Lisette made a feast that evening with the food the German soldier had given them. The tin contained chopped ham. The writing on the tin was in English. Where had the German obtained it? Off a dead American? She shuddered at the thought because the Americans were fighting to liberate France, but she and the children were too hungry to let her principles stop them from devouring the food.
At the thought of food, her belly rumbled painfully. It had been a long time since she had eaten a full meal. There were days when she was dizzy with hunger, having given the lion's share of her food to the twins. Henri was nowhere to be found; he seemed to have abandoned his sister and his children.
Lisette made an omelet with the tinned ham, using eggs that she had been saving, and one of the precious peppers from her garden. Together with the crackers, it was a feast, the most delicious food that they had eaten in weeks. The twins had long since given up being picky eaters. There was some wisdom in the old saying that hunger was the best sauce. Seeing the children stuff themselves pleased her to no end.
She washed the children, scrubbing off the day's dust, and put them to bed, reading them a story in an effort to drown out the distant boom of artillery. To the children, who had grown up with war, the sound was no more threatening than far away thunder on a summer evening. She kissed them and tucked them in, then retreated, gratefully, to the kitchen, where she could be blissfully alone with her thoughts.
She kept a jug of rough red wine in the cabinet, and she allowed herself a tiny glass as she sat at the table and let her mind drift.
She thought about the German soldier. Dieter. If anyone had asked her an hour ago, she would have answered that she hoped never to see him again. But now that she had eaten, and seen the satisfied look that full bellies brought to the twins' faces, she was not so sure of her earlier answer.
Lisette was not naive. A soldier who brought her food would expect something in return. Was she prepared to make such a trade?
She would have to be careful. More than one local girl had been shunned for what was euphemistically called "horizontal collaboration." If the Germans were forced to leave, there would be worse than shunning. Already, in places that Wehrmacht forces had abandoned, French girls who had taken German lovers were having their heads shaved, and being marched through the liberated streets in their slips, to the jeers of their old neighbors.
The question was, how far would she be willing to go to put food on the table for herself and the twins? The little flutter in her stomach when she thought of Dieter meant that she did not entirely trust herself to turn him down. He'd had a handsome face with nice eyes, and his body, though pale, had been lean and muscular.
Sipping her wine, she thought about how her life had turned out so far. It had not been so long ago that she had been excited about the possibilities. Looking back, she had dreamt of so much more. She thought again of her dreams of moving to Paris, away from the country. Then the war had broken out. With her brother gone and the children to tend, her world had grown smaller, rather than larger. Except for the children and a few old people in the village, she hardly spoke to anyone. She sighed.
Lisette was just thinking about a second, tinier glass of wine when there was a knock at the door. She froze in fear. Their old dog, too lazy to chase foxes, stirred himself from where he slept on the stone floor to bark at the door. She thought about the old shotgun, but quickly dismissed the idea. She was not expecting trouble, and she doubted that trouble would bother to knock.
She went to answer the door, half expecting it to be one of her elderly neighbors, needing help with some chore or simply wanting to complain about some ache or pain. But the quiet leading up to the knock on the door had been so stealthy. Not the shuffling of an old woman through the dark farmyard. In her heart, she already knew who it was.
She opened the door.
Standing there was the soldier from the yard. She felt a quiver of something that wasn't entirely fear.
"Allo," he said. His eyes went past her to search the empty kitchen.
All that Lisette could do was stare.
The German raised a sack and smiled. She could hear the shifting of tin cans inside. More food. She stepped back from the doorway to let him inside. He was not wearing his helmet, but a soft hat that the Germans called a Schiff. He had a fresh-scrubbed look about him, as if he had taken some pains with his appearance. He looked far different from the scruffy soldier who had cooled off at her water pump earlier that day.
The soldier entered and put the sack on the ancient, scarred wooden table. Belatedly remembering his manners, he snatched off the Schiff, revealing tousled blondish hair. He really was rather pretty, she thought. He certainly did not look dangerous. She let her guard down ever so slightly.
Then he sat. He nodded at another chair to indicate that she should sit as well. First, she got another glass and poured him wine.
"Danka," he said, smiling shyly.
The language barrier was a gap between them, but not so much a wall as a gossamer curtain. As if to fill the silence, or perhaps to make his case, the German removed items one by one from the sack. There were six more tins similar to the one that had enabled their feast tonight. More packages of crackers. Finally, two four-ounce bars of bitter Hershey's chocolate, which he added to the top of the stack, like a finishing touch. Altogether, the food made up what was known to American GIs as a D ration.
She thanked him, although she was unable to take her eyes off the food. There was so much of it.
They sat for another few moments in silence. He smiled, and Lisette returned the smile. Then the German stood. He reached down and took her hand, guiding Lisette to her feet. She thought that he might try to kiss her, but instead, his eyes flicked toward the narrow hallway. The one that led toward her bedroom.
She understood then why the German had brought her food. It was a simple transaction. An unspoken deal had been struck. Now, she realized that she must live up to her end of the bargain if she and the children wanted to eat.
Her heart pounding, she led the way to her bed.
Since that first night, the German had been a frequent visitor. He always brought food, for which Lisette was grateful. The twins were thin enough that the extra food was welcome to supplement what little came from the farm.
Alone for the moment, with the twins tucked into their beds and the old dog lounging at her feet, she sat at the battered kitchen table and poured a tiny glass of the rough red wine. This quiet time had become a ritual, and her favorite time of the day.
It was now August. As it grew dark, she lit an oil lantern. The cottage was close enough to the main road to have electricity and even a telephone, but sometimes she preferred the warm glow of the old-fashioned lamp. A moth appeared and bumped in futility against the glass globe of the lantern, intent on destroying itself in the flame. In the distance, she could hear the ominous thump of artillery, still many miles distant, but louder than it had been in days past. The flashes on the horizon resembled the heat lightning present when a storm was gathering.
She thought about Dieter. If the German was using her, no matter; she was using him as well. Lisette had been surprised to make this discovery about herself, that she had the capacity to use and to be used, but instead of being disappointed in herself, she took a small measure of pride in the fact that she was being practical and tough. It was enough that she loved the twins with all her heart; she did not need to love the German. Not that she minded having him in her bed.
She did not know how this affair would end. She just assumed that one day, the German boy would simply not return, having been caught up in the maelstrom of war. She suspected that the German forecast this as well. As a result, they both seemed to savor each caress, each coupling in the dark, each sip of wine and bite of contraband food, all the more. They were both on borrowed time. They did not need to speak one another's language to understand that they dwelt together like two castaways in a lifeboat, drifting in an eddy of the current on a rushing river.