An Owl's Whisper (19 page)

Eva ran to the copse of leafy saplings growing in the mud on the riverbank. She uprooted three of them and ran back to the crater. The barking sounded closer. She tossed two of the trees on the airman and propped up the third, over the others. “Now, shh,” she said with a finger to her lips. She ran to the crown of the tree just as two gray-clad German soldiers with a dog appeared at the opposite edge of the clearing.

The dog was barking excitedly and straining on the leash so wildly that Diener, the slight soldier at the other end of the lead had to lean backward to keep control. “Stupid dog, it is just a little girl,” he bellowed in German.

The second soldier was good looking and young. He carried his rifle casually on his shoulder, holding it by the barrel. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lip. The handler’s difficulty seemed to amuse him. He pushed his helmet back on his head and eyed Eva for a moment, then he removed his cigarette. “Not that little,” he leered.

Eva stepped toward the men. “You frightened my little dog, Caspie. He ran away. Did you see him? Do you speak French?”

Diener, the dog handler, said, “We no French talking. German only,
Hure
.”

Eva hesitated. The dog was still snarling and straining on the leash. It looked as if it might lunge free at any instant. Have to do something, Eva thought. She grimaced and said in fluid German, “Yes, I know some German.” She scowled. “And I am shocked to be addressed by you as
whore
, which I am certainly not. A soldier of Germany should know better than to speak so.” The stern tone went girlish when she continued. “I said only that you frightened my dog. He ran away. Perhaps you would help me find him since it was your dog that frightened him away.”

Diener gave a mighty jerk on the leash as he huffed, “
Geist!
” It barely moved the dog, but did quiet it. The handler nodded stiffly. “You must excuse my tongue,
Fräulein
,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know you are German-speaking.” He cleared his throat. “We engage official business, searching for an English, a downed pilot. We have no option to seek for a civilian’s pet dog—” He smiled. “—Much as I regret being unable to help one speaking such fine German.” His formality returned. “What account brings you in these woods today,
meine Fräulein
?”

“No business, sir,” Eva replied demurely. “I’ve just been walking with my little dog, Caspie. I live at the small apple farm on the other side of the road.” With a flounce, she pointed in the direction of the Ducoisie place.

The dog resumed barking. Clearly embarrassed, Diener tugged at the leash. He glared at the dog and growled, “
Geist
. I said quiet!” He shook his head. “This dog!” He turned back at Eva. “You have perhaps seen anyone suspicious on your walk today?”

Eva replied, “Not at all, sir.”

The other soldier, Neinstadt, eyed Eva like a cat on a windowsill, watching a wren. With a cocky smile, he slinked forward. “Maybe I could help you find your little friend, Strudel. All I ask in return is a smile. Well, maybe a little something else, if I find your pup.” He ran his tongue over his lips.

Playing the shocked little girl, Eva put fingers to her mouth and took a step back.

The dog handler raged at his partner, “Neinstadt, put that tongue back in your head and keep it there. Try to remember you are a soldier of the elite
Reichstag Division, Karlheinz Müller
! A lousy soldier, but one none the less.”

“Shit-for-brains Müller jumps on a grenade to save his comrades in some muddy Ypres trench and they make a saint of him, for Christsake. What did it get the poor stiff?” Neinstadt spat. “A Wehrmacht division named in his honor and a medal sent to his mother. Think Müller’d say that was worth having his guts blown over half of France? Take your loyalty to Führer and fatherland and shove it up your ass, Diener. All I care about’s getting home in one piece.”

Diener eyed Neinstadt with contempt, then he shook his head and turned to Eva. “Please disregard my most churlish comrade,
Fräulein
. If you see a suspicious person, make a report immediately.” He clipped the leash to his belt and took out a notebook. “Now, describe your small dog. If we find him I will personally bring him to your house. Your name?” He stepped toward Eva. And toward the hidden airman.

