The Girl in the Blue Beret - Bobbie Ann Mason [90]
“I might not be here if she hadn’t helped me in 1944,” Marshall reiterated.
“I see how eagerly you listened, and I feel you are a friend. You can imagine the three men who parachuted into my schoolyard that distant day.”
“Yes.”
“It makes me enormously unhappy that I never heard from them again. I wrote to them. They had given me their addresses, but they never responded.”
“A lot could have happened to them on the way home.”
“I know they reached England, although I’m sure they suffered from crossing the Pyrenees when it was still winter.”
LATER, WHEN ANNETTE and Marshall said their goodbyes, Odile implored Marshall to locate the two Americans flyers for her. “I will write their names for you.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Marshall wasn’t confident, but he said he would try. He thanked her for telling her memories.
Odile clasped both of Marshall’s hands in hers.
“Please help me to find my pilots,” she pleaded.
37.
IN THE CAR, THE REST OF MARSHALL’S OWN STORY TUMBLED OUT. He told Annette more about his landing in France during the war, about hiding in barns, about sleeping behind an armoire, about Pierre Albert’s Resistance work. Even the boy Nicolas was a local scout, he said. She listened, nodding attentively. He told her about returning to the crash site in the spring. He described finding the Alberts again.
“I was a child when the war began,” she said abruptly. “Papa sent us away from Paris a few days before it fell to the Germans. That infamous day—June 10, 1940. He stayed behind, hoping to keep his job in the finance ministry, and we went to our summer house in Normandy. A few weeks later, Papa decided we should return to Paris. The travel was abominable—my mother with two children and innumerable possessions. Monique must have her dolls, and I must have my books. We arrived at Paris, and the sight of the Nazi flags on the rue de Rivoli—it made the stomach sick. We hated the Germans! It was insupportable that we should be ruled by these detestable people in their ugly uniforms, the color of mold and ash. Monique was lively and I tried to play games with her, but I was serious about my studies, and I was alert to my parents’ views. They had friends for dinner many times, and all were inconsolable over the plight of France. The Germans had tried this twice before. Could they not see that we were never going to give in to their brutal aggression? It was all horrible.”
“It still seems very real to you.”
“Bien sûr. But we made the best of it. Papa lost his job but managed to get another position in the mairie, the city government. Maman had difficulty getting enough food. She was outraged that the Germans should make the French go hungry, when it was certain that the Germans would not appreciate foie gras or a fine sauce à la bordelaise.”
Annette was concentrating on her driving. Traffic was increasing now.
“I’m sorry I never tried to find you,” he said.
“No, no, no. I did not contact you either. The boy who wrote—I did not answer.”
“I still think I must have seemed ungrateful all those years.”
“And so did I,” she said, turning to smile at him.
It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was behind them. She turned to the last road into her village, eased down the quiet street, and pulled up to her doorway. He got out and opened the large double door to the courtyard. After she parked, he closed the door and greeted Bernard. The workmen were gone. Marshall’s rented car stood there, waiting to take him back to the train. He didn’t want to leave. Then he had an inspiration. He waited for her to get out of her car. As she shut the door, he said, “Let me take you to dinner tonight.”
“I would like that.”
“I’ll drive,” he said, patting the rented car as if it were Pegasus.
SHE CHOSE A SIMPLE place on the river. They sat at a table with an umbrella and watched ducks and geese waddling up the riverbank for bread crumbs. She laughed, holding her wineglass daintily. She talked about her husband’s work as a veterinarian. Annette had assisted him very little,