In This Hospitable Land (15 page)

With the garden fully planted in neat rows there was little to do except weed and apply more fertilizer now and again. Unfortunately that left more time for fretting about the relentless German advance. Cherbourg, Brest, Le Mans, Dijon, and Lyons fell.

By the twenty-first of June, Hitler declared the war in the west at an end. The next day a Franco-German armistice was signed with the French forced to accept all German terms: the return of Alsace-Lorraine to German sovereignty and the occupation of the Channel and Atlantic coastlines as well as all major industrial areas.

Fortunately most of southern France would remain unoccupied, under the jurisdiction of a French administrative center at Vichy. But the French army and navy were demobilized and disarmed and France had to bear the entire cost of the occupation. Worse still, all French prisoners of war were to remain in Germany until the completion of a full peace treaty.

In London, de Gaulle formed a French National Committee and the British recognized him as head of the newly established Free French army. Then Hitler appeared in Paris.

The sight of the Führer driven triumphantly through the nearly empty streets of the capital—visiting Napoleon’s Tomb and touring the Eiffel Tower—dealt another devastating blow to French pride. A British blockade of war matériel and food to the whole of France threatened real hardships ahead—making the Sauverins exceptionally glad they had found and planted their plot when they had.

June turned into July. The Sauverins could see and admire the preliminary results of André and Alex’s hard work: the first plant shoots poking through carefully graded earth. But with Pétain’s government starting to incarcerate “Jews and dissidents” at a prison camp called Gurs and young Frenchmen being conscripted into German labor battalions, complacency wasn’t possible.

At André’s prompting the family began thinking about leaving Bédouès for a place farther up in the mountains, away from any real town. Sooner or later they feared some unhappy person who had lost a husband or son would tell the authorities of their presence and then they might be sent away to who knew what horrible fate?

“But the mayors of Florac and Bédouès know we’re here,” Geneviève declared, aghast.

“I mean other authorities,” André explained patiently. “I mean the police.”

Still the people of Bédouès—apart from the de Montforts—treated the Sauverins with ever-growing kindness. Some even expressed hope that the Sauverins would remain at least through the summer.

As the crops began to mature a number of farmers stopped by to offer advice and praise. Denise and Geneviève started lending a hand. Even the children helped as best they could.

“If we have to head off again,” Geneviève declared, “it better not be before we enjoy the fruits of our labors.”

In mid-July Pétain was overwhelmingly elected president by the French parliament. Within a week Vichy France banned the employment of “aliens”—nonnative Jews.

The Battle of Britain raged, bringing fresh fears about the fate of the Freedmans across the North Sea. Denise and Geneviève were extremely anxious about their brother Francis.

The summer rains proved gentle and reliable. The garden thrived and flourished. The Sauverins’ vegetables grew faster, taller, and more abundantly than those of other gardens planted in the vicinity year after year, always cultivated with the same methods and producing the same modest results. Some argued that the Sauverins’ plot had lain fallow so long it was bound to do better than adjacent overworked soil but the family was convinced André’s scientific approach—particularly his chemical fertilization—was the key to their success.

Their garden became a much-discussed marvel. Its profusion stirred amazement and wonder. Many made a pilgrimage to “the land of the Belgians”—a true local curiosity.

Unfortunately the Sauverins’ success also served as a reminder of the lack of manpower for bringing in everyone’s crops. Would the young men of Bédouès ever be seen again? Many had died in the doomed attempt to defend their country. Rumor had it that the Nazis had placed many others in concentration camps. Now the Germans demanded that the few remaining young adult males work in French factories supporting German war production. Newspapers reported some young men were being taken into Germany to work in the factories there.

Fields were ripening. Orchards were heavily laden with peaches, plums, and cherries. Who would gather, sort, distribute, and store them? They would rot quickly if not picked. The Sauverins saw an opportunity to help and to supplement their own garden.

Alex talked with Lucien Mauriac. “If you help bring in the cherry crop,” Lucien said, “you can eat any cherries while working and keep half of what you pick.”