Eva knew she had to do something and that it had better be good. She skipped ahead to meet the soldier. “My name is Eva Messiaen. I live just there.” She pouted her lips and pointed again. “If you see him, you’ll know my little dog Caspar. He has no nose.” Eva paused. “I think now you’re wondering, how does this dog with no nose smell? I’ll tell you.” She paused again—longer this time. She had the soldier frozen in his tracks. Eva broke into a smirk. “Terrible!”

Diener cocked his head and stroked his chin, letting her description sink in. Then he erupted in beer-hall laughter. With difficulty, he managed to snort, “
Fräulein
! ‘Terrible.’ It is a good one. So, I will look for a little dog, especially one with no nose.”

A moment later, the handler stiffened, as if he rued his familiarity with a civilian. He snapped, “We regret your inconvenience,
Fräulein
. Neinstadt, we go.”

The handler took the leash and jerked it, commanding
Geist
to heel. Off they went.

As the Germans departed, Eva made a show of calling, “Casper! Casper! Here boy.” When
Geist
turned a cold eye back to Eva before disappearing into the trees, she stuck out her tongue.

Eva strolled casually back to the overturned tree’s base. She paused just long enough to whisper to the airman, “It’s too dangerous to move you now. I’ll be back after dark.”

Shipped Home in a Coffin

Eva hurried back from Mother’s Elbow to the farm. She was preparing a lunch of sorrel soup, coarse bread, and a bit of goat cheese, when
Madame
Ducoisie said, “Out again this morning, were you? You won’t have the luxury to gallivant when cidering comes, you know.”

Eva didn’t look up from her work. “I know,
Madame
.”

“I looked for you this morning. There’s mending to be done. You can’t expect me to do it, can you? With these eyes! And my fingers. Well, can you?”

Eva sighed. “No,
Madame
. I’ll do the mending this afternoon. First I have to take care of something in the village.”

Madame
raised an eyebrow. “Something?” Her head tilted. “What something?”

Eva thought for a moment. “Oh, Uncle asked me to run an errand for him, but if you’d rather I don’t go—”

“Oh, no, no, no. By all means, go.
Monsieur
Messiaen is such a generous man.”

After lunch Eva jumped on her bicycle and pedaled the six kilometers to town. In the café, she spied
Monsieur
Micheaux, who on occasion had delivered food and fuel to St. Sébastien for her uncle. Micheaux had a truck and a permit to collect scrap metal for recycle in Germany. In addition to that legitimate business, he worked the black markets, normally on a scale much smaller than what he did for Henri.

Eva came up to Micheaux. “I want to talk to you. In private. It’s business.”

Micheaux smirked—scarcity had made him sought-after and he liked it. He pushed the stub of his cigarette into his beer bottle and nodded
au revoir
to the plump girl sitting with him. With a head jerk he indicated Eva should follow him outside. He strutted to the
Liberté
statue in the square and looked around to ensure they were alone. Raising a pack of Gitanes to his mouth, he took one with his lips, then struck a match with his thumbnail and lit it. After a long drag, he eyed Eva, his expression demanding,
Yes?

Eva sized-up the young man. He was prematurely bald, with long sideburns and a rakishly-thin moustache. His eyes, with their long, girlish lashes, were remarkable. “Want to transport someone to Esneux tomorrow for hard currency? No questions asked?”

He flicked ashes from his Git. “Do I know you? What makes you think I’d do anything—” He inhaled deeply and let the smoke spill slowly from his lips. “—illegal?”

“I’m Eva Messiaen. You used to deliver black market food to the old convent school for my uncle Henri, didn’t you? Got paid in alcohol and tobacco as I recall.”

Micheaux smiled like a chess player at an opponent’s clever move. “Ah, Henri’s niece? I hear you’re living at the Ducoisie place now.”

“That’s right.” Eva crossed her arms. “So, up for making some
Deutsch Marks
or not?”

He spat a shred of tobacco. “Marks beat the fucking credits I get for my scrap. How much are we talking, bonbon?” When he spoke, the amber tint of his front teeth showed.

