Agnes Owens (34 page)

‘Perhaps they are letters of condolence?'

‘They could very well be,' said Lotz, shaking his head and for once looking serious.

‘It is a bad business,' said Léonie. ‘One never knows what will happen next.'

‘That is true,' said Lotz, hitching his bag farther back on his shoulder. ‘We can only carry on the same as usual and hope for the best.' He added, becoming cheerful again, ‘I presume you are keeping well yourself ?'

‘I am always well enough.'

‘And your husband?'

‘He too is well enough.'

‘He is a fine man,' said Lotz. ‘He works hard, I'll say that for him.'

‘He does,' said Léonie, turning away abruptly to enter the wood-shed.

She kindled the fire and made a loaf with flour and water and prepared a stew with some vegetables then placed both items inside the iron oven that was heated by the fire. After that she went into her son's room in order to feel his presence. It did not come and she was not surprised. It was unreasonable to expect it twice on the same day. In any case, her head was still filled with the Mayor. She was about to leave the room when she felt something standing behind her right shoulder as she sat upon the bed. She knew at once it was the presence of the Mayor. She could hear his breath, harsh and laboured.

‘Go away,' she said. ‘I have done you no harm.'

It stayed so she called out loudly, ‘You cannot stay here. This is my son's room.' Then she added in a moment of inspiration, ‘If you leave I will pray for your soul,' and it vanished. She went out of the room thinking she must keep this promise lest the Mayor's presence return and banish that of her son.

A while later she sat at the kitchen table, awaiting her husband's arrival. The bowls and spoons were laid out and the dish of stew simmered on the iron oven. The bread she had baked lay on the dresser, flat and solid. Flour and water alone did not make good bread but it was better than none. Her husband might not think so but at least he should be pacified with the tobacco. When another half-hour passed and he still had not returned she ate some bread and stew, washed her face under the tap in the sink, put on her coat and scarf and set off for the church. Her shoes were still damp but not as damp as they had been.

The grey stone church, diminutive and plain, stood at the highest point of the village. The bells were pealing as Léonie entered. She
remembered to dip her fingers in the basin of holy water then cross herself in the direction of the altar before edging into the back pew. Apart from a couple seated near the front, the place was empty. They turned round to stare at her. She knew them slightly. Before the occupation they used to sell sweets in the market. She gave them a diffident smile and they turned their heads away, so she leaned back against the wooden partition and studied the walls. Except for a statue of the Virgin in an alcove halfway down the wall, there was nothing to admire. It had not changed since she had come years ago. Perhaps the cracks on the walls and the ceiling had deepened. There was a crack across the face of the Virgin which she did not remember but maybe it had always been there.

More people entered, filling up the empty seats. Two of them sat along from her in the back pew. Léonie waited for the service feeling less alone and more relaxed. When the priest came in from a side door and stood before the altar she leaned forward, listening. His words were indistinct. He was as she remembered him, fairly young, of medium height, his black hair combed back severely from his high forehead. From a distance his complexion looked like the tallow candles on the altar. It dawned on her he was speaking in Latin so she closed her eyes to rest them for a time. When she opened them he was speaking in a normal tongue which she also found difficult to understand as his accent was thick and guttural in the way of those who come from the South. Eventually it became clear that he was condemning certain men who had brought shame and sorrow to the village by their unlawful acts.

At first she thought he was referring to the foreign officials but as he continued it became apparent he was speaking of the men who lived in the mountains.

Now he was saying, ‘Those men are lawless and without mercy. They have turned their hearts away from God and do the Devil's work in the guise of saviours. For their own ends they would destroy this village. If it were not for his son, who is one of them, the Mayor would still be alive.'

As he spoke further in this vein there was much coughing and fidgeting from the congregation. For the first time since she had entered the church Léonie noticed Madame Renet in the centre pew. She was speaking openly to her neighbour. The priest was not distracted. He continued to speak out loud and accusingly. He finished his address with the words, ‘ “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” ' then after a pause during which the congregation suddenly became silent, he added more softly, ‘Now let us pray for the soul of our Mayor,' and everyone knelt on the praying stool with their hands clasped and heads bowed.