The Sauverin brothers and the Freedman sisters set to work immediately. The farmer who owned the trees provided each with a big apron to wear, featuring a large front pocket in which to store fruit as they retrieved it.

Climbing the gnarled trunks of the aged trees in order to reach branches bent down under the full weight of the fruit required temerity, agility, and tenacity. Rose and Louis, suffused with pride as they watched, marveled at their sons. But the skill, strength, and persistence of their daughters-in-law astonished them.

By mid-August Lucien Mauriac had become very nervous. Bédouès had a problem no longtime resident could solve. But there was an outsider he could approach for help.

Early on Monday the nineteenth of August, Lucien trudged up the dusty path from his own home to the Sauverins’ plot. André was hoeing weeds between rows of beets. Alex pulled up weeds by hand.

After preliminary pleasantries Lucien said hoarsely, “The plums. They’re ripening. And the preserves factory is closed for lack of youthful manpower. I’m afraid the fruit will rot.” Politely, hopefully, anxiously, Lucien asked, “Monsieur le professeur, is it possible you know or can devise some less labor-intensive way to preserve our plums?”

The mayor was sweating and just this side of panic during the long minute it took André to formulate an answer.

“I’ll need space to work,” André said. “There’s not enough room in the attic.” Lucien almost whooped for joy. Then André added, “Perhaps you could ask de Montfort. He’s got plenty of rooms he doesn’t use.”

Now Lucien had a violent headache. He hated to ask de Montfort for anything. “Why not ask him yourself?” he suggested. “It would sound much more serious coming from a scientist.” Silence hung heavily between them. Then Lucien realized something that pleased him enormously. He grinned cagily. “Actually André, I’ll do it. Let’s settle this now.”

Minutes later the mayor was pounding authoritatively on the château’s great door.

“What is this?” de Montfort demanded of the men who dared disturb him.

Lucien felt the old timidity but stated simply, “We have a request. Or rather, a demand.”

The ex-governor of Djibouti was too shocked to respond. On behalf of the good people of Bédouès, Lucien asked him to give André a room.

“With a supply of water and a large table,” André elaborated.

As de Montfort spluttered with inarticulate rage Lucien inquired almost sweetly, “Do I understand correctly that you have been charging the Sauverins rent?”

The ex-governor shifted his glower back and forth between Lucien and André as if he couldn’t decide who he loathed most or would choose to destroy first.

Lucien drove the dagger home. “Surely you know that’s against regulations. And as a former government official you know how important regulations are.”

De Montfort pressed his lips together so tightly they turned white.

“I hope not to need the space for too many days,” André said.

Struggling, de Montfort growled, “The pantry. One week. No more!”

“Is that enough time?” the mayor asked André.

“If I can’t solve the problem in a week,” André replied, “I can’t solve it at all.”

André at once gathered plums from a tree near the château hoping to discover how to remove the waxy covering then dry the plums into prunes. It would change the local diet a bit but…

His chemistry textbook, small as it was, helped him determine the composition of the plum and the makeup of the tough skin protecting the juicy pulp inside. He spent the entire day reading and trying to remember chemical formulas affecting fruit. He sat up late into the night jotting in his notebook and performing calculations.

The next day he walked into Florac to buy caustic soda, alcohol, vinegar, salts, and an acidic brine. Retiring to the ex-governor’s pantry he tried to approximate the laboratory conditions he had enjoyed in Belgium and suddenly realized how much he missed his previous life—the studies, his experiments, the conversations.

He created a series of solutions then bathed the fruit in one after another and waited for results. No matter how he mixed his chemicals and household ingredients hoping for a softening of the outer layer that wouldn’t degrade the sweet-flavored meat, the plums held on tenaciously to their seemingly impervious skin.

Morning became afternoon. Late afternoon turned to early evening. Night wore on and on. Still no answer came.

Early Wednesday André had barely taken a sip of the coffee Nichette had thoughtfully brought him before Claude de Montfort poked his head into the pantry, grousing about how long the project was taking and demanding to know when he could have his room back.