In This Hospitable Land (52 page)

Despite built-in rest periods it was a demanding schedule. The brothers were surprised by the intensity of the training and labor. One night after a particularly long day of backbreaking work, André told Max, “My aching muscles speak to me with a heavy accent.”

André took great satisfaction in becoming part of the camp. He participated in all its activities with a will, even learning how to take his rifle apart, clean it, and put it back together again.

More startling still he was willing to take orders—unlike in the Belgian army—because he believed in the cause.

Before long the Sauverins were sufficiently well-trained and trusted to go on perimeter patrols, swiftly learning to scout for German and Milice dispositions. It was always nerve-racking though, particularly when the Maquis received advance warning of their would-be tormentors’ movements.

Because they were older than most of their compatriots, whose average age wasn’t much above twenty, the chief tapped André and Alex to help train the latest volunteers. He even had newcomers bunk with the brothers, forcing the Sauverins into separate sleeping quarters.

The Sauverins’ distinct personalities and aptitudes rapidly became evident. Alex’s greater physicality and handiness were put to good use in repairing the great barn and outbuildings. André, due to his experience with and ability to judge young people, was occasionally asked by Roger to sit in as he attempted to determine if a new recruit was truly against the Germans or entering Les Bouzedes as a spy.

The need for caution was great. Everyone knew the Milice kept attempting to infiltrate the ranks of the Resistance. When spies were found out they were summarily executed—just as the Vignies had been.

André was pleased to do his part in these sessions. But killings were something he prayed never to see again.

One morning the lookout watched warily, alert for danger, as two figures hiked up the cartway: enemy spies or would-be Maquis? The lookout was the first line of defense and guessed these two came fresh from the lycée. Both had unruly uncut hair and the wispy beginnings of soft, light beards. Both were wiry and gave the impression of being used to the outdoors. They didn’t carry rifles but the lookout thought it wise to let them see his.

“Hello,” he called down. “Where might you be coming from?”

“From Nîmes,” one new arrival said, voice quavering.

The anxiety was a good sign but the lookout had to follow standard procedures. “What brought you into this region?”

“They want to send us to Germany,” the second called loudly.

“And you don’t come back from Germany,” his companion elaborated.

“We’re scared,” the other continued. “Another friend signed up with the gendarmes as he was supposed to and the next week they took him from his home. He hasn’t been seen or heard from since.” The young man swallowed hard. “I’m only nineteen. I won’t wait to be taken.”

“I’d rather fight,” his companion insisted.

The lookout suppressed a smile. He knew how they felt and how naïve they were about what was in store for them. He had been just such a raw recruit a year earlier.

“How did you know to come here?” he demanded as he slowly climbed down from his semi-concealed position. How old he must appear—weathered and lined by long hours spent in the sun. Not quite twenty-five, he felt far older than a few years’ difference in age should make.

“We started walking and ran into someone who told us to come here.”

“Are you carrying any weapons?” the lookout asked.

“No,” one allowed. Both looked sheepish. “But we’ll fight barehanded if we have to.”

The lookout grinned despite himself then quickly made his face blank. “I must check you,” he said and patted them down. Their submission increased his confidence in them. Certain they were unarmed, he told them, “Head up this cartway to the big house. If anyone asks tell them the lookout sent you to see Roger. Convince him of your good intentions and you’re in.”

The two young fellows smiled broadly, stood up straighter, and mumbled thanks in the manner of abashed youth.

“Don’t thank me,” the lookout said sardonically. “Thank the Germans. And thank our glorious leader Pétain.”

Good God,
Alex groaned inwardly, sitting on his cot when one of Roger’s lieutenants ushered a new youth into his presence.
Why do they keep bringing them to me?

“Keep him out of trouble,” the lieutenant said, “until we can find him a permanent place.”

“When will that be?” Alex growled. He hated playing nursemaid.

“Soon, we hope,” the lieutenant said, chuckling as he strode away.

For a minute Alex was morose. But the new recruit trembled, bewildered and fearful, so Alex took pity on him. “What’s your name?” he asked as pleasantly as he could.

