The Cyclist (5 page)

‘So. We are no further forward with the investigation?’

‘Investigation?’

‘Into Meyer’s death.’

‘My men are still making enquiries but no, no further news. No one saw anything. The killer may have got clear away. He could be anyone in the town.’

‘Well, the Wehrmacht have rounded up suspects in the north and they will pay the price. I am deeply sorry for your people, but lessons have to be taught. We have to demonstrate to Haupsturmfurer Barbie how we keep order here.’

Auguste said, ‘You have my cooperation, as you know.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Brunner said, tapping the desk with his fingers. He paused and looked up at Auguste. It was as if there were dark background thoughts hidden behind the external veneer of efficient friendliness. He said, ‘We need to discuss the mechanism for the internment of the Jews.’

‘Helmut, can I ask you a question, off the record?’

‘Off the record? Of course.’

‘Why is your government so concerned with a few Jewish people? What do they want them for? Who cares what they do?’

Brunner looked at Auguste. He was silent.

Auguste said, ‘I’m sorry, I hope I have not embarrassed myself.’

‘Embarrassed? No, not that. You made me think. I am doing this because I have orders from Kaltebrunner himself to ensure all Jews are locked up. Ideology and political reasoning are not my duty. My duty is to the Fatherland. Do you question every law when you arrest a criminal? Do you think why is this illegal? No. I prefer to think of it as a means to an end. Germany has the means and the Jews come to an end.’

Brunner laughed aloud. Auguste, puzzled, stared at him. Brunner continued to laugh but it became mirthless. Auguste smiled but the look in his eyes held no tone of humour. He felt an involuntary anger stirring at the back of his mind and he could not understand why.

‘Come to an end?’ Auguste said.

He thought of Pierre. He saw Monique’s face in his mind’s eye.

‘Figuratively speaking that is. They will trouble your country no more. They will not take Frenchmen’s jobs. They will not be able to cheat honest men in the marketplace, with their deals and their intrigues. No, we will intern them and they will only be able to swindle each other. They will work with their hands. We have camps for them. Camps, which will keep them busy. They are not human in the way we understand the term. We are of a different race, a superior one. As a Catholic you can see, Christians will reap the rewards of our labours instead of passing them across to these killers of your Christ.’

By the time Brunner finished speaking, his eyes were shining. They were open wide and Auguste understood the madness in them. He wished he could get up and leave, run, escape and put himself far from this lunacy. But he needed Brunner in his job. There had been times when he thought the only way forward was to cooperate. Times when he had arrested people for Brunner who committed no crime he could acknowledge. He felt as if he was being pushed all the time towards a kind of rebellion. He had his limits; Brunner seemed to have none.

‘Look Auguste,’ Brunner said, ‘I love this country. Not like my home of course, but the wine, the women, the countryside all beautiful. It is my love of your country which makes me want to preserve it. For you; for me. We have to carve out a race, pure and untainted from the mixture prevalent here now. The party is pure and a force for good. You even agreed with me the other night.’

‘No, I merely said the aims of your party would have been laudable if they had been peaceful. People died to protect my country. There were always sympathisers on this side of the Rhine, were there not?’

‘And you are one. I can hear that. It reassures me that you speak so frankly. You know, I hate the violence. I grew up in a more peaceful place, valleys with green landscapes, farmers and tradesmen plying their business quietly. And then came the Fürer. He showed us the way. The road to purity. He is a great man and anyone who hears him will follow his cause. Fatherland, race and party it is something you will understand one day.’

Auguste listened. He felt he was betraying, but he needed to play the game. He was forced to let Brunner rant on but he knew he could not be fooled. The Nazis were killers yet he still found it hard to believe this man was one of those whom Pierre described. An exterminator of Jews. He needed air. He wanted to change the subject before he exploded into rhetoric about the Church, his faith and his beliefs. It would have been such dangerous ground.

He said, ‘Helmut, I have drawn up some preliminary plans and I have sent a memo to every police sub-office. We can begin in a month.’

‘A month? No, it will need to begin here locally in the next week.’

