The World That We Knew(46)

“I would have come for you, but I had an accident,” Victor explained. “It’s taken a while to recover and I knew you’d be in good hands.”

“He’s the fireman,” Claude said with pride in his friend. “Mr. Explosives.”

Julien was surprised. “How did you learn to do that?”

“Science class.”

They all laughed. Victor, the notoriously bad student, had apparently learned something in school. Claude gave Victor the rucksack and the two embraced before going their separate ways. “He’s a good man,” Victor said of his old school friend before hauling Julien into the car. The rucksack was on the floor in the back, wrapped up in an old wool blanket. Victor and Claude had been working with the Jewish Resistance, and now as they drove, Julien tried to convince his brother to let him join up as well. He would soon be sixteen, but Victor wouldn’t hear of it.

“You know what our mother would think if I ever did that. Plus, you’re still a kid.”

They didn’t speak for a while and Julien stared morosely out the window. They had never truly been close, and now Julien felt an old wave of resentment as they drove the bumpy back roads even further into the mountains. Twice they had to wait for goats to cross, the bells around the goats’ necks ringing in the still, blue air. The light was brilliant here, so clear that as they drove along they could see the blue edges of the mountains of Switzerland. They stopped in a yellow field of flowering genêts to have lunch, some apples and cheese and meat, a feast in Julien’s opinion. The clouds above them moved quickly, buoyed by the wind.

“I didn’t even know you could drive,” Julien said.

“Drive! I can drive through anything and get anywhere.”

Victor was a puzzlement to Julien, a new person almost entirely. But some things were the same: the lopsided grin, the self-confidence, the daring.

“I’m going to Eretz Israel when it’s all over,” Victor told him. “We’d be fools if we hadn’t learned our lesson. No country will let us in. No one will protect us. We need our own country.” He took out a cigarette and lit it. “Bad habit.” He grinned. “Only one of the many I’ve acquired.” He squinted against the sunlight. “Maybe you’ll come along.”

Victor’s wild life agreed with him and he looked happy. He’d never liked being caged up in polite society, made to do as their parents demanded. He was hardly the same person he had been in Paris, gloomy and often at odds with their father, who had wished him to be more studious. It was good to be together after so long, and to know that fate had led them here. And there was more, there was Marianne.

Victor stood and brushed the grass from his trousers, ready to get on the move.

“So now we go to Marianne’s.”

“You know where she is?”

“She talked about her farm and her village constantly, if you’d ever bothered to listen. I’ve been staying with her since I was hurt. I can never thank her enough for all she’s done.”

Julien noticed an odd expression on Victor’s face as he spoke of the housemaid. “You and Marianne? Seriously?”

Victor shrugged, then signaled for his brother to get in the car. “Why not?”

“Our mother would have had a fit.” True enough, even though Marianne was only five years older, she was older all the same, uneducated and not Jewish. Both brothers had mentioned their mother, which brought up fears Julien usually repressed. “Do you know what happened after they were taken?” he dared to ask.

Victor shook his head. Julien really was something of a fool if he still held out hope for their parents. “You must have figured it out. They went on the trains.”

There was no more talk, and after a while they pulled down the long rutted road that led to the farm. Marianne was waiting on the porch. She ran to the car and hugged Julien and told him she would never have recognized him. He, too, had changed. He was tall and lanky, nearly a man.

“So this is where you came from,” Julien said.

“It is.” She looked around and threw her arms out and he could tell that she was glad to be back. He saw the way she looked at Victor, and the way Victor looked back at her.

Marianne’s father was out at his beehives, dressed in his white beekeeper’s suit, including a hat with white netting.

“He looks like a ghost, doesn’t he?” Julien said.

“He’s anything but,” Victor said. He whistled and waved to the old man, and Monsieur Félix waved back. “You’ll see when Marianne and I go off. He’s a tough old bird.”

“This is your brother?” Monsieur Félix said when he came in for dinner. The brothers had settled in, taking over the front parlor. Julien noticed that Victor stored his rucksack in an old wooden bureau.

“He’s the one,” Victor told Marianne’s father.

Julien stood and shook his hand.

“I’ll teach you about bees if I think you’re smart enough to learn,” Monsieur Félix said. “We’ll keep you busy here.”

The brothers slept on quilts in the parlor, but halfway through the night, Julien realized he was alone. Victor had made his way to Marianne’s room and Julien could hear the sound of their voices and moans. It was a good thing the old man was half-deaf. Julien felt a sort of anger rise inside him as he lay on his back in a thin strip of moonlight that streamed through the window. He was fed up with being treated like a boy, while Victor did as he pleased.