The Darkest Hour

by Roberta Kagan

  When Charles had retrieved his bicycle from the hallway he wheeled it outside. Lucy followed him.

  ‘You seem a good boy,’ she said to him. ‘Like my friend has just said to you. You must not tell anyone of this. It is extremely important that you understand that.’

  Charles smiled. ‘I understand. Honestly, I do. You can count on me to keep my mouth shut and you can also count on me to do things for you. No matter what it is. I am willing to help. My father is in a prisoner of war camp in Germany and was wounded defending France. This is the least I can do.’

  ‘Very well.’ Lucy returned the smile. ‘You’d best get yourself off then. I’m sure your mother may be wondering where you are and will be getting worried about you.’

  She turned and went back into the building, closing the door behind her.

  As Charles got on the bicycle he looked up to the window of the second-floor apartment that only a couple of minutes ago he had been standing in. The man with the spectacles was looking down at him. Charles raised his hand in farewell but the man did not return the gesture, instead turning away and moving out of sight.

  Charles had the distinct feeling that Lucy was in for a severe dressing down for her carelessness. As he rode home, he could not help but feel a little sorry for her. After all, it was he who had got her into trouble by following her. Maybe things would have been a whole lot simpler and easier had he ignored what he had seen, and just carried on with his pleasure cycle along the river.

  But then that would not have been nearly as much fun.

  Chapter 7

  Charles kept the appointment two days later as he had been instructed. He had been true to his word and had not mentioned the encounter with the group to anyone. As he dismounted his bicycle outside the apartment building he became aware of someone watching him from across the roadway. For a moment, he did not recognise the man but on seeing the pipe in his mouth he realised it was the gentleman from the apartment.

  The man crossed the road and approached Charles.

  ‘Right, young man,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Follow me.’

  He opened the door to the hallway and waited patiently as Charles wheeled the bicycle into the building.

  A couple of minutes later they were back in the room where Charles had been quizzed two days before. The same people were there, including Lucy, along with another young man with a reddened complexion and blond hair who sat at the table chewing the nails of his right hand.

  The pipe smoker indicated the sofa. ’Please, sit down.’

  Charles did as he was asked and faced the group. It felt as though he was attending some kind of interview and he was feeling rather uncomfortable.

  ‘Victor,’ continued the man. ‘It appears to me that maybe you can be trusted. After all, you could have very easily let the police or the Gestapo know of our meeting the other day and what you saw, but you haven’t done that. You have also returned so maybe your intentions and the enthusiasm you displayed the other day are genuine.’

  Charles smiled at him.

  ‘They are,’ he said. ‘I really want to help in any way that I can.’

  ‘I’m sure. What we do is extremely dangerous, young man, and we do not want to endanger you in any way. Or your family for that matter. You see, if you were to be caught acting on our behalf then it would not be just you that the Gestapo would punish… you do realise that, don’t you?’

  ‘I do,’ replied Charles. ‘But then I don’t intend on getting caught.’

  He thought it best not to mention the incident with the paint and Uncle Michel catching him virtually red-handed.

  ‘We have discussed it long and hard and we have come to the conclusion that you may be able to assist us with some minor work, if you are interested and can promise us that you will remain discreet. If you are ever caught then you realise that you cannot say anything about us or this place.’

  ‘I understand,’ replied Charles nodding his head.

  ‘Okay. Then let me introduce you to us all… Victor, you have already met Lucy.’

  Lucy nodded her head and Charles smiled at her.

  ‘My name is Bernard and the gentleman to the right, over there, is Gerard.’ The man with the wire rimmed spectacles nodded his head in greeting. However, he was not smiling. ‘The fellow next to him is Alain…’ This was the younger man who wore the same green jacket and cap as he had done two days ago, ‘…and opposite him is Jean-Claude.’ The new man raised his hand in greeting.

  Charles wasn’t sure if these were their real names or whether they were doing the same as he was in keeping their real identities secret. He felt it best to continue with them believing his name was Victor.

