Night Sky (52 page)

Suddenly Gallois moved. He sat forward in his chair and cleared his throat. ‘Monsieur Freymann, I cannot imagine where you have obtained these strange ideas. For one thing, there has never been any sabotage at this company. It is, if I may say so, an absurd idea! And second, I really cannot be involved with any activity against – the interests of this company. I don’t know why you have approached me, monsieur, but I assure you I cannot help.’

He was getting to his feet. David sprang up and hurried round the desk. Gallois said, ‘I think it is best if we do not continue this conversation. Really, monsieur, I cannot help you. Nor can anyone here. We are straightforward working men. We keep out of trouble.’ He turned and reached for the door handle.

For a moment David was frozen with indecision. Then, just as Gallois was opening the door, he lunged forward and grabbed the Frenchman’s sleeve. ‘Please, you don’t understand!’ David looked nervously into the open passageway to see if anyone had heard, then stared imploringly at Gallois.

Very slowly, Gallois closed the door again. ‘What exactly don’t I understand?’

David thought miserably: I am going to have to tell him! In all this time he had never told a living soul.

As he stared up at Gallois, searching for the words, acid bit into his stomach and suddenly a piercing pain hit his abdomen. The room seemed to move in on him and he gasped for breath. He felt as if he was falling and reached out. A firm hand took hold of his arm and suddenly there was a chair under him and he was leaning forward with his head between his knees. ‘My tablets … They’re on the desk there …’

The bottle was thrust, open, into his hand. He took out three tablets and chewed them hard because they worked quicker that way.

Gallois’ voice said from close by, ‘Are you all right?’

David nodded. ‘I’ll be better in a minute. In just a minute … Don’t go, please.’ He reached out and gripped the other man’s arm for a moment. After a while the pain eased a little and David leant his head on his hands and whispered, ‘Don’t judge me too harshly. I just ask you now, please, to listen to what I have to say …’ He sat up slowly and leant back against the chair with his eyes closed. He felt very faint and his heart was thudding like a drum. ‘I need
your
help …’ He smiled gently. ‘Not the other way round.’

He paused to take a few deep breaths. It often helped the pain. ‘The thing is … before they made me leave my job in Germany – before the war – I stole something. A secret. A secret that could be very, very important – in the war. I am the only one who knows about it – it was my idea, you see.’ He stopped to look at Gallois, to see that he had understood. He thought: Now is the moment of belief or disbelief. He pulled himself upright and grasped the Frenchman’s arm again. ‘I have always wanted to get the secret to the British, so they can use it. But … there was never the opportunity. And then, I came here and it seemed easier to carry on and do my job … You see, I was so happy just to be alive. This place, it seemed like heaven after … the camp.’

He sighed deeply. ‘But now … Now I must do something about it, do you understand?’ He shook his head. ‘I just cannot do nothing – like before. If you knew what the camps were like! I must do something for
them
, do you see? I must in some way help
them
. And this is the one thing I can do.’ He looked anxiously into Gallois’ face. ‘Tell me – do you understand what I am saying?’

Gallois looked down, as if making up his mind what to do. When he looked up again his expression was guarded, worried. He sighed and whispered firmly, ‘Dear Monsieur Freymann, I am so sorry that you are unwell. I know you have been through a lot. I only wish there was something I could do to help but, really, there is nothing.’

‘But I just want to take my secret to England …’

‘I’m sorry.’ The Frenchman’s tone was cooler now. ‘There is really nothing I can do.’

A terrible tiredness came over David and he slumped in his chair. It had all been for nothing.

Gallois looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. ‘Really, I think it is very dangerous to talk about this … Forgive me, but it really is unwise.’ He moved towards the door. ‘You’re all right, are you? Do you want me to send someone along?’

David covered his face with his hands and shook his head. He heard the door close and got off his chair and lay on the floor. It often helped his stomach. But nothing, he knew, would remove the dull ache in his heart.

One week later a new project was announced. Goulvent, Pescart et Cie was to build larger radar detection devices suitable for ships. The pioneering work had been done elsewhere; all that was required was to assemble components which would be sent from Germany.