‘Can’t be done. I don’t have the infrastructure.’

‘Then get it. You have enough men.’

‘Yes, but not enough vehicles.’

‘Cram them in. Who cares if they are comfortable? This is war. Like sardines.’

He smiled.

Auguste said, ‘I still don’t have enough vehicles. Can we requisition them? Your men will have to do it I suppose. It isn’t within my jurisdiction.’

‘Yes, yes, yes. Don’t worry my little policeman,’ he said.

‘Linz. Linz,’ he shouted.

Linz came to the door. He opened it and stood erect and serious in the doorway. This time he did not salute, which surprised Auguste.

‘Sir?’ Linz said. He had a look of puzzlement on his pale thin face. It was as if he had heard the laughter and assumed the atmosphere was one of informality.

Frowning, Brunner said, ‘You will commandeer ten large covered vehicles for transportation of Jewish guests for a week’s time.’

Auguste said, ‘I cannot within reason begin until the end of the month. Please allow me to do it in my own time. My orders from Tulard were to begin this in six weeks.’

Brunner’s smile melted away, as if Auguste had thrown a verbal bucket of water. The German’s eyes narrowed a little. He turned to Auguste.

‘You don’t quite understand your position here, do you Auguste?’

‘I beg your pardon?

‘Well, your country is occupied by the Third Reich. We can do anything we wish. We wish to intern some sub-human beings who have inveigled themselves into French society like a cancer. They did the same in the Fatherland. We are helping you. Failure to comply might be interpreted as a form of resistance, I’m sure you understand?’

Auguste understood. Pierre and Monique had become a disease from which this man, a German, wished to cure him. The river, the house, the sunny days and the fishing were symptoms. His affection for his old friend was a lowering of his body’s resistance. He needed the medication, the cure and the disease-free life offered by this man. All of it seemed so plain. Remove the Jews and the world would be clean and healthy.

But in Auguste’s mind however, the question remained. What of the Germans? Auguste knew where he would classify them. If Pierre with his rotgut wine was a disease, these Nazis were an apocalypse. They were worse than disease, they were a filthy plague and one he was being forced to sub-serve. And why? If he did not comply, Odette and Zara would suffer. His family were now hostages to the occupying Germans and he began to feel helpless, impotent in the face of the implications Brunner voiced with such ease.

‘Can we compromise?’

‘Compromise?’ Brunner said.

Auguste said, ‘Is it not so, that in compromise, neither party is truly happy?’

Brunner said nothing.

Auguste continued, ‘In four weeks, I will have the commandeered vehicles and all my men mobilised and the transfer can take place very quickly. Drancy is only an hour away from Bergerac. There will be no delays. I have registered every Jew in my catchment area and my men know who they are. Without me, it will be much more difficult. Compromise?’

Linz said, ‘Standartenfürer, it may take some time to get the vehicles. Even if we mobilise military vehicles as well, the policeman is right.’

‘You have an opinion, do you? Well that is a first. Since when do lowly SS officers become so bold as to offer opinions?’

His eyes were like steel as he gazed at his junior man.

Linz said nothing this time. The silence droned on like some oppressive mist between the three. Even Auguste felt uncomfortable.

Presently, Brunner said, ‘Of course. Of course, there is no point in attempting the impossible. The end of February then.’

‘I think you mean the second week of March, do you not?’ Auguste said.

‘Yes, yes, whatever. Linz you may go. Oh and by the way, get us some coffee.’

This time Linz saluted before he left. Silence descended upon the SD office. Brunner looked at Auguste. He opened his mouth to speak and a sudden explosive report sounded in the square outside. Both men jumped. Brunner got up, Auguste turned in his seat.

Peering out of the window, Brunner said, ‘Only a car backfiring. Perhaps I’m getting paranoid in my old age. Now where were we?’

‘Compromise.’

‘Ah, yes. You may be right. Let us give some time. It can all happen overnight perhaps?’

‘No. The various registered people are very widely distributed. This is a rural area. Leave it to me. It will require a good deal of planning and my men know the district.’

‘Very well,’ Brunner said.

