The Last of the Stanfields(81)
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing. It’s a narrow hallway and I’m trying to get by.”
Robert moved to make space, but their bodies still brushed against each other as she made her way back to the room. By the time he returned from his shower, Hanna was already sleeping soundly. Robert watched her for a long while. Then, as he finally slipped into bed beside her, Hanna let out a heavy sigh and rolled over. She rested her hand on his chest, her eyes still closed.
“Have you ever been with a man?” Robert whispered.
“No,” she replied, with the same hushed tone. “Have you ever been with anybody?”
“May I kiss you?”
She at last opened her eyes and let Robert kiss her. She had worried that desire might make him rough, but those fears soon evaporated with his soft and gentle touch. The warmth of his skin and her desire for him overtook her fear. She clung to him fiercely.
The rustic dining room at the guesthouse had eight wooden tables for lodgers, and lace curtains at the windows. The innkeeper poured heart and soul into providing guests with a satisfying meal, with a young lady from the village serving as waitress. For lunch, Madame Broué served piperade, a traditional Basque dish, for dinner a Spanish tortilla and potatoes, with shortcake for dessert.
After four days and four nights of rest at the guesthouse, Robert and Hanna had almost fully recovered. Their passionate lovemaking helped, too. Hanna had experienced her first taste of pleasure, and now longed for more. Even if Robert’s lips still hurt from the beatings, he didn’t deprive his young lover of a single kiss. Every time he held her close, Hanna felt more alive, their fiery passion chasing away all the death around them. More than once she smiled to herself, thinking that her newfound pleasure was taking place in a village called Seix.
One week after their arrival, Madame Broué came knocking at the door of their room and ushered them downstairs to the dining room, where a man stood awaiting them. His name was José, and he was the guide who would lead them into Spain. A secret convoy of ten refugees would set off that night to make the border crossing. The group consisted mostly of university students from Paris hoping to join the French Committee of National Liberation in Algeria. The guide was surprised to learn that Robert hadn’t received help from the Comet escape line, the network that helped smuggle foreign pilots back to safety. Robert explained that he had been out of contact with his handlers since his arrival.
“Conditions seem quite favorable tonight; the weather’s on our side,” the guide told Robert and Hanna. “Believe it or not, weather up in those mountains can be more dangerous than the Krauts. The German patrols have been scaling back ever since the Allied Forces started landing up north. They fear that more will come from the south and they’ll get crushed between the two, so they’ve turned tail and run. Last year, there were more than three thousand of them up on those mountains, prowling around on the hunt for us. The numbers have dropped quite a bit, but we still have to move with caution. Everyone on this trek is young, so we should be able to maintain a brisk pace. We leave at eleven o’clock tonight. Be ready.”
Madame Broué provided the two of them with warm clothes for the journey, and when Hanna asked to settle the bill, the innkeeper refused.
“Hold on to every last centime to pay for the border crossing. It normally runs to about two thousand francs per person, but I talked him down to half price. José is a good guide and someone you can trust. He’ll get you through to Alós d’Isil. When you see the statue of Eve atop the Romanesque church, you’ll know you’re home free. Or very nearly . . . You must be careful while in Spain. The French who get caught there end up at the Miranda concentration camp.”
The atmosphere at dinner was strange and solemn, and the conversation was kept to barely a whisper. When Madame Broué served the shortcake, the men at the table joined together in a Basque folk song that brought tears to the eyes of all those preparing to brave the crossing.
The Pyrenees proved far more trying than the guide had let on. José pushed the group to the brink of exhaustion, only allowing for stops when someone actually collapsed, at which point they’d make a brief stop for the group to regain its strength. Although it was the middle of summer, they endured subzero temperatures and biting winds. As they trudged through the snow atop the peak of Aneto, Hanna felt that her feet had frozen through, but she persisted with astounding courage. The students in the group hadn’t fully recovered from the harsh conditions and lack of nourishment on their long, exhausting journey across France. Despite all this, the members of the group looked out for each other in an amazing show of solidarity. Without fail, every time a climber stumbled on the steep slopes, another was there to help them to their feet.
In the morning, a majestic sun rose over the mountains, leaving everyone breathless. The momentary sense of peace left a lasting impression on the entire group. The climbers pushed on, until the small Romanesque church at last came into view. The guide stopped and pointed out a path leading down into the valley.
“We are now in Spain. I wish each and every one of you safe travels on the road ahead and a long, fruitful life.”
He passed around his beret, and everyone emptied their pockets to pay the guide for his hard work. Although the bounty was far less than had been promised, the man accepted his payment without complaint and started back toward France.