"It's curfew" said Lucile impassively. "I have to go back. I have to close all the windows. I was told yesterday at Headquarters that the light from the sitting room wasn't blocked out enough."
"As long as I'm here, you don't have to worry about anything. No one will bother you."
She didn't reply. She held out her hand to him; he kissed it and she walked back to the house. Long after midnight, he was still walking around in the garden. She could hear the brief, monotonous calls of the guards in the street, and beneath her window her jailor's slow, steady walk. Sometimes she thought, He loves me, he doesn't suspect anything, and sometimes, He's suspicious, he's watching, he's waiting.
It's such a shame, she thought in a sudden moment of honesty. It's such a shame, it was a beautiful night… a night made for love… We shouldn't have wasted it. The rest isn't important. But she stayed where she was; she didn't get out of her bed to go to the window. She felt bound and gagged-a prisoner-united with this captive land that dreamed and sighed softly with impatience; she let the empty night drift by.
21
The village had been looking cheerful all afternoon. In the square the soldiers had decorated the flagpoles with leaves and flowers, and on the balcony of the municipal hall, red and black banners with Gothic writing floated below the swastikas. It was a beautiful day. The flags and banners billowed in the soft, cool breeze. Two young soldiers with pink faces were pushing a cart full of roses.
"Are they for the tables?" the women asked, curious.
"Yes," the soldiers proudly replied. One of them picked out a rosebud and, with an exaggerated salute, offered it to a young girl, who blushed.
"It will be a wonderful party."
"Wir hoffen es. We hope so. We're going to a lot of trouble," the soldiers replied.
The cooks were working outdoors preparing pâtés and cakes for the dinner. To avoid the dust, they had set up beneath the great lime trees that surrounded the church. The head chef, in uniform but wearing a high hat and apron of dazzling white to protect his jacket, was putting the finishing touches to an enormous gâteau. He decorated it with cream swirls and candied fruit. The smell of sugar filled the air. The children squealed with delight. The head chef, bursting with pride but trying not to show it, frowned and scolded them: "All right, back up a bit, how do you expect us to work with you crowding around?" At first, the women pretended not to be interested in the cake. "Ugh!… It will be horrible… They don't have the right kind of flour…" Gradually, they moved closer, shyly at first, then more confidently. Eventually they found the audacity to start giving advice, as women do.
"Hey, Monsieur, there's not enough decoration on this side… you need some angelica."
They ended up helping. Pushing back the delighted children, they bustled about round the table with the Germans; one of them chopped the almonds; another crushed the sugar.
"Is it just for the officers? Or will the ordinary soldiers have some too?" they asked.
"It's for everyone, everyone."
"Everyone except us!" They sniggered.
The head chef raised the earthenware platter holding the enormous cake and with a little salute showed it to the crowd, who laughed and applauded. Then he carefully laid it on a huge wooden plank carried by two soldiers (one at the head, one at the foot) and they all set off for the château. Meanwhile, officers invited from all the regiments billeted in the area began to arrive. Their long green capes floated behind them. The shopkeepers stood in front of their doors, smiling at them. They had been bringing up their remaining supplies from the cellars since morning: the Germans were buying everything they had, and paying well. One officer snapped up the last few bottles of Benedictine brandy, another paid 1,200 francs for lingerie for his wife; the soldiers crowded round the shop windows and looked lovingly at the pink and blue bibs. Finally, one of them couldn't help himself and, as soon as the officer had gone, he called the saleswoman over and pointed to some baby clothes; he was very young, with blue eyes.
"Boy? Girl?" the saleswoman asked.
"I don't know," he said ingenuously. "My wife will write and tell me; it happened during my last leave, a month ago."
Everyone around him started laughing. He blushed but seemed very happy. He bought a rattle and a little robe. He came back across the road in triumph.
They were rehearsing the music in the village square. Next to the circle formed by the drums, the trumpets and the fifes, another circle formed round the regimental postmaster. The Frenchmen noted the open mouths and eyes bright with hope, and nodded politely, thinking sadly, We know what it's like… when you're waiting for news from another country. We've all done that… Meanwhile, an enormous young German with huge thighs and a fat bottom that threatened to split his tight riding breeches entered the Hôtel des Voyageurs and, for the third time, asked to look at the barometer. It was still set at fair. The German, beaming with delight, said, "Nothing to worry about. No storm tonight. Gott mit uns."
