The Predators (9 page)

Jacques also remembered that his father’s name was Maurice, and he always felt uncomfortable because he thought it looked too Jewish. Maurice had tried to have his name changed to François, but his father, Jacques’s grandfather, refused. He would not allow it because Maurice’s wife’s father was named François. He was a lowly drayman, who worked for Plescassier driving a wagon. The only reason there had been a marriage was because Maurice needed a strong lower-class girl who could breed a healthy son for him. The marriage was made because of the inheritance laws. Plescassier must always remain in the family. When Jacques married, he too married for the same reasons. His wife had given him two sons, Jean Pierre and Raymond. Jacques gave her and her family twenty thousand louis for a divorce. They parted amicably. His wife was not unhappy; at the time she married Jacques she knew he was homosexual, as his father and grandfather had been. She also knew that she could never be satisfied until she found a real man.

She agreed to relocate in Switzerland with twenty thousand louis for herself and five thousand louis for her family. She soon found many companions and opened a bar and café.

“No, not the Rothchilds,” Maurice boomed, his voice echoing in the high ceilings of the room. “We will send him to Quebec, where I have distant cousins,” Maurice said. “With a little money, they will care for him.”

“But what about Raymond?” Jacques asked. “The boy is only three years old.”

“There is no problem with Raymond,” Maurice said coldly. “The boy is physically and mentally retarded. You know what Dr. Meyer said. The best thing we could do for him is to place him in a nursing facility that cares for children of his kind.”

“But, Papa,” Jacques pleaded. “He is our family. We can’t desert him like that.”

“Again you don’t remember what Dr. Meyer and all the other specialists said. He will not live more than nine or ten years at the most. The kindest thing we can do is give him the best care available.”

Jacques sat quietly. He felt small in the big chair. Tears filled his eyes. “He’s still just a baby,” he said. “Only God can know his future. A miracle could happen and he could be healed.”

“There’s always hope, Jacques. If a miracle occurs, the nurses can help and he can come home to us,” Maurice said. “The child is a problem for us. We cannot show him in society—they would insult us behind our backs. Our business would slowly go down. I know these bastards. They can be cruel.”

“But Jean Pierre loves his little brother,” Jacques said.

“Jean Pierre will be going to Canada until the end of the war. He will be told that Raymond is too small to send away. By the time Jean Pierre comes home he will have completely forgotten about him.”

Jacques looked up at his father. “
Vous êtes vraiment dur,
Papa,” he said.

2

It was not the
Queen Mary
or the
Normandie,
but it was a large and comfortable ship, even if it was Irish. Its name was the
Molly Machree
out of Dublin. Jean Pierre sighed and looked up at Armand as he leaned on the railing. “Why didn’t Papa book us on one of the big French boats?”

“The war,” Armand said. “The Germans and the French are at war. But Germany is not at war with the Irish Republic. So our ship is safe to cross the Atlantic.”

“But we’re going to Quebec,” Jean Pierre said. “That’s part of France, isn’t it?”

“Not anymore,” Armand said as he shook his head. “It’s British now.”

“But they all speak French!”

“History. It’s a never-ending story,” Armand said. “Come, let’s go to the cabin and get washed up. Soon we will have dinner and after dinner we will be able to see the Rock of Gibraltar as we sail into the Atlantic.”

It was ten o’clock when they passed the Rock of Gibraltar, and then Armand put him to bed. They had two small adjoining rooms. He didn’t know what time it was when the clanging ship alarm awakened him. He ran to the door to Armand’s room. He banged on the door. There was no answer. “Armand! Armand!” he shouted. Still, no answer. Quickly, he pulled his trousers and shirt on. He could hear people running through the corridors. He ran out of his room, but he could not understand what they were saying because everyone was speaking English. He ran toward the barroom. One of the sailors picked him up and took him into the dining room. Another sailor quickly slipped a life jacket over his head. The sailor gestured with his hand. “Stay here!”

Jean Pierre looked around the room. There were many people waiting in the dining room, all wearing life jackets, some seated, some standing, waiting for instructions from the staff. They were told only that everyone should stay in the dining room. There was nothing to fear; they should not forget that this was an Irish vessel and Ireland was not at war with anyone.

