Purple Hearts. Майкл Грант

he does not trust Étienne? Is it because he simply does not like his tone of voice? Or is it perhaps that Étienne is a protective big brother to Marie in whom Philippe is clearly interested?

      The old farmer who disappeared earlier now comes clumping down the steps to the cellar, carrying a mixed set of glasses. Behind him comes his wife, equally old but clearer of eye, carrying a tray of bread, cheese and a hunk of salami.

      “Merci, madame et monsieur,” Wickham says in tortured French, obviously a phrase he has learned recently.

      “Je vous en prie,” the old woman says.

      The old couple leave. Philippe selects a dusty bottle from the rack and pops the cork.

      “Who shall we drink to?” Hooper asks, sitting up, wincing in pain but trying gamely to be part of the conversation.

      Wickham says, “To our American guest.”

      They drink to Rainy, or rather to “Alice.”

      Then Rainy raises her glass. “To the brave men and women who fight for the honor of France. And to the Royal Air Force.”

      With that out of the way they portion out the bread and cheese and Marie slices the salami. There is nowhere near enough to go around, but each is content with what they have, aware that what they eat comes from the meager supplies of the old couple. Then Philippe checks his watch. “It is time. Marie?”

      Marie goes to the radio and switches it on. The channel selector is already tuned to the BBC. It takes a while for it to warm up, but then at last comes crackly music, the opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. The clear beats of that Beethoven opener have long since come to be represented by the Morse code:

       Dit dit dit . . . dah.

      Morse code for the letter V. V for victory.

      “Your watch runs fast,” Marie says to Philippe.

      “Perhaps I am in a hurry,” Philippe says.

      “Yes, men are often in a hurry.”

      “Because pleasure delayed can become pleasure denied.”

      “Pleasure worth having is pleasure worth waiting for,” Marie counters, with a small sniff of dismissal that earns a wry grin from Philippe.

      There is subtext there, a flirtation, and Rainy conceals a smile, noting that Wickham too is charmed by young love.

      Then . . . “Ici Londres. Les Français parlent aux Français. ”

      This is London. The French speak to the French.

      “Two days ago we received the code to prepare. We await the final word,” Philippe says.

      But first, the radio voice says, “some personal messages.”

      He digs a slip of paper and a tiny pencil from his back pocket. Everyone—very much including the Nazis—knows that these “personal messages” are coded instructions to the Resistance. Owning an unauthorized radio, and especially tuning to the BBC, is forbidden and can be punished by deportation to camps in Germany, or forced labor more locally, or imprisonment or even death.

      “Demain la mélasse deviendra du cognac.” Tomorrow, molasses will become Cognac.

      Rainy looks at Philippe. Nothing.

      “Jean a une longue moustache. ” John has a long mustache.

      And Philippe’s eyes widen.

      “Les sanglots longs des violons de l’automne . . . ” The long sobs of the violins of autumn . . .

      Philippe has stopped breathing.

      “Blessent mon cœur d’une langueur monotone. ” . . . wound my heart with a monotonous languor.

      It is Philippe’s utter stillness that cause chills to creep up Rainy’s spine. No one breathes. Rainy has the feeling, at once frightening and thrilling, that the entire human race has just come to a fork in the road. The great battle for the future of human liberty has come at last.

      A Communist Philippe might be, but he crosses himself in a way that Comrade Stalin would definitely not approve of.

      “What is it?” Marie asks, and every eye in the room is on Philippe. He does not answer at first. He is stiff, staring. Then he blinks.

      “The wait is over,” Philippe says in an awed tone. “That is the final instruction to begin the uprising.”

      Rainy watches Étienne. What exactly is that expression? Philippe is distracted, mentally processing the difficult, dangerous steps ahead. Marie is excited and perhaps worried about Philippe. Wickham is uncomplicatedly joyful and slaps Hooper on the back. But Étienne? His first reaction is unreadable.

      Then, almost peevishly, Étienne says, “And what about our tire? We still have to deliver Lieutenant Jones to observe the Das Reich. Those are my instructions.”

      Philippe grins. “Perhaps we can get you your tire. But first we must ask you for help. Two of my best men were arrested and deported last week. We are short-handed, and our assignment is . . . well, complicated.”

      “But we cannot—” Étienne begins.

      Rainy cuts him off. “What do you need?” she asks Philippe.

      “People who can use a gun,” he says bluntly. Then, with a dubious shrug, he adds, “In a perfect world, someone who speaks German fluently. But that is . . .” He performs another Gallic shrug.

      Rainy considers. Her objective is to find and shadow and report back on the Das Reich. On the other hand, she cannot do that without Philippe’s help. And her orders do after all include language instructing her to render assistance where possible to local elements of the maquis.

      “I speak German,” Rainy says.