JO HAD NOWHERE TO RUN TO EVEN IF HE’D wanted to and he wasn’t sure now that he did. The man stooped to pick up the shoe.
‘And where did you find this then?’ he asked.
‘In the barn,’ said Jo. ‘I was only looking. I thought you might have the bear cub in there.’ The man wiped the shoe on the end of the shawl. There were footsteps coming into the yard behind him. Jo turned. The Black Widow stood there breathing hard, resting her weight on her stick. The man went over to her and took the basket.
‘It’s all right Grandmère,’ he said putting an arm around her. ‘It’s that boy, the same boy.’ Widow Horcada limped across the yard towards him. It was all Jo could do not to back away. She looked at him long and hard.
‘Well, well,’ she said, ‘so it was you. I thought as much. I wasn’t sure, not until you pushed past me in the shop the other day. I knew then all right. You shouldn’t go peeking through other people’s windows.’ She caught sight of the shoe in the man’s hand. ‘So he knows then,’ she said.
‘He’s been in the barn,’ he said.
‘Has he indeed?’ said the Widow. ‘And what did you find in there boy?’
There was no point in futile protestations and denials but Jo tried them anyway. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said feebly.
She stabbed her stick into the ground by his foot. ‘Besides the shoe,’ she said, ‘did you see anything else in there? Well, did you?’ Jo looked down to avoid her eyes. ‘I don’t like a child that won’t look me in the eye,’ she said and she lifted his chin until he had to look at her. Jo had never looked at her this closely and he was surprised by what he saw. It was not the cruel face he had always supposed but leathery and lined with age and work.
‘Yes, I did,’ Jo said. She released his chin.
‘And do you always speak the truth?’ she asked quietly.
Jo shook his head. ‘No,’ he said and her face cracked into a sudden smile.
‘Seems you were right then, Benjamin. A rare thing, an honest boy. Inside,’ she said, ‘bring him inside,’ and she walked away towards the door. ‘Boys like honey,’ she said. ‘We’ll give him some honey.’ And she disappeared inside the house.
Jo was reluctant to follow. The man put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Have you still got him?’ Jo asked. ‘The bear cub, have you still got him?’
The man shook his head. ‘Not any more. A month after we found him, just as soon as I thought he could fend for himself, I took him high up into the mountains and left him but he’s been coming back from time to time. I think maybe he thinks of me as his mother, either that or he just doesn’t like being on his own. Come on.’
Widow Horcada was putting a plate of honeycomb out on the table. Suddenly the old lady leaned forward and had to hold on to the table to steady herself. The man was by her side at once and helped her to her chair.
‘You’ve been overdoing it again,’ he said. ‘I’ve told you haven’t I?’
‘Don’t fuss,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘Don’t fuss me. I’ll be all right. Sit down boy, sit down over there in the light, I want to be able to see your face.’ Jo sat down at the table. ‘Eat up, boy, eat up.’ She had a strange habit of wrinkling her nose and sniffing and Jo found it difficult not to stare at her. He cut out a corner of the honeycomb and spread it on the bread. The man was hanging the big shawl on the back of the door.
‘I know your father,’ said Widow Horcada, not taking her eyes off his face. ‘Prisoner-of-war isn’t he?’ Jo nodded. ‘I knew your grandfather better though. I told you about him didn’t I Benjamin?’ Benjamin nodded and she turned back to Jo. ‘I nearly married him once. Did he ever tell you that, boy? Sweethearts we were.’ She sighed and sat back in her chair. ‘Ah well, we both went our separate ways for better or for worse. You’re not eating, boy.’ Jo took another mouthful. ‘Jo Lalande he’s called, aren’t you, boy? And you know who I am don’t you?’ Jo nodded. ‘This is Benjamin, my son-in-law, but then of course you’ve met him before, haven’t you?’ She paused for a moment, her searching eyes still fixed on Jo. She blew her nose and tucked her handkerchief into her sleeve. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I suppose he’ll have to be told. Nothing else for it is there? But I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.’
‘It’ll be all right,’ said Benjamin. He was standing behind her now and looking down at Jo. ‘What he doesn’t know already – and he knows plenty – he’s guessed at, and guessing is a lot more dangerous than knowing. And we know we can trust him. After all he’s known about us for months now, and he’s not said a word. If he had then we’d have known about it you can be sure of that. We’d have had the police knocking on the door in the middle of the night by now. No, we don’t need to worry about him. We can trust him.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said the Widow wearily. ‘Let’s hope so.’