Jean Pierre was not afraid. He was still looking around for Armand. Not seeing him anywhere, he slipped out by one of the small doors leading to the deck. He had come out underneath a staircase. He was hidden in the shadows. Looking out, he saw two large searchlights covering the whole side of the
Molly Machree.
He turned and saw where the searchlights were coming from: a small German warship.

He stayed under the staircase and watched a motorboat bring a number of German sailors over to the
Molly Machree.
The Irish captain saluted them as they came aboard and the officer saluted the captain. They then shook hands. They were all speaking in German, so Jean Pierre didn’t understand what had been said. The Irish captain nodded and made an order to his men. Then those men and the German sailors went off together. Once they had gone the Irish captain and the German officer went to the bar and had a few drinks.

Jean Pierre sat under the staircase. He was able to understand that the Irish and the Germans must have an agreement. But he was still angry about Armand. When his father learned about Armand’s behavior, that would be the end of Armand. His father would destroy him. He heard some noise from the deck. The Germans were back carrying cases of things. Wine, whiskey, food. Jean Pierre couldn’t see exactly what they were taking, but it seemed to keep them happy.

An hour passed before the Germans had transported their goods and had disappeared into the darkness of the Atlantic Ocean. Then slowly Jean Pierre stretched and listened to the engines of the
Molly Machree
begin softly. Jean Pierre stayed under the staircase another hour as the other passengers returned to their cabins. Then he stood up and went back to the barroom.

The barman was the only one left. He stared down at Jean Pierre. “What the hell are you still doing here?” Then he realized that the child didn’t understand him. But he was a proficient barman. He spoke a few languages, one of them French. He repeated his question in French.

Jean Pierre was happy to find someone who could speak his language. He began to tell him what had happened from the time that he heard the alarm.

The barman then called the purser, who also spoke French. The purser said he would take Jean Pierre to his cabin and try to locate Armand.

The purser opened the door to Jean Pierre’s quarters. He then put the key in the door to Armand’s room. He tried to open it. The door moved slightly, but not easily. The purser then threw his weight against the door. This time it opened enough to turn the light on in the room before it shut again.

But it was Jean Pierre, whose eyes were younger and faster, who could see what had happened. Armand was lying on his stomach on the floor with a knife stuck through his heart from the back. The blood was still seeping onto the rug.

3

The telegram came to Jacques at Plescassier’s sales office in Paris. It was from the executive vice president of the Irish Atlantic Shipping Lines.

The message was simple:

DEAR MR. JACQUES MARTIN: We are sorry to inform you that the tutor of your son, Mr. Armand LeBosc, has had an accident and perished. We are also pleased to let you know that your son, M. Jean Pierre Martin, is well and not very distressed by this sad affair. We have placed your son into the care of the purser, Mr. Benjamin O’Doul, who speaks French fluently and is the father of three sons of his own. I would like to ask that you please give me the information concerning your son’s care once we land in Quebec. Mr. O’Doul will be informing you about any news pertaining to your son.

With all respect, sir,

Thomas T. Watts

Executive Vice President

Waving the telegram, Jacques walked into his father’s office. He dropped the telegram on the desk in front of his father. He waited but one minute to complain to the old man. “Armand, the crazy asshole! You were the one that wanted him to take care of Jean Pierre!”

Maurice looked up from his desk. “What are you complaining about now?” he said calmly. “He’s dead! There is no longer a problem.”

“We don’t know what he may have taken with him when he got on the ship. He was always a crook and a thief,” Jacques said.

Maurice waved his hand in annoyance. “Nothing,” he said. “Armand was not that crazy. He knew there would be a large bonus when he delivered Jean Pierre to Canada.”

Jacques was silent.

Maurice looked up at him. “Now give the information to the vice president concerning the location of the school in Montreal that we have arranged for him. The boy seems to be in very good care. We don’t have time to dwell on this. When you finish come back in here and we will find the money to buy the Cabernet farms and the winery that Prudhomme has offered to us this morning.”

