Part 26 (1/2)

Julien looked at Henri, whom G.o.d wanted back. ”I've said some stupid, jerky stuff to you since school started, Henri. And I'm sorry.”

Henri recovered very quickly from his double take. ”What do you want from me, Julien Losier?”

”I still think that law stinks. That one I showed you in the paper. And the flag salute stinks too. But they're not your fault, and I'm sorry I waved the paper in your face like that, and I want to thank you for coming to me last week to talk about that thing because-because that was the honorable way to do it. And I'd like to talk to you about it some more. If that's okay.”

Henri was looking at him. Just looking. Julien looked back. ”Could I come over?” Julien said. ”Maybe Sunday?”

Henri's eyes flicked to Lucien, and he shrugged. ”Nothing better to do on a Sunday. Sure.”

”Thanks,” said Julien.

Chapter 36.

Terms of Surrender Oh G.o.d, please forgive us. Me and Henri. Undo what we have done.

He could feel it now. It was so strange, after all this time, not to feel like he was sending a telegram at all, but more like-like holding hands under a table might feel, or the touch of sunlight on your face when your eyes were closed. Something you were totally aware of but couldn't see.

G.o.d, will you show me what's good in Henri?

Still no answer came. He would have to look, he supposed. This was show, not tell.

But today, okay, G.o.d? Please?

Today was the day.

”So their father thought it was so dangerous to be Jews that they should leave the country with no adults, no papers, and apparently no money. And you believe that?”

”Yes,” said Julien.

”It's insane. No father is that stupid.”

Julien sat in the Bernards' kitchen, facing Henri across a pine table. Pale light came through the window; the house was empty except for them, dim and quiet. He lifted his cup of fake coffee to his lips to hide the fact that he had nothing to say. That he had come to talk terms of surrender. That he was scared.

”So they told your mother this ridiculous story, and she believed them, and then they told her the girl is sick?”

Julien put down the coffee and leaned forward. ”They didn't 'tell' us the girl was sick. She couldn't stand up. I had to bring her up the street in a wheelbarrow, she was burning up with fever, any fool could have seen she was sick.” He tried to stop. ”Except, apparently, your father.”

Henri's eyes went very cold. ”If you and your parents and that sanctimonious pastor want to get taken in by every pickpocket and street performer that comes along, that is no concern of my father's,” he said. ”When my father saw that girl, she was dressed as a boy and standing on her own two feet.”

”You mean on her crutches.” Julien closed his eyes for a moment. Then said in a quieter voice, ”Your father probably mentioned that.”

”No,” said Henri. ”He didn't.”

Julien looked into his eyes; they looked back, pale and unreadable. ”Her leg is twisted. My mother examined her and bathed her. I think it would be hard to fake that.”

”Hm.”

”Ma-someone's taking care of her round the clock. I visited her the other week-she looked awful. Her arms are this big around. She looked like she was dying.”

Henri was silent for a moment. Then he said, ”Are they at your house?”

Julien's head jerked up. ”No.” His eyes burned. He doesn't deserve to be forgiven. ”You can come to my house and search it,” he said bitterly.

Henri shook his head quickly. ”No. I believe you.” He took a sip of coffee. ”But listen, Julien, if she's really that sick, I don't see what you're so worried about. We're only talking about informing the authorities so that this can be dealt with in the proper way. Whatever they decide is most appropriate. If they decide to send them to a refugee camp, they won't make the girl travel while she's dangerously ill. They'll wait till she's recovered.”

Julien stared. He trusted them. If you were in Paris, would you give them to the n.a.z.is? If you were in ... in the desert ... would you just hand over the Protestants to the king?

”Henri, where did your family come from?”

Henri blinked. ”From the Rhone Valley, right near Vienne. Village called Saint-Remy. During the persecution under Louis the Fourteenth.”

”Le desert?”

”How d'you know what it's called?”

”I'm from here, Henri. My father grew up here, he moved to Paris, he moved back. My grandfather's told me the stories.”

Henri looked at him.

”Henri, this is what I wanted to tell you. Persecution is persecution. It was Protestants then, and now it's gonna be Jews. I see it coming. I know government jobs aren't that big a deal, but that's how it starts. Isn't it? In Paris, they've started breaking the windows of Jewish shops. Not boches-French people. And then the Marchandeau Law-the papers were already blaming the defeat on Jews before that. Didn't they say stuff like that about Protestants too? That they weakened the nation by being different?” Henri was looking away. ”Now that-”

”You can't,” Henri interrupted in a low voice, ”make a comparison between Marshal Petain and Louis the Fourteenth.”

”I guess I wouldn't compare him to the marshal. I'd compare him to Hitler.”

”What's. .h.i.tler got to do with it?”

”Well-” Can't you see? ”We were defeated. I mean, they let us set up the Vichy government. The marshal has to give them what they want, because what's to stop them taking the rest of the country?”

Henri's eyes were hard. ”You can harp on 'Marshal Petain is a n.a.z.i puppet' till kingdom come, Julien Losier, if that amuses you. I'm not going to listen.”

The doork.n.o.b rattled. Julien's heart leapt to his throat, and he half turned, sc.r.a.ping his chair loudly on the floor. Henri lifted his lip.

The door opened. Victor Bernard had come home.

”h.e.l.lo, boys. Talking politics? Well,” said Monsieur Bernard, ”I'm sure he hasn't got you promising to stop saluting our flag.” And he beamed at his son. Henri gave him a look Julien had never seen in his eyes before; the melting of the ice at last, the clear dance of water in the sun. So that's what he looks like when he smiles.

”Um,” said Julien. ”So. I should probably go.”

”Here. Take this to your parents from us.” Henri's father pulled a bottle of cider out of the cupboard, smiling, and put it into Julien's hand. Julien had to look at him then, meet the eyes of Victor Bernard, whom G.o.d loved, who had tried to send Gustav and Nina away. He took the bottle.

”Thanks,” he said, his voice odd in his clogged throat, and he shook Monsieur Bernard's hand. Then Henri's. Then he walked out the door into the dark day.

It had happened all wrong. When his mother asked, he growled, ”At least we got a bottle of cider out of it.” The falling of her face hurt him so badly he turned away without a word, went to his room, and slammed the door.

On Monday morning, Henri Quatre was in his place, saluting the flag.