In This Hospitable Land (48 page)

The successful harvest was pretty much at an end. Now it was time to prepare the Guins’ fields for the first hard freeze and to begin gathering chestnuts. But for the first time in months Max Maurel showed up. The Resistance had need of the Sauverins again.

“What do you want us to do this time?” Alex asked sarcastically. “Steal pigs?”

“Alex,” André admonished. Then he told Max, “If you think we can help we’re ready.”

“Isn’t there anything you can tell us about it?” Alex burst out.

Max looked uncomfortable. “We think we have an information leak.” Alex eyed him warily, dissatisfied. “Look,” Max continued, sounding defensive and pettish himself, “I don’t know everything and I don’t want to know everything. It’s enough for me that the chief asked for you specifically.”

“How long this time?” Léon demanded.

“A day or two. Maybe three.”

Much as Léon supported the Resistance, he was annoyed. But all he said was, “We’ll be here if and when you come back. We’re always here.” And all he thought was,
Chestnuts!

Heading back toward the mountain, Max and his friends had some catching up to do.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you in so long,” Max said. “I do keep an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?” Alex demanded. “Spying?”

Max laughed. “In a way. The camp at Le Crespin is so close to Le Tronc, some days when I walk out from under the trees I can actually see you working in the fields.”

“Well doesn’t that make me feel safe—to know anyone can see us almost anytime from almost anywhere!”

“It’s nowhere near as bad as that,” Max insisted. “If it were we would have moved you long ago.”

Asked about the last few months, André said hard but invigorating labor had been leavened by making his way to Le Salson every week to ten days. Unfortunately Alex still hadn’t been able to visit his family.

“But that time will come I’m sure,” Max hastened to say.

Arriving at the camp of the Maquis, the puzzled Sauverins expected to see the schoolmaster from Soleyrols. Instead a stranger with a wary expression came in. André thought he looked familiar, perhaps from the temple in Vialas. The young man seemed to recognize him too.

“Pierre, schoolmaster from Vialas,” the chief said, “this is Max, André, and Alex. Tell them what you discovered.”

Now André understood: Pierre Jabot—a handsome dark-haired man, not yet thirty, with the strong build of the region’s laborers—taught the upper school.

“First if I may,” the young man said tremulously, “I’d like to acknowledge monsieur le professeur Sauverin, whose presence honors this humble schoolteacher.”

“No last names!” the chief burst out. Then he did a double take. “You know him?”

“Everyone in Vialas knows about André Sau…Sorry. His excellent reputation precedes him.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t precede him too far,” the chief joked. Everyone chuckled politely. “Please, Monsieur Pierre. Go on.”

Flushing, the teacher said, “Yesterday morning in class I noticed one of my older students—Thomas Vignie, the seventeen-year-old son of Maurice Vignie, a petty merchant in the village—drawing a map. This immediately struck me as unusual—Thomas has never been much for drawing—so I went to his desk and bent closer to see. He tried to cover it but I’d already seen enough. He was constructing a reliable guide to this camp and its layout.”

As if jolted by electricity, Max burst out, “But how did
you
know about this camp?”

“That’s irrelevant,” the chief said, cutting him off.

“Don’t worry about me,” Pierre told Max. “A farmer who provides food for the camp is a close relative. More to the point: how did Thomas know about it and why would he draw it? Troubled, I let class out early and came to tell the chief.”

“The teacher’s just lucky the lookout liked his face,” a lieutenant joked.

“Very disturbing,” André said, not finding this a joking matter.

Alex said, “I still don’t see what this has to do with us.”

“I understand you put your children into the school in Soleyrols,” the chief said.

“Before they were forced into hiding,” Alex complained bitterly.

“I don’t care how long ago!” the chief exploded, his patience with Alex wearing thin. “Some of the children there may have older brothers, sisters, or cousins who might have said something indicating an interest in the Resistance.”

“Neither of our daughters mentioned it,” André said regretfully.