Eva felt Micheaux’s eyes scurry over her body. She tried to hide her discomfort. “I don’t know exactly. The man has a wad of them. He’ll make it worth your while.”

“For Henri’s niece, sure, I’m in. What time? Where?”

“You know the back way to the Ducoisie farm?”

“In my line of work you know your way around.” He winked. “I’ll collect him at ten.”

“OK, tomorrow morning at ten. Pull up to the barn. I’ll have some scrap for you.”

“I’ve done this sort of thing before, you know. I’m prepared even if they stop me.”

“But then you need to be, don’t you—a man in
your
line of work.” Eva gave his hand a single shake. She turned and walked off, calling back, “Don’t be late, Micheaux.”

He thrust his hands in his pockets and leered at her legs as Eva rode off on her bicycle.

As she washed the dinner dishes, Eva announced, “I think I’ll retire early tonight.”

Monsieur
Ducoisie sat back for a moment clicking his teeth on the stem of his pipe. His receding gums had left them loose and his habit was to tap, wiggle or otherwise fidget with them when he smoked. Finally he pulled the pipe from his mouth. “Not going to stay for
BBC Londres
this evening, Eva? Or maybe a game of backgammon?”

His wife chimed over her shoulder, “Now Louis, you promised to sharpen my knives this evening. And the teapot still needs mending—you know I don’t see well enough to do it myself. Is it too much to ask that you do
something
around here?”

“No, dear,” he replied dutifully. “I’ll do the knives first. Never know when you’ll need a good sharp knife.” He caught Eva’s eye and brought his finger across his throat.

Eva’s eyes twinkled him a smile. “So, I’ll be going.” She stopped at the door and added, “Oh, Micheaux may come by tomorrow for a sack of tins.”

As she left, Louis Ducoisie poured himself a swig of
peket
and downed it in a gulp.

From her room above the barn, Eva watched the house. When it darkened, she crept out and made her way toward Mother’s Elbow.

Scattered clouds marched by the milky moon, chopping time into alternating chunks of light and dark. Knowing the way so well, Eva was able to move quickly and silently. She heard only the sounds of scurrying night creatures in the woods and droning vehicles on the road. Her passage went undetected.

Remembering the gape of the pistol’s muzzle, she called, “It’s Eva. I’m alone,” before stepping into the clearing at Mother’s Elbow.

The airman was there, cold, but otherwise fit. “My dear, aren’t you the poppet to return for Old Smithwycke. Such a fine lass. Full marks for your handling of that Jerry patrol this morning. Dog and all. Don’t know what you told them in your German, but it carried the day.”

Eva repeated her dog-with-no-nose story.

Smithwycke laughed heartily. “Top drawer, girlie. I say, that Jerry dog’s barking had me worried. I’ll wager he knew I was around. Lucky the Hun weren’t as bright, eh? Any prospect I can hie to Esneux and bunch up with my Bomber Command mates?”

Eva replied in English. “
Monsieur
Smithwycke, I am pleased to help you for this moment. A man from the local village has a truck and license to travel. He is
Monsieur
Micheaux, and he will take you to Esneux tomorrow.” She saw concern in his eyes. “There is no choice but to trust him. For this night, you have a place in my house.”

“You’re a brave little jewel,” Smithwycke said. “Risking your neck and all for me. Get me safely away and I have German marks for you.”

Eva shook her head. “No,
Monsieur
. I resist for what they did to Mother. Perhaps when I have helped a thousand airmen, the count will even. Until then, I pay the debt.”

“Ah? Germans hurt your mother, did they?”

Eva winced. “They were accomplices to her murder.” She looked around. “Now we must go.”

Smithwyke scowled. “Bloody beggers.” He struggled to get his feet under him. “Give us a hand, milady?”

With Eva’s help, Smithwycke stood and the pair set off for the Ducoisie farm. The clouds had cleared, and with the moon nearly full, the woods were bright, but his hip slowed their travel. They arrived at the farm just after midnight and entered the barn.