Benjamin came and sat down opposite Jo at the table. ‘It’s difficult to know where to start, Jo,’ he said, ‘but since I’m the cause of all the trouble I’ll start with me. I’m a Jew,’ he said. ‘D’you know what that is?’
‘They’re in the Bible aren’t they?’ said Jo.
Benjamin shook his head and laughed. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’re in the Bible and there’s plenty of people think that’s where we should’ve stayed.’ He looked down at his hands and picked at the corner of his thumb nail. ‘It was all rumours at first,’ he went on, ‘rumours you couldn’t believe, rumours you didn’t want to believe. But bit by bit the rumours became facts, facts that had to be believed. They began on their own Jews, in Germany. First they took away their work, then their property; and they made them wear yellow stars on their coats. Then they started rounding them up and sending them off to the camps. We knew it was happening but we thought we were safe enough in Paris, me and little Anya – Anya, she’s my daughter. But of course we weren’t. They invaded France and Paris fell. There was only one place left we could go. We came here for a holiday a few years back, Anya and me, to see where her mother was brought up, to see Grandmère. The happiest time of our lives it was too. So when the invasion came we decided to come back here.’
‘Best place too, long as you’re sensible,’ said the Widow Horcada pointedly. ‘Safe as houses and you can be over the border in five hours.’
‘I walked it once,’ said Benjamin, ‘with Anya.’
‘I know,’ said Jo. ‘You picked flowers for my father.’
Benjamin frowned for a moment and then his eyes brightened suddenly. ‘So it was you. You were the boy. You remember I told you, Grandmère, that day that we watched the shepherd making cheese. He was your father?’ Jo nodded. ‘And you were the little boy, weren’t you? Well, well, it’s a small world.’ The light left his eyes as quickly as it had come. ‘We left Paris together, Anya and me. Trouble was everyone was doing the same thing and the roads were jammed with cars and carts and lorries and people – thousands of people, everyone trying to get away. They machine-gunned us from the air whenever they felt like it and when the planes came we all scattered. After they’d gone it was always difficult to find each other again; so we made an agreement, Anya and me, that if we were separated we would find our way back here, to Grandmère’s house at Lescun, we would wait for each other and then we could escape together into Spain. We said we’d wait, we promised each other.’ His voice choked, and it was a moment or two before he went on. ‘And that’s just how it happened. One evening – just outside Poitiers it was – the planes came and strafed us and we all ran for shelter into the forest. When they’d gone I looked everywhere for her. All night I looked for her, all next day and the day after, but I couldn’t find her. So that’s why I’m here and that’s why I’ll be staying till Anya comes.’
‘But what about her, in there,’ said Jo, ‘in the barn?’
‘She’s called Léah,’ said Benjamin. ‘Same age to the month as Anya. She comes from Poland just like my family did many years ago. We’ve got two more coming soon.’
‘Two more?’
‘Children,’ said Widow Horcada sniffing. ‘Jewish children. He collects them, don’t you Benjamin?’ Benjamin said nothing. ‘They get passed down all through France and when they get here he keeps them for a week maybe, sometimes longer, till they’re strong enough for the journey; and then he takes them over the mountains into Spain and to safety.’
‘And so many of them,’ said Benjamin, ‘so many are just like Léah. She had a big family, eight children there were. She’s the oldest and she’s the last. She was lucky; she was out when the soldiers came to the house. She watched her family being taken away, and she’s been on the run ever since. But she got here, and that’s why we’ll never give up hope. If Léah can get here all the way from Poland then so can Anya. One day Anya will be one of these children and we’ll be waiting for her.’
‘That shawl you were wearing,’ said Jo.
Ben was smiling again. ‘Oh that. That was your idea, wasn’t it Grandmère? Do you know, Jo, I never once went out of this house for two years unless it was to take the children over the mountains and then it was always in the dark. Then the first time I venture out for a walk in the daytime I bump into you, and I bring home a bear cub. She wasn’t too pleased about that. She lets me out by day now, but only if I stay close to the house and only if I dress up to look like her. She’s a terrible tyrant is my mother-in-law.’
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ she said.
