Chapter 36
The evening air was oppressive, suggesting that a thunderstorm was on the way. Sven headed for the village, hoping to catch a late train. He didn’t meet a single car as he walked along the main road, which was something of a relief.
The soldiers were sitting in the restaurant as usual.
They were eating and talking loudly, but there was no sign of any of the villagers—surely the curfew hadn’t yet gone into effect?
It was too early. There was a strange atmosphere; he thought he saw the odd movement at a window, as if people were on the lookout. Something was happening.
Then he saw. Several buses were parked on the square, and there was feverish activity outside the town hall.
German soldiers were going around with lists, talking with each other about something, leafing through documents.
One of them was directing a group, although Sven couldn’t quite see what they were doing.
He didn’t want to stare—this was not the time to draw attention to himself.
A young woman hurried past, keeping her head down. Sven stopped her with a gentle touch on her arm. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly.
She looked at him with terror in her eyes.
“The Germans have been given orders to remove people,” she whispered.
“People they believe have gone underground. Jews. Deviants. Communists.” She spat out the last three words.
“They’ve been given new lists of names. But if you’re not in one of those categories, you’ve got nothing to worry about.
” There was a clear value judgment in the final sentence, and Sven was relieved when she scurried away.
He quickly crossed the square, making for the station. Should he really be traveling now? Then he saw a familiar face—the soldier who had given him a ride on that first day. He had a list in his hand and wore a troubled expression. He spotted Sven at the same moment.
“Good evening.” The German soldier glanced over his shoulder before coming over to Sven.
The troubled expression gave way to something more like resignation.
Sven couldn’t work out what was going on in his mind, or what was on the list. For a second he was afraid that the soldier knew everything about him.
“Good evening,” Sven replied.
“It’s been a while. My name is Max, if you remember me?”
Sven took off his hat. “Of course I do. Thanks again for the ride.” Sven didn’t smile but he spoke politely, trying to keep his voice steady.
“You were at Chateau de Chênes, weren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Have you been there all along?”
“I have.”
“I understand.” Max cleared his throat. “Have you seen anything of the son?”
“No, he hasn’t been around at all. He’s in Paris.”
“I see.” Max glanced over his shoulder again, as if to make sure that no one was listening.
Then he took a step closer to Sven, looked him in the eye, and lowered his voice.
“Listen to me, and listen carefully. Some members of the Gestapo will soon be going to the vineyard to check out the rumors we’ve heard about him.
His name has been on our lists for a long time, and now they’re determined to go and conduct a thorough search. ”
Sven nodded but didn’t say anything.
“They’ll be leaving in about twenty minutes.” The German nodded toward a group of armed soldiers. “I might be able to delay them for another ten minutes.”
Sven looked at him with gratitude to show that he had understood the warning, that he realized what a risk Max had taken.
Then he walked quickly across the square, turned the corner, and slipped into the shadow of the buildings.
He continued out onto the road, back the way he had come.
His shirt was sticking to his body. His suitcase felt heavy, but he kept going.
Only when he was out of sight of the square and the village did he dare to speed up, and after a couple of minutes, he broke into a run.
He hurled his case into the ditch so he could run faster, lengthening his stride.
He ran so fast that he was gasping for breath. He had to get there before the Germans.
The distant sound of an engine made him slow down.
Could he jump into the ditch, hide among the trees?
But then he was dazzled by a car’s headlights, his own figure casting long shadows on the road behind him.
They’d seen him. Definitely. It was too late now.
He should have picked up the sound earlier, but it was as if his panic and all his turbulent emotions had canceled out his senses.
He slowed down, ambled along as if he were out for an ordinary evening stroll.
Please let them drive past. Please let them drive past.
When the car continued at the same speed, Sven exhaled. It drove past him, then stopped after a few yards. Reversed. Sven stopped too.
“In a hurry?” Two German soldiers looked out of the window.
“Your papers. ID,” said the soldier in the passenger seat.
