Waiting for the Violins (34 page)

“Magnificent!” Raymond exclaimed. “Best job we’ve done ever.”

“Except you forgot to run away. You’re not supposed to wave ‘bye-bye’ at them, you know.”

“I’d like to take him down to the doctor at Marcouray,” Antonia said. “I’m out of sulfa powder and don’t want to risk his getting an infection.”

Cyprian sighed. “Well, if you have to, go ahead.”

“We can start out early tomorrow morning and get there by midday. I’d like Sandrine to come with me, to help carry back supplies.”

He scratched his cheek. “Sure, that’s fine. Put Raymond to work too. Teach him we’re not playing football up here.” He took a step toward the tent opening, then turned back for a moment. “Congratulations on the job, though, kid,” he said, and returned to the cooking fire at the center of the camp.

*

Antonia had given first aid for hundreds of battle wounds and then passed the patient on to some medical facility. She didn’t like to treat a bullet wound in a forest and send the man back to his hut in his dirty clothes to sleep it off. At the very least, she needed sulfa.

The sleepy Ardenne town of Marcouray boasted of only one doctor, and he’d been spared labor conscription due to advanced age. His “surgery” was simply a room in his house, and his “pharmacy” a cabinet of jars and boxes that was only slightly superior to her own inventory.

“It looks good,” he announced upon examining the wounded shoulder. “The bullet passed through, and both entry and exit wounds are clean. You’re correct that a sprinkling of sulfanilamide will give him extra protection.” He rebandaged the shoulder and patted the patient on the cheek. “You seem to otherwise be in excellent health, my boy. Be glad you’re living in the fresh air of the forest and not in some cellar.”

Raymond seemed perplexed. “Why would anyone live in a cellar?”

“I have several patients who live in hiding. The lack of sunlight is harmful, especially to the children.”

Antonia knew what he meant. Jews were hiding in Marcouray. She thought of Jackie, the lovely child of Aisik and Rywka, who would be nearly five. She wondered where he was and if he’d already forgotten who his parents were.

The thought of the baby and the three adults she’d known brought a twinge of helpless sorrow, and she forced herself back to the present.

“Well, that’s good news. Come on, you can rest a little at the Delcours’,” she said, leading Raymond from the doctor’s house. “I’ll see what the war news is while Sandrine collects supplies, and then we can start back to the camp.”

It had begun to rain again when they arrived at the farmhouse. Madame Delcour fussed maternally over her invalid grandson when Celine arrived in the kitchen with Suzi at her heels. She peered at her cousin’s shoulder. “Well, that was dumb, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t be mean,” Raymond said. “I can still wrestle you to the ground with one arm.” It was clear the two cousins had a history of affectionate abuse, so Antonia merely changed the subject.

“Do you have any news from Brussels?”

“Lots. From Brussels and from the world. Both good and bad.”

“Start with the good, please.”

“Well,” Laura said, “the atmosphere in Brussels has changed. Since Stalingrad, the people seem much more hostile to the occupation. Those Vs are scribbled now on the walls everywhere. And then there’s the mystery of Von Falkenhausen.”

Sandrine frowned. “What mystery? Has he caused any trouble for the café or for the line?”

“No. Nothing like that. He’s still governor general, but he’s in Berlin all the time now. Francis thinks something’s going on. A power struggle or something. I’ve even heard rumors that he hates Hitler.”

“Lot of good
that
will do him.” Antonia sneered. “So what’s the bad news?”

Celine sighed. “Arrests, all along the line. Florentino was captured. So were Fernand and Elvire.”

“Dear God.” Sandrine closed her eyes and shook her head faintly. “Those three were like a rock to us all. What about Mathilde and Gaston?”

“No word. Some German officers are quartered in the house now. The dogs are with Philippe.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard any news about the Jewish partisans,” Antonia said.

“No, nothing. But Laura said she and Francis have stopped moving aviators and POWs. London wants them to either stay in hiding or for the rescuers to redirect them into the countryside to the maquis camps, where the Allied armies can repatriate them.”

“Repatriate? The invasion must be close then,” Antonia remarked.

