The fragment of ruby glistens in
the center of my palm; a rich and bold crimson. As it grows it begins to make its
way down my hand, leaving a faint red trail as it weaves its way between the creases.
Just as it reaches the cuff of my sleeve, the sound of my name awakens me from
my trance.
“Elora? What are you doing?”
Clenching my hand into a fist, I
silently curse myself for being so careless. For all I know, my short daydream
may have cost me my income for the day. An empty dinner table in exchange for a
minute of rest is not my idea of a fair trade. I casually tuck my stained,
white sleeve behind my back and turn around to face my definite punishment.
“I’m sorry Ma’am, it won’t
happen-”
I break off as I catch sight of
Mabel’s chiseled face. We are both eighteen-years-old, but the resemblance
stops there. Her stocky build and close cropped hair gives her a distinctly
masculine image.
“Oh, it’s you. Why are you still
here? I thought you had to tend to Monsieur Chevalier at nine?”
“I do. I was just on my way when
I saw you admiring your palm as though it were Clark Gable, and thought I
might, too, enjoy a glimpse of his face after an exhausting day at work,” she
responds, grinning cheekily. I wince as she grabs my hand and turns it over,
exposing the torn flesh.
“Oh, my. For goodness sake,
staring at it won’t stop the bleeding. Hold on, I think I have a towel in my
bag.”
Just as Mabel bends to open her
satchel, Madame Dupont appears at the open doorway, carrying a basket of
linens.
“Miss Mabel, stand up properly
and adjust your skirt. Did I not give you your payment and dismiss you ten
minutes ago?” she asks, her thick eyebrows furrowed with disapproval.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“If you wish to keep your franc,
it would be in your best interest to follow my orders.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Mabel repeats
sheepishly as she picks up her satchel. Glancing at me apologetically, she
turns and walks swiftly out the door. Left alone in the center of the room, I
force myself to straighten my shoulders and meet her piercing brown eyes
evenly.
“Miss Elora, if you have nothing
better to do than trifle with a man who claims to be a woman, then you can
deliver these laundered linens to the soldiers in Section E,” she says, her
voice laced with contempt.
I let out a faint sigh of relief.
I was safe. “Right away, Madam Dupont,” I respond.
Hiding my bloody sleeve on the
base of the basket, I quickly leave the room before she changes her mind. I glide
noiselessly through the narrow corridors, slipping soundlessly through openings
and passages until I reach a bolted, metal door. Pushing the rod aside, I am
greeted with a blast of frigid, November air. The German flag waves wildly in
the wind, the sound of the flapping fabric echoing through the barracks. The
scene is disturbingly similar to a night in 1942, a little more than a year ago.
I stood shivering in the darkness, wearing nothing apart from a faded
blue dress, to which the number 79 had been hastily pinned. A long line of
women stretched both ahead and behind me, yet the only sound in the courtyard
was the lonely howl of the wind. Alone for the first time and overcome with
grief, my mother’s final moments flashed before my eyes.
“Elora, my child. There are difficult times ahead, but you mustn’t give
up. The new military bases will soon be in need of maids. If you are careful,
it should be enough to support you until your father comes,” she rasped,
clutching my hands weakly.
Blinking back tears, I asked, “But how can Papa come? He rarely gets
any breaks, and even if he did, the cost of coming all the way to France from
America is exorbitant.”
“What goes around, comes around, doesn’t it? If he left, then he will
come back.”
“But Maman, you know that doesn’t make any sense-” I protested.
“Hush, dear. Nothing good will happen if you don’t stay positive.” Her
coughs sounded as though nails were being dragged across her lungs. “You have
to be strong for your brother, too. Julien only has you now. Promise me, so
that I can leave this world peacefully.”
I can no longer prevent the salty tear droplets from cascading down my
face. “I promise, Maman, and…. I love you,” I manage to choke out.
She smiles weakly and closes her eyes. “I love you more, Elora.”
The slam of a door in the
distance wakes me from my reverie. My thick, blonde curls dance around my face
as I hurry across the sparse tufts of grass. Just as I reach the concrete walls
of the barrack, the thud of heavy boots against the ground approach quickly
behind me. Before I can react, a rough hand clamps over my mouth and I am drawn
into a tight, uncomfortable embrace. The familiar scent of Les Désirables laundry soap hits my nose. It must be one of the
soldiers.