‘Oh there was something else,’ Auguste said, reaching into his pocket. He produced the two letters of transit. ‘I wonder if you would countersign these two letters of transit.’

‘Passports? Who for?’

‘You may understand I have some banking interests in Switzerland?’

‘Yes, many of us have.’

‘I have to send someone to make a small deposit. Clearly, with so much going on here, I cannot go myself, so I want to send an old friend. He is a widower and will take his daughter.’

‘You think he will return?’

‘Of course. He has relatives and he cares for them. He would not wish my disapproval.’

‘Perhaps I should interview him first?’

‘You don’t trust me?’

‘The quality of trust is stratified by nationality, Ran, is it not?’

‘I had thought...’

Brunner paused but as if he had second thoughts. He took the documents and signed them.

 ‘Linz and I are dining in La Bonne Auberge tonight; they have a good singer there. You will join us. Seven o’clock.’

Auguste knew it was no invitation. It was an order and he knew he would be there. He took the documents and replaced them in his pocket. When he left, he resolved to ring Odette if time allowed, to explain his absence but he knew what she would say.

4

Auguste sighed as he closed the front door; it had been a long day. His home was on the outskirts of town on a small street backed by woodland. He enjoyed the freedom of being able to walk into the woods where he and Pierre once played as children and he knew every tree stump, every gnarled root on the tiny traversing path. The wood was also where he had walked his Scottie-dog, Dedê, every day for ten years before she died. He thought of her often—he always considered her a kindred spirit, stubborn but faithful. He missed her company on a summer’s morning when the sky was blue and the burgeoning day was fresh and green.

He wiped his feet on the brown horsehair mat and removed his shoes. He heard giggles and running feet upstairs and called, ‘I’m home.’

Odette came from the kitchen. She smiled, but he knew her well enough to appreciate its hollowness.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Not here,’ she said.

She turned and he followed into the warmth if the kitchen. The range on the far wall kept the room warm throughout the winter and it was the place in the house where they talked, laughed and ate.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Pierre. He was here.’

‘Pierre? I have the letters of transit. He wanted them?’

‘No he didn’t mention them at all. He came with Monique.’

‘She’s still here?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought he was leaving her in Beynac with Maricelle.’

‘He decided it wouldn’t be safe after what you told him. He brought her here.’

‘Well, when he comes back I can give him the letters. They may escape after all.’

‘He isn’t escaping. He’s gone into hiding. He said something about joining a partisan group.’

‘What?’

‘He said he has some contacts and he wanted to fight for his country and his life.’

‘Fight? Has he gone mad? What about Monique? He can’t just leave her here. All the Jews have to...’

‘I offered. I said we would take her in and hide her.’

‘You did what?’

She was silent. She bit her lip.

Auguste sat down.

‘Listen to them,’ he said. ‘Does it sound like something you can hide?’

The sound of laughter, pure, clear, childish laughter, drifted down the stairs. The sound of their feet provoked nothing but fear in Auguste.

‘What have you done? I’m police. I have to arrange the internment. I cannot do this.’

‘I gave my word. You’ve known that child since she was born. You’ve seen her almost every day of her life and now you think we can turn her over to an internment camp? What is happening to you Auguste?’

‘I...’

A cataclysmic conflict raged within him. His whole life, his hopes, his fears twisted and turned within him. He thumped the tabletop with his fist. He took his head in his hands leaning on his elbows on the table. He could not shut out the reality and gravity of what was happening to him. He felt his life was in tatters.

‘If you are the kind of man who would do that, then you are not a man I want to live with.’

‘Odette. You will be risking all our lives with this.’

‘What are our lives worth if we hand over a child alone to an internment camp. Pierre is certain the Germans plan to annihilate the Jews. Would you send Monique to her death to save your own life?’

‘But it’s impossible.’

‘No one will question you. This is perhaps the only safe place in Bergerac for that little girl. She stays.’

‘And if the SD come? Can we hide her? It may be for years? It will be no life for her anyway.’

‘She stays. It is up to you whether you give me away with her or not.’