The Girl in the Blue Beret - Bobbie Ann Mason [91]
“I rejoiced when the animals got well, but I did not have the sensibility, the stomach for enduring the losses! I was a coward, I think! One day I will never forget, a woman came in with a small white dog in her arms. She was in tears. Her large shepherd dog had killed the little one, it was apparent, but she was disbelieving. Very kindly, Maurice took her and the little dog into the examining room, and in a few minutes they emerged. She was weeping uncontrollably, and the little dog was in a cardboard box. It should not have been done—trusting the large dog with the little one. She just did not believe it had happened, or that it had been her fault.”
“That’s sad.”
“I cried,” Annette said. “That day my husband said, ‘No more. You cannot be the assistant.’ He was being good to me, not forbidding me. So I found other occupations! The children, always. And work in the schools. Art teaching. Now I am a floating teacher. I go from class to class, school to school—like the troubadours of old, I suppose.”
She smiled, as if seeing herself as an itinerant bard, in a traveling costume.
The waiter poured more wine for Marshall. He was getting used to wine. He liked seeing her across the table, her face lighting up.
“I remember you drawing in your notebook,” he said. “You were at your parents’ table, drawing, and working over your school lessons in the evenings when I was at your house. You were the most cheerful person I had ever seen.”
“One had to be, you know, Marshall.” Her eyes went down.
“And I remember how happy everyone was when Robert came on his bicycle.”
“Robert—yes.” Annette was contemplating her hands, which rested firmly on the table, one on either side of her plate. “An interesting young man.” She paused, turning her head aside. “He was very brave during the war,” she said. “A good person.”
“So I’ve heard.”
On the lake, a goose was taking off in the water, flapping and skidding and finally getting lift. Some lights were coming on in the distant houses. The birds were disappearing, roosting for the night. The last duck quacked.
“Could you come again?” she asked. “Would you like to go hiking after I return from Saint Lô? A real hike into the wilderness?”
“Yes. Sure. I’d love to.”
“Do you have some good boots?”
“I’ll get some. I’ve worn out my shoes walking all over Paris.”
“Be sure to break them in.”
“Where do you hike?”
“There are many places, but I will take you to a good trail, where we will see magnificent scenery.”
“I should be in good shape,” he said. “All the walking I’ve done.”
“Good. Do you have to be in Paris?” she asked.
“Oh, no. I can be anywhere.”
“You should get your boots in Paris. I will tell you where to go.”
THE WAITER REMOVED their plates. It was growing dark, and the thrumming insects had struck up a symphony.
She drank more of her wine and began laughing. “I look back on those times, and it was exhilarating. It was amusing to torment the Germans! They occupied half of my school, as they did many schools—like Odile’s. Once, I chose the precise moment to let my books fall from my arms onto a German’s feet. The vache buckled at the bottom, so you could let it fall open and the books would fly out. Robert told me later I could have been arrested for that! But the pleasure of seeing that German forced to pick up my books, as though he were my servant, was worth the risk.”
“You and Odile took a lot of chances.”
They laughed and he finished his wine. He had rarely had so much wine in one day.
“It was an exulting time, something I’ve thought about very much since. Everyone felt intensely alive—expressing joy much more readily than has been possible since. For us, it was jubilatoire.” She paused, smiling broadly.
“You were young,” he said. “When you’re young you can feel that.”
“But it was the same for Maman! Everybody felt this. I do not mean we were happy, you comprehend? We were in misery. But each day handed out possibilities of little victories.