The Cyclist (31 page)

‘St Cypriene.’

‘You know Père Bernard?’

‘Yes, I know of him.’

‘He was our priest.’

‘Ah.’

‘You disapprove of us, perhaps?’

‘I disapprove of violence. I saw the weapons in your car. Bringing them here endangers us all and we believe only in peace and solitude.’

Auguste crunched an apple. He said, ‘But you must have a view of what is happening?’

‘I follow the views expressed by the Bishop of Rome. Pope Pius has expressed his views and I have no view other than his.’

A quiet voice came from the now open doorway to the Abbott’s study.

‘You seem troubled by the Church’s view of the occupation?’

Auguste turned on the bench and faced the Abbott.

‘We were only talking. Brother Dominic agrees only with the Pope, but neither of you knows the true extent of what the Germans are going to do to the Jews.’

‘Extent?’

‘They intend mass murder of all Jews. They are in league with Satan.’

‘Perhaps so. But you have perhaps heard the Russians perpetrate the same inhumanity against Jews as the Germans?

‘There are no Russians in the Dordogne Valley. Only Germans and the French people they persecute.’

‘The Pope has spoken out against it. In his Christmas speech he said...’

‘He did not condemn the Nazi murders of Jews, setting the Church firmly against them. They are evil and the longer our Church keeps turning aside the more people will die.’

Animated now, the Abbott said, ‘Have you not heard how Catholics are helping to hide Jews? How the church is finding ways for them to escape Germany and even France? If the Catholic Church were to speak out too loudly, the Nazi ire would be directed at the Church and we would be powerless to help. We could not save lives with our hands tied.’

‘The Church should call upon all Catholics to fight the Nazi evil. Christ would never have allowed such a thing.’

‘You speak of Christ? Do you not understand how Christ fought the Romans? He did it with peace and love.’

Frustrated now, Auguste shifted again on the bench.

‘Peace and love will not help against a doctrine of extermination. I heard Himmler himself describe what they see as their final solution. They will murder all the Jews. It is evil and every man, woman and child in France, must stand up and throw out the invaders.’

‘You are becoming agitated. We do not need to argue.’

Auguste put his head in his hands.

‘Father Abbott, You are being kind to us. You risk your own life to help and protect us. Still, I cannot resolve the Pope’s reluctance to call a crusade, if it is the right word, against a doctrine wanting to exterminate a whole race of people for nothing.

‘Auguste my son, why do you think I am sheltering you here?’

‘I... I...’

‘It is because we all believe you are right, but our whole lives are spent following the edicts of the Church and the Holy Father in Rome. We cannot transgress. But in the way of Our Lord, if we have a chance to help people who need our assistance we cannot say no, out of charity and love.’

Odette said, ‘please forgive my husband. He has been through terrible times. We are grateful and we follow the Church’s teachings. We, like you, would never refuse to help one who needs it.’

‘There is no need for us to argue. It is as God wishes. He has sent you here and we will do what we can for you.’ Brother Dominic will show you where you can rest and you are free to wander the gardens and the Abbey as you wish.’

Auguste and Odette stood up as the Abbott left them. When he was gone, they resumed their meal. He wondered if he had overstepped the mark with the Abbott. He wondered too if in some way he had overstepped the mark with God and the Holy Church. He knew it made no difference. Escape was all that mattered now.

2

Their meal finished, Odette stood up.

‘Brother Dominic, would you show the children the garden? If you have time, of course.’

‘Of course,’ the monk said, but his look was questioning.

Odette said, ‘Girls, Brother Dominic will take you to see the gardens.’

‘It’s cold outside,’ Monique said.

‘The sun is shining. It will do you good to stretch your legs. Now, don’t argue, children.’

They went with the monk. Alone, Auguste looked at his wife with an expression of gratitude as if he found the children a strain.

‘What happened back there at the farm?’ Odette said.

‘Nothing special. We escaped didn’t we?’

‘Auguste, tell me the truth. What happened?

‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’

‘Please, tell me the truth.’

She reached across the table and took his hands in hers.