“Filthy maid. How can you work
for the foul, German scum? Have you no shame? They walk in and take over our
government, pitting us against our allies and all you do is lay down and let
them walkover you,” a hoarse, male voice whispers into my right ear.
I
writhe and kick at his legs, trying in vain to free myself. What does he want?
He can’t have only come to lecture me.
“I’ll
give you a chance to make amends. I can free us of the German hold and restore France
to its original strength.”
I stop struggling,
because my effort seems to have no effect on him. I was opening my mouth to bite
his fingers, but his next words make me pause.
“I
don’t intend to harm any commoners, only the German officials. If I can
eliminate them, then it will leave a clear path for the French soldiers to take
over. Everything will run smoothly from there. If you get me the access key to
the seventh arsenal, I will reward you with one hundred euros.”
One
hundred euros. That would be enough money to pay for two tickets to America. I
could take my brother to the United States and live with my Father. It was too
perfect to be believable.
“I will
be waiting in the barrel room sharply at 10:00 hours. If you present me with
the key, the money shall be yours to do with what you want. But if you fail-”
In the
distance, a door springs open, and my captor instantly releases me, melding
into the shadows. I spin around to see nothing but an expanse of gravel, dimly
lit by the light of the half-moon. My
heart pounding, I turn back to face my new company. As the figure draws nearer,
I recognize the feathered, Tyrolean hat and immediately kneel in a curtsey. The
head of the tactics sector is one of the few people I can stand, and he seems
to have grown fond of me over the past three months.
“Miss Elora?
Why are you still here? It isn’t safe for such an attractive young woman to be
wandering around at this hour.” Mr. Brauer rumbles, his voice thick with a
heavy German accent.
I
manage to stammer a reply. “Madame Dupont requested that I deliver these fresh
linens to the soldiers in section E.”
He nods
and resumes walking. “Alright, but don’t delay.”
“Yes, sir.”
I reply, and curtsey once more to his retreating back before hurrying towards
the door. By the time I finish, the wind has died down, leaving a sense of
serenity in its wake. I make my way towards the village, the crunch of my
footsteps amplified in the silence. Our once bright and bustling town had
become dull with the effects of the war and the German invasion, choked by the
solitary, grey buildings and the waving green flag.
I look
up as I pass by a tall building with an arching roof and spiral pillars. Two
men stand guard at the front door, fully geared and armed with Fusil rifles. The
one on the left cocks his head in my direction and grins lazily. By this time
tomorrow, if everything goes according to the mysterious soldier’s plan, their
ashes would be scattered on the stairs below. Even if I did manage to secure
the access key, was that what I wanted? How would I be able to live with
myself, knowing that I killed so many people?
The wind had started up again, breaking the
eerie silence. I lower my head and quicken my pace, cutting across the
courtyard of the old library. It’s the last wooden building in the military district,
preserved for its historical significance. Within minutes, I am standing on a
tattered, orange doormat, sliding my feet across faded letters that once
spelled “Bienvenue”. It was one of the few possessions that my brother and I
managed to save from our house before I was forced to sign it over to the government.
Soft, rhythmical snores escape
from a lump under the covers of my bed and bounce off the basement walls,
morphing into an almost musical harmony. I drape my shawl on the table and
undress, taking care to smooth out the wrinkles and creases, just as my mother
once did for me. As though it were a reflex, my hand automatically jumps to my
neck, searching for the silver chain. I breathe a sigh of relief as my fingers
close around the metal pendant, and I carefully place my great grandmother’s
necklace back in its box. With my routine complete, I slide into soft, worn
sheets and kiss Julien’s forehead. He grumbles in protest and pulls the blanket
over his face. For a moment, I just watch him, comforted by the continuous rise
and fall of his chest.
“Maman,” I whisper, “You warned
me that it would be hard, but this is impossible. What should I do? Within the
next two months, we could be lulled to sleep by the gentle lapping of the
Pacific Ocean. Julien’s future would be secured, and we wouldn’t have to live
in a war zone. Perhaps, even I could go to school.”
Julien
shifts his position again. I know I am disturbing him, but I continue, pouring
out my thoughts to the empty air. A small part of me wants to believe that my
mother is listening, wherever she may be.