Sven swallowed hard, took the documents out of his inside pocket. They were damp with sweat. He handed them over, and the German took them between his thumb and forefinger. Unfolded the papers, checked everything. Showed the driver.
“Jump in, we’ll take you to the village. We need to ask you a few questions.”
Sven thought about the buses he’d seen in the square. Thought about Mathieu. He wasn’t going to make it in time. He wasn’t going to make it in time. Were the Germans already there?
He didn’t know.
Would he ever find out?
As he got into the car and it set off toward the village, he felt as if he was headed straight for the notorious labor camps.
Mathieu was still in Sven’s room. His parents had come up, seen him, and immediately realized what had happened.
He had twisted free of their consoling hands, brushed aside their soothing words, then run down the stairs to look for Sven.
What if something happened to him? But Mom and Dad had persuaded him to stay.
Mathieu’s presence out on the roads and in the village would cause all kinds of problems.
He was lying on the bed, breathing in the smell of Sven from the sheets, when he suddenly heard a noise and sat bolt upright. Footsteps on the gravel, then his parents crossing the wooden floor.
Had something happened to Sven? But it could be anyone out there.
Mathieu had to hide. He flew down the stairs, and as he ran into his parents’ bedroom, someone hammered on the front door.
He yanked open the hatch, and as he reached the bottom of the cellar steps, he heard Jér?me’s voice—the boy from the neighboring vineyard—and slowly exhaled.
Then he heard what Jér?me was actually saying.
“The Germans are on the way.”
“What’s happening?” Mom’s agitated voice.
“I think they know about Mathieu. The priest ran over to our place; he’d heard something about Chateau de Chênes being on a list. Apparently there’s a lot of activity among the Germans in the village. He asked me to warn you; he was going to speak to the others.”
“Thank you, Jér?me. Are you all right?”
Mathieu didn’t hear Jér?me’s reply, but the door soon closed. He assumed that the neighbors weren’t in any danger.
The hatch opened and Mom came down. She handed him his old rucksack and a water bottle. “You have to get away, Mathieu. As far as you can. All the way to Lassac.”
To Lassac, to Gerard’s parents. Mathieu hadn’t heard from them since Gerard died, since they sent him their son’s dog tag.
He looked at his parents. “What about you?”
“We’ll be fine. Don’t think about us, it’s you they’re after.”
What if the Germans forced his mom and dad to talk? Maybe he should stay. Then the Nazis would get the person they were looking for.
“Please, Mathieu. Run. We’ll be fine.” Hugo put a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders, then looked sternly at his son. “Go.”
Mom held out a lit candle.
Mathieu quickly kissed each of them on the cheek, shrugged on the rucksack, and took the candle.
He then set off along the winding passageways leading to Chateau du Boda, the vineyard next door.
The darkness and dampness surrounding him were dense.
He could hear the storm rumbling overhead, or was it the Germans’ running footsteps?
He didn’t know, he just kept on walking through the darkness for several minutes.
Eventually he reached his destination. He recognized Chateau du Boda’s cellar with its long wooden shelves, which were usually full of bottles of wine, but now stood empty because the Nazis had requisitioned every harvest.
Then on through the passageways to the next vineyard.
From time to time he had to claw at the cobwebs that stuck to his face and clothes.
All the cellars were empty and dark. He felt as if he were heading into eternity.
The fact that he was now using these passageways, that he was finally on the run as he and his parents had constantly feared he would be one day, gave him a feeling of having arrived at his fate.
Eventually he reached the heavy door at Lassac. From here he could leave the passageways and continue out into the fields and forests. Hide as best he could until he found help somewhere. At least he would be alive.
The door opened and there stood Gerard’s mother, Madame Bresson. Her expression was grim as she looked at him.
“Madame . . .” Mathieu began, but he fell silent when he heard footsteps up above. Voices. German. Someone shouting orders, more running footsteps. What were the Germans doing here? Had she reported him?
Gerard’s mother didn’t like Mathieu’s type. Maybe the solidarity between the vineyards meant nothing to her. He meant nothing to her.
The next moment he heard boots clattering down the cellar steps.