For David, however, there was still a lot of work to be done, developing test programmes and equipment. He worked long hours but only because he couldn’t bear to go back to his room any more. He had stopped playing cards with the guards. He had stopped talking to them – or indeed to anyone. He just wanted to be left alone. Whenever there was a discussion, he cut it short. He even barked at Geissler.

He didn’t bother with meals; he hated having to go to the canteen to collect them. He knew it wasn’t doing him any good – he felt awful – but he didn’t care.

He hated his work. He hated his life. He hated himself.

Then Geissler summoned him to his office. ‘It seems that they want you elsewhere, Herr Freymann.’ The Kapitanleutnant picked up a letter from his desk and examined it. ‘They don’t say when … However,’ he smiled coolly, ‘we need you more, so we are protesting at this proposed transfer. We have put in a request through the appropriate channels and expect to hear shortly.’

David was looking past Geissler to the window. Between a gap in the buildings it was just possible to glimpse the sea, misty today, but still beautiful. David said quietly, ‘Where?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Where do they want to send me?’

‘Ah! Let me see … It’s not a naval project, that I do know.’ He examined the letter again. ‘All I have here is a code number and prefix. Perhaps … Wait one minute …’ Geissler picked up the telephone and asked for HQ. He spoke for a few seconds then replaced the receiver. He coughed nervously. ‘I cannot unfortunately tell you where exactly – we do not have details – but apparently the prefix denotes an SS establishment …’ He added unhappily, ‘That is perhaps another reason why it would be best for you to stay here.’

Germany. Perhaps even a camp. Back into the pit.

‘Herr Freymann, I will let you know the minute I myself hear the decision. In the meantime we must proceed with the preparation for the new project. Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘I will do my best, Herr Freymann. I will try to persuade them to let you stay …’

‘Yes, thank you.’ He was sincere, Geissler, but there would be nothing he could do. David stood up and, nodding briefly, walked out. The escort was waiting. David led the way down to the entrance and into the van. They began the short drive back to Goulvent, Pescart et Cie.

The van deposited him at the door. He went up to his office and finished his day’s work. New component specifications, details of new testing equipment: work that could easily be done by someone less qualified. He would begin the business of handing over in the morning.

That night he slept badly for the first time in months. He dreamed he was back on a bare wooden bunk, crushed between two dying men. The
Prominente
came and made them get up and go to the quarry. It was still the middle of the night. The
Prominente
thought it was very funny, to make them get up in the night. Then they started beating people. David woke up.

For a while he couldn’t get back to sleep and then, when he was tired again, there was pain in his stomach. In the end he hardly slept at all.

The next morning he went to the office early and began working out how best to delegate his work load. Feverishly, he started making lists of jobs and responsibilities, grouping them under different names and departments.

There was a knock at the door. David glanced at the clock on the desk. It was still only seven. ‘Come in.’

It was Gallois. He took a seat. ‘Good morning.’

David said, ‘I’m glad you called in. I need to discuss this with you. It’s a list of jobs that will need to be taken over by you and others when I go.’

Gallois said, ‘You’re going?’

‘In all probability. Now, when this is typed, perhaps—’

‘Where will they send you?’

David put down his pencil and said shortly, ‘I don’t know. Probably back to where I came from.’

‘But you have done well … Surely they are pleased?’

David rubbed his eyes. He felt dreadfully tired. With effort he replied, ‘Ah, but you don’t understand the way they work. There are no rules, you see. You do badly, they send you back to a camp. You do well – the same thing happens. There are no rules.’

Gallois hesitated. ‘You’ll work on electronics, though. You’ll have a skilled job?’

David shrugged. ‘Perhaps. It’s not really important.’

‘Surely you want to work?’

‘What I want isn’t relevant. Anyway, I don’t care. Not any more.’

Later there was a meeting about the new project. The atmosphere in the room was claustrophobic, hot and smoky. David felt enormously irritated with everyone. They were so slow to grasp the basics and he had to explain the simplest things to them. He couldn’t believe how stupid they were. Someone – a junior technician – asked yet another idiotic question. David closed his eyes for a moment to stop himself from shouting, then he said between clenched teeth, ‘Can’t you understand
anything
? Why do you have to be so stupid? Are you
trying
to make things difficult? Really! It’s impossible to deal with you people …’

They were all staring at him and he realised he had been shouting after all.

