Chapter 32 #2
Sven looked at him for a long time. “I don’t know. I wish I had an answer, but what can I do? I haven’t been able to get back, and there’s nothing they can do about that, but sooner or later I’ll have to return.”
“Do you have to?”
“What else can I do?”
“I’ve been living like this for four years now.”
“And I’ve signed a contract, taken an oath. A soldier doesn’t break his word.” Sven was whispering now, as if someone from the Legion might be lurking around the corner in one of the passageways.
Mathieu gave a brief nod. So he was going to lose Sven too.
He couldn’t bear it. He turned away.
Sven gripped his shoulder, but Mathieu shook him off and left the cellar.
The following morning Mathieu woke early.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the quarrel.
Sven had tried to make amends, but Mathieu hadn’t been able to let go of the question of the Legion.
Once again he thought about what Gerard had said, what Sven had said.
Who knew how much time he and Sven had left together?
Something terrible could happen tomorrow.
Mathieu knew exactly how to surprise Sven.
A little gift to make up for yesterday. Previously, Sven had talked to Mathieu about the wild raspberries and strawberries he used to pick back home in Sweden in the summer.
Mathieu knew a place where delicious raspberries grew in abundance.
So before breakfast, before the sun had even risen above the treetops, he grabbed two mugs and crept out.
No one would see him at this early hour.
He arrived back just after Sven had woken up, and met him in the doorway. Mathieu had found wild strawberries, too, and both mugs were filled to the brim. This would make a fantastic breakfast. Triumphantly he held up his treasure, showing Sven the dark-pink berries.
“Where did you get those?” Sven looked neither pleased nor surprised, just suspicious.
“I picked them in the forest. I know the perfect place from when I was a kid.”
“So you snuck out into the forest?”
“I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to talk about yesterday and apologize for . . .”
Sven’s expression hardened. “So even after what happened yesterday, you snuck out into the forest?”
“Yesterday was fine, it was only Mom. No one saw me this morning. I was careful and I was only out for a little while, less than a hundred yards away. I wanted to apologize for pressuring you about the Legion last night.”
“To apologize for . . .” Sven raised both hands in a gesture of resignation.
“What is it you don’t get? This was how everything started yesterday.
” He spoke calmly even though he was clearly furious; the vein protruding in his forehead gave him away.
“So you put yourself in danger, and now you’re trying to say sorry by doing the same thing again. ” He shook his head.
“But I did it for you.” Mathieu placed a hand on Sven’s cheek, but he pushed it away.
“Someone might see us.”
The dismissive action broke Mathieu’s heart. “Like who? My parents? I’m prepared to stand up for this, for our relationship. I’m prepared to stand up for my love for you, but you’ve made it perfectly clear that you’re not ready to reciprocate.”
He put the mugs down on the bench and one fell over, the little berries tumbling out onto the ground. Then he ran away.
Down into the cellar, where everyone thought he belonged.
After dinner that evening, Sven sat in his room with the small brass plaque on the desk in front of him, etching away fervently.
It would soon be finished, but he had no idea when he would be able to send the bottle.
Right now it was too risky; he might have to wait a month or more, depending on how the war progressed.
The thought of how worried his mother must be made him feel sick.
She hadn’t heard from him for what seemed like an eternity.
He liked working with the metal, which was cold and hard to the touch. The work was slightly painful, and the pain took away all the thoughts in his head.
Hearing the sound of fast-moving footsteps outside, he stopped his work and slid the little plaque under his bed with his tools. The Germans confiscated—or requisitioned, as they put it—everything they could. Maybe they’d want the piece of metal too.
Sven hurried to the door, heard stressed voices, people speaking French. One sounded like Marcel, the owner of Chateau du Boda, the neighboring vineyard. Sven ran downstairs to see what was going on.
“They’ve started asking around again,” Marcel said. “They’re looking for Jews, communists, homosexuals.” He looked very anxious. “And . . . I don’t want to worry you, but Jér?me saw Mathieu in the forest the other day. He asked me if Mathieu was allowed to be outside.”
Juliette inhaled sharply. Hugo and Sven remained silent.
Marcel continued: “I told him nothing has changed, and that he absolutely mustn’t tell anybody.”
Sven went back upstairs and returned to working on the plaque. He couldn’t stop thinking about the last couple of days, how Mathieu constantly pushed the boundaries and risked attracting attention. He was putting so many people in danger—Mathieu’s parents and friends.
Sven made up his mind. He had to leave, for everyone’s sake.
Maybe his absence would give Mathieu the chance to start behaving sensibly and go back to the life he had lived before: listening to his parents, staying hidden, focusing on simply surviving. Until the hell of occupation was over.
He packed his few possessions. Put on the clothes he had been wearing when he arrived. He hadn’t worn the shirt and suit during his whole time at the vineyard, or the change of outfit, which he now pushed into his bag.
He looked at the brass plaque, which he’d left lying on the bed. He slipped it into his pocket; maybe he would be able to get back to the Legion now. The plaque would be a special memory of the vineyard.
He gathered up the last of his things, then left the house.
Mathieu clambered slowly up the ladder to join his parents for supper, which on these warm evenings and in these difficult times usually consisted of a little boiled water and, if they were lucky, some stale bread.
He had considered missing supper in order to avoid Sven, but his mother would have come looking for him, and he would have had to come up with some excuse. He was really bad at lying to her.
Only Juliette and Hugo were in the kitchen. Mathieu helped himself to some water and cut a small piece of the bread Juliette had set out. He sat down. “Where’s Sven?”
“He hasn’t come down yet,” his mother said.
Mathieu took a bite of the bread.
Always a polite guest, Sven never missed a meal, or showed up late for supper. Maybe he was sick?
After a few minutes, Mathieu said, “I’ll go and take a look.” He went up to Sven’s room, but it echoed with emptiness. The window overlooking the yard was wide open. An envelope on the bed fluttered in the breeze. Mathieu’s name was on it, in Sven’s neat handwriting.
He picked it up, opened it, and read the letter inside.
Taking in the words, he was overcome with the same pain he had felt on the day he and Gerard had been separated. But this was even worse, because Sven had chosen to leave him.
For Mathieu’s own sake. For his safety, Sven wrote.
Mathieu tried to hurl the piece of paper at the wall, but it only drifted as it left his hands, and fell slowly until it reached the floor.