At that moment they all heard something at the door. They saw the handle turn. It opened slowly, squeaking on its hinges, and a small face peered round. It was the girl from the barn. Benjamin ran across the room and pulled her inside. Then he looked out of the door and shut it, leaning back against it and breathing hard. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. When he spoke again it was in a language Jo could not understand. He crouched down, holding the girl by her shoulders, and he was clearly angry with her. But the girl was not listening to him. Her eyes were fixed on the honey on the table beside Jo. She walked towards it now as if she was in a trance. She pulled the plate towards her, dug her finger into the honeycomb and scooped it into her mouth.
‘She eats all the time,’ said Widow Horcada. ‘It’s like she’s never eaten before.’
The girl saw her shoe on the table and took it. She dropped it on to the floor and stepped into it without looking down. Jo looked at her as she ate. Her face was impassive except for her eyes that flitted nervously around the room. There was hay in her hair and on her coat. Benjamin beckoned her over and she went slowly towards him. When she sat on his lap she looked back at Jo, sucking her finger. And then Benjamin began to sing softly in the girl’s ear. She put her hand up and curled her fingers in his beard. It was a song Jo had never heard before and in a strange language. He sang in a deep resonant voice that filled the room. He rocked her back and forth as he sang and gradually she settled back against his shoulder and hummed with him. All the while she never stopped looking at Jo. She was asleep in a few minutes, her finger in her mouth.
‘I’ve told you Benjamin, I’ve told you,’ Widow Horcada was whispering, ‘they must stay in the barn. You must tell her, Benjamin. We can’t have them wandering around. They must stay where they’re told.’
‘You’re right,’ said Benjamin, ‘but I have told her, again and again. She’s lonely in there, Grandmère. When the others come it’ll be better. She’ll have friends then and she’ll stay put.’
‘All right,’ said the Widow. ‘But just you make sure she does. Just a glimpse of one of those children of yours and we’re done for – you know that don’t you?’
‘I know,’ said Benjamin. ‘I know.’
She turned to Jo. ‘And you’d best be off home.’ As Jo got up she reached out and grabbed his wrist. ‘I was thinking,’ she said, drawing him towards her. ‘I was thinking of swearing you to secrecy.’ She patted a book on the table beside her. ‘On the Bible. Do I need to?’
‘No,’ said Jo.
‘Off you go then,’ said Widow Horcada, ‘and if you see me down in the village behave like they all do, all except Hubert. He’s the only one that smiles at me, but then he smiles at everyone doesn’t he? Don’t even look at me. I’m still the Black Widow, remember?’ Jo turned to go. ‘And another thing, boy; stay away from here. Don’t come back. We don’t want any comings and goings. I want them to forget I’m here. It’s safer that way. You understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Jo.
She waved him away. ‘Off home with you now.’
Jo was so occupied with his thoughts as he made his way home that he took no notice at all of the empty, silent streets; but as he reached the Square his thoughts were rudely interrupted. The whole village was there standing hushed and unmoving, like mourners at a funeral. Jo eased his way through the crowd so that he could see what was going on. An armoured truck stood in the centre of the Square with four soldiers in black uniforms and shining helmets sitting erect in the back of it. Beside it Monsieur Sarthol was talking earnestly to a tall German officer who appeared not to be listening. ‘Ja, ja,’ he said dismissively. ‘Ja, ja,’ and he turned to the soldier beside him and nodded. The soldier walked towards the Mairie, the crowd parting in front of him. He leaned his rifle against the wall and pinned up a poster. Jo could see two faces on it and some writing below. The officer clicked his heels, saluted the Mayor and got back into the truck.
Hubert was standing next to Grandpère, towering over him. There was naked anger on his face. Jo knew he was going to do something; he could feel it coming. He did not have long to wait. Hubert barged his way through the crowd and walked straight towards the German officer. He was carrying a short stick in his hand. The soldier walking back from the Mairie, saw Hubert and readied his rifle. The officer shouted to him and held up his hand. Hubert kept walking until he was about a metre away from the officer. Slowly and deliberately he raised his stick to his shoulder and pointed it at his face. ‘Bang,’ he said softly. ‘Bang, bang, bang.’ The Mayor was rushing forward. He grabbed Hubert by the arm and pulled him back.
