The Girl in the Blue Beret - Bobbie Ann Mason [87]
The school was one large room. She lived with her aunt in the other wing of the building, on the first floor.
Odile’s voice grew dramatic. Marshall leaned forward, settling his chair on all fours.
“One Sunday, a knock came on the door. It was a handsome German officer! He was very polite, and he spoke good French. He introduced himself, Hans Wetzel. He was very well-mannered. Very correct.
“I must emphasize that they were always well-mannered, but my aunt had fear that there was a cauldron of wickedness stirring. I hated the Germans because my Jean was at their labor camp, far away. Jean and I were engaged for only six months when he was sent away.
“The German addressed my aunt and me, ‘Mesdames, I come to requisition the school. We need this building to lodge our officers.’
“I drew myself up to my full height and faced this young officer—and I refused! ‘Where would the children have their lessons?’ I asked. ‘The nearest other school is nine kilometers! These children are all from this village. You can’t force little children to walk nine kilometers!’ I bargained with him. I said he could live upstairs, above our living quarters, and the school could go on. To my aunt’s amazement, the German agreed. He clicked his heels, bowed, and declared he would take the rooms above the school for his own lodging and let the school proceed. He said he would find other facilities for the other officers.
“My aunt had fear that the Germans would then take advantage of us, billeting in quarters near our own, but I was determined not to deprive the children of their education.”
“You were very brave to challenge a German like that,” Marshall said.
“I am not surprised,” said Annette. “Of course Odile could handle him!”
Odile continued. The German officer moved in upstairs. He was an aristocrat, educated at the Sorbonne. He displayed pictures of his wife and two small children. The aunt, despite her fearfulness, enjoyed vexing the German. Out in the corridor, she hung a portrait of her young husband, who had died in the first war. She draped black silk around the frame. The German officer spoke to her of the young French officer in the portrait. Then he clicked his heels and saluted.
“Each time he went through the corridor he saluted the portrait!” Odile cried with laughter. “We heard him come through the back door at night, walk quietly down the dark corridor, and then we heard the heel-clicking when he got to the portrait. This gave my aunt enormous pleasure!”
The wine relaxed Marshall. He enjoyed watching Annette’s delight in her friend. He was listening attentively to Odile, but his thoughts of Annette formed an undercurrent, a warm tide that pulled him. He fiddled with some broken twigs that had fallen onto the table, arranging them into idle patterns.
On January 5, 1944, a sunny afternoon in winter, Odile was outside for recess with the students when Allied bombers flew over, just beyond the forest. Suddenly they saw three parachutists floating down above the trees. The week before, two parachutists had landed in a nearby village, and some citizens had handed them over to the Germans for reward money. She had promised herself that if she ever saw parachutists, she would try to help them. And here they were. They landed among the pines, only two hundred meters from the school. Quickly, she asked the oldest student to get the children inside and to keep them busy.
“Of course the students always obeyed the schoolteacher!” Annette said.
“Bien sûr,” said Odile. “At that time, the authority of a schoolteacher was incontestable.”
A German patrolling on his bicycle on the street in front of the school saw through the window that school was in session. As soon as she was sure he would remain in front, on the road, young Odile enlisted the help of a neighbor. They scurried into the forest, where they found one of the