‘You know maybe?’ he said.

‘I know there were shots and then you came.’

‘Is it not enough?’

‘Please Auguste. I have to know how far we have sunk in this mire, this swamp of danger and war.’

‘Well, there were two soldiers. Young men. Germans. I gave them a chance. I didn’t shoot either of them in the back. I hailed them and told them to drop their weapons but they didn’t.’

‘You killed them?’

‘Odette, you heard two shots. There were two soldiers, what do you think—we played card games?’

‘What is happening to you? You killed two young men and you don’t care?’

‘To be honest. I killed Brunner because I knew it was justice. I have believed in justice all my life, but the system failed me, failed Bernadette. I planned his death but in the end, it was an accident. We are at war with Nazi Germany. Père Bernard told me the Church would condemn me for taking the man’s life. He would believe I had lost my soul now. What difference does killing two soldiers make? They would have killed me, but I was quick. If I am damned, then I have leeway in the remnants of this life. Leeway to protect my family.’

They looked at each other. He realised she knew behind the expression on his face, behind the words, her Auguste was suffering. He buried his face in his hands. His shoulders rose and fell and the sobs came too.

Odette came around to sit beside him. Her arm a soft, gentle, weight encircling his shoulders, she said, ‘Perhaps the Abbott can help. Perhaps if you give confession to him, he will absolve you.’

‘He can’t absolve me of mortal sin, can he? I have murdered. I knew what I was doing. I can hide behind the mechanism of it but the intent was there and it sits like a storm crow on a wall, ready to take me to hell.’

‘Auguste. All the things we do on earth for the love of God and for those who love us, is seen and judged. The Lord is omnipresent, he knows what you are suffering and he will understand. It is true you took on His role and meted out justice to an evil man but I cannot believe you would face the same punishment as Brunner will. Our God is forgiving and kind. Go and ask the Abbott if he can take your confession.’

‘No. I know you are right, but it makes us heretics does it not? To believe there is no Hell and sins are forgiven, when the Church teaches there can only be eternal suffering. So, I felt no pain when I shot those young soldiers. I did it without any feeling at all at the time. Only now, I think they were only boys. They had mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters who will mourn and suffer because of me. I have to live with those thoughts. I don’t even know if it is a sin anymore.’

‘Auguste, when we get to Switzerland, we have to repair. We will have to find the right road in our faith. Promise me?’

Auguste looked up. Her face shone in his eyes. He knew it was his mind wanting to see her this way, but he felt she radiated faith. It was not her faith, it was his. He believed in her more than he believed in the Church or its doctrines or any of the pressures they had faced or would in the future.

He reached for her hand and turning, he kissed her mouth. It was not erotic, but passionate all the same. She pushed him away.

‘Not here. We are in a monastery.’

Auguste smiled. He said, ‘I’m sure they would understand.’

‘Auguste we were having a serious conversation.’

‘Too serious. Come, let us find the children. My mind is so weary. I cannot think about these serious things all the time. We can ask the brothers for some wine. They love a drink.’

‘A drink?’

‘Yes, if there is one thing I learned last time I was here, it was the holy brothers have a capacity for wine only the Ancient Romans could have matched.’

3

They left the dining room hand in hand, as they walked out into the morning sunshine. Brother Dominic greeted them and smiled with unexpected warmth.

‘Monsieur Ran, I have begun to realise what children have to offer, even in this serious place. Do you know what your daughters have done?’

‘No.’

‘They have begun to create a home over there.’

‘A home?’

‘They called it a “den”. They are using last year’s prunings from the trees to build a shelter.’

‘Indeed,’ Auguste said.

Auguste took his wife’s hand and they walked down the hill towards where Brother Dominic indicated. Across a small lawn, they came to a privet hedge, a dubious guardian between the vegetable garden and the cultivated area in front of the abbey. He peered around the hedge.

Branches framed them and he could see Monique and Zara. They had built a lean-to shelter against the hedge. A long straight branch flew from the shelter.

‘Got him, filthy German.’

‘I’ll shoot the other one.’