“Then here is what we must do,” the chief said, forcefully crunching his words through clenched teeth. “We need to stake out the road leading from Vialas to Génolhac and Alès. I need to know if that map goes anywhere!”

“If so,” André asked delicately, “what then?”

“Then Max and the others I’m sending with you will know what to do.”

Max nodded, grimly determined.

The implication of a potentially violent outcome hung heavily in the air. André wondered,
Is this where Max’s medical skill comes in?

“Look,” the chief said, “this kid or his father may be a collaborator, unless it’s both of them.” He leveled his steady gaze on each man in turn. “This is serious business with potentially serious consequences. We have no choice but to get to the bottom of it.” He settled his blazing eyes on Max. “You’re in charge. In addition to Monsieur Jabot and the Sauverins, I’m sending two more of our hands with you. You’re to leave immediately. Our best guess is that one or another of these Vignies will head for the closest Gestapo station, in Génolhac, if he hasn’t gone already.” He began writing out a note. “Let’s not waste another second. Here.” He handed the finished note to Max. “For your own protection. If you’re stopped and questioned by the enemy it won’t do any good—in fact it might play against you. So be prepared to destroy it quickly. But if you’re approached by a member of another Resistance brigade, it could save your lives.”

Max folded the slip of paper carefully and secreted it inside his clothes.

“You’ll want to take a pistol,” the chief told Max. “Go to the supply section. Your other two already have rifles.” Then he asked the Sauverins, “Do you have any arms of your own?”

“No,” André said, anguished but trying not to show it.

“Then you’ll get rifles too,” the chief said, turning to other business. “The others can show you all you need to know.” He stared at them hard as if trying to hypnotize them. “This isn’t a game. If you need to use force you must do so without hesitation. Understood?”

“Understood,” Max said, assuming his command and answering for all.

As they left the room, Max quietly asked André if he would be all right.

“I’ll carry a rifle,” André answered gravely, “but I won’t use it except in self-defense.”

Two armed Maquis—Albert Lazare and Guy Chauvert—joined their procession to the supply barn. The resister in charge gave Max a pistol and handed each Sauverin a rifle. Pierre Jabot remained unarmed. He only needed to identify the Vignies.

“Ever use one of these?” the supply master asked the Sauverins.

André stayed silent. Alex examined the firearm admiringly and said, “The only rifles I’ve ever fired were a lot older.”

“Well it’s easy—maybe a little too easy,” the supply master said, demonstrating. “Put the cartridge here, press the rifle butt against your shoulder—tight or the kickback might break your collarbone. Sight your target along this line and when you’re ready squeeze the trigger slowly.” He lowered his weapon and grinned at the brothers. “Good hunting,” he called gaily.

My God,
André thought.
This Maquisard thinks killing a man is as easy as shooting wild boar!

Stuffing bread, meat, and cheese into their pockets for what might be a long stakeout, the men followed Max, who set a fast pace down the cartway. Heading over the pass into the next valley, he kept his six-man squad off the road by descending toward Vialas on a parallel path well worn by previous Resistance activity.

The sun approached the western horizon and shadows lengthened as the men neared their destination in silence. When they occasionally heard voices coming toward them from the woods, Max signaled them to crouch down behind bushes or trees.

“Around the next bend,” he finally whispered, “is a good place to wait and rest. Up in the woods we’ll still be able to see the road. There are places to hide quickly if we must.”

After four hours of walking, all were relieved to sit on a fallen tree. With shoulders chafed by rifle straps, the Sauverins were pleased to lay the weapons across their knees.

Max left his subordinates and carefully picked his way down toward the road. An engine rumbled and brakes squealed as the old red bus struggled along its route between Vialas and Alès. Later a small truck could be heard going the other way. Its headlights shined spottily through the leaves until it too disappeared.

Then Max returned to lead the men to a spot closer to the road. By peering through branches and around the large trunks of old-growth trees, all could obtain a clear view.

