“Will they hit any houses, Uncle? When they come?”
“They won’t hit any houses.”
“Will it be over quickly?”
“Quick as a swallow. You rest, Marie-Laure, and when you wake, I’ll be back. You’ll see.”
“I could read to you a bit? Now that I’m awake? We’re so close to the end.”
“When I’m back, we’ll read. We’ll finish it together.”
She tries to rest her mind, slow her breathing. Tries not to think about the little house now under
her pillow and the terrible burden inside.
“Etienne,” Marie-Laure whispers, “are you ever sorry that we came here? That I got dropped in
your lap and you and Madame Manec had to look after me? Did you ever feel like I brought a curse
into your life?”
“Marie-Laure,” he says without hesitation. He squeezes her hand with both of his. “You are the
best thing that has ever come into my life.”
Something seems to be banking up in the silence, a tide, a breaker rearing. But Etienne only says
a
second time, “You rest,
and when you wake, I’ll be back,” and she
counts his steps down the
stairs.
The Arrest of
Etienne LeBlanc
E
tienne feels strangely good as he steps outside; he feels strong. He is glad Madame Ruelle has
assigned him this final task. He has already transmitted the location of one air-defense battery: a
cannon on a shelf of rampart beside the Hotel of Bees. He needs only to take the bearings of two
more. Find two known points—he’ll choose the cathedral spire and the outer island of Le Petit Bé
—then calculate the location of the third and unknown point. Simple triangle. Something other than
ghosts on which his mind can fix.
He turns onto the rue d’Estrées, skirts behind the college, makes for the alley behind the Hôtel-
Dieu. His legs feel young, his feet light. No one is about. Somewhere the sun eases up behind the
fog. The city in the predawn is warm and fragrant and sleepy, and the houses on either side seem
almost immaterial. For a moment he has a vision that he’s walking the aisle of a vast train carriage,
all the other passengers asleep, the train gliding through darkness toward a city teeming with light:
glowing archways, gleaming towers, fireworks rising.
As he approaches the dark bulwark of the ramparts, a man in uniform limps toward him out of
the blackness.
7 August 1944
M
arie-Laure wakes to the concussions of big guns firing. She crosses
the landing and opens the
wardrobe and, with the tip of her cane, reaches through the hanging shirts and raps three times on
the false back wall. Nothing. Then she descends to the fifth floor and knocks on Etienne’s door. His
bed is empty and cool.
He is not on the second floor, nor in the kitchen. The penny nail beside the door where Madame
Manec used to hang the key ring is empty. His shoes are gone.
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