Outside the church Léonie encountered Madame Renet who said, ‘It was a very bad service. I am sure the Mayor would not have been pleased with the condemnation of his son and I am certain if his son hears about it he will be even less pleased. I suspect the priest has signed his own death-warrant.'

Léonie replied, ‘I am certainly surprised that he spoke out against those men. Though perhaps he thought it his duty to do so in order to prevent bloodshed.'

‘He does less than his duty,' said Madame Renet. ‘You notice he did not speak out against the enemy. I would not be surprised if he was the one who named the Mayor's son, causing the Mayor to be burned. In fact, after that sermon I am convinced of it. He is nothing more than a traitor.'

‘I would not be so sure,' said Léonie.

‘Well, I am as sure as the nose on my face.'

‘But surely if he was a traitor he would be clever enough to conceal it rather than turn suspicion on himself by giving such a sermon.'

‘The priest's pride is colossal. He thinks he is God himself. Apparently he has forgotten the proverb that pride goes before a fall. Mark my words, he will surely soon fall.'

‘But nothing is a certainty,' said Léonie, turning away to go in the direction of her house.

*  *  *

On arriving home she found her husband sitting at the table with his pipe in his hand.

‘You have had your meal then?' she said, glancing at the empty stew dish. He did not answer so she took off her coat and scarf and hung them on the peg behind the door then turned back to him saying, ‘I waited for you as long as I could.'

But he still sat like a mussel.

She coughed and added, ‘This evening I was at the service being held for the Mayor. Lotz's words were true – the Mayor was burned. It's hard to think such a thing could happen.'

‘Indeed,' said her husband coldly, filling up his pipe from the packet of tobacco lying on the table.

‘At least I managed to get tobacco,' said Léonie somewhat lamely.

When he had filled his pipe and puffed on it for a few seconds he said in a harsh tone, ‘You had no right to leave the house at such a late hour without my permission.'

‘I thought under the circumstances it was excusable.'

‘Under what circumstances?'

‘The circumstances of the Mayor's death.'

‘So, everything must cease to function because of the Mayor's death?'

‘I waited for you so long that I thought you had gone to the bar. Besides, the meal was prepared and the fire was lit. What more could I do?'

‘The fire was low and the meal was cold,' said her husband. ‘What kind of welcome is that when I come home tired and freezing?'

Léonie bit her lip as she confronted him. His eyes, she noticed, were slightly glazed as though he had been drinking alcohol.

‘Then you must have been very late,' she said.

‘But not as late as you,' he shouted. He stood up and slapped her face then said, ‘Fetch some logs for this fire. It's nearly out and I feel bad enough as it is.'

Léonie touched her burning cheek then went out to fetch logs from the wood-shed, which she put on the fire after first adding some paper. She asked her husband for a match which he flung across in a vicious manner. When the logs began to burn he took his chair over to the fire and sat before it blocking out the heat while Léonie went over and sat with her elbow on the table and chin in hand. Some time passed before her husband turned to her saying, ‘In any case, what was the Mayor to you?'

‘Nothing,' she said, taking her hand from her chin. ‘Why do you ask that?'

‘Because you seem to be obsessed with him.'

‘I am not obsessed with him. I simply felt sad that he had to die in such a dreadful manner. Any normal person would feel the same.'

‘Why do you look so guilty then?'

‘Do I?' said Léonie. ‘I think it must be your imagination. You have been drinking too much Pernod.'

Her husband stared back at the fire. He appeared to be brooding on something. Léonie began to yawn, not with fatigue, but with nerves. Usually he would fall asleep after his meal but tonight it seemed unlikely. Then he turned to her again.

‘I almost forgot to tell you,' he said with a twisted smile. ‘The river has burst its banks and my land is covered and the crops are ruined.'

‘But that is terrible!' said Léonie, taking her hand from her chin and sitting up straight. ‘What will we do?'

