Chapter 44

Louis slipped me a bundle wrapped in newsprint. I frowned at him in the dim light of the storeroom, my prison, but he dipped his chin, indicating I should open it.

Bread and cheese wrapped in an English and French newspaper.

I bent over it expectantly, wanting to know what was happening.

“The Nazis are ensconced in Paris,” Louis said.

“What are we going to do?” I asked. “Will we fight?”

And as if on cue, the boom of an artillery shell burst in the distance, rattling the panes in the upper window.

Louis pointed in the direction of the sound. “The Germans.”

They were close and advancing.

“What are we to do?” I whispered.

“There is talk of us organizing to help protect the town. But we have no real leadership!” Louis cried.

“So true,” I agreed, rubbing my red and water-roughened hands. I perused the papers. The Vichy government had called a truce, but the Nazis marched across the truce and into France.

“So we’re to fight?” My stomach tightened from anticipation, fear, and gnawing hunger.

“The commander is in favor of fighting the Germans.”

“The students will fight?” My mind went to the antiquated armaments they used in their ceremonial performances. Hardly any resistance to Hitler’s advanced methods.

“Oui. We are the only ones left except for some of the old guard.”

Louis stood taller as he talked. “We know military tactics.”

I thought about the tactics I knew. Use familiar terrain to evade and study the enemy, shoot behind cover, and hide again. Non, I didn’t know any tactics, but nodded anyway. I had carried a gun, but it was as ancient as my grandfather who used a similar weapon during the Great War.

“We will need better weapons,” I said.

“Très bien. The German Panzers are coming.”

Mon Dieu, we would need the dear Lord and Savior on our side if the Panzers were stalking toward our village. I crossed myself.

Louis eased toward the door. “I must go now. I will try to come later.”

“Oui, merci.”

The door closed and locked behind Louis.

I sighed before unfolding and smoothing the newsprint, one in French and another in English. I read the French insert to the Pariser Zeitung, at least two days old, with news of the gaiety in Paris for the occupying Germans. Was this a way of assuring the French citizens all was right?

I took a hunk of bread and chewed thoughtfully, avoiding the cut side of my mouth. My stomach was hollow and gurgling for food. I willed myself to chew slowly and carefully.

I turned back to the newsprint. The insert included anti-British cartoons, anti-Semitic and anti-communist views. A propaganda-laced newspaper written by the Germans to be read by the occupied French. All nonsense, and I pushed the paper aside, the newsprint only good for wrapping bread in.

The other newspaper was in English, and I knew English. The Times was many days old but hinted at Churchill’s visit to Paris. Had Churchill come to Paris?

I stretched and stamped my feet. I hated being confined this way. There was a war to be fought, and of course, I needed a way to rescue Chaton and her family. Had they been imprisoned?

Perhaps a war would add to the mayhem, and I could slip in and rescue them while others were fighting. Then I could return to the fight. I itched to take aim at the Germans.

While I waited for someone to rescue me, I leaned against the cold stone of the wall with my shoulder and ate more bread and smoky hard cheese, wondering what would happen to me for stealing food. Would my mother hear of my betrayal? Or worse, the news get to my father?

Later I heard high, excited voices beyond the wall. I crept to the door and pressed my ear against the wood. I didn’t recognize any one voice, but the excitement was mounting for their service to the French and the Saumur valley. “Vive la France!” “German swine.”

How long would they keep me locked up? The voices faded down the hall; I was alone, and all was silent again.

I went back to eating what was left of the bread and cheese and looked at the grainy picture of Churchill with exiled Charles de Gaulle. De Gaulle was France’s true leader and should be leading them. Instead they were governed by Pétain’s spineless Vichy government.

A boom shook the building. Chunks of dust rained down from the windowsill. I looked up and watched it settle over the newspaper. To finish reading, I used my forearm to sweep it away.

De Gaulle was separated from the war, locked away from all the activity too. I pounded my fist on the table, further disrupting the particles that rose and swirled in the air, my only companions.