The Woman on the Train (6 page)

My spoonful of crème caramel stopped half way to my mouth. ‘Oh.’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you say?’

She almost laughed as she told me. ‘I came up with the most ridiculous of excuses. I said you’d spilt coffee down it earlier in the day and I said I’d wash it for you, and just threw it in the bedroom until later.’

‘That’s terrible.’

‘And what would you have said off the cuff that would have been any better?’ She wasn’t laughing now.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ After a long pause, during which I contemplated my dessert, I asked, ‘Did he believe you?’

‘He pretended to.’

We didn’t speak for a few minutes as we struggled through the rest of our desserts. I asked whether I should call for the bill.

‘I’m going to court tomorrow, for that case we read about in the papers. The guard at Drancy.’

I felt my face redden. I had to dissuade her. ‘But why, Isabelle?’ I reached for her hand. ‘It’ll make it worse for you.’

‘I have to know. I need to know what went on there. If I had time, I’d go every day.’

‘Would your mother thank you for it?’

‘She won’t know.’

‘It’s not for me to say, Isabelle, but… I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

‘You’re right.’ I enjoyed a moment of optimism until she looked straight at me. ‘It’s not for you to say.’

I got the bill.

*

I returned home. If I was worried about appearing in court before, now I was panicked. I found Michèle watching TV. I poured myself a beer and slumped on the settee next to her and pretended to take an interest in a documentary about President Kennedy. I wanted to tell her everything, she was still my wife after all, but the words wouldn’t come. I wondered how we’d become so estranged. Hadn’t I given her everything? I looked round our living room in all its glory – the leather three-piece suite, the Turkish rugs, the chandelier, our own cocktail cabinet, despite my preference for beer, the gold-framed mirror, the yucca plant. Upon the mantelpiece, various souvenirs from Morocco, including a decorative tagine and a brightly-coloured teapot with a long, curved spout. God, how ostentatious it looked, and how, all of a sudden, I hated it. I wondered whether she too had seen Hilda’s story in the papers. After all, she had also suffered at the hands of the Nazis. Our lack of children was the result, her inability to love me another. The documentary came to an end. She shuffled to the kitchen to make her cocoa and fill a hot water bottle, despite it still being warm, and we retired to our separate bedrooms.

Lying in bed, I picked up the telephone. I had to tell Isabelle the truth. Better now, I thought, than she found me in court, standing up for the woman who represented those responsible for her parent’s maltreatment and her father’s death. She answered on the second ring. ‘Jacques?’ she said.

Swallowing my disappointment, I said hello. ‘I… I wanted to make sure you were OK.’

‘Of course.’ She yawned and I couldn’t help but wonder whether she would have done so had it been Jacques at the end of the line. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘It’s just… well, you seemed a bit quiet tonight, a bit pensive.’

‘I’m worried, that’s all, about tomorrow. It’s a big thing for me, this court case. I’m nervous about how it might affect me, you know?’

‘Yes.’ It had to be now. ‘Listen, Isabelle, about tomorrow–’

‘I know, I’m just being silly. Ignore me; it’ll be fine. Look, it’s good of you to call, but I’m really tired. I have to go now. I’ll see you on Thursday, Maestro.’

‘But, Isabelle, wait…’

She’d hung up. I held the receiver for a while, its buzzing noise permeating my brain until, in a fit of frustration, I slammed it back into its cradle.

Monsieur d'Espérey wasn’t expecting me until the afternoon session. I got myself ready and, in my haste, cut myself shaving. Never had I felt in such a state of anxiety. Even the biggest and grandest of concerts hadn’t reduced me to such a wreck. I deliberated over what to wear and finally opted for all black – as if going to a funeral. For a dash of colour, I added a fake carnation to my lapel then, deciding it inappropriate, removed it. Even Michèle, who never took an interest in my comings and goings, commented on my suit. A meeting with the record label bosses, I told her. She too was off out for the day and we made an elaborate dance of ensuring we didn’t leave together.

Le Palais de Justice
, a grand grey-stoned building in central Paris, is a spectacular if intimidating place. I’d heard that Marie Antoinette had been imprisoned here before being executed. I made my way to the chambers, as instructed, and there, sitting on a bench in the corridor, waited for Monsieur d'Espérey and Hilda. Finally, they appeared, following a break, and, for only the fourth time in my life, I met Hilda. She looked drawn and pale, her lips the same colour as her skin, but determined, having the air of someone ready to do battle. I spoke to them politely but couldn’t bring myself to act friendly. I wanted them to know I was doing this under sufferance. She looked smart for the occasion – a matching deep-brown jacket and skirt, a collared shirt with a black necktie. She shook my hand firmly. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said.

‘What’s the matter with your face,’ asked Monsieur d'Espérey.

‘What? Oh, I cut myself shaving. So, how’s it been going?

He glanced at Hilda. ‘Not too well, if I’m honest.’ He removed his wig and, inspecting the inside, said, ‘The prosecution have chosen their witnesses well – they’re all articulate, have good memories, and they each hold a deep-rooted hatred for Hilda here.’