“Stay where you can see,” Max told Pierre. “Can you recognize the father too?”

“If there’s enough light,” Pierre replied. “He’s visited the school many times. I remember him particularly because he always asks annoying, pointless questions. Frankly I don’t like him even without this terrible business. Inflexible and demanding. He’s got a reputation for insisting shoppers in his store have exactly the right ration coupons to buy anything. None of the other merchants in Vialas are that strict. Even if you have the proper coupons he may not have what you’re looking for unless you’re willing to pay more.” Pierre shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve always thought his son nice enough. Wants to be an engineer but he’s under his father’s thumb.”

“Just tell us if you see either of them,” Max said.

One old farmer walked by grumbling to himself, but no one else appeared as dusk gathered and deepened. Then a bicycle came along, its headlight beaming a faint glow ahead. Pierre signaled frantically. Max leapt into action.

Waving the bicyclist to slow, Max only made the rider pedal faster, trying to maneuver around the human obstruction. But the others waited a few meters on.

The bicyclist skidded to a stop, positioned to take off if allowed or to make a break.

“What’s this?” the rider asked, sounding simultaneously aggressive and defensive.

As the schoolmaster nodded, Max asked the detainee, “Are you Maurice Vignie?”

The stunned suspect glared at the half-dozen men surrounding him. “Yes and I’m in a hurry, so if you’ll excuse me…” No one did. Panicking, Maurice shouted, “I need to go!”

“I’m sure you do,” Max said coldly, “but first we need to ask where you’re going.”

“None of your business!” Maurice squealed. Then he growled, “To Génolhac. To visit a friend. Anything wrong with that?”

“At this time of day?” Max motioned to Albert and Guy. “Search him.”

The two Maquisards grabbed each of the man’s arms. Maurice tried to shake free but was roughly pulled off his bicycle. Then he spotted and recognized Pierre.

“Ah, Monsieur Jabot,” he called, bowing scornfully as deeply as his captors’ grip allowed. “Isn’t it a little late for teaching lessons?”

Maurice squirmed as Max turned his jacket pockets inside out, patted the lining, and emptied his pants pockets. But Max found only a wallet with a few franc notes and a shopping list—unless flour, salt, sugar, fruits, and vegetables constituted a code.

“Satisfied?” Maurice demanded smugly.

Max had Alex pick up the bicycle so he could feel around the frame, muttering, “Loose fittings? No. Solid.” He ran his hands along the handlebars, twisted off the rubber grips at either end, pulled a flashlight from his back pocket, and shined it into the exposed hollow space of the tubular handle. Next he unscrewed and explored the little headlamp, revealing only a small battery in the lamp housing.

Maurice had stopped struggling but Max wasn’t finished yet. He felt around the seat and shined his flashlight under it. He felt his way along the rear strut. When he reached the rear reflector he wrenched it loose. Maurice stiffened.

Max patiently worked the reflector, finally pulling it free. Inside the cavity he found and pulled out a square of paper which he unfolded and read carefully. “Twelve names,” he announced somberly, “including mine. I know the rest too. Most are still living in Vialas and Soleyrols but several are men who have already joined us at the camp. Albert,” he said to one of the men holding Maurice, “you’re on it.”

“Merde!”
Albert Lazare cursed. Without warning he slapped Maurice and spat in his face. “You bastard!”

Coldly Max showed the paper to Maurice. “What is this?”

Maurice’s chest sank and his knees sagged. He said weakly, “I don’t know. It’s from my son. He’s the one who wanted me to take it.”

“Take it where?”

“To a friend. Like I said.” His eyes spun wildly in his head as he looked at the small menacing group. “It’s not my fault! It was all Thomas’s doing, not mine!”

Pierre Jabot swallowed hard and wrapped his arms around his belly.
I can’t believe I’ve been teaching his son. Could I have done anything to prevent this?