“Maybe
we could free ourselves of the Germans, but at what cost? What about the guards
and the other innocent workers inside the building? Many of them are working to
support their families, just as I am. If they died, it would be my fault. I
would be a murderer.”
My
voice catches in my throat, but I press on. “But if I don’t give him the key,
we will have to leave the town or I will surely be killed. And then where would
we go? Oh, Maman… I don’t know what to do.” I close my eyes, and a dry sob
escapes my throat. As if to comfort me, Julien’s small foot digs underneath my
leg. I snuggle into his shoulder and pray for sleep to relieve me of my turmoil.
The
dark, grey sky betrays nothing about the time. Even in the morning, it looks
hardly any different than it did last night. Balancing on the tip of my toes, I
take the white cloth and wipe the corners of the last window, taking care not
to leave any smudges. Picking up the soap dish with my un- injured hand, I reluctantly
turn away. The door to the next room stands ajar, revealing a vacant office. I
glance around me, but there is no one in the hallway either. I swiftly enter
the room and shut the door behind me before making my way towards the large,
wooden desk. Setting the cleaning supplies down on the table, my eyes travel
over the cluttered surface, searching for one item in particular. Disappointed,
I begin pulling out drawers at random until I find it, nestled on top of a set
of handkerchiefs. It looks identical to the one he showed me on the day that he
was made Head of the Department.
“I got them today, you know. All the
important people get them. I’m important now, you see.” Mr. Brauer boasted as
he opened the case, and pulled out a ring of keys. “This is mine. All mine!” He
laughed and slumped on my shoulder, his breath reeking of alcohol.
I pried
open the black prescription glasses case and my memory was confirmed. Tucking
the golden key ring in between the folds of my apron, I placed the case back on
the top of the pile and closed the drawer. Above the desk, the hand carved
clock showed 9:45am.
“Early
is on time, but on time is late,” I murmured to myself.
“And
late is inexcusable.” A familiar voice adds. I whipped around to see Mr. Brauer
standing in front of the desk, smiling slightly at my shocked expression.
“Where are you off to now, Miss Elora?” He questions.
“Oh, I
was just, uh,” I mumble incoherently. When had he entered? More importantly,
what had he seen? “Actually, I was just about to meet Madame Dupont regarding
my, um… my wages.”
“Ah, is
that so?” He glances around the room. “But you will be back, I presume, to
finish cleaning?”
I have
to make a conscious effort not to look at or touch the bulge on my side where
the keys are hidden. “Yes, sir. If you will excuse me, I shall get going. I
mustn’t be late, as you so rightly stated.”
He
pulls out his chair and waves me away. “Off you go,” he chuckles.
As soon
as I am out of his sight, I take of running at full speed, fingers clenched
tightly around the bundle of keys. My heart beats along with the pounding of my
feet as I sprint down the hallway and out into the courtyard. A pair of
soldiers watch me curiously from the far side, but I don’t stop until I reach
the heavy double doors of the barrel room. With a massive tug, I pull them open
and burst inside the dark room. Breathing heavily, I wait for my eyes to
adjust. Did I miss him? Was I too late?
“You’re
more foolish than I thought. Did it not occur to you that a maid with a
bandaged hand running at top speed might look a bit suspicious?” I could not
see the owner of the voice, but it seemed to be coming from the opposite side
of the room. “Walk with your hands where I can see them, and leave the key on
the barrel in the center of the room,” The voice instructed.
I clear
my throat. “Show me the money first,” I demand, though my voice is not as
confident as I intended it to be. My eyes have begun to adjust to the darkness,
and I can now see the outline of a man standing in the furthest corner of the
room.
I am
rewarded with a sneer. “And why do you think an armed and fully trained soldier
should follow the orders of a flimsy maid? You have ten seconds to give me the
keys, or I will shoot.”
Left
with no choice, I take a step forwards. If he doesn’t have the money, I hope he
will be kind enough to at least accept my death request.
“Hands
out!” the voice barked.
I thrust both hands in front of me and make my
way towards the center, keeping my eyes fixed on the figure. His features
became clearer with each step. I could make out short, dark hair and a lithe
body, but his face was still hidden in a shadow. Upon reaching the center, I
pulled the key ring out of the folds of my apron and set it on barrel top. My
fingers brushed against soft leather, causing my heart to jump to my throat.
