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Authors: J. Robert Janes
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a cigarette, but Zimmermann has said they’re out of the question.’
‘No, I’m fine. Thanks for listening.’ She’s so polite, so calm, has such a soft voice, but are we to avoid Dupuis like the plague?
‘We’re they all killed?’ she asks.
‘Not all of them, no.’
‘Jules—your husband?’
‘Jules wasn’t killed.’
‘Marcel?’
‘That I can’t tell you. I simply don’t know.’
‘But not your husband and not the Vuittons? Lily, exactly what have you in mind?’
‘Nothing. I simply want to go home so that I can remember how it was.’
‘But you’re burdened with guilt?’
‘Because I survived when others who were far more worthy didn’t. Because there are things I did for which I’m ashamed.’
‘You desperately need help. You know this, don’t you?’
‘What I need most is to remember. You see, they robbed us of everything else in the camps. They even tried to steal our memories, to ridicule them, to debase them, to grind us into the ground. I can’t lose my memories, not until …’
‘Until what?’
‘Never mind. Look, the least you can do is leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you. I never did! It’s far too hard for me. So hard, I feel like I’m breaking to pieces!’
It’s an outburst I regret, but she reaches for my hand anyway and says she’s sorry. ‘Now that we know your name, there’s no need for us to slip you across the frontier. The French Embassy will provide you with a temporary identity card and passport.’
‘I never had a French passport. I wasn’t considered a citizen. Besides, I’d sooner slip across. No one else is to know exactly where I am. Not for a bit.’
‘This Dupuis?’ she asks.
Sacré nom de nom, she’s so innocent! ‘Yes, him, especially.’
‘And the Vuittons?’
‘Them also, and my husband.’
‘And Tommy? What about him? How certain are you that he was killed?’
‘Very. There’s no question of it, nor that it was my fault. Me, I’m the only one who’s left.’
‘And Marcel—he’s a possibility, isn’t he?’
She wants so much to offer hope, but hope is delusional. ‘Marcel might be alive. I really don’t know. We never could tell with him. There was always doubt in my mind. I’ll have to settle things about him later. As yet I’ve been unable to trace him.’
I know she’s thinking I’ve made other phone calls and sent other little packages in the post—that black pasteboard I insisted on having, that piece of white chalk, but she doesn’t say this. ‘Is there more to that weekend you were telling me about?’ she asks.
‘A little.’
She fidgets. She craves a cigarette almost as much as I do. ‘Dupuis will be here in the morning,’ she says. ‘He can catch a flight from Paris. Even with all the difficulties of travel, Zurich’s easy for such a one. He’ll have the authority.’
‘My things are packed. I need only to get dressed.’
‘You could tell me about it in the car. There’s a place I know of, a hut in the mountains. I could take you there until …’
‘They’d only kill you, Doctor. Just get me across the frontier. Please don’t try to alert the Swiss police. Dupuis will be watching for just such a thing and will only think you know more than you’re saying. Just let me deal with it myself.’
‘Strasbourg … We’d better cross over into Germany and head for there. At least, that way your transit papers will be of some use. I can simply say I’m returning you to the hospital in Bremen.’
She’s so green it hurts. ‘Katyana crossed the frontier at a little place called Au-Dessus-de-la-Fin —Above the End. There are some fields and woods, rough farms, pastures. Tommy said she used a farmer named Marius Cadieux and his son. They’re good, reliable people. They never charged a sou for the service, and we used it several times. Not myself, you understand. Only some of the others and those they were taking with them. Packages, we used to call them. Downed British
‘No, I’m fine. Thanks for listening.’ She’s so polite, so calm, has such a soft voice, but are we to avoid Dupuis like the plague?
‘We’re they all killed?’ she asks.
‘Not all of them, no.’
‘Jules—your husband?’
‘Jules wasn’t killed.’
‘Marcel?’
‘That I can’t tell you. I simply don’t know.’
‘But not your husband and not the Vuittons? Lily, exactly what have you in mind?’
‘Nothing. I simply want to go home so that I can remember how it was.’
‘But you’re burdened with guilt?’
‘Because I survived when others who were far more worthy didn’t. Because there are things I did for which I’m ashamed.’
‘You desperately need help. You know this, don’t you?’
‘What I need most is to remember. You see, they robbed us of everything else in the camps. They even tried to steal our memories, to ridicule them, to debase them, to grind us into the ground. I can’t lose my memories, not until …’
‘Until what?’
‘Never mind. Look, the least you can do is leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you. I never did! It’s far too hard for me. So hard, I feel like I’m breaking to pieces!’
It’s an outburst I regret, but she reaches for my hand anyway and says she’s sorry. ‘Now that we know your name, there’s no need for us to slip you across the frontier. The French Embassy will provide you with a temporary identity card and passport.’
‘I never had a French passport. I wasn’t considered a citizen. Besides, I’d sooner slip across. No one else is to know exactly where I am. Not for a bit.’
‘This Dupuis?’ she asks.
Sacré nom de nom, she’s so innocent! ‘Yes, him, especially.’
‘And the Vuittons?’
‘Them also, and my husband.’
‘And Tommy? What about him? How certain are you that he was killed?’
‘Very. There’s no question of it, nor that it was my fault. Me, I’m the only one who’s left.’
‘And Marcel—he’s a possibility, isn’t he?’
She wants so much to offer hope, but hope is delusional. ‘Marcel might be alive. I really don’t know. We never could tell with him. There was always doubt in my mind. I’ll have to settle things about him later. As yet I’ve been unable to trace him.’
I know she’s thinking I’ve made other phone calls and sent other little packages in the post—that black pasteboard I insisted on having, that piece of white chalk, but she doesn’t say this. ‘Is there more to that weekend you were telling me about?’ she asks.
‘A little.’
She fidgets. She craves a cigarette almost as much as I do. ‘Dupuis will be here in the morning,’ she says. ‘He can catch a flight from Paris. Even with all the difficulties of travel, Zurich’s easy for such a one. He’ll have the authority.’
‘My things are packed. I need only to get dressed.’
‘You could tell me about it in the car. There’s a place I know of, a hut in the mountains. I could take you there until …’
‘They’d only kill you, Doctor. Just get me across the frontier. Please don’t try to alert the Swiss police. Dupuis will be watching for just such a thing and will only think you know more than you’re saying. Just let me deal with it myself.’
‘Strasbourg … We’d better cross over into Germany and head for there. At least, that way your transit papers will be of some use. I can simply say I’m returning you to the hospital in Bremen.’
She’s so green it hurts. ‘Katyana crossed the frontier at a little place called Au-Dessus-de-la-Fin —Above the End. There are some fields and woods, rough farms, pastures. Tommy said she used a farmer named Marius Cadieux and his son. They’re good, reliable people. They never charged a sou for the service, and we used it several times. Not myself, you understand. Only some of the others and those they were taking with them. Packages, we used to call them. Downed British
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