  ‘What is it you would like me do?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Nothing for now,’ replied Bernard. ‘We will give you a few of the stickers you were so fond of the other day, but if you could meet here with us each Thursday at around six o’clock, we may have some small jobs for you to do for us. We cannot promise you anything. You have to again promise us that you will not say anything to anyone about our group or who we are.’

  ‘I promise,’ said Charles. ‘You can rely on me.’

  ‘Very well. You may go now.’

  Lucy stood up and moved over to him. ‘Come, Victor,’ she said. ‘I will get you some of the stickers then you can be on your way.’

  Charles thought it best to do as he was told and followed her into an adjoining room which looked like it was being used as a study. There was a typewriter on a mahogany desk and next to it what looked like a small printing machine. A pile of paper lay neatly stacked to the side, as though ready to be used in the machine.

  Lucy walked behind the desk and opened a drawer, taking from it a handful of stickers, the same of which she had used on the German truck a few days earlier. She handed them to Charles.

  ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Make sure you put them in your pocket and get rid of them as quickly as you can. Make sure that nobody sees you with them and for goodness sake, please don’t be as stupid as I was on Saturday.’

  ‘You weren’t stupid,’ said Charles quietly, taking them from her. ‘I thought you were very brave.’

  ‘You have to promise me that you will keep all this to yourself, Victor,’ she said, ignoring his compliment. ‘I can’t stress to you how important it is that you tell no-one and do not get caught with these things. The consequences are too high. It is probably best that you do this thing just this once. It is too dangerous for you. Do what you need to do and then forget about us. You are too young for all this… Now go, young man.’

  Lucy’s words preyed on Charles’s mind as he cycled home. It was clear that none of them really trusted him, not so much in regards to keeping his mouth shut, but more in that he could not be relied upon to be discreet with his actions. He decided he would just have to prove them all wrong. He was not going to make this a one-time thing. He had more to offer them than that. He was determined that he would make himself an integral and important part of the group. If anything, his youth may be an advantage in remaining anonymous. Nobody usually gave him a second look.

  Charles was able to dispense with the stickers very quickly. He placed them in various locations about the neighbourhood; the walls of Metro stations, road signs, phone booths, on the bumpers of cars and wherever else he thought they would be seen. By placing his hands behind his back and leaning against walls and lamp posts, he was able to firmly press the stickers against them, before walking away, leaving them there for all to see. Just as he thought, nobody paid any attention to him whatsoever and it was with a new-found confidence and happy countenance that he found himself, the following week, once again standing with Bernard and Lucy in the study of the apartment in the 14th arrondissement.

  The pile of blank paper he had seen the previous week had now been filled with words from the printing machine. He could see the title at the top of these tracts. ‘Pour La France!’ it read, and although they looked amateurish in appearance, some of the
words smudged and slightly out of line and off centre, he was still left with the impression that they were extremely significant.

  ‘We need you to take some of these to a contact of ours north of the river,’ explained Bernard, puffing at his pipe. ‘Do you think you are up to it, Victor?’

  Charles was aware that his breath was becoming quite short. Putting stickers on lamp posts and the backs of seats on the Metro was one thing. If he was caught carrying these then he knew that the admonishment from his Uncle Michel a few weeks ago for his nocturnal activities would be nothing in comparison to the trouble he would be in. However, this was a step up from that and he did not wish to be found wanting. If he was to do this then he would be totally committed to it. He would be a part of the group. Ultimately, he wanted to do his bit for France and this was exactly that. If this did not make his father proud then he was not sure exactly what would.

  He nodded. ’Yes, of course I am. All you need to do is give me the address.’

  They packed half of the tracts into a large brown envelope and handed it to him. Bernard told him the name of the contact and the address, somewhere in the 11th arrondissement, but did not write it down, making him memorise it instead. Charles realised that if he was going to be able to deliver the parcel and then get back home before it went dark then he had better start out straight away. Eagerly he took the package from Bernard’s hand and left the apartment. Once downstairs he collected his bicycle, placing the package into the basket on the handlebars and set off on his secret mission.

