AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Merci, madame et monsieur,” Wickham says in tortured French, obviously a phrase he has learned recently.
“Je vous en prie,” the old woman says.
The old couple leave. Philippe selects a dusty bottle from the rack and pops the cork.
“Who shall we drink to?” Hooper asks, sitting up, wincing in pain but trying gamely to be part of the conversation.
Wickham says, “To our American guest.”
They drink to Rainy, or rather to Alice.
Then Rainy raises her glass. “To the brave men and women who fight for the honor of France. And to the Royal Air Force.”
With that out of the way, they portion out the bread and cheese and Marie slices the salami. There is nowhere near enough to go around, but each is content with what they have, aware that what they eat comes from the meager supplies of the old couple. Then Philippe checks his watch. “It is time. Marie?”
Marie goes to the radio and switches it on. The channel selector is already tuned to the BBC. It takes a while for it to warm up, but then at last comes crackly music, the opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. The clear beats of that Beethoven opener have long since come to be represented by the Morse code:
Dit dit dit . . . dah.
Morse code for the letter V. V for victory.
“Your watch runs fast,” Marie says to Philippe.
“Perhaps I am in a hurry,” Philippe says.
“Yes, men are often in a hurry.”
“Because pleasure delayed can become pleasure denied.”
“Pleasure worth having is pleasure worth waiting for,” Marie counters, with a small sniff of dismissal that earns a wry grin from Philippe.
There is subtext there, a flirtation, and Rainy conceals a smile, noting that Wickham too is charmed by young love.
Then . . . “Ici Londres. Les Français parlent aux Français.” This is London. The French speak to the French.
“Two days ago we received the code to prepare. We await the final word,” Philippe says.
But first, the radio voice says, some personal messages.
He digs a slip of paper and a tiny pencil from his back pocket. Everyone—very much including the Nazis—knows that these “personal messages” are coded instructions to the Resistance. Owning an unauthorized radio, and especially tuning to the BBC, is forbidden and can be punished by deportation to camps in Germany or forced labor more locally or imprisonment, or even death.
“Demain la mélasse deviendra cognac.” Tomorrow, molasses will become cognac.
Rainy looks at Philippe. Nothing.
“Jean a une longue moustache.” John has a long mustache.
And Philippe’s eyes widen.
“Les sanglots longs des violons de l’automne . . .” The long sobs of the violins of autumn . . .
Philippe has stopped breathing.
“Blessent mon cœur d’une langueur monotone.” . . . wound my heart with a monotonous languor.
It is Philippe’s utter stillness that causes chills to creep up Rainy’s spine. No one breathes. Rainy has the feeling, at once frightening and thrilling, that the entire human race has just come to a fork in the road. The great battle for the future of human liberty has come at last.
A Communist Philippe might be, but he crosses himself in a way that Comrade Stalin would definitely not approve of.
