Days of Winter (53 page)

“My God, Jean-Paul, I finally understand you, and it sickens me so much I can’t even bring myself to break this cane over your miserable head—which, God knows, you deserve. But Henri,
your own son
… Henri is a Jew too as far as your friends are concerned.
What kind of man are you, a man who’d destroy his own son?
That, I can’t understand—”

“Never mind about my son, I’ve taken care of him. I always will—”

“You’ve ‘taken care of him’? You’re crazy. Do you really think those people are going to be
loyal
to you? Do you think they are about to make exceptions for a traitor, a collaborator, when they have gassed millions of their own people?”

The sweat was pouring from Jean-Paul now.

“You didn’t plan this as carefully as you thought. This time you have the Nazis, not a young girl and your mother, to deceive and use … oh, God, I should kill you …” But instead he pushed him against the wall, and with all his strength hit him with the back of his hand so hard that Jean-Paul reeled and the blood came from his mouth as he slumped to the floor. If he went on, Etienne knew, he would kill him, and would have been pleased to pay for the pleasure of it, but he suspected there were others more practiced than himself in such matters who would take care of Jean-Paul. …And meanwhile there were Jeanette and Henri … and there was
maman …
poor
maman. …
He’d tell her as little as possible, but he had to prepare her.

He took one last look at his brother slumped in a heap on the floor, then turned and left.

At first when he told her that the three of them had to go to Switzerland immediately—leaving out the identity of the informer against Jeanette—she simply refused to take it in. And then, all the wonderful regal reserve and strength that she’d maintained through so much loss and tragedy in her life simply gave way, and she was what she was … a terrified and stricken old lady, crying her heart out for what she could neither comprehend nor accept.

Etienne held her until she’d quieted some, then took her face in his hands as she’d done to him when he was upset as a child, and, speaking slowly and with emphasis, told her, “No one,
maman,
no one, it’s important you remember that, must be told about our leaving or where we are going. I feel guilty for even telling you, but I wanted to spare you at least the worry of not knowing, of imagining God knows what. But I repeat, if anyone asks you, you must say you weren’t told, that we wanted to protect you. Our lives depend on it,
maman…
”

She looked at him now, more composed but still shaking. “I’ll do my best, Etienne, but, please, let’s see what Jean-Paul can do. He does have influence, after all. He is in the government. He is so clever …”

“
No, maman.
Jean-Paul is as helpless in this as any of us. Believe me. You mustn’t involve him, it could be very dangerous for him. …Now, remember what I have told you. …”

Of course he hadn’t told everything. What would it serve to destroy in her eyes, to take away from her the last of her family? Let her go on believing in him as long as she could, it would hurt no one. To do otherwise would surely kill her—her firstborn a traitor and murderer … surely that knowledge would be the end of her. …

As they took their good-byes, she said very little and, watching them get into the car, then drive off, she felt numb, a brief defense against the grief that soon began to intrude as she stood there in the dark … Denise; Etienne, her favorite; Jeanette, whom she loved as a daughter; poor Marie Jacqueline; her precious Henri; her beloved husband … all gone now, all except Jean-Paul. Thank God, at least, for that, for Jean-Paul. …

Jean-Paul, trying to soak out in the tub the throbbing pain in his chest, was even more bothered by the fact that Etienne had been forewarned and that Jean-Paul had no idea by whom. …And he wondered what Etienne had told
maman
… in a way, that was most terrifying of all to him, having to face her if she knew. …His thoughts went from that unpleasant prospect to a mounting anger at whoever on his staff—it had to be one of them, with access to privileged information—had given him away. Well, he would find out. …He lay back, gingerly touching his jaw, wondering if it were broken, trying to block out the image of Etienne and his astonishing turnabout performance. Finally, long after he’d closed his eyes, he achieved the temporary escape of deep, obliterating sleep …

… out of which he was awakened by the jangling of the telephone. He glanced at the clock, still half-asleep. 5:30. He picked up the receiver, said “Hello,” and listened to his mother’s voice at the other end, demanding, importuning that he come at once. …