“Wine isn’t like water,” Jacques said. “We don’t have to grow the grapes.”

“But wine brings more money than water,” Maurice said. “Water is only a franc a bottle. Good Cabernet can bring you ten francs a bottle.”

4

“It won’t matter whether the British bring their entire army into France. They are all stupid. Hindenburg has been put in charge of the German army in the east of France. That means they will wipe out the entire French and British armies in France. The son of a bitch is a genius like Bismarck. What will we do when he occupies Paris?” Jacques was angry as he spoke to his father.

Maurice smiled. “We’ll open more cabarets so the Boche can see the cancan. Then we will open more brothels and let them all get venereal diseases. Last but not least, we will give them all the sweet boys they love. They will not last long in Paris.”

“Papa, you’re old-fashioned. The new German is not like that!” Jacques answered.

“Maybe the army is more modern,” Maurice answered. “But the Germans never change.”

“Regardless,” Jacques said. “I feel I must do something to help save our country. I’m going to enlist in the army.”

Maurice was upset. “Now you’re being stupid. Do you want to get killed?”

“That will not be a problem,” Jacques answered confidently. “General Pétain has offered a captain position in supplies. I will be in charge of all the wines and the champagnes. I will be in the general’s office. Everyone knows that the general’s offices are the safest. I will not see combat, Papa.”

Maurice looked over at his son. “What will you do about your
petit ami,
Louis? Do you think he will stay here by himself once you are gone?”

“I thought I might take him along with me as my orderly,” Jacques answered.

“You are more stupid than I thought,” Maurice said. “In one week you would both be discovered to be homosexual. How long do you think it would take the army to find out about you? Then you will be court-martialed and discharged by the army. Your life in society after that will be ruined. You would disgrace our entire family publicly.”

“Then what can I do, Papa? I love that boy.”

“Give him a job at the winery in the mountains in the Alpes Maritime. Give him a title. Assistant manager. A good title—after all, he is a very bright boy. He has a diploma in accounting.” Maurice nodded, pleased with his plan. “Now that I think of it, it’s a good idea.”

Jacques stared at his father. “
Merde!
You want to fuck the boy yourself!”

“What’s wrong with that, Jacques?” Maurice smiled. “After all, you will be away in the war. And I could keep him in the family. There’s nothing like a little incest to keep us all together.”

*   *   *

The first snow of the winter in Montreal laid a thin icy blanket over the campus of St. Xavier. The final bell rang dismissing the math class. The room emptied quickly as the boys ran to their dormitories. Jean Pierre was the last boy in his room. The other three had already arrived.

Jean Pierre placed his books on the top of his wooden chest, then turned and sat down on the edge of his hard bed. He suddenly realized the three other boys were watching him. He stared back at them, not speaking.

Alain, the biggest boy in the room, looked at him as he spoke. “You’re French, not Canadian. You can’t even speak English.”

Jean Pierre stared defiantly. “You’re speaking French,” he said. “Not very good French, but none of the Canadians know how to speak French properly. But, somehow, I manage to understand you.”

Joseph, the intellectual boy of the room, spoke nastily to Jean Pierre. “We all know why you have been shipped here. Your father didn’t want everyone to know that you are a homosexual. We also know about your man friend on the ship being murdered because someone was jealous.”

Jean Pierre stared back at him. “How do you know about any of this?”

“Everyone in school knows about it,” Alain taunted.

“Who told you about it, you prick?” Jean Pierre said angrily.

“The officer from the ship told the headmaster, who told all the teachers. Of course, then some of the kids found out about it.” Joseph sneered. “Would you like to suck any of our cocks?”

Jean Pierre controlled his temper. He looked at them. “None of you have cocks big enough to play with.”

This made Alain angry. He ran across the room to Jean Pierre and tried to hit him in the face. The blow didn’t reach Jean Pierre’s face. Jean Pierre was too quick. He rolled onto his back, so that his face was out of reach. He quickly kicked Alain in the testicles with his left foot, a maneuver he had learned in the Le Savate in the French gymnasium class.