  He had never felt so alive and proud of himself for a long time.

  ‘You’re in a funny mood,’ said his mother the following day when they were eating breakfast at the kitchen table. ‘You seem to have a spark about you. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he replied. ‘I’ve never been better.’

  His grandmother looked at him with suspicion but said nothing.

  ‘It’s ever since you got that bike,’ continued his mother. ‘We hardly see you. You’re always off somewhere on it. I hope…’

  ‘You’ve nothing to worry about,’ interrupted Charles. ‘Really you haven’t. I’ve been taking a look at the city… you know, exploring and stuff.’

  ‘Well, be careful,’ she said. ‘Don’t go getting yourself into any trouble.’

  ‘Can I have a bicycle, Maman?’ said Pierre, tearing at a croissant and putting it into his mouth. ‘I want to go with Charles.’

  ‘Maybe one day,’ she smiled indulgently and then turned back to Charles. ‘Where were you yesterday evening? I thought you had gone to see Henri.’

  ‘I did,’ he lied.

  ‘Then why did he knock on our door looking for you?… Whatever it is you are up to, Charles, please, for the love of God, be careful.’

  Charles sighed. ’You have nothing to worry about, Maman. You really haven’t. I wanted to go for a ride on my own last night, that’s all. I will see Henri later and apologise to him.’

  ‘He’s up to no good, Celeste,’ muttered his grandmother. ‘Mark my words, he’ll bring nothing but trouble to your door…’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, will you leave him alone,’ she snapped. ‘I have no idea what you have against him, but it has to stop. You can be very cantankerous sometimes and it’s not endearing, believe me.’

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that! If Luc was here now he wouldn’t stand for you speaking to me like that.’

  ‘Well, he’s not here, is he? The Germans have him, as well you know,’ she shouted. ‘And if he were here then I don’t see him putting up with the way you constantly pick at Charles. He’s his son, and if anything, he would be very proud of him. So in future, if you have nothing nice to say then don’t say anything. Keep your opinions and nasty comments to yourself if you want to stay living with us.’

  With that, Charles’s grandmother burst into tears and left from the table to go to her room. His mother did nothing to assist her and they both watched as she slowly took herself out of the kitchen.

  Charles could not believe what he had heard. The conversation had escalated so quickly and although he had done nothing to cause it, he felt that he had been responsible.

  He stared at his mother, not knowing what to say. Tears were running down her cheeks.

  ‘Well,’ she said defiantly, ‘she deserved that. I’ve been wanting to put her in her place for quite a while.’

  ‘Please don’t fall out on my account.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose I’ll apologise later… but let’s let her stew for a while, shall we?’ she smirked and Charles could not help but chuckle.

  ‘I can hear you, you know,’ shouted his grandmother from her room. ‘I can hear you.’

  Charles and his mother burst into laughter.

  Chapter 8

  For the next few weeks Charles’s involvement with the resistance cell grew. He felt that they now all trusted him as much as they did each other. He had proved to them that he was not only capable of being discreet but that he was also very useful. He made regular deliveries of the tracts and pamphlets produced by the group and was even given some himself to distribute. He left them in phone booths, in public toilets, on the seats of Metro trains and had even left one or two in the school, which had caused quite a stir. Henri had no doubt who was to blame.

  ‘I know it was you,’ he said one afternoon when alone with Charles in the playground.

  ‘You know what was me?’ replied Charles, innocently.

  ‘That thing… “Pour La France”. Don’t tell me it wasn’t because I know it will have been you. Where did you get it?’

  ‘Okay, it was me.’ He felt there was no point in denying it. Henri knew him and he didn’t like lying to his friend, particularly when he had helped him in his initial venture into resistance. However, he could not tell him the full truth. ‘I found it.’

  Henri rubbed his chin. ‘Hmm… okay.’

  ‘Truly, I did,’ said Charles. ‘On a Metro train.’