‘He’s my son,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t mean anything. It’s just his little joke. He’s not quite right in the head, you understand. A bit simple. He won’t hurt you.’ The officer nodded curtly and motioned the soldier to get in.
Throughout this the four soldiers in the truck had sat impassive, their rifles between their knees. Jo stared at them and despite himself he could not but admire them. They were undeniably splendid in their immaculate uniforms. These were the black knights who had conquered wherever they went. He was staring at one of them in particular when the helmet turned, glinting in the sun, and Jo found his gaze suddenly returned. The eyes that held his were blue and cold and they chilled Jo to the heart. He looked away quickly. The truck started up, circled the Square and was gone.
Everyone crowded towards the poster, but Monsieur Sarthol stepped in front of it and held up his hand.
‘All in good time,’ he shouted. ‘All in good time. First you must hear what he told me.’ People still weren’t listening and he raised his voice. ‘You’ve got to listen to me. You’ve got to hear it.’ They quietened enough for him to go on. ‘He came to remind us that all of France is now occupied, that we are in a forbidden zone, that no one goes in or out without the proper papers.’
‘As if we didn’t know that,’ shouted Grandpère, and others shouted with him.
Monsieur Sarthol held up his hands. ‘There’s more,’ he said. ‘There’s more. I had him with me for half an hour inside the Mairie, and there’s a lot more.’ Hubert was picking the bark off his stick. ‘He came to inform us that they are going to garrison Lescun. Within days there’ll be a company of soldiers living here.’ He went on over the hubbub. ‘And from tonight onwards, he said, there’s going to be round the clock patrols along the border – hundreds of soldiers posted all along the frontier. He made it quite plain to me that from now on no one would ever be able to escape into Spain. And he made it quite plain too that anyone helping fugitives will be shot.’ The crowd was suddenly quiet. ‘He means it. I’m telling you he means it. That poster there says he means it. Frenchmen, Jews, escaping prisoners-of-war, anyone – if you help them and you’re caught you will be shot.’ He stepped aside and pointed at the poster behind him. ‘Just like those two. From Bedous they were. Patric Léon and André Latour. I knew André, I knew him well, and so did most of you. They shot them last week. They were caught taking a family of Jews over the mountains into Spain.’
The crowd turned away, some crossing themselves, some murmuring prayers. Jo walked over to the poster and looked into the faces of the two men. They stared back at him, living eyes that were now dead. Hubert was beside him and he was crying. It was only at that moment that Jo realised that the war had come at last to Lescun, to his valley. Now and for the first time he understood the terrible danger that faced Widow Horcada and Benjamin if they were ever caught. Suddenly it was all real. This was the enemy his father had fought against. This was what happened when you lost a war and the enemy occupied your country.
He thought at once of going straight back up to Widow Horcada’s house to warn them about the patrols on the border, to tell them about what had happened to the two men from Bedous, but he decided there was no immediate danger. After all the Germans had left the village, and besides he remembered the Widow saying that the children always rested up for a few days before Benjamin took them over the mountains. There was no hurry. Jo walked away from the poster and when he looked back into the Square Hubert was still standing there beside Monsieur Sarthol and Father Lasalle who were talking together. Suddenly Hubert lifted his stick, put it to his shoulder and pointed it down the road in the direction the armoured truck had taken. ‘Bang!’ he shouted. ‘Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!’ Monsieur Sarthol swung round, pulled the stick out of his hand and broke it over his knee. Hubert hung his head and walked away.
‘That Hubert,’ said Maman that evening, ‘he could have got himself killed.’
They were salting the cheeses, a job that Jo hated. The salt always found out a nick or a scratch in his hand and stung him.
‘Maybe,’ said Grandpère. ‘Maybe. But he was just doing what all of us wanted to do if only we’d had the courage to do it.’
‘And what good would that do?’ said Maman. ‘Tell me that. You shoot one of them and they shoot twenty of us. Haven’t you heard what they’ve done?’
‘There’s always a price to be paid,’ said Grandpère, wiping his hands with a cloth, ‘and anyway you can’t believe everything you hear. Those poor boys,’ he went on, ‘those poor, brave boys.’
‘Brave and dead,’ said Maman.
‘Well, maybe it’s better that way,’ he said.
Jo had been thinking of other things. ‘What’s a Jew?’ he asked.
