards the door. “Your name was the only one that came to my mind, and I took a chance.”

  “It’s pleasing to hear that my name is the one you think of when facing certain death. You’ll make me develop a God complex.”