Two Testaments (13 page)

Gabriella slipped silently into the hospital room where Mother Griolet lay asleep in a starched white bed. The nun’s face looked pale and flat, the translucent glow gone. The skin sagged, pulling her closed mouth down into a frown.

Gabriella looked away, then sat down stiffly in a chair to wait. She needed Mother Griolet to open her eyes and listen. She had questions to ask, doubts to discuss with her elderly confidante. At once Gabriella felt a blush forming on her cheeks. It was shameful, she chided herself, to come to a hospital expecting to receive. For once Mother Griolet deserved to be the one cared for.

The nun’s eyes flickered and opened. She looked around with a bewildered expression on her face until her eyes found Gabriella.

“My child,” she whispered, clearing her throat. “How kind of you to come see me.” She stretched out her hand from under the sheets, and Gabriella clasped it.

“How do you feel?”

Mother Griolet gave a feeble chuckle. “My child, don’t look like that! It will frighten me. Do they all think I’m going to die?
Mais alors!
I have a bit of work to complete before I can meet my Maker.”

She spoke in a light, kidding voice, but Gabriella saw that each breath came with effort.

“Shh. You rest. Of course we don’t think you will die. But you did scare us! We’re just waiting for you to hurry on home.”

“Gladly. It’s terrible to be confined to a bed like this.” A faint sparkle had come into her green eyes. “And you, Gabriella, what makes you sad today?”

“Me? Nothing. Except, of course, it is disconcerting to see you here. But I’m sure you’ll be better soon.” She patted Mother Griolet’s hand.

“And everything is running smoothly at the orphanage?”

“Yes, everyone is pitching in. Sister Rosaline and Anne-Marie mopped the dormitories this afternoon, and I changed the sheets. The children’s lessons are coming along fine. It’s all fine.”

“Except that something is not quite right with you.”

Gabriella reddened. “Why do you say that, Mother Griolet?”

“Your eyes, Gabriella. They aren’t shining.”

Gabriella twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers. Then she whispered, “It’s Anne-Marie.”

“Ah … I see. She is not fitting in well?
C’est ça?
”

“No … I mean, yes. She fits in fine. You won’t believe how much better she looks in just these few days. Stronger, healthier. And she is so happy just to be here, in the orphanage. With Ophélie.” Gabriella bit her lip. “The problem is, I don’t feel one bit happy. I mean, look at her. She’s lived through hell ten times over, she has no family, no work. What will become of her? And she has no faith. Yet she is happy. How can it be?”

As usual, Gabriella could not keep from speaking her heart. “And I’m jealous. Jealous of a woman who is half-starved, terrorized, alone with a child. I have a wonderful family. I have lots of possibilities for the future. I even have a young man who … who cares for me, I think. And I have the Lord. All this, and I don’t feel joy. I feel fear. Yet she is happy and thankful, and I …” She covered her face with her hands. “Why am I spilling all this out to you when you’re … you’re so …”

“I did ask, after all,” the nun said.

Gabriella wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “What a mess I am. Making the patient counsel the visitor.”

“Gabriella, goodness!” Although weak, Mother Griolet’s voice was stern. “Who in the world are you trying to be, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, who are you trying to be? Are you carrying Anne-Marie’s problems for her? Do you think you are responsible for her pain?”

“No, of course not.”

“And yet because she is happy and you are anxious, you have somehow failed?”

“Yes, well, I mean as a Christian. My example. What will she think?”

“She will probably think that you are a human being. That things bother you. She will probably be quite relieved to find that you aren’t perfect.” Mother Griolet turned her head on the pillow and met Gabriella’s eyes. “For goodness’ sake, Gabriella, just be her friend. You don’t need to feel guilty that your life has been easier than another’s. That is God’s business.”

Gabriella started to speak, but the old nun continued.

“Gabriella, God is … how do you say it? Chiseling. He is chiseling away some of the imperfections. Sometimes it hurts. Be honest with Him. You’ll see. It will all be fine.” She closed her eyes again.

Gabriella stood up, leaned over, and gently kissed Mother Griolet on each cheek. “
Merci.
I’m so thankful for you. I pray night and day that you will be back soon.”

“Go on now,” Mother Griolet murmured, “and tell them that this stubborn old woman will be back sooner than they think. Sooner than they wish, perhaps.
Mais oui!
”

The meal had gone really well after all. Gabriella had not looked forward to an evening at Mme Leclerc’s with Anne-Marie and Ophélie, but she couldn’t turn down her landlady’s offer without being rude. Fortunately there had been no awkward pauses or teasing remarks about M. Hoffmann from Caroline.

Anne-Marie had smiled politely and answered Mme Leclerc’s questions. She had sat poised and still, reflective, her dark eyes filling up like little puddles of rain when she spoke of her thankfulness at being reunited with Ophélie.

She was only two or three years older than the other girls, yet it seemed to Gabriella that she surpassed them in knowledge and wisdom by many more. And dressed in the smart outfit that Sister Rosaline had rescued from the clothes closet, Anne-Marie was beginning to look stunning and sophisticated. Caroline and Stephanie seemed oblivious to this as they joked and teased with Ophélie, and the little girl relished their attention and chattered along with them.

“May I see your room?” Anne-Marie asked Gabriella softly.

“Why … yes,” Gabriella stammered, caught off guard. “Yes, of course.”

Leaving the table, she led Anne-Marie down the hall into her bedroom.

“Oh!” Anne-Marie exclaimed. “It’s perfect. Cozy, simple.” She leaned against the window. “You have a view of the town. And your very own olive tree to brush the window.”

