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I want to scream, to throw a knife at the SS monsters, to claw their eyes out. To steal their life like they’re doing to us.
What’s the worst that could happen if I did any of that? They murder me too?
Except I know death isn’t the worst thing that could happen. Death is when the torture would end. When the pain would stop.
Death would be what I’d pray for, beg for.
Did Pierre pray for the same?
Once it’s clear Pierre is no longer with us, the crowd disperses. Tension is visible in their shoulders, in the lines on their faces. No one says anything, their attention directed at the ground in front of them.
The soldiers don’t take him down. They leave him as a reminder of what they do to traitors.
My tears come harder, but I don’t make a sound.
“It won’t do you any good to keep looking at him,” the man who was in the café when I arrived says sombrely. “It won’t bring him back to life. Was he your boyfriend?”
I tear my gaze from the square. “No. He was a friend.” That is all I will admit to him.
Danielle places the coffee I didn’t order on the table in front of me. “He was well liked by everyone in town. He will be greatly missed.” Her eyes rake over the man, taking in the features I have already catalogued. “I haven’t seen you before.”
“I’m passing through from Paris. I was hoping to get away from that.” He nods towards the village square. “I guess that was too much to wish for.”
Neither Danielle nor I respond.
I just take a long sip of what is supposed to pass as coffee—crushed walnut shells instead of coffee beans.
The café door opens and one of the men who is part of the parachute reception enters. Danielle leaves to serve him at the counter. A murmur of voices comes from them, but I cannot make out what they are saying.
The door opens again, only this time I’m met with a glare from a woman much older than myself. “It’s your fault, you German-loving whore!” She limps to my table as I stand, bracing for her vitriol. “Pierre is dead because of you.” She strikes me across my face.
Stunned silence fills the room. The woman is not known for her anger. She’s observant. And she could easily get me killed by turning me in to the Gestapo because she knows I’m lying about Jacques being my father.
“Did you tell your lover before or after you fucked him that he should kill that poor boy out there?” She points towards the village square with a flick of her arm.
“That’s enough, Lilian,” Danielle says. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know plenty enough.” The woman growls the words at Danielle and turns to me. “It should be you up there.” This time she points at the village square with more force behind the movement. “You’re nothing more than a disgusting collaborator.”
She raises her hand once more, but the man who helps with the parachute drops grabs her wrist. My skin still smarts from when she struck me.
I don’t attempt to defend myself. If the stranger is working for the Germans, I don’t want to reveal I am a threat to Hitler and his regime. I also don’t want the older woman to get herself into trouble with the Germans for the same reason.
A quick glance at the stranger is met with a neutral expression. He’s not going to give away what he’s thinking if he can help it. I make a move for the door.
Danielle rushes to my side. “Will you be all right?”
Her words could have so many meanings. Can I expect to be next in the noose? Or will I be all right after the loss of Pierre’s life?
I respond with a small nod, even though I have no idea the answer to either question. If the reason Pierre is no longer with us is because of me, I cannot live with myself knowing something I did cost him his life.
And I have no idea if I am next on the Nazis’ list.
Danielle walks outside with me. “No matter what she thinks, it wasn’t your fault.”
I scan the area for SS or Wehrmacht or Milice. None are around, which makes me more nervous than it should.
“He knew the risks. We all did.” Her words are too quiet to be heard by anyone but me.
