way, it became a sign of good character.’
‘A badge of honour.’
‘Yes.’
Realising now it might be a symbol of her survival and that, therefore, she might wish to keep it, I held it out.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken it.’
She shook her head. I hesitated, then returned it to my pocket. It was hardly an orthodox love token, but it was all that I had.
‘The raids became more frequent. Whole villages arrested, or so it was said - men, women, children. In Montaillou, little under a day’s walk, everybody over the age of twelve was taken before the court in Pamiers. The interrogations went on for weeks. People talked of it in hushed whispers, behind hands and closed doors. Even so, we hoped our village was too small to matter to anyone but us.’
For the second time in so many days, my school-master’s dusty words came back into my mind.
‘A green land soaked red with the blood of the faithful,’ I murmured.
The effect of my words on Fabrissa was immediate. Her eyes lit up.
‘You know something of our history?’
‘Very little, I’m afraid. Only that this region is no stranger to conflict.’
‘You will know, then, of the endless years spent fearing those we loved would be taken from us in the night. Never knowing whom to trust, that was the worst of it. Seduced by promises of safety and wealth, there were those who became spies. Who betrayed their own. I feared our enemies, but did not hate them.’ She hesitated. ‘But those who turned away from who they were and joined the fight against us, it was hard not to despise them.’
I nodded. In the early days of the War, I suppose it must have been during George’s first leave home, I’d overheard him and Father talking through the study door, left ajar. I remember him explaining how he bore no hatred towards the ordinary German soldier, the men like him who fought for their country, fair and square. Father nodding, ‘yes, yes’, and the air thick with cigarettes and whisky. But for those who would not fight, the Conchies, or those who spied for the other side, he had nothing but disgust. And as I listened in the hall, excluded from this man’s world, I heard the admiration in Father’s voice. And, God help me, I was jealous.
‘I didn’t realise the Germans were active in this part of France,’ I said, as much to myself as to Fabrissa, trying to push away the unhappy memories. I knew the roll-call of battles - Loos, Arras, Boar’s Head Hill, Passchendaele - each as notorious for the huge loss of life as for any supposed military success. But I couldn’t recall any significant engagement below the Loire Valley.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I was young, but already I knew that the war was not about faith, but rather territory and wealth and greed and power.’
‘Yes,’ I said, thinking of George’s contempt for the politicians who sent good men to die.
The light was thickening, giving shape back to the world. I glanced at Fabrissa and saw how very pale her skin was, its patina almost blue in the dawn.
‘Then, one day, it happened. The soldiers came for us.’
Exodus
My heart hit my boots.
‘Look here, there’s no need to . . . if it’s too much.’
How I wanted to save her from the pain of remembering. How I wanted to put my arms around her and tell her everything was all right. But of course, it wasn’t. How could it be?
Fabrissa gave a tiny shake of her head, but did not falter. And I understood that, having started, she needed to see things through.
‘It was December,’ she continued. ‘A bright day, very cold, with a glancing white sun and blue skies. In the afternoon, the light lingered for just a little longer than usual on the mountains, golden light draped like a skein of silk across the snowed peaks of the Sabarthès, of the Roc de Sédour. Everywhere painted in gold and white. And although it went against what we believed, I remember thinking how hard it was not to believe that God’s hand had created such
‘A badge of honour.’
‘Yes.’
Realising now it might be a symbol of her survival and that, therefore, she might wish to keep it, I held it out.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken it.’
She shook her head. I hesitated, then returned it to my pocket. It was hardly an orthodox love token, but it was all that I had.
‘The raids became more frequent. Whole villages arrested, or so it was said - men, women, children. In Montaillou, little under a day’s walk, everybody over the age of twelve was taken before the court in Pamiers. The interrogations went on for weeks. People talked of it in hushed whispers, behind hands and closed doors. Even so, we hoped our village was too small to matter to anyone but us.’
For the second time in so many days, my school-master’s dusty words came back into my mind.
‘A green land soaked red with the blood of the faithful,’ I murmured.
The effect of my words on Fabrissa was immediate. Her eyes lit up.
‘You know something of our history?’
‘Very little, I’m afraid. Only that this region is no stranger to conflict.’
‘You will know, then, of the endless years spent fearing those we loved would be taken from us in the night. Never knowing whom to trust, that was the worst of it. Seduced by promises of safety and wealth, there were those who became spies. Who betrayed their own. I feared our enemies, but did not hate them.’ She hesitated. ‘But those who turned away from who they were and joined the fight against us, it was hard not to despise them.’
I nodded. In the early days of the War, I suppose it must have been during George’s first leave home, I’d overheard him and Father talking through the study door, left ajar. I remember him explaining how he bore no hatred towards the ordinary German soldier, the men like him who fought for their country, fair and square. Father nodding, ‘yes, yes’, and the air thick with cigarettes and whisky. But for those who would not fight, the Conchies, or those who spied for the other side, he had nothing but disgust. And as I listened in the hall, excluded from this man’s world, I heard the admiration in Father’s voice. And, God help me, I was jealous.
‘I didn’t realise the Germans were active in this part of France,’ I said, as much to myself as to Fabrissa, trying to push away the unhappy memories. I knew the roll-call of battles - Loos, Arras, Boar’s Head Hill, Passchendaele - each as notorious for the huge loss of life as for any supposed military success. But I couldn’t recall any significant engagement below the Loire Valley.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I was young, but already I knew that the war was not about faith, but rather territory and wealth and greed and power.’
‘Yes,’ I said, thinking of George’s contempt for the politicians who sent good men to die.
The light was thickening, giving shape back to the world. I glanced at Fabrissa and saw how very pale her skin was, its patina almost blue in the dawn.
‘Then, one day, it happened. The soldiers came for us.’
Exodus
My heart hit my boots.
‘Look here, there’s no need to . . . if it’s too much.’
How I wanted to save her from the pain of remembering. How I wanted to put my arms around her and tell her everything was all right. But of course, it wasn’t. How could it be?
Fabrissa gave a tiny shake of her head, but did not falter. And I understood that, having started, she needed to see things through.
‘It was December,’ she continued. ‘A bright day, very cold, with a glancing white sun and blue skies. In the afternoon, the light lingered for just a little longer than usual on the mountains, golden light draped like a skein of silk across the snowed peaks of the Sabarthès, of the Roc de Sédour. Everywhere painted in gold and white. And although it went against what we believed, I remember thinking how hard it was not to believe that God’s hand had created such
Similar Books