I had to stop myself from saying, “what did you expect?” Instead, I asked, ‘Am I next then?’

‘No, they’re running behind time. They have one more to go. I fear they’ve saved their best for last.’ Giving his wig a shake, he continued, ‘All the more reason why you must play your part, Maestro. You and the others.’

‘Others? I thought–’

‘We managed to dredge up a couple of Hilda’s former pupils.’

‘Pupils?’

‘I used to be a teacher,’ said Hilda, with a wry smile. ‘Music.’

‘You were a music teacher?’

She pulled a face. ‘Before the war. At a Catholic girls’ school. Did I not mention it?’

‘No. No, you never mentioned it. I think I would’ve remembered.’

‘Well, we all have a few surprises, don’t we?’

*

‘Madame Kahn, how old were you at the time of your arrest?’

‘I was fifteen.’

‘Why were you arrested?’

She shrugged as if it was a silly question. ‘Because I’m Jewish.’

‘And when was this?’

‘Fourth December 1943.’ A thin woman with sunken cheeks, Madame Kahn pulled on the beads around her neck.

‘Were any other members of your family arrested at the same time?’

‘Yes, my parents, my grandmother and my younger sister.’

‘What happened to them?’

‘Suzanne, my sister, and I were separated from our parents and–’

‘Forcibly?’

‘Yes. It was… horrible. We tried to cling onto them. Suzanne became hysterical, well, we all did. There were hundreds of families like us, all being pulled apart. They kicked us and beat us with their sticks, and used water hoses against us. The noise, the screaming, will live with me forever. That’s when I first remember seeing her.’

‘Her? The accused?’

She pointed at Hilda, who sat impassively, without expression. ‘Yes, her.’

‘Irène d'Urville or, as she is known today, Hilda Lapointe.’

I glanced around at my surroundings. The courtroom lacked the style of its exterior. A plain wall-to-wall brown carpet and wood-panelled walls made it all seem rather bleak. The public sat either on a raised platform behind or in a gallery above. Every space was taken. Without wanting to make it too obvious, I searched for Isabelle but couldn’t see her. Perhaps she hadn’t come after all. On the walls, various framed portraits of serious-looking men in wigs, while behind the judge, a larger portrait of President de Gaulle with his long nose, his knowing eyes and slightly-contemptuous stare. To one side sat the twelve men and women of the jury. The judge, a gaunt man with thick glasses on the end of a thin nose, listened intently as the prosecutor asked Madame Kahn his next question.

‘Now, could you tell the court what Madame d'Urville was doing at the point you first arrived at Drancy?’

‘Shouting and ordering her staff around.’

‘Did you see her use force?’

‘No, but others were on her orders.’

He paused a moment to look at his notes. ‘Did you see your family again?’

‘Suzanne and I were kept together. I never saw my mother or father again, or grandma.’

‘What happened to them?’

‘At the time I didn’t know but after the war I learnt they’d been deported to Auschwitz.’

‘And…?’

She bowed her head and muttered, ‘They were gassed.’

‘All three of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did your sister survive?

‘Yes but she…’

He lowered his eyes at her. ‘Go on.’

‘She took her own life – five years ago.’

‘I see.’

She looked to the floor and quietly produced a handkerchief which she held tightly in her hand. He allowed her a few moments to compose herself. ‘Madame Kahn, how long were you incarcerated at Drancy?’

‘Eight months.’

‘Could you please describe for the court the conditions there?’

‘Yes. It was terribly overcrowded. I found out after the war that the place was designed for 700 people yet there were 7,000 of us crammed into there at any one time. We slept fifty to a dorm. The lucky ones had bunk beds or even just planks to sleep on. Others slept on straw on the floor. We were fed abysmally – watery soup that tasted like soap, no protein. People died of malnourishment. There was hardly any fresh water and only two toilets.’

‘Two toilets for 7,000 inmates?’

‘Yes, you can imagine what it was like. People fell ill all the time and many of them died. There was little electricity so during winter we were always very cold, shivering constantly.’

‘Was the security tight?’

‘Of course. There was barbed wire everywhere, searchlights, watchtowers, and men with machine guns. As Jews, we weren’t allowed to look at any German or French guard in the eye. If we met a guard, say, on the staircase, we had to stop and push ourselves flat against the wall.’

‘And during these eight months, did you have much contact with the accused?’

‘We saw her almost everyday. Some of the guards were OK, some were nasty only occasionally, as if it was expected of them, but she was the worst. We were all very frightened of her.’

‘In what way exactly?’

‘Well, if… I mean, whenever you saw her, you were on tenterhooks in case she lashed out at you.’

‘Perhaps you gave her reason to?’

‘No, not at all. She…’ The woman turned to face Hilda. ‘She didn’t need a reason.’

‘Could you tell the court the reasons for your fear?’