“So, do you want to hear the world news? It’s a little better.”

“We listen to Radio London too, but what can you add?” Madame Delcour said.

Celine leaned back on the sofa, scratching Suzi’s head and enjoying the role of reporter. “Well, the war news is good. They don’t tell me that much over the wireless, but they did say the Italians have signed an armistice with the Allies, and Montgomery is working his way northward. Mussolini was imprisoned in the mountains, but Hitler’s agents managed to spring him and appointed him head of ‘The Italian Social Republic.’ Whatever that is. Anyhow…” She drew a folded piece of paper from a shirt pocket and consulted it.

“In Germany it’s a little more uncertain, with heavy losses of Allied bombers, but they’ve done a lot to cut back the Nazis’ industry, plus they bombed Peenemünde, where the Germans are supposed to have their rockets. But the Red Army has liberated Kharkov and is now on a major offensive against Kiev.”

Antonia glanced at her watch. “Oh, sorry. It’s time. While you’re all listening to Little Miss BBC, I’ve got to go up and transmit a message.”

*

Antonia withdrew to the attic where the radio was already set up, so she flicked on all its switches and fine-tuned the frequency. With mechanical efficiency, she set on the earphones and began to tap out the message:

Ardenne train derailment big success stp
major
attk on ardenne targets plannd bt need large quantity explosv stp pls drp same spot same hr stp if tuesday good pls confrm w mssage tulips r blooming in Holland end
.

She dropped the earphones to her neck and was about to disconnect when she got a signal in return, and she flicked the connection over to the receiver. For some reason, London was breaking custom and initiating a direct message. Astonished, she set the earphones back on and reached for a pencil.

Will submit request for explosv undrstood and will snd code mssage upon officl approval stp lysander schedled for 1 may will pick up sophie for reassignmnt stp replace dora in france stp landing at same field same hour as before stp this time morse letter J stp end.

Aghast at the sudden news, Antonia switched back to the transmitter and tapped out
Why replace dora
stp
work here urgent and cannot leave end.

The answer came back immediately.

Dora dead stp no alternativ stp nothing more urgent than this stp order comes frm highst quarters end.

The line went silent and Antonia sat twice stunned. Dora dead. Dora, who had given her an hour of unashamed pleasure, knowing they both were about to walk through the valley of death. And she had to leave Belgium.

Still dazed, she returned to the living room, where Celine and Sandrine sat in conversation with Monsieur Delcour.

“London is reassigning me. They’ll pick me up in two days,” she announced morosely.

“What? You can’t go. We need you here,” Celine said.

“I know. I don’t want to. But something big must be about to happen.”

“It must have to do with the invasion,” Sandrine said solemnly, as if she weighed the importance of the war effort against her claim on Antonia.

“Yes,” Antonia murmured, trying to think of what to say when Madame Delcour rushed into the room. “One of the children from Marcouray has just arrived. I think you should hear this.” All three of them followed her into the kitchen.

A boy of about seven stood by the table, hunched over from the cold, his hair dripping wet.

“Tell the lady what you told me,” Madame Delcour said softly, drawing off his sodden jacket and shirt and bringing him closer to the stove.

He drew in his breath with a mucous-filled sniff. “Trucks. The Boches,” he said in a small soprano voice. “Papa said to tell you.”

“How many trucks?” Madame Delcour draped a dry blanket over his naked shoulders.

“Three. And a big car. At the mayor’s house.”

“Did your papa say how many soldiers?”

He shook his head, staring at the floor.

“More than ten?”

“Yes.” He nodded for emphasis.

“More than twenty?”

He frowned, trying to remember. “I don’t know.”

“We’ve got to take a look,” Antonia said. “Can we get anywhere near the mayor’s house?”

Celine was already pulling on her coat. “We know the baker, at the far end of the street.”

A dash down through the field and onto the cow path behind the Marcouray houses brought them to the first shop on the main street.

A vigorous rap on the rear door brought the baker, who admitted them without hesitation. “Come upstairs. You can’t see much. The officers are all inside, but it looks like they’re preparing for a raid.”