"Yes, yes." The waitress nodded in agreement.
This innocent delight spread to the customers and the owner himself (who supported the British); everyone stood up and went over to the barometer: "Nothing to worry about! Nothing! Is good… nice party," they said, deliberately speaking in pidgin French so he'd understand them better.
And the German slapped everyone on the back with a wide grin while repeating, "Gott mit uns."
"Sure, sure, Got meedns. He's drunk, that Fritz," they whispered behind his back rather sympathetically. "We know what it's like. He's been celebrating since yesterday… He's a big lad… Well, so what! Why shouldn't they have fun? They're men after all."
Having created a sympathetic atmosphere with his words and appearance, and after downing three bottles of beer one after the other, the German, beaming, finally left. As the day progressed, all the local people began to feel happy and light-headed, as if they too would be going to the ball. In the kitchens, the young girls listlessly rinsed the glasses and every few minutes leaned out of the window to watch the groups of Germans going up to the château.
"Did you see the Second Lieutenant who lives at the church house? Isn't he handsome with his smooth skin. There's the Commandant's new interpreter. How old is he, do you think? I'd say he couldn't be more than twenty, that boy. They're all so young. Oh, there's the Angelliers' Lieutenant. He'd drive me wild, he would. You can tell he's a gentleman. What a beautiful horse! They really do have beautiful horses, by God." The young girls sighed.
Then the bitter voice of some old man dozing by the stove called out, "Sure they do, they're our horses!"
The old man spat into the fire, muttering curses that the young girls didn't hear. They were only interested in one thing: to hurry and finish the dishes so they could go and watch the Germans at the château. Running alongside the grounds was a path lined with acacias, lime trees and beautiful aspens with leaves that incessantly trembled, incessantly rustled in the wind. Between the branches it was possible to see the lake and the lawns where the tables had been set up and, on the hill, the château, its doors and windows wide open, where the regimental orchestra would play. By eight o'clock, everyone in the village was there; the young girls had dragged their parents along; children that the young women hadn't wanted to leave at home were sleeping in their mothers' arms, or running about shouting and playing with the pebbles; some pushed aside the soft branches of the acacia trees and watched the scene with curiosity: the musicians on the terrace, the German officers lying on the grass or slowly strolling through the trees, the tables covered with dazzling linen, the silver reflecting the last rays of the sun and, behind each chair, a soldier standing as still as if he were at inspection-the orderlies who would act as waiters. The orchestra played a particularly lively, cheerful song; the officers took their places. Before sitting down, the head of the table ("the place of honour… a general," whispered the French) and all the other officers stood at attention, raised their glasses and shouted, "Heil Hitler!" It took a long time for the roar to subside; it reverberated through the air with a pure, fierce, metallic echo. Then they could hear the hubbub of conversations, the clinking of cutlery and the sound of the night birds singing.
The Frenchmen strained to see if they could recognise people they knew. Next to the General with the white hair, delicate features and long hooked nose, were the officers from Headquarters.
"That one, over there on the left, look, he's the one who took my car, the bastard! The little blond one with the rosy complexion next to him, he's nice, he talks good French. Where's the Angelliers' German? He's called Bruno… pretty name… It's a shame it'll be dark soon; we won't be able to see anything then… The shoemaker's Fritz told me they were going to light torches. Oh, Mummy, that will be so pretty! Let's stay 'til then. What will the owners of the château be saying about all this? They won't be able to sleep tonight. Who's going to eat the leftovers? Who, Mummy? The Mayor?"
"Oh, be quiet, you silly thing, there won't be any leftovers, they've got hearty appetites."
Little by little, darkness spread across the lawns; they could still make out the gold decorations on the uniforms, the Germans' blond hair, the musicians' brass instruments on the terrace, but they had lost their glow. All the light of the day, fleeing the earth, seemed for one brief moment to take refuge in the sky; pink clouds spiralled round the full moon that was as green as pistachio sorbet and as clear as glass; it was reflected in the lake. Exquisite perfumes filled the air: grass, fresh hay, wild strawberries. The music kept playing. Suddenly, the torches were lit; as the soldiers carried them along, they cast their light over the messy tables, the empty glasses, for the officers were now gathered around the lake, singing and laughing. There was the lively, happy sound of champagne corks popping.