The Girl in the Blue Beret - Bobbie Ann Mason [48]
Annette teased Marshall for lolling around the house while she worked so hard at school. She teased him for his efforts at French, even while she patiently coached him. And she teased him for the rude outfits he had to wear—the layers of old sweaters, the too-short pants, the rough socks, the cloth slippers with the seams loosened to make room for his huge toes.
At the table the family managed to make their meager dinners last for hours, regaling one another with jokes at the Germans’ expense and family stories that Marshall thought must have been often told.
“The wine makes us convivial,” said Mme Vallon. “We forget the difficulties.”
M. Vallon did not speak of his work at the city hall, but Marshall observed that he came home with extra ration books.
“If they fail to account for the number, who is to know?” Marshall overheard M. Vallon say—but in French, so Marshall wasn’t sure.
Once M. Vallon said to Marshall, “I am an honest man. I have always been an honest man. It is for honor, for patriotism, that we take care of the aviateurs.”
“We are not violent,” said Mme Vallon. “But we can do this.”
“The Germans were a people of culture,” M. Vallon said sadly. “I do not permit myself to believe that every German connives in this conquest.”
“We are ancient enemies,” Mme Vallon said.
From time to time, hints of despair broke through the Vallons’ determined tranquility. But they quickly assured themselves that de Gaulle and his Free French troops would liberate Paris soon. Any day the débarquement of the Allies would begin. In the evenings the family played card games and conversed. At nine o’clock, Annette’s parents tuned in to the BBC on the wireless for the news of France. Chut! Shh!
One night, they were awakened by explosions followed by sirens. In the chilly dark they were all out of bed, peeking from behind the curtains.
“It is not far,” said Mme Vallon. “The smoke is across the park.”
“Whatever happens, I will not consent to leave Paris again,” said her husband. “The exodus in 1940 was shameful. We will not descend to that again.”
18.
MARSHALL DINED WITH JIM AND IPHIGÉNIE AT A QUIET bistro and told them about his visit to Chauny. He tried to avoid discussion about the war that might upset Iphigénie, but today she seemed more relaxed with him and asked questions about the Alberts.
Marshall saw that she adored Jim. He noticed that Jim’s hair was thinning.
“Retirement’s a hell of a thing, Marshall, but you might say I’ve got a new career here in Paris,” Jim said, touching Iphigénie’s cheek affectionately. “It’s like picking up a new route I haven’t flown before. Remember when we added the New Delhi route?”
“Oh, do I.”
The crew of a Connie might be away for as long as two weeks, flying from New York to Madrid or Paris, then resting a couple of days before picking up the next leg to New Delhi. They stayed in New Delhi two or three days before turnaround.
“What a life,” Jim said.
For a while, they rehashed the glory days of air travel, but then Marshall declared that sometimes he had fewer regrets than he had expected.
“Deregulation is going to ruin the airlines,” he said with a momentary flash of anger.
“We got out at a good time,” Jim said. “I try to tell myself there are other things in life. Tell Marshall about our trip, Iffy.”
Iphigénie finished a delicate maneuver with sauce, potato, and a fragment of duck leg before speaking. “My niece is getting married, and we’re going for two weeks in the Dordogne.” She became animated, flicking her ring-studded fingers outward. “It will be a very nice country wedding.”
Jim patted her hands down. “Iffy’s going to see her whole family, and—oh, la la! My God,