‘She carried a truncheon and she used it all the time, whether you deserved it or not. Everyone called her “the lady with the truncheon”.’

The judge spoke, ‘Did you say a truncheon?’

‘Yes, it was a wooden one with a leather strap.’

‘I see. Carry on.’

The prosecutor cleared his throat. ‘Madame Kahn, could you describe what happened one morning in early February of 1944?’

‘Yes. Every morning we had to line up for roll call. We had to stand there, in lines of five, absolutely still, usually for about two hours, whatever the weather. It might not sound much but when you’re starving hungry and weak, possibly ill, and cold and frightened, then I can’t describe how difficult it is.’

‘Do continue.’

‘On this particular morning in February, Madame d'Urville said that someone had stolen food from the kitchens. No one admitted to it. Probably because it didn’t happen–’

‘But you can’t be sure of this fact?’

‘No. We were starving, like I said, so it could’ve happened.’

‘What did she do?’

‘She… she made us undress. All of us.’

‘Down to your underwear?’

‘No.’ She cast her eyes downwards. ‘Naked.’

‘It was cold?’

‘Yes, it was snowing and there was ice on the ground. It was February after all. We had to remain totally still. If anyone moved, Madame d'Urville would hit us with her truncheon.’

‘On what part of the body did she hit you?’

‘Usually, across the breasts.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Carry on.’

‘She would walk up and down in her thick coat and boots, watching us like a wolf, while we stood there humiliated in our nakedness. Every half an hour or so, she would return to the staff quarters to warm up for a few minutes and some other woman would come to take her place.’

‘Do you remember this other woman’s name?’

‘No.’

‘Did this other woman hit you?’

‘No, in fact she even allowed us to wrap our arms round ourselves. We were all shivering like crazy. But with Madame d'Urville we had to stand with her arms at our sides. Many of the girls started crying. The girl next to me lost control of her bladder. I remember trying to step in her urine just to warm up the soles of my feet. Another one became hysterical.’

‘What happened to this woman?’

Madame Kahn glanced from the lawyer to Hilda and back again. ‘She slapped her across the face then hit her several times until she fell. I mean, she hit her really hard with her club. Then she carried on hitting her across the… the backside and over her head, everywhere, and kicking her. The woman curled up in a ball on the ice, all naked. I remember the sound of her boots cracking her ribcage. She, Madame d'Urville, lost control; she looked like something possessed. She hit that poor woman until blood poured from her mouth and ears. Then, suddenly, it stopped, and Madame d'Urville looked, I don’t know, exhilarated.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Madame d'Urville ordered two of us to take her to the infirmary.’

‘You were one of them.’

‘Yes, me and the girl who had peed herself, about my age. I took the woman by the legs and the other girl by the arms. She was covered in blood and some of her bones…’

‘Yes?’

‘Some of her bones were sticking out at odd angles.’

‘I see.’

‘Although she was rake thin, so were we, and we hardly had the strength to lift her and we were blue with cold. I remember…’

‘Yes?’

She sighed. ‘Once we were out of Madame d'Urville’s vision, we put her on the ground so we could catch our breaths. We felt awful, just leaving her heaped on the ground like that, like a sack of potatoes, naked and all bloodied. We embraced each other, really tightly, to try and warm up a bit. We were both crying and our teeth were chattering. We took her to the infirmary and even they felt sorry for us, and gave us a blanket each.’

Speaking slowly, the lawyer asked, ‘Did you know the woman you carried?’

‘I had spoken to her but I didn’t know her name. She wasn’t young; perhaps about forty. But it’s difficult to tell a person’s age when they’re almost dead from starvation.’

‘Do you know what happened to this woman?’

‘I heard she died a few days later.’

‘As a result of the beating?’

She cast her eyes at the judge. ‘I wouldn’t know that for sure, but it couldn’t have helped.’

The lawyer nodded knowingly. ‘Thank you, Madame Kahn. No more questions.’

The judge looked at Monsieur d'Espérey who shook his head. He had nothing to ask.

The judge called for a brief adjournment.

*

I spent a few minutes in the lavatory, staring at myself in the mirror. Madame Kahn’s story was upsetting, naturally, and now I was expected to stand in front of a packed courtroom, full of reporters, and tell the world that Irène d'Urville wasn’t such a bad sort. I had a headache, I felt nauseous, my mouth felt dry. What had brought me to this place? If I’d known, all those years ago, that I’d now be in this situation, I think I would have taken my chances with the Gestapo. I combed my hair and took a gulp of water. But still, I felt sick.

Leaving the lavatory, I bumped straight into Isabelle. We stood in the corridor, simply staring at each other. She too had dressed up for the occasion, wearing a slim-lined grey skirt and a matching jacket, her hair pulled back. Eventually, she asked what was I doing there. ‘Just been to the toilet,’ I said, hoping to inject a lighter note.

‘You’ve come to support me,’ she said, with the faintest of smiles. ‘Jacques is here though. You look very smart for the occasion.’