Read Online B004U2USMY EBOK by Michael Wallace - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Wallace
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that the arm of the Reich
could not find him in so-called Free France. But at the very
least, the local authorities would be deferential. They would take
one look at the signatures and stamps on his papers and step
meekly aside.
#
Ten kilometers south of the border he found
the Molyneux farm. It was late morning.
He parked at the top of the lane, so as not
to get stuck in the mud, then headed to the trunk. It took a
minute to pry open the secret compartment. From there, he opened
the crate and took out a wad of ration coupons from on top of the
main cargo. Moments later he was walking down the lane toward the
farm house.
The house was a run-down version of what he
clearly remembered. The gate hinges had broken and not been
repaired. The stone wall still marked the boundary of the property
in its solid, eternal fashion, but the barn on the other side was
faded and the doors missing. Five years ago, there had been
animals everywhere: chickens, cows, goats, pigs, draft horses.
Now, a single, scrawny dog barked angrily, confronted him as he
stepped out of the car and then slunk off with a whimper when he
sharply told it to back off.
Two women were lifting a basket onto the
porch, filled with coal scraps. They set down the basket and
stared. Coals dust blackened their hands and smeared their faces.
He’d passed the rail yard a few kilometers back, and they must
have walked all this way, carrying the basket of gleanings.
“Marie-Élise,” he said.
The younger woman stared. Her breath puffed
into the cold air and her breast heaved from the effort. A light,
chill rain fell from the sky and dripped off the end of her hair.
She was an older, thinner version of what he held in memory. But
still achingly beautiful. Her green eyes were hard, like stone,
but a tremble at her lip betrayed her.
She recovered quickly. “Ah, a German. Sorry,
we have nothing left to steal. Not even our wheelbarrow, as you
can see.”
He looked at the house with the broken
shutters and a cracked window, unpainted, weedy and thought about
how meticulously neat the Molyneaux patriarch had kept it before.
“What happened here? Where is your father?”
“Gone to Germany to work.”
“Your brother?”
“Him too.”
“But he’s just a boy,” Helmut said,
surprised.
“He was fifteen when they offered him the
chance to volunteer.” A note of irony as she said this last word.
“They promised to send him home with a good wage when his term is
up. I have doubts. You know how Germans always break their
promises.”
“Let me help with that basket.”
“Don’t bother, we can manage.”
“Is there something I can do?”
“Why did you come, Helmut?”
“I brought you something.”
“I don’t want it.”
The woman’s mother turned. “Marie-Élise.”
“I don’t want it, mother. I don’t want
anything this snake has to offer.”
“But we’re desperate. We have nothing. We—”
“Go inside, mother. Go inside now and don’t
come out until he’s gone. And when I come in, never mention this
visit or this man’s name again.” Marie-Élise didn’t take her eyes
from Helmut’s as she said this. The gaze was so intense he had to
look away.
Madame Molyneaux nodded, then turned inside
without another word.
“I’m sorry,” he said when they were alone.
“It has been four years. Four years without a
word.”
“The war,” he said. The words sounded even
more feeble as he spoke them than they had in his head. “You know
how difficult it became.”
“You promised. You knew there would be
fighting and you said you’d find a way to get me. I thought you
must have been taken into the army and then what? Killed? You
don’t know how much I suffered just wondering what had happened to
you.”
“So why are you so angry? Why aren’t you
happy I’m alive?”
“Because I found you. I looked, and I asked,
and I paid
could not find him in so-called Free France. But at the very
least, the local authorities would be deferential. They would take
one look at the signatures and stamps on his papers and step
meekly aside.
#
Ten kilometers south of the border he found
the Molyneux farm. It was late morning.
He parked at the top of the lane, so as not
to get stuck in the mud, then headed to the trunk. It took a
minute to pry open the secret compartment. From there, he opened
the crate and took out a wad of ration coupons from on top of the
main cargo. Moments later he was walking down the lane toward the
farm house.
The house was a run-down version of what he
clearly remembered. The gate hinges had broken and not been
repaired. The stone wall still marked the boundary of the property
in its solid, eternal fashion, but the barn on the other side was
faded and the doors missing. Five years ago, there had been
animals everywhere: chickens, cows, goats, pigs, draft horses.
Now, a single, scrawny dog barked angrily, confronted him as he
stepped out of the car and then slunk off with a whimper when he
sharply told it to back off.
Two women were lifting a basket onto the
porch, filled with coal scraps. They set down the basket and
stared. Coals dust blackened their hands and smeared their faces.
He’d passed the rail yard a few kilometers back, and they must
have walked all this way, carrying the basket of gleanings.
“Marie-Élise,” he said.
The younger woman stared. Her breath puffed
into the cold air and her breast heaved from the effort. A light,
chill rain fell from the sky and dripped off the end of her hair.
She was an older, thinner version of what he held in memory. But
still achingly beautiful. Her green eyes were hard, like stone,
but a tremble at her lip betrayed her.
She recovered quickly. “Ah, a German. Sorry,
we have nothing left to steal. Not even our wheelbarrow, as you
can see.”
He looked at the house with the broken
shutters and a cracked window, unpainted, weedy and thought about
how meticulously neat the Molyneaux patriarch had kept it before.
“What happened here? Where is your father?”
“Gone to Germany to work.”
“Your brother?”
“Him too.”
“But he’s just a boy,” Helmut said,
surprised.
“He was fifteen when they offered him the
chance to volunteer.” A note of irony as she said this last word.
“They promised to send him home with a good wage when his term is
up. I have doubts. You know how Germans always break their
promises.”
“Let me help with that basket.”
“Don’t bother, we can manage.”
“Is there something I can do?”
“Why did you come, Helmut?”
“I brought you something.”
“I don’t want it.”
The woman’s mother turned. “Marie-Élise.”
“I don’t want it, mother. I don’t want
anything this snake has to offer.”
“But we’re desperate. We have nothing. We—”
“Go inside, mother. Go inside now and don’t
come out until he’s gone. And when I come in, never mention this
visit or this man’s name again.” Marie-Élise didn’t take her eyes
from Helmut’s as she said this. The gaze was so intense he had to
look away.
Madame Molyneaux nodded, then turned inside
without another word.
“I’m sorry,” he said when they were alone.
“It has been four years. Four years without a
word.”
“The war,” he said. The words sounded even
more feeble as he spoke them than they had in his head. “You know
how difficult it became.”
“You promised. You knew there would be
fighting and you said you’d find a way to get me. I thought you
must have been taken into the army and then what? Killed? You
don’t know how much I suffered just wondering what had happened to
you.”
“So why are you so angry? Why aren’t you
happy I’m alive?”
“Because I found you. I looked, and I asked,
and I paid
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