‘Yes,’ Zara said, ‘kill them all.’

Auguste stepped out.

‘What are you doing?’

‘We’re killing Germans,’ Monique said.

‘It isn’t a nice thing for little girls to do,’ Auguste said.

‘Well you do it,’ Zara said.

‘What?’

‘You do it. You killed Germans at the farm.’

‘I... I...’

‘Never you mind what happened at the farm. You should not have been listening in the car,’ Odette said.

‘Well it’s true isn’t it?’ Zara said, looking at her father.

‘We are at war, ma fleur. Not all Germans are bad. Even some of their soldiers are good men who do what their officers tell them even when they don’t want to.’

‘Then they are wicked all the same. It’s no excuse.’ she said.

Auguste stood and looked at his daughter. He wondered how one could argue with a child who spoke adult truths from a child’s mind. A deep gloom began to descend upon him again because he had no answers. He looked away and then turned and walked back to the dining hall. His feet felt like leaden weights and he stared at the ground. It felt as if his whole world was rotten. He had been one of those people his own daughter had accused and he could not resolve the feeling she was speaking with a perspicacity to which no child was entitled.

Auguste felt like a man who has laboured long, digging in the dark, and when the light comes, he discovers he has dug a pit in the wrong place. If it was so, he felt he might as well jump into it. No absolution would be coming his way.

Chapter 27

1

The monks, true to their word, fed them and hid them until sundown. Auguste repacked the Citroën and as a red sun descended behind the dark green pines, they set off.

The monks offered no lengthy farewells or tearful adieus and Auguste knew, because of the palpable reality of the danger they brought with them, they had outstayed their welcome. The little girls knelt on the back seat and waved and the absence of similar gestures from their late hosts did nothing to prevent them from continuing until the monastery gates disappeared from view.

Dark descended and large errant snowflakes began to fall, challenging the windscreen wipers to disperse them. Even the heater betrayed an audible struggle and Auguste wished he had a different car in which everything functioned. He knew he would be parting with the vehicle anyway and he had no regrets over it; no sentimental attachment for this lump of metal betrayed him. It had served its purpose and measured against all he left behind, losing his car was a bagatelle.

Twenty miles along the road, they came to the main Sarlat road. The Beynac Chateau glared down at them, an ancient silhouette, a ruined piece of history like his own life, yet he knew it was not the same. He was leaving, rebuilding, reclaiming his life. He had not stayed to become ruined and broken, a relic for visitors to gawk at. He had a nascent future now; one with a meaning for him, and one, which was born of the evil he had escaped.

They turned right once they reached the Sarlat road and within two hundred metres turned right again, heading up through the darkened farmland towards Cazenac. The last time he was here came to mind and he shuddered at the thought of Linz’s demise. The climb was steep in places and the car’s wheels spun as he took the bends, though he was a confident driver and well versed in winter driving. A mile up the road, he saw the torch. The owner swung it from side to side and stood in a side turning on the left. To the right there were empty, open fields, created by the amputation of trees hundreds of years before.

He slowed at the turning. A tall figure approached. Auguste had his hand on his pistol and he drew it as the man came near. The torchbearer knocked on Odette’s window with the torch. She wound it down a fraction, enough for her voice to be heard , but no more.

‘Odette, don’t you recognise me?’

‘Pierre,’ she said.

Auguste said, ‘Pierre, is it really you?’

‘Of course it’s me. Are you going to leave me here in the snow?’

‘Papa,’ Monique said, She opened her door and ran to her father.

‘Bubeleh, how I’ve missed you,’ Pierre said. He laughed and Auguste found the sound was as welcome to him as a blazing fire on a winter’s night.

Pierre hugged his child and Auguste felt emotions stirring. He knew this meant a lifting of his responsibilities and he relaxed into his car seat. If Pierre was here, he had no need to worry about Monique. He had discharged his duty and his obligations. Pierre knew how they could cross the border. Relief swept over him.

Greetings over, Odette sat in the back with the girls. Pierre occupied the front seat with a sten-gun across his knee.