‘You mean what will
I
do,' said her husband smiling, or at least, baring his teeth for his eyes were cold and glassy.

Léonie whispered, ‘Then what will
you
do?'

‘Do not worry,' said her husband, ‘I have my plans.' He spat into the fire with an air of satisfaction.

Léonie sat blinking with agitation. If the land was covered in water and the crops were ruined they would have no vegetables to eat, and what was worse she would not be rid of him during
the day. Her life would become unbearable and although she was consumed with anxiety she felt she dare not question him further, his mood being so irrational. They sat for a good while in silence then without warning he said, ‘Tell me, was it the Mayor's son that you once bore?'

Taken aback, Léonie could only stare at him. Then she pulled herself together and said, ‘I do not understand you. The Mayor's son is in the mountains, or so I believe.'

‘I am speaking of the son you had who was drowned in the river, or have you forgotten about him altogether?'

‘What kind of talk is this?' said Léonie. ‘It was your son who was drowned in the river or should I say, our son.'

‘And yet,' her husband said thoughtfully, ‘he never looked like me not by one single feature. I often wondered about that.'

Léonie said as if bewildered, ‘If I did not know your land is under water and that you appear to have been drinking Pernod I would think you have gone out of your mind. As it is I can only feel pity that you are speaking to me like this.'

At that her husband jumped from his seat, gripped her by the shoulders and shook her so hard that when he released her she almost fell on the floor.

‘Do not feel pity for me!' he shouted. ‘I am a man of some pride and ambition. I will not go under like the other weaklings in this village. I have made my plans.'

Then he returned to his seat at the fire. Léonie sat, faint and trembling. After a long pause she said, ‘And what are your plans?'

After a moment's deliberation he said calmly enough, ‘I might as well tell you since it will let you know where you stand. My plan is to sell this house and with the money I will begin a new life in another country, where an ambitious man can succeed more easily than he would in this village of incestuous relationships where the Mayor would have any hag who crosses his path, and the priest sleeps with his housekeeper and the occupiers think of us as barbarians and I have no doubt they are right.'

‘I see,' said Léonie noticing her husband's eyes were beginning to droop. ‘And what of me?'

‘And what of you?' he repeated in a tired voice. ‘I really do not care. All I know is that I will be encumbered with you no longer. You are not only a stupid woman but an adulteress into the bargain. Even a lesser man than I would not put up with such a wife.'

‘I may be stupid but there is no proof I am an adulteress.'

‘Your look of guilt was proof enough for me,' he muttered, his head bowing with fatigue.

‘I see,' said Léonie, clasping her hands tight within her lap. Then she spoke out firmly. ‘When I think about your plan it occurs to me it is a good one. I have always had the feeling that this village was no place for a proud and ambitious man like yourself, and now that your land is covered in water and your crops ruined it would seem that the time is ripe for you to leave. In fact I will be very happy if you do so for you may be a proud man but you are a bad husband.'

He gave no sign he heard this so she spoke louder.

‘And you were right about the Mayor. Indeed he was a man who would go with any willing female who crossed his path. I should know. I crossed his path quite a few times. Though I am sure the son I bore was yours but that is not important any more since they are both dead. So the sooner you go, the better.'

Still he gave no sign of hearing her and when she looked at him closely she saw he was asleep. She thought how easy it would be to push him into the fire, but the thought passed. Instead she stood up and shook him by the shoulder saying, ‘I think it is time you should go to bed.' He lifted his head, stared at her blearily and said, ‘Take your hand off me. I am going,' then stumbled over to the bed against the wall and lay down on it fully clothed.

Léonie took over his seat by the fire and stretched her cold hands towards the flames while her husband began to snore. She thought
about his plan to leave but somehow had no faith in it. Apart from the accusation about her and the Mayor his words were similar to words she had heard before. She began to conceive a plan of her own. Rising from her seat she went over to the dresser and took from a drawer a sheet of writing paper, a pen and a bottle of ink, all of which had lain there untouched since before the occupation. Then she started to write.