The bag was heavy, and it clinked against the side of the barrel as I brought
it down. Not daring to hope, I backed away slowly, alert for any sudden
movements.
“Good
luck,” I called into the darkness. There was no response.
I tuck
the bag into the waistband of my skirt before slipping back out into the
courtyard. Even with the grey sky, the sudden brightness almost blinded me as I
retraced my steps back to the main building, fueled with new energy and
excitement for the future. My “American dream” suddenly seemed to become a
reality.
But as
the day wears on, I become increasingly tense. Every sudden noise sounds like a
gunshot, causing me to jump half a meter in the air. The earlier rush of
excitement winds itself into a knot of guilt and slowly sinks to the bottom of
my stomach like a stone. By 2:00 in the afternoon, I begin to worry. I am on my
knees, washing the marble floors with Mabel at my side, but I’m not in the mood
for a conversation.
She
pauses and glances up at me. “Elora, you’ve been scrubbing the same spot for
the past three minutes. In fact, you’ve been acting a bit strange the whole
day. What is the matter?” she asks, genuinely worried.
Keeping
my eyes trained on the floor, I remain quiet for a moment. “Mabel, I just
wanted you to know-”
And then it happens. The wail
of the sirens pierce my eardrums like a sharpened knife. The building erupts
into a state of complete chaos as doors bang open and panicked faces appear,
seeking guidance and instruction. With
one look at each other, we take off running down the hallway. My long legs
easily overtake hers, and by the time I reach the doorway, Mabel is almost a
full ten meters behind me. Just as she catches up, the explosions begin. A
series of short, controlled bursts occurring one after the other with almost perfectly
spaced intervals. Mabel and I crouch behind the door along with the small crowd
of people who were beginning to form. As I listen to their anxious conversations,
I find myself subconsciously counting the blasts. Three, four…
“I heard that several soldiers went missing from
their barracks this morning. Do you suppose… No, it can’t be them. Can it?” a
maid asks anxiously.
A red headed soldier shakes his head. “There are no
traitors in our army. Our blood runs clean.”
I press my palms over the
lids of my eyes. Six, seven, eight…
“Apparently the government was warned of a possible
bombing threat before the attack. I hope they were able to evacuate in time,” another
soldier adds as he repeatedly ties and unties the laces on his boots.
Even though I should be angry, a part of me
still hopes that they were able to escape. Then I realize that it has become
silent. I strain my ears, expecting to hear the next onslaught of explosions,
but I am met with a foreboding silence. The redheaded soldier is the first to
rise and unlock the door. He pushes it open a crack to peer cautiously outside
before beckoning us forwards. The nearby buildings remain untouched, uniform
and pristine as they always were. But in the distance, a thick haze of black
smoke hovers over the licking orange flames like an ominous rain cloud. How
many families had I destroyed? How many loved ones stolen? How many friendships
had I broken? But more importantly- was it all worth it?
We
walk in silence. Frightened, yet not to wanting to take our eyes off the
destruction. The fire has spread to the library, tearing at the wooden
structure with its barred fangs. The ancient roof creaks and bends before
collapsing in defeat with a mighty roar. For a second, the smoke at the
entrance to the library clears, and the sight makes me stop dead in my tracks.
“No…” I whisper.
The
young children exit the library in waves, coughing and spitting in the thick of
the smoke. A tall, dark haired man desperately tries to count the heads of the
children as they pass him, his lips mouthing inaudible instructions. It was
Julien’s third grade teacher.
Mabel
grabs my forearm just as I spring forwards. “Elora! You can’t help them, and it’s
not safe-”
Her
words are cut off by a sonic boom. The sky turns blood red as we are thrown
backwards with the force of the explosion. I feel the wind knocked out of me as
my back slams against the ground, but within moments I am on my feet, stumbling
towards the remnants of the buildings till I stand directly in front of the
blazing inferno. The fires blaze relentlessly, but the tiny flame of hope inside me
has been extinguished. I can’t even make out where the library stood
before.
“I
killed him.” I gasp.
The
tears that stream down my face do nothing to cool my scorching skin.
“Papa…Maman…Julien. Julien, Julien…” I sob, my body convulsing as I double over.
My
knees buckle and I fall forwards, dragged down by the weight
of the leather bag, still strapped to the side of my waist.
