Clash by Night (42 page)

She stood there watching for several minutes before she remembered that Brigitte was in the house and went in to wake her.

Laura found her already up and standing at her bedroom window, her cotton nightgown clinging damply to her body with the heat.
 

“Do you see what I see?” Laura asked, moving next to her.

“I sometimes wondered if I would ever see it,” Brigitte replied quietly.

“They arrived in broad daylight but they’re sneaking out at night like thieves,” Laura said contemptuously.

“Just as long as they go, and stay gone,” Brigitte said. “Godspeed back to Berlin, boys. Don’t take any
kaffee
breaks on the way.” She turned from the window and did a little two-step.

They looked at one another and grinned like conspirators. They’d been expecting this daily but it was exhilarating to actually witness it.

“Do you think Kurt is with them?” Laura asked.

 
Brigitte shook her head.

“No. He would have told me. They must have just gotten the orders. This is probably the first group. The command post always goes last. I’ll see him tomorrow.”

Laura nodded. She was always amazed by Brigitte’s ability to love Kurt as an individual while hating the rest of the Germans as a group.

“What do you think it will be like without them?” Laura asked, smiling.

“The trains won’t run on time,” Brigitte replied and they both laughed, giddy with excitement.

“The Americans must be getting closer,” Laura said. “They looked like they were in a hurry.”

“I won’t get any more sleep tonight,” Brigitte said resignedly, “and I’m on the 7:00 a.m. shift.”

“Want some company? I’ve got summer school exams to correct.”

Brigitte bent from the waist in a courtly gesture for Laura to precede her. “Let’s make some tea,” she said.

“No more tea. I finally threw out the leaves. We’d used them four times already.”

Brigitte groaned as they went into the hall and descended the steps. “Do you remember what it was like to have enough of everything?”

Laura sighed. “I certainly do. Buttered noodles, sugar in coffee, coffee, cream pastries, roast beef, coffee... ”

“Oh, shut up. You’re making me hungry and there’s nothing in the kitchen except three scrawny, sprouting potatoes.”

“But when the Americans come...”

“Yes, I know,” Brigitte said, smiling. “Manna will fall from heaven and
Pouilly-Fuissé
will sprout from all the rocks.”

“I’ll settle for some...”

“Coffee,” Brigitte finished for her as they entered the kitchen.

Their voices blended into the night as the continuing sound of vehicles rumbling past the house formed a counterpoint to the conversation.

* * *

Early in the morning Becker was in his office, reading a succession of dispatches as fast as they could be decoded. When the last arrived he sat back and dropped it on his desk, sitting in silence until Kurt Hesse at his elbow said, “Sir?”

“The rest of us are to be out of here by tomorrow night,” Becker said. “We’re to blow the bridges over the Marne and the Seine for ten kilometers around on our way to slow the Allied advance.”

“Do you want me to organize the demolition details, sir?” Hesse asked.

Becker nodded. “And send word to the division leaders to meet here at nine o’clock. I want to speak to them.”
 

Hesse was almost at the door when Becker’s voice stopped him.

“And Hesse?”

The corporal turned. “Yes, sir.”

“Bring Madame Remy to me as soon as you’ve done that.”

“Now, sir? Shouldn’t I wait until this evening?”

“It can’t wait until then,” Becker replied quietly. “Go to her house or the school, wherever she is, and get her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Becker spent the time waiting for Lysette issuing orders to his staff and preparing for the evacuation of the hospital. His men scurried about readying the departure as he tried to think of what to tell her. She knew what he thought, how he felt; it had all been said already. But he still struggled for the right words in his mind, as if he could come up with a magic combination that would make her understand why he must leave her.

When Hesse returned he was alone.

“Where is Madame Remy?” Becker asked him.

Hesse was red with embarrassment. “Sir, she...uh...”
 

“Yes? Out with it!”

“She refuses to see you, sir,” Hesse blurted. “She wouldn’t come with me.”

Becker stared at him blankly.

“I didn’t think you would want me to... force her,” Hesse added, twisting his cap in his hands nervously.

“What? Oh, no, of course not.” Becker looked away from him and said thoughtfully, “Perhaps this way is better if she finds it easier.”
 

Hesse said nothing, wishing he were somewhere else.

Becker remembered him and said briskly, “Begin assigning the crews to the bridges. They must be destroyed within the next forty-eight hours.”
 

“Yes, sir,” Hesse said gratefully and fled, glad to escape.

Becker sat at his desk again and, once the door had closed behind his aide, rested his head on his folded arms.

* * *

Lysette had been awakened by the traffic during the night, like many of the other villagers, and recognized that it meant Becker’s departure was imminent. When his summons came she was not surprised. She had sent his driver away. She knew what she had to do and had no wish to endure a painful goodbye scene as well.

She felt curiously calm. She was supposed to meet Laura at the school to plan the fall schedule, but such mundane considerations held no meaning for her now. She got the kitchen knife she had selected for the task and the whetstone her husband had used to sharpen tools. She sharpened the knife until it drew blood instantly when pressed against the skin. Then she sat on her couch and put her left arm, palm upward, across her knees.

She had read somewhere that vertical cuts bled faster, and she made two on the first wrist, and then, with greater surety but less dexterity, two on the second. There was very little pain, just the sensation of flesh resisting and a scraping sound as blade met bone. Both sets of wounds bled freely. She let the knife fall as she lay back, folding one stained arm across her middle and trailing the other hand, dripping crimson now, to the floor.
 