  ‘You do know you could get in serious trouble if you are caught with one of those things, don’t you? Look what happened to those people last week.’

  It was true. The previous week a resistance cell had been caught by the Gestapo and they were all now being held in the Cherche-Midi prison awaiting trial. The news had hit Charles hard, as the outcome for those involved did not look good. He felt an empathy towards them. Lucy and Alain in particular had been very concerned and upset by the whole thing when he had seen them on the Thursday evening. Bernard had told them that it had to be a lesson to them all to remain discreet, vigilant and above all else safe. He had considered stopping operations for a few weeks to see how the land lay, but was persuaded otherwise by Gerard. He had argued that out of respect to their comrades and to show the Germans that a setback such as this would not stop them, he had eventually won the argument and they had agreed to carry on as normal.

  ‘I’ve heard,’ replied Charles solemnly. ‘But that has nothing to do with me.’

  Henri frowned. ’As you wish.’

  It was clear to Charles that his friend did not believe that he was telling him the full truth of the matter.

  Charles did not like lying to his friend, particularly when he had risked just as much as he had on that first outing when they had painted the slogans on the park monument. It did not sit well with him. But then what could he do? If he told Henri the truth then he would be putting him in a compromising position. It was too big a secret for him to burden his friend with. Charles thought it best that the smallest number of people who were aware of his activities with the resistance group the better for everyone.

  Charles had one time considered telling Henri everything. He had given some thought to recruiting him, but he knew that Henri was not as interested in making the same effort as he was. He was just not as passionate. As time had gone by he understood that his friend was becoming more passive as far as the Nazi occupation was concerned. He had mentioned on more than one occasion that it was probabl
y better to ‘keep your head down’ and not to draw any attention to yourself. The chances of survival would be far greater if everyone just minded their own business, Henri had said. After the arrests last week, Charles realised that his friend was probably right.

  But he couldn’t stop now. He was in too deep and, if truth be told, he enjoyed what he was doing. He enjoyed it because he knew that he was making a difference and he enjoyed it because he knew that his father would have done the same thing had he been here and not locked up in some camp somewhere in Germany.

  The following Thursday, at the usual time, and after telling his mother that he was going out to meet Henri, Charles collected the bicycle from the hallway and set off on the journey to the apartment building in the 14th arrondissement. Dark clouds were gathering over the city and there was a chill in the air. In his eagerness to get going, for he did not want to be late, he nearly dropped the bicycle as he tried to put on his coat and wheel it out of the door at the same time.

  This was becoming a ride that he now knew very well and enjoyed. As he pedalled along the streets and boulevards, he liked to use the time to reflect on what had happened to him over the course of the last year. He had decided that he no longer wanted to be a soldier when he grew up and would like to be a reporter or a spy instead.

  He had heard many tales from Alain, Lucy and Jean-Claude about what the Nazis had been doing and had witnessed some of that behaviour for himself. There were tales about Jews being sent to camps in Germany and Poland and never returning. He had seen raids on properties in the city and the heavy-handedness in the way that the German soldiers and Gestapo officers treated those they were punishing. The contempt that they had for the people they had conquered.

  He wondered about what life may be like in the unoccupied zone, that area to the south and east of the country that the Germans were letting the collaborators in Vichy control. Was it any better than here in the capital? Surely it must be, he thought. Bernard had told him that it was just a question of time before they moved their troops south and occupied the whole of the country. This was something the whole group dreaded. Bernard would often cross into the unoccupied zone, couriering documents to other groups like theirs that they were in contact with, to pass on information and other things that Charles was not privy to. Bernard had told him of some resistance members who had been caught out this way, getting stopped at checkpoints with forged travel papers and then being found with incriminating items upon them. Some of these people had never been heard of again. Bernard would use these stories to emphasise the necessity for discretion from everyone within the group and Charles was glad that he had given them a false name. For they all still thought his name was Victor and had no idea that he was Charles Mercier, nor where he lived. Although he was in no doubt that the others had all given him their true identities, he felt no guilt in deceiving them in this way.