Antonia opened the attic window and leaned out as far as she could. In the gray drizzle, she could make out the three trucks and, as the boy had said, another vehicle, an armored personnel carrier. The sudden appearance of the force had no military reason, so the purpose was obvious. They were preparing an attack on the Siroux maquis encampment. Someone had denounced them, and even if the Germans didn’t know the exact location of the camp, twenty or so men could filter through the woods and eventually find them, from the smoke of their cooking fire if nothing else.

“Looks like they’re waiting for morning and a break in the weather before they advance. We’ve got to warn Cyprian so that he scatters the camp.” She shook her head. “Except it’s almost nighttime. How do we get back to the camp? I don’t think we can find our way in the dark.”

“I can,” Celine announced. “I’ve been carrying messages and supplies through the Siroux woods all year. I know the route with my eyes shut.”

Antonia stood up. “We’ll go with you.”

“No, out of the question. You’ll just slow me down. Besides, what’s the point of your coming back to camp when it’s going to disperse anyhow? Stay here in hiding until you can break out and meet your plane. This is
my
job.”

Taken aback by Celine’s newfound authority, Antonia had to agree.

“All right. Do what you have to do. Godspeed,” she added, kissing her on the cheek.

Buttoning up her coat and pulling her beret low on her forehead, Celine started out in the rain along the muddy path.

Thunder rolled in the distance as Antonia watched the young woman disappear into the obscure woods. They hadn’t really said good-bye. Dread weighed in her chest like a rock.

*

After an hour of trudging by flashlight along muddy ground that only she recognized as a path, Celine began to have doubts. She knew the route, of that she was confident, but the slippery climb was harder than she expected, and she was soaked through.

In one or two places, where the water-soaked branches hung low and slapped against her, she became afraid. Not of Germans, but of the other night creatures—wild boars that might leap out at her, a stag deer or even an owl roused from sleep that might flutter down at her. Worse, centuries of tales of phantoms and other forms of malevolence seemed to whisper at her from behind, and though she scoffed at them, she picked up her pace.

Finally, panting and dizzy with exhaustion, she came to the first sentry post and gave the password. “
Vive Belgique
, it’s me. Celine.”

A man stepped out from under a bush-covered tarp where he’d been squatting, half asleep on a crate. “What the hell are you doing here alone?”

She explained the emergency, dragging him with her back to the camp where they roused the others. Cyprian staggered from his hut.

“The Germans,” she said. “In Marcouray. About twenty, maybe more. Looks like they’re waiting for dawn for the raid.”

“Damn. All right. We’ll be ready for them.” He turned to the man at his side. “Antoine, round up the new people and tell them to pack the tents and load them on the mules. Take only what tools they can carry on their backs. Disperse them in three groups to Cielle, Beffe, and Chavee, and make sure each group has a supply of guns and ammunition.”

He peered through the rain at the men who were gathering around him. “Raymond, Georges, Nicolas, pick out three other men. You’re all coming with me. We’re going to knock off a few Boches.”

“What? You’re going to fight them?”

“Yes, the maquis will scatter and can re-form later, but me, I’m not going to run away. I’m not a coward.”

“Of course you’re not…but…” Celine stammered for a moment at the strange assertion. “Well, then, I’m going back with you. That’s my family down there, and my village. I’m not going to run off while you fight.”

Cyprian stared at her for a moment. “God, you’re just as willful as Laura.” He touched her cheek. “And just as beautiful too. All right. But first go to your hut and tell Tineke to give you a dry coat. And eat something. You’re pale as a ghost.”

Celine hurried to the hut that, with three good friends, had been as much a home as her mother’s house. Tineke was already up.

“A coat. Of course. Here, take mine. I have a sweater and a waterproof for myself. Wait, we have cheese and bread left from supper.” She uncovered a basket with assorted foodstuffs and made up a bundle with a piece of cloth.

“Thanks, Tineke. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you again in a few days,” She embraced her and headed out again. In the maquis, one never said good-bye.

Chapter Thirty-four

Dawn was faintly visible over the eastern mountains, and the rain had let up when Monsieur Delcour turned back from the window. “Someone’s coming just now across the field. Eight people.”