Drowsiness overtook her as blood loss became more acute. She found herself remembering, in a state of pleasant lassitude, her time with Becker. She saw him during his first visit to the library, so stiff and proper, yet smiling at her in a way that gave her hope he might return. And then when he did there was his invitation to dinner and the revelation of the man inside the German uniform. All over now, she thought, all gone. And soon I will be too.

Her eyes closed and she drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

Laura waited until ten o’clock before she decided that Lysette had forgotten their meeting. There was nothing to do at the school with the summer session ending, and little to do in Bar-le-Duc except watch soldiers loading trucks, so she decided to take her bike back to Fains and see what had kept Lysette. Oversleeping, no doubt. It was a fine day for cycling and Laura noted the profusion of vehicle traffic she passed. It was all German and it was all going the right way—out of town.

 
Laura turned down the lane to Lysette’s cottage, which was quiet. Laura stood her bike against the garden wall and knocked at the door. There was no answer, and she pushed the door open just a little to see inside.

Laura gasped and grabbed the doorjamb, stunned into weakness at the sight. Lysette was sprawled on the sofa, her hands submerged in small pools of blood, her pallor contrasting vividly with the river of life flowing from her veins. The sweetish, sickly smell in the tiny house was overpowering.

Laura dashed to Lysette’s side and ignored her gory wrists to search for a pulse at the base of her throat. It was there, faint but discernible. Lysette was still alive.

Laura bolted from the cottage and dashed for the main road she had just left, dodging obstacles and vaulting hedges like an Olympic hurdler. She didn’t have time to wonder why Lysette had planned to kill herself. She was too busy trying to save her.

Laura ran into the path of a German staff car in the slow procession heading out of Bar-le-Duc. She brought it to a halt, her hands flat against the front fender. All the vehicles behind it ground to a stop. The lieutenant at the wheel started barking at her in German and she replied in the same language.

“Please!” she said, raising her voice over his. “This is an emergency. My friend is hurt and needs to get to the hospital. Can you take her?”

The officer eyed her warily, obviously suspecting a partisan ploy. Ruses of this kind were a part of the Résistance repertoire.

“I beg of you, this is not a trick,” Laura pleaded, feeling like the boy who cried wolf. “I’m alone. She may be dying. She’s in a cottage just a few doors from here and she needs help right now. Won’t you please come and get her?”

The officer obviously decided that she looked harmless enough and curtly ordered two of his men in the rear of the car to go with Laura. She began to run back the way she had come and they followed, weapons at the ready, while the car waited for them on the road.

Once they saw the scene inside the house they knew Laura had been telling the truth. The younger man, a corporal, gave his gun to his comrade and slung Lysette over his shoulder in a body carry, trotting out of the house with her. Laura and the other soldier trailed behind, reaching the car as the corporal set Lysette’s limp form on the back seat.

“What is this?” the lieutenant said to Laura as he caught sight of Lysette’s wounds. “This woman was not in an accident. You didn’t tell me it was an attempted suicide.”
 

“Does that make a difference?” Laura replied. “She still needs help. Will you take her to the hospital?”

The lieutenant thought a moment and then said, “Get in.”

Laura climbed into the back seat with Lysette and the soldier who had carried her. The officer told the other man to get in the truck behind them and explain the situation. Then he yanked on the wheel and pulled out of the file of vehicles, turning back for Bar-le-Duc.

It was a fast ride as they sped to the hospital, passing the outgoing traffic all the way. Once there Laura directed the lieutenant to the emergency entrance, where Lysette was put on a stretcher and taken inside for immediate treatment.

“Thank you,” Laura said as she got out of the car. “You may have saved her life.”

The lieutenant’s frosty gray eyes examined her. “Perhaps your last memory of my country’s occupation force will be a charitable one,” he said briefly, shifting the car into reverse.

“Perhaps,” she agreed.

“
Auf Wiedersehen
,
Fräulein
,” he said.

“Goodbye, lieutenant,” she replied, and smiled at the corporal in farewell.

The officer backed out of the ambulance bay and turned left for the road.

Laura hurried inside to the emergency room where she was pushed aside by an orderly and told to wait. Lysette was not to be seen. Laura rushed around frantically, asking questions but making little progress. She finally determined that Lysette was being treated behind one of the folding screens which sectioned off the receiving area, but the available staff were all working on her and too busy for comment. She decided on a more direct approach and went in search of Brigitte.

She noticed as she passed through the lobby that it was much changed. The red Nazi banner had been taken down, the German signs were gone, and the armed guards which had flanked the entrance constantly had disappeared. Everywhere the signs of the German departure were evident. The remaining soldiers were few in number and obviously a cleanup crew, and the door of Becker’s office stood open, his files and papers transferred to boxes on the floor.

 
Brigitte was on a surgical ward and gestured for Laura to wait when she saw her standing by the nurse’s station. She finished talking to another nurse and then came over to Laura.

“Well, hello,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you here in the middle of my shift.”
 

“I just brought Lysette Remy in to the emergency room,” Laura said without preliminary.

Brigitte’s eyes widened. “Was she in an accident?”

Laura shook her head. “No. She tried to kill herself.”

Brigitte stared. Then, after a moment, “How?”

“She slit her wrists.”

Brigitte winced. “My God. Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s almost the worst part of it. I don’t even know. And now they won’t tell me anything down in the emergency room and I’m just about frantic.”

Brigitte held up her hand. “I’ll call. Just wait a minute. I’ll get them on the phone and find out what’s going on, all right?”

Laura nodded. “Thank you.”

Laura paced while Brigitte made the call on the inter-office telephone at the nurse’s station. When she replaced the receiver on its stand Laura was already hovering, waiting for the report.