“Jean-Philippe…”

“Uh-uh-uh!” Alex cut him off with a cautioning wag of his forefinger. “First names only please. It’s not wise to let anyone know too much about you—not even your roommates.”

“Just Jean-Philippe then.”

“Good.” Alex examined the youth closely. There wasn’t much to him. “And what did you do? Before I mean.”

“I was a student. But I’ve always done farmwork too on my folks’ small place. In the off-seasons I apprenticed myself in woodworking, building cabinets and chairs.” The young man suddenly collapsed onto his cot. “Oh God,” he cried, his lower lip trembling. “I hope my Pa is okay. I tried to get him to join the Resistance too but he just kept saying, ‘Everyone needs to eat. I must stay and do my part.’ Do you think the Milice will take him?”

“Not a farmer. Not yet.”

“He’s not in good health.”

“Then they’ll never want him.”

Jean-Philippe wiped at his nose. “So what exactly is it we do?”

“Many things. Senseless things.” Jean-Philippe looked so downcast Alex backtracked. “I mean things that may seem senseless but they all have a purpose. Our job is to obey the chief’s orders, even those we don’t understand. You think you can do that?”

“I guess.” The young man lowered his face into his hands.

Alex stood up, uncertain what to do or say next. “We’re all in this together,” he tried. “We just do the best we can.” He moved toward the door. “I’ve got some business to attend to. But don’t worry. You’ll find out all you need to know soon enough.”

The young man stared at the floor. Alex stepped out and shut the door softly.

During his siesta on Thursday, November sixth, André lay on his cot staring at the ceiling, feeling a little down as he always did on the anniversary of his father’s death. This was the third year of such dispiriting remembrance and the pain never seemed to diminish as supposedly it would. Instead as time went by André missed Louis more and more.

One week hence Denise would turn thirty-four and the day after that, André would reach his forty-second birthday. He hated not being with his family, especially on such occasions. But he was inexpressibly glad that, Louis aside, they were all still alive.

By late November the chief was bogged down in the paperwork required to coordinate all the new recruits. He hated paper-pushing but one did what one must.

His office was now fitted out with two more tables and additional benches and chairs. As he worked his various lieutenants, assistants, and subordinates kept coming in and going out, occasionally laying yet another piece of paper on top of Roger’s increasingly messy mass of notes, memos, messages, and maps.

“Chief? André to see you,” one aide announced.

“Send him in.”

Sensing rather than observing André’s arrival, Roger raised one finger to acknowledge him but went right on working. Finally finished, he stood up to offer André his hand.

“We have a problem that requires immediate attention,” the chief told him. Then he turned to the others in his jam-packed office. “Please excuse us for a few minutes.” Everyone else left and Roger told André, “I’ve got information that the Vichy government has placed spies in our area. We’ve got our eyes on two newcomers who seem to fit the bill but we’re not absolutely certain. I’d like you to go out to investigate. The rest of the Maquisards I’ve assigned were all raised in these mountains so they know their way around, but whether or not these two fellows really are spies…I need you to query them and see what you think.”

“You mean before we do anything to them.”

“Find out who they are, where they came from, who sent them—if anyone did—and what they know. After we bring them in—if that’s what you recommend—well, we’re certainly not going to be able to send them on their merry way.” Roger fixed his gaze steadily on André. “Are you up to it?”

André looked back at Roger just as directly. “I’m here to do whatever you tell me.”

“Thank you,” the chief said gravely. “There’s just one other thing.” Roger broke into a broad grin. “Remember to wear your glasses. They make you look like an intelligence officer. Someone not to be trifled with.”

It was André’s turn to smile. “No problem. I have to wear my glasses to see anything.”

They laughed together but within seconds Roger said, “There’ll be four others in your squad. Jacques is the designated leader. He already knows the role I want you to play.”

“I don’t know him,” André said warily.

“He comes and goes frequently. But I trust him and you should too. Don’t let his manner put you off. He can be a little gruff.”

André grinned again. “That’s all right. I’ve had plenty of experience with
that
kind of character.”