A second later his stomach ulcer ruptured. The pain hit him like a sledgehammer. It was incredibly sharp, like a fire burning inside. As soon as it started he knew it was different from anything he’d felt before. He also knew that in a few more seconds it would be so bad that he would have to scream. But then the room started to blur and he felt very cold and everything began to slip away. He was grateful. It was nice to slip away.

Peace and beauty always. A hundred years at least. Whenever the fire came back they pressed the black thing on his face and he was floating again …

He wanted to sleep for ever. The sleep was gentle, like clouds, floating … Flowers, there were flowers. Then whiteness again, soft and gentle … He wanted to sleep for ever.

They wouldn’t let him. The
Prominente
were beating him, slapping his face. Someone was shouting at him. He moaned and tried to close his eyes again. But the voice was shouting again. It was a woman. She was speaking in French. ‘Come on! Wake up now! Come on!’

He felt the pain again and moaned, ‘No. No!’

Then they let him sleep again. He had won.

Someone slapped his face again. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? The pain was more persistent now. It wouldn’t let him sleep. He murmured, ‘The pain. Please, can I have something?’

A woman’s voice said, ‘Not yet. When you’re awake.’

He woke up only because the pain wouldn’t let him sleep. Then at last they gave him something. It didn’t help much. He discovered that nothing helped very much. The days blended into one another, he slept only when he was exhausted with the pain.

Then he woke up one day and realised that for once he had slept well. The pain was much less. He sat up and let them feed him with watery milk. He felt better. His only regret was having to face the world again.

Another day he woke up and found Gallois sitting beside the bed. The Frenchman smiled and said, ‘How are you?’

David said what was expected of him. ‘I’m all right.’

They exchanged more platitudes, then David was tired and the Frenchman left. As David fell asleep something nagged at his memory. He should have said something to the Frenchman, something important, but he couldn’t remember what …

The next day he remembered and groaned because it was too late and the Frenchman was no longer there.

But it wasn’t too late. Gallois returned. When he came into the room David stared at him in disbelief and, reaching out, grasped the Frenchman’s hands.

Gallois smiled and asked again, ‘How are you?’

David said, ‘Never mind. Please listen. I have something to ask you. Something important.’ He pulled himself up in the bed. ‘Monsieur Gallois, when we had our conversation some weeks ago, you said you could not help me. That’s as may be. But I’m sure you know of a way to get a small package to England. The information I told you about, it’s all in a small package. I wanted to go with it, before. But since it’s impossible now, then the information must go on its own.’

Gallois started to speak but David held up his hand. ‘No, please don’t bother with denials and so on. Whether or not you personally can find a way of getting this to its destination is irrelevant. Just come back, please, and tell me that you can get it to the right people! Please!’ He leant back against the pillows, exhausted.

Gallois said firmly, ‘I’ll find out.’

David patted his hands; he felt sure that the Frenchman would find a way. He fell asleep happy.

Kapitanleutnant Geissler came to see him next. ‘Well, are they taking care of you here? I am proud to say that we managed to bend the rules and get you put in here. It’s rather a good hospital. I trust you like it here?’

‘Oh yes. It’s very good. Very good.’

Geissler looked awkward. David guessed he did not like sickness. Eventually he said, ‘What I thought you might like to know is that you are to stay with us here in Brest. It’s all been decided. Of course, that’s as long as you manage to regain your fitness … You will, won’t you, Herr Freymann?’

David nodded, dumbfounded.

‘Good! Well, we look forward to seeing you back at your desk as soon as convenient then. In the meantime, I wish you good health!’

David stared at the door for a long time after Geissler had gone. He was to stay … after all. He frowned; he had been so sure, so certain that they would send him away. It was most confusing. Another reprieve. Life was nothing but a series of reprieves. He didn’t know what was worse: living in hope of life or in certainty of death.