The Room on Rue Amélie(7)
French generals were already declaring the Battle of France finished as bedraggled troops retreated hastily south. Air raid sirens pierced the nights. Cars moved in stealthy darkness, their headlights painted dark blue. Shops closed, apartments were shuttered, and Parisians fled in droves, clogging the roads as German bombs splintered the countryside. Paris was deserted, and without the laughter of the neighborhood children, a curtain of quiet had descended. Even the Eiffel Tower, a dagger against the crisp sky, seemed preternaturally still, as if it, too, was holding its breath.
“For God’s sake,” Marcel said to Ruby as they huddled alone in the abri beneath their building, taking shelter as bombs fell somewhere to the southwest—the Renault and Citro?n factories on the edge of the city, Ruby guessed. The Germans were pounding Paris, which had seemed impossible just a few weeks earlier. “You’re being foolish.”
The circles under his eyes were pronounced, his shoulders stiff, reminding Ruby of a tightly wound children’s toy.
“I knew what I was getting into,” she replied, not meeting his gaze. It wasn’t quite true; she’d been lulled into a false sense of security at first. But then she had chosen to stay because he had. “I’m here with you.”
“But that’s the problem, isn’t it, darling?” The endearment was sarcastic, not loving, and they both knew it. He was different lately, a far cry from the man she’d followed across the Atlantic the year before. His rejection from the French army—due to the marked limp in his right leg from the polio he’d battled as a child—now seemed to define his every waking moment.
“How so?” She fought to keep her tone even.
“You seem to believe you’re invulnerable. I didn’t ask you to stay.”
“I’m well aware.” In fact, he had tried to force her to leave, even writing to her parents to request their support in changing her mind. But she wouldn’t run at the first sign of trouble. She wouldn’t leave Marcel to face the invasion alone. She had cast her lot with him, for better or worse—and when he’d begun to try to get rid of her, it had only made her dig her heels in. “I still believe that we’re safe here for now.”
“Yes, well, it’s very American to go around believing in pipe dreams, isn’t it?”
She turned away as another blast rattled the building. Somewhere along the line, being American had become something to be ashamed of, in Marcel’s eyes anyhow. He resented President Roosevelt for staying out of Europe’s war, and as the months ticked by, and the Americans refused to engage, Marcel seemed more and more apt to hold Ruby herself responsible for the policies of her government.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone softening. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s only that I don’t know how I’d forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
“I know.” Ruby relaxed slightly, reminding herself that every marriage was bound to hit some snags. And really, who could blame Marcel for his sense of powerlessness? “But I feel that I’m meant to be here, Marcel. Here with you.”
She expected him to make a face, but instead, he just stared at her for a long time. “Oh, Ruby. I’ve ruined everything for you. I pretended to be the man I wanted to be, but now you’ve seen the real me, a man whose pathetic injury has taken away his ability to protect you.”
She took a step closer, putting a hand on his stubbled jaw. “I see you, Marcel,” she said. “I have always seen you. Do you think the French soldiers retreating from the front feel any more in control than you do? We are all powerless for now.”
“I suppose I should be thankful that you still see the world through rose-colored glasses. Perhaps it’s helpful not to see the coming storm so plainly.”
She wanted to protest, to tell him that she saw things as clearly as he did, but then he pulled her toward him, folding her in, and she held her tongue. Being in his arms again for the first time in weeks felt like coming home, even if it had turned out not to be the home she expected.
An hour later, when the three tones of the all-clear siren sounded, she led him upstairs, back into their apartment in the nearly deserted building, to the bedroom that had once been a sanctuary. It felt like a battleground now, and she knew they had to change that if they were to survive.
“You can’t possibly want me,” he whispered as she kissed him. “I’m nothing.”
“You’re my husband, and I stand by you,” she said firmly, covering his mouth with hers.
He made love to her quickly, almost violently. She tried to hold on, to focus on his eyes, to make him come back to her, but he was somewhere else entirely until he collapsed on her, spent and panting, his skin damp. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into her breasts. “I love you, you know. I do.”
She waited until his chest was rising and falling against her before she replied, “I love you too.”
Yes, Ruby would stay. Storms were meant to be weathered, after all.
“MADAME BENOIT?” A SMALL, TIMID voice jolted Ruby out of her fog later that night. She had been unable to sleep, and after tossing and turning for an hour, she had stepped onto the terrace. The air still carried the scent of burning rubber and smoldering metal; the German bombs had found their mark. She looked over to see Charlotte silhouetted in the moonlight next door.