The Whispering: A Haunted House Mystery(26)
I took several more steps nearer the statue, praying not to be noticed, hoping none of the sisters would remember I was there and give away my presence.
‘Well, Sister?’ said the officer. ‘We have two of your choicest pigeons. Now will you stand aside and let us into the convent?’
‘I will not. Sisters, stay brave. God’s love and His strength are with you.’
The two young nuns were struggling and sobbing, and I don’t think they really heard her. They both wore what looked like the garb of novices, and one of the soldiers had pulled away the headdress of the smaller one. Beneath it she had cropped hair, soft and silky, like a baby’s. She looked about seventeen and even tear-streaked and terrified she was extremely pretty. The men reached for the headdress of the other and snatched that off as well, standing around the two girls, laughing and jeering.
‘Now, Sister,’ said the officer to Clothilde, ‘you see what is about to happen, I think? My men have not seen females for a very long time. Will you allow us into your convent to use it for our headquarters, or do I persuade you to do so by letting my men make use of these two choice little morsels?’
(He may have used words other than morsels, but my German was not equal to translating obscenity.)
Whatever words he used, there was no doubt about his meaning. Sister Clothilde turned white to the lips, and Sister Jeanne let out a cry of fear and anguish.
But, ‘We do not allow you into God’s house to practice your brutality and wage your war on innocent people,’ said Clothilde. ‘We will never allow it, no matter the cost.’ Her eyes flickered to the two girls – one of them was trying to cover her poor shorn head, and the pity of it slammed into my throat. ‘No matter the cost,’ she said again.
One of the nuns added, challengingly, ‘And Belgium will never surrender. Even if you kill all of its people one by one, it will not yield to you.’
‘It will not,’ said Clothilde. She looked at the two girls and then at the avid-eyed soldiers. ‘If you wish to perform that act of savagery, take me instead,’ she said. ‘I do not care, and God will understand.’
The officer laughed, and the sound echoed mockingly around the chapel.
‘We prefer younger meat,’ he said. ‘But if we have to, we will take you one by one until you agree to let us into your convent. You understand me? One by one. All of us in turn.’
Clothilde stared at him. ‘I understand you,’ she said. ‘But we will resist you with the small strength we have.’
‘I think, Sister, that you will not resist for long,’ said the officer. ‘Perhaps after the third or fourth time – when your nuns are screaming with the pain and humiliation – you will be begging us to take over your convent.’
The two sentries from the door moved into the chapel then, whether to watch what was about to happen, or simply to make sure no one tried to escape, I have no idea, but it meant they now stood between me and the stone plinth with its statue. I managed to dart behind a stone column without being seen, but anger and frustration swept through me in a scalding flood.
The two novices were thrown to the ground, the soldiers standing around them, already loosening their belts. Two of the older nuns moved, as if trying to go to the girls’ assistance, but the soldiers barred their way.
The faces of all the men were avid, and in the light from the flickering altar candles and the rays from the setting sun, their eyes gleamed with lust. The anger surged up again, and I tensed my muscles, ready to make a run for the stone plinth. To hell with being seen or shot; if there was any justice in the world, I would manage to send the statue crashing to the ground and pray to whatever gods were listening that the nuns would have the wit to escape in the ensuing mêlée. But before I could do so, the same two nuns ran forward again, straight at the soldiers, their hands outstretched to push the men away from the two novices. It was brave in the extreme, but it was also foolhardy in the extreme, and of course it was fatal. As if by reflex, the two sentries lifted their rifles and fired several rapid rounds. Screams filled the chapel, and the two nuns fell, clutching gunshot wounds. Blood spattered over the quiet old stones, and across the lovely old organ, and Sister Jeanne screamed and recoiled from the bench, cowering against the wall.
‘Play the prayer,’ cried Clothilde. ‘God is listening – God will not abandon us. The Magnificat … “The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary, and she received the Holy Ghost …” All of you, join with me – trust in God, in our Blessed Lady—’
The terrible, the macabre and pitiful thing, is that they tried to obey her. Jeanne made her trembling way back to the organ bench, and fumblingly started to play, and after a few chords, the ragged, fearful singing came in. It was to the accompaniment of those sounds – that music – that the soldiers held down the two young novices – both of them too frightened to resist – and raped them. They did it there on the prayer-drenched stones, one after the other, with the blind, watchful statues, with the slippery tainting blood everywhere, and the nuns they had shot lying dead on the ground.
I am not ashamed of many things in my life, but I have always been deeply ashamed that I did not move sufficiently fast to stop that particular brutality. But hearing the sobs and the cries, I ran out of the shadows, straight at the stone plinth. I am no hero – I would like to repeat that for my reader – but I do not think any man could have cowered in hiding and done nothing to help those women. So I bounded across the chapel, straight at the statue.