The Girl in the Blue Beret - Bobbie Ann Mason [135]
“It was cold in the barn,” he said. “I was probably dressed more warmly than the others because your family had outfitted me so well, and I had a sort of wool neck warmer that I kept in my jacket pocket. I had brought it with me from England.
“After resting that day, we took off in the dusk and plodded up one peak after another; zigzagging up switchbacks, then coming down in order to go up again. A misstep and we’d go ass over teakettle. All night again we were climbing and climbing, and the track twisted around on itself, and the guides wouldn’t let us stop.
“The trail was steep and cobbled, and even before we gained any altitude, we slipped and slid through patches of snow. Mostly it was great sweeps of scratchy vegetation that tore at us. Then it got rocky. The Basque didn’t slow down at all, but we were dog tired. I can tell you that a guy can be a pilot of a jumbo jet and yet be afraid of heights. I’ve never confessed that before. But I was afraid of heights that night, and I guess I have been ever since.”
“That is reasonable,” she said. “Go on.”
He took a deep breath.
“At dawn we were in a clearing, and soon we arrived at a farmhouse. We learned that we were still in France. This was a Basque family. None of us could understand their language. But they were generous, and they fed us.
“We fell asleep on straw mats in a sort of lean-to behind the house. We slept till dusk. They gave us some more food, and then we hit the rocky road again.
“We were bushed, and our feet were sore and torn up. If it hadn’t been for the pace of that Basque guide, and if we’d had good equipment and enough food and rest, we might have done better. But we had to rush along in the dark. I couldn’t have done it without some Benzedrine from my escape kit. All my life I’ve always thought I could make it, whatever jam I was in. But on those mountains there were times when I knew I wasn’t going to.”
Marshall laughed ruefully, ashamed of himself.
“But you’re here,” she said gently, laying her head on his shoulder.
“I’m not sure how to tell this next part. I know it doesn’t begin to compare to what you went through, but … Are you cold?”
“No. I’m all right. But yes, your arm around me feels good.”
The young guide, Roland, appeared in the half-light outside the hotel. “Do you need anything?”
“Non, merci,” said Marshall.
“We will be on the trail at eight in the morning.”
“Merci. Bonne nuit.”
“Bonne nuit.”
Marshall continued. “The trail was treacherous, but despite everything, I was glad to be on my way. The cold, misty rain stopped when we got to the snow. At first it was just a dusting, but soon we got to places where it was up to our knees. Our guide just mushed on through and left us to hop in his footprints. Then it got even deeper. Sometimes we sank in to our waists, but we got through it. And then we trudged down the other side of the mountain. Hallelujah, I thought. We’re in the home stretch. But we only went down a short way before we started climbing another slope. And that’s how it went for hours. Up and down. We had hardly any food, and we didn’t stop to rest or eat. The aim was to cross the border while it was still dark so we wouldn’t be seen out in the open above the tree line.
“The border was near, and there were sentinels and a German guard post two hundred yards from the narrow path where we had to sneak across. There was a dim crescent moon and enough reflected light to see the path—just barely. The nearest sentinel was moving back and forth ahead of us. We had to wait till his back was turned, when he was moving away, and then two of us could make a break for it. Then the rest of us waited until the sentinel came back; when he turned away again, two more of us could go.
“The Brits went first, when the Basque signaled. We waited. The sentinel returned. We could see his silhouette