It was the same voice that he had heard the night Denise had died, the same sound of anger and despair and bereavement …My God, had that little bitch actually told her, no she wouldn’t disgrace herself to
maman,
not even now. …He must get hold of himself. …

By the time he reached the house on the Boulevard Victor Hugo he was wet with perspiration although the morning was chilly. He put his thoughts together slowly, piece by piece, testing the effects. …If necessary he would say he’d been
forced
to reveal Jeanette’s real identity by the Gestapo, that they’d used their very persuasive methods on him, and, even more, he might still have been able to protect her but they already had information from other sources, other informants, and to hold out further would only have jeopardized
maman,
led them to her and the rest of the family. …She needn’t worry about Henri, or Etienne, he would somehow manage to protect them … it was Jeanette, he was very sorry, but that was the truth of it … it was Jeanette they wanted. …Well, perhaps it would work, perhaps.

When he saw her face, whatever courage he’d contrived before arriving quickly deserted him. She wasn’t the same woman he’d seen only a few days ago. She had aged ten years. Her face was gaunt, the bones standing out under the parchmentlike skin. She shuddered inwardly.

She turned slowly to look at him, aware that she was about to disobey Etienne’s strict instructions, but surely, Jean-Paul, his own brother … her first-born son … “Jean-Paul, I can’t believe it’s happened, this awful thing, this—”

“What has happened,
maman
?”

She hesitated for a moment, then remembered Etienne had said he hadn’t wanted to involve his brother, who was, after all, in the government … so of course Jean-Paul didn’t know. …

“Maman,”
he said, breaking into her thoughts, “I asked you, what’s happened? Why are you so upset?”

“Jean-Paul, they’ve found out about Jeanette … the Gestapo—”

“
What?
… impossible … how? …” His tone was appropriately dismayed, disbelieving (and privately he felt enormous relief … she didn’t know about him, after all), and became more so as she went on with the details about when Jeanette was to have been picked up and the man who had come the previous night to warn Etienne.

“What man,
maman
?” he asked, trying to sound far more casual than he felt

“I’ve no idea. Etienne said it would be dangerous for the man, and for me too, perhaps, if he told me his name.”

“Of course, Etienne was right. …”

“But I did ask him to talk to you, that perhaps you could help. …Jean-Paul, I’ve made my feelings clear to you more than once. I hate the Germans and I don’t like it that you even work with them, even though I’m sure no son of mine could be a real Nazi, and I know your duties are important, but above all I know you’re a Frenchman and in your own way I realize you feel you’re doing the best for your country that you can do now. …” She looked almost pleadingly at him. “Tell me, Jean-Paul, tell me that I am right.”

“Of course,
maman,
you are completely right … we all do what we can, in the way we can do it best.”

“I knew it … and if only Etienne had asked you for help—”

Jean-Paul was cautious. “And why didn’t he,
maman
?”

“He said it would do no good, and that you would only be endangered yourself if he involved you. …And now it’s too late.”

Jean-Paul put aside his curiosity about his brother’s remarkable forbearance. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,
maman.
You put things in the past. You say ‘too late’ …?”

It was out of her mouth before she could … or would … think about it further. She had to tell somebody, her own son. … “Etienne has left with Jeanette and Henri—”

“‘Left’ …? and … where has he taken them,
maman
?”

“…
Switzerland.”

“When,
maman
?”

“Oh, Jean-Paul, I’m not sure, I think about two o’clock, perhaps a bit earlier …”

“And you waited this long to tell me?”

“I gave Etienne my word not to tell anyone and—”

“
‘Anyone’
…? I’m your son, don’t I have a right to be told?”

“But he made it clear it might be dangerous for you to be involved, because of your position. …It was for your sake, he was thinking of you, and now I’ve put you in danger too, Jean-Paul, but I couldn’t help it … I couldn’t be alone with this any longer.” She looked at him, without pretense, without her old brave air, regardless of the personal sorrow. “I suppose, Jean-Paul, I am after all, just a very old, very frightened woman. I only hope I haven’t lost you too by my weakness. …”

He nodded, trying to hide his impatience, and to seem to reassure her, and then, finally, asked what was primarily on his mind. “And Henri … couldn’t you persuade him at least to leave Henri with you, with us? He’d surely be safer here.”