‘What?’ said Maman.
‘A Jew. Those two men who were shot. They were taking some Jews into Spain. That’s what Monsieur Sarthol said.’
Grandpère and Maman looked at each other. For several moments neither seemed to know what to say.
‘Well,’ said Grandpère at last. ‘It’s difficult to say exactly what he is, your Jew. He’s not a Christian that’s for sure, and he’s not a Catholic. He’s not like you and me. Doesn’t go to church.’
‘They haven’t got churches,’ said Maman, ‘they’ve got temples haven’t they? In the Bible they’ve got temples. Solomon was a Jew, and David – all those people.’
‘But why do the Germans want them?’ said Jo. ‘What did they do?’
Grandpère thought for a moment. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Hard to say. Hard to say. The Germans, they don’t need much excuse do they? What they don’t like they kill, and what they want they take. They don’t need reasons, and even if they do they invent them as they go along.’
Christine shouted from upstairs, loudly and urgently. ‘Oh that child. She’ll drive me mad,’ said Maman, blowing her hair back out of her eyes as she lifted another cheese on to the shelf. ‘She’s on the go from the minute she wakes up. Can I ride Rouf? Can I ride the donkey? Play with me, Maman. Play with me, Maman.’ She sighed deeply. ‘Jo, be a dear and see to her for me will you? We’ll finish off here.’ And she went on as Jo went out: ‘Those soldiers today, they were so young.’
‘They’re old enough,’ said Grandpère. ‘Quite old enough.’
Jo lay awake for most of that night. Neither the wind that rattled the shutters, nor Christine’s crying, nor his racing thoughts would let him sleep; and when he did drop off into a doze he was soon trying to extricate himself from a hideous, recurring dream. A rearing bear was chasing him remorselessly through the forest, through trees that seemed to clutch at him and tear at his clothes, trees that turned into black helmetted soldiers who caught him by the arms and held him fast and then stood him against a wall to be shot. Each time he managed to drag himself out of the dream just before they shot him and each time he determined to stay awake till dawn; but dawn was a long time coming that night. As he lay in the dark he began to worry that he should have warned Widow Horcada and Benjamin at once about the patrols on the border. He’d have to tell them just as soon as he could.
It was difficult to find time to get away without being missed. He was kept busy with sheep all morning, but at midday Grandpère left him alone with them on the hillside. ‘Don’t you go dropping off,’ Grandpère said and he was gone. Sometimes Jo thought that Grandpère had guessed what had happened that day when the bear came. That wasn’t the first time he’d hinted at it. He sat for some time on the rock and scanned the hills around him. His eyes came to rest on Widow Horcada’s farm high above him. A vulture circled over the house and he watched it floating away over the trees beyond. He saw a shawl-wrapped figure come out of the door and cross the yard and he wondered which of them it was. He had to find a way to tell them but he could not leave the sheep. Had Hubert not come whistling by in mid-afternoon he would never have been able to leave them. Hubert was everyone’s spare shepherd, particularly theirs, and he was good at it too. ‘I’ll only be half an hour or so,’ said Jo, as Hubert settled down on the rock fixing his eyes on the sheep. He always took his job very seriously. Jo knew he would not move until he got back. He left him there grunting meaningfully at Rouf, who looked up at him with perfect understanding in his eyes.
Jo kept to the trees for as long as he could and then dashed out across the field towards the house. Widow Horcada was waiting for him in the yard leaning on her stick. She seemed surprised, even annoyed to see him.
‘You,’ she said. ‘I thought I told you to stay away.’
‘I had to come,’ said Jo. ‘I had to tell you.’
‘Tell me what?’ said Widow Horcada.
‘The Germans, they were in the village yesterday. There’s hundreds of them all along the frontier. I had to warn you.’ Widow Horcada’s eyes were suddenly wide with anxiety. ‘And they’ve shot people too,’ said Jo. ‘Two of them from Bedous. They were helping Jews to escape over the mountains like Benjamin does.’ He looked around. ‘Where is Benjamin?’
‘Gone,’ said Widow Horcada. ‘He saw the soldiers down another road. He went last night with Léah. He wouldn’t wait. He thought they’d come searching the houses. I told him not to go, but he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t wait.’ She looked up towards the mountains. ‘Something’s wrong, I know it is. He should be back by now. He should be back.’