She sat on the bed lightly, bringing her feet under her so that she resembled a fine, shining black cat, regal and sure, yet unassuming.

“And are you ever homesick, Gabriella?” she asked.

Gabriella pulled herself onto the bed beside Anne-Marie, and somewhere a board creaked and groaned. The young women caught each other’s eyes and burst into laughter.

“I hope it will hold us,” Gabriella said. “After all, we are both quite hefty women.”

This sent them, for some reason, into hysterical laughter as they looked at their almost-emaciated shapes.

Gabriella realized, to her astonishment, that this woman, who was the last person she had wanted to get to know, was somehow becoming her friend. It was as if, for that one brief interlude of laughter, the Lord had pulled back the curtain and revealed a future scene. Sisters. Soul sisters. Mother Griolet must have been praying very hard indeed from that hospital bed.

8

The last two weeks had crawled by for Hussein. He was staying with Moustafa Dramchini and the tall man, the American called David. He was proud at how smoothly it had flowed, how easily they had believed his story and accepted him into the apartment in Bab el-Oued. The men had waited till dark to return to their home that first night after the ferry left. They were afraid of the FLN, Hussein thought with satisfaction.

The men did not talk freely in front of him, but Hussein had eyes and a good brain. He noted every detail for Ali. After two weeks, he decided he had enough information to risk his life and climb back through the winding labyrinth of the Casbah. Still, his heart raced. What if Ali slit his throat before he had a chance to explain? The fear made him hesitate and turn instead toward his mother’s apartment. He walked into the kitchen where she worked and wished at once that he had not come.

She turned and saw him, and her face went pale. For a few seconds she did not move. Then she engulfed him, moaning, “My son,” while he suffocated against her large bosom. She cried and rocked him, and he never said a word.

When she finally let him speak, all he could say was, “Mama, I have been working. I must go again, and I don’t know when I will see you. Pray for me, Mama. Allah will protect me. He has, you see. Don’t worry. Only pray.”

He left her standing with her back to the sink, wadding her apron between tightly clutched fists, tears running down her face like water from a spigot. Her cry of
My son
followed him out the door.

It was almost time for curfew when Hussein, watching from his hiding place, saw Ali return to his apartment. His stride was quick and angry, and again Hussein hesitated. Finally he pulled his shoulders up, took a deep breath, and knocked on the half-open door.

“Who is it?” Ali asked.

“It is I,” Hussein replied, stepping into the dim light of the room.

“Hussein!” His name was pronounced almost with warmth. Then Ali’s tone grew angry. “Why are you here? You are supposed to be in France!”

“I am going ve-very soon,” the boy stuttered. He blinked hard, squared his shoulders, and looked Ali in the eye. “But I have been busy here. I have found out where Moustafa lives, with an American who has been helping him in France. M. Hoffmann. David Hoffmann. He is here too.”

At the mention of the two names, Ali’s face broke into a smile.

Hussein hurried on. “Anne-Marie Duchemin has escaped to France. The guard would not let me on the ferry. But Moustafa promised to get me there soon. They believe I am a harki’s son. I have done nothing to lose their trust. You can find them. As soon as I am safely away to France, you can go and take care of them. It will be easy. And I will … will finish the work in France.”

Ali rubbed his chin, then lit a cigarette and offered one to Hussein, who accepted, steadying his shaking hand while Ali bent close to him with the fire of the match. Ali took a long draw before speaking.

“This is good, Hussein. Not as I planned, but good. Perhaps better.” He twirled around and slapped Hussein hard across the face, so that the cigarette flew out of his mouth, landing on the dirt floor. Ali crushed it with his foot.

Hussein stared at the floor as blood oozed from his lip and dripped down. He moved his foot forward, so that the blood landed on his shoe. His whole body was trembling. He did not want to see the knife.
Let it be over quickly, Allah. Quickly.

“That is only to remind you who is in charge.” Ali laughed, and Hussein looked up in surprise and saw the mad gleam in his eyes. “You have done good work, boy. Tell me more.”

Hussein spoke quickly. “Moustafa is trying to convince his mother and sisters to come with him to France, and this David is staying to help him. It was not planned at first. David came to bring Anne-Marie back, because she was so … so ill. But she met a woman at the port, an old neighbor, and they left together. They would have taken me, I tell you, but for the guard.

“And now the two men wait and plan. They’re afraid, I can tell. And M. Cirou—that is where they stay, in his apartment. He works for the OAS. They plan to send me on the ferry first, because I am small and easy to conceal. Later they will come, with Moustafa’s family. You’ll have time to do whatever you want. I’m not sure when I will leave … it may still be a few weeks. I try not to be too eager. I listen and do what I am asked.”

Ali nodded, and there was a cruel satisfaction in his eyes. “Stay with these men. Keep their confidence. And when you are getting ready to leave, come see me. I will finish the work here, as you say.” He dropped his cigarette on the ground, and as he crushed it, he pointed to Hussein’s shoe. “Be sure to wipe off the blood before you go back there.” He tossed him a dirty bandanna. “Take care of yourself, boy,” he said, slapping him hard on the back. “I’m a very busy man these days. Don’t bother me again until it is time.”

Hussein stepped into the alleyway and fled down the street.
Pray for me, Mama
, he cried in his head.
Pray for me.

One small spot of blood remained on the floor, and Ali wiped it clean with a piece of tissue. The surprise of seeing Hussein with his interesting news brought another quick smile to his face. He ran his tongue over his teeth, crooked and stained from tobacco, and thought through the plan.