“It happened so quickly, Jean-Paul. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I could have persuaded them. They’d never have left their child behind.”

He nodded, told her he was sure she was right, and then she was saying, “Couldn’t something be done, Jean-Paul? Couldn’t we bring them back? Don’t you have enough influence … perhaps someone could even be bribed? Never mind the cost, please try, Jean-Paul. …”

He sighed, for his reasons, not hers. “We’ll see,
maman. …”

Riding back to his home, Jean-Paul found himself with more conflicting thoughts and feelings than he was accustomed to, or comfortable with. Seeing his mother as she was—broken, pleading, asking him to reassure her of his loyalty, that he wasn’t a Nazi … his deceptions now and over the years left him feeling something that at least touched on shame, which all his life he’d considered cowardice and the refuge of weak and stupid people. And the thought of
his
son, caught up in his own calculated revenge against his brother and Jeanette—
them,
he had no regrets about—well, it was a horrifying accident, but Etienne was right, he hadn’t taken everything into account, and that thought once again made him wild to lay his hands on whoever it was that had alerted …

And he thought of the Gestapo’s reaction about that as well. …Wouldn’t they first and naturally suspect
him …
the brother of the man, and a damn Frenchman, none of them trustworthy, of course. …Wouldn’t they decide that he had weakened at the last moment and when he realized he couldn’t stop what he’d started had alerted his brother and advised him to leave. …He’d made a mess of it, face it, he told himself, and there was a flash of honest revulsion for himself as well, but he quickly reminded himself that there was nothing to do now except to protect himself as best he could … nothing would be served by sacrificing himself, and he still might save Henri, he
had
to save his son. …

Once home, he went to the telephone and put through a call to the residence of Herr Heinrich Kessler. He warned himself to be calm, and
convincing.
…his son’s life depended on it.

The connection was made.

“Kessler.” The voice was like a knife.

“Jean-Paul Dupré speaking.”

“You are calling in regard to the matter discussed?”

“Yes, but there have been some changes, which is the reason for my disturbing you. …”

“What changes?”

“The individual discussed has, it seems, been informed and is attempting to leave the country—”

Kessler’s voice was ice. “Informed? Interesting. And where exactly has she gone?”

“… Switzerland, I suspect, perhaps Basel … my brother knows the country well and it would be the logical—”

“Very logical,” Kessler interrupted, and quickly asked for, and received, the make of the car, description of the passengers. “That will do for now. We will attend to the matter—”

“One more thing, please, Herr Kessler …”

“Yes?” The voice was impatient.

“You agreed from the beginning that in this case you would overlook that the boy is half-Jewish. I was very honest with you about the special circumstances … that I am the boy’s father—”

Silence.

“I am asking that care be taken to see to it that he is returned safely to Paris. …”

“We shall do all we can.”

“I have your word on that, sir?”

“You have impertinence to ask such a question.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can understand my concern. …I’d also like to be present when the boy is brought back, returned to me …”

“Out of the question, Dupré. Now I’m afraid you must excuse me.”

And the line was dead.

Kessler called Reichart at once. Magda answered the phone. “Colonel Reichart, please, Herr Kessler calling.” No amenities, or uncertainty about who was answering the telephone. Kessler and most of the German command knew Magda’s relationship with Reichart.

Magda shook Christian awake. “Who is it?”

“Herr Kessler.”

Irritated at being awakened so early in the morning, Christian grabbed the receiver from Magda’s hand. When he heard the news, that the Dupré woman had escaped, he was considerably more than irritated. “Damn you, Kessler, I warn you, she had better be found—”

“I assure you she will be, sir. We have already taken steps—”

“To hell with your steps. Find her and stop her. …You’ve been making too many reports like this to me lately. Too many of them are getting out, it’s got to stop. …Do you follow me, Kessler?” And hung up before he could hear the “Yes,
sir
,”
in reply from the other end of the line.