A Time to Flee

people who lived on the farm, as well as any delivery people who happened to show up at the farm this morning.   There was even a neighbor who had picked this inopportune moment to come by.   All of us stood around uncertainly.   I wanted to sit down, but the young soldier kept all of us  standing.

 We heard moans and shouts from upstairs where Jacques Octave shared his bedroom with his mistress, Cherie.  I noticed she was standing in the dining room with the rest us, her face ashen with fear.  I trembled as I heard the sound of water running and muffled screams of pain from our leader, who was  apparently in the bath tub, being interrogated.  Between shouted questions, I imagined that the soldiers were pushing hot or cold rods down his throat, a frequent interrogation torture.   Another well-known method was to plunge the prisoner’s head under water and then hit his head with a stick to bring him back to consciousness.  If the Gestapo did not get the answers they wanted,  they hit the prisoner over and over again.   Next I heard loud slaps and the sound of blows to his head.  Octave’s moans became fainter and fainter, and then I heard nothing for awhile.  I felt faint and began to sway.  Pierre moved closer and supported me on his chest.  His expression was grim.  I  had never seen him look so afraid.

The young soldier guarding us was a Frenchman in a German uniform.  He was part of a legion of volunteers who had offered to work with the Germans.  (This police military organization was created in 1943 for those Frenchmen who chose to work with the Gestapo.)  He was pacing back and forth between the table and the fireplace.  As he paced,  he grabbed apricots from the large basket on the table where they had been placed to dry, chewed them up and spit the pits into the fireplace. I was aggravated and glared at him.  I thought his behavior was  rude and condescending, at the very least.

Next, the soldier commanded us put our hands over our heads, except for me because I was pregnant.  A farmer’s wife fainted, and the soldier relented and allowed us to sit on chairs or on the floor, against the wall.  I sank gratefully into a chair, and settled  Marc on my lap.  He did not whimper, which was surprising to me since he had not had any breakfast.  His eyes were still wide with fear, and he clung to me.

A well-dressed man, obviously one of the lieutenants of the Lyon Gestapo, came in and began asking questions, while the young Gestapo Frenchman looked on.  “Where is Marc?”  he asked, as he came to each of us in turn.  Everyone shook their heads or said they had no idea who he was talking about.

I knew he was referring to Marc, (Sarigue)  the agent who had come to warn us yesterday, but I decided to play my dumb role when he came to me.  “Marc?  “ I said.  “Why he’s right here sitting on my lap.”  In that moment I felt that I could defend myself in any situation either by being arrogant or stupid, whatever the situation warranted.  I was no longer paralyzed by fear.  I could change my demeanor in an instant. By now, I had had enough of these traitorous Frenchmen and wanted to give them a hard time.

My interrogator was not amused.  His response was to glare at me and  tell all of us  to stand up again with our hands above our heads, facing the wall.  This time he included me.