h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Danielle

Danielle found living in the house behind the garage had some advantages. It was only a walk, or a short cycle ride into the centre of Caillac, which made shopping easier and enabled her to get to know her neighbours. They spent as much time as they could spare painting kitchen and living rooms white, making the place seem lighter. Michel erected a series of cupboards and shelves in the kitchen, turning it into a useful space. One day, he returned from a brocante sale with a radio, which he installed in the living room. They started gathering round to listen to the BBC, although it was illegal.
Danielle was pleased to see her father taking an interest in the garden. He helped her clear the ground of weeds, dug it over and planted vegetables in lines, keeping notes of what he had sown. However, there was something obsessional about his interest that worried her, and fumes from the garage were making him cough. She asked Michel not to smoke in the house, which made him withdraw into the garden, as he never smoked in the garage.
One day, Danielle returned from a shopping trip to the town and let herself into the kitchen from the side door. She knew Michel had gone to a charcoal business to mend a lorry, and was surprised to see an old Citroen parked outside the garage. Her perplexity increased when she heard voices from her father’s room. She stopped at the door and realised the conversation was in Yiddish, a language she scarcely knew.
After a moment’s hesitation, she knocked and opened the door. There was little space for more than a bed and chair, so the room looked crowded. Her father was sitting on the single bed, wearing a leather jacket. The only chair was occupied by a man who looked as if he had recently come in, because he hadn't taken off his coat. The two must have been talking, for the man sat leaning toward her father, with his mouth half open and a look of surprise in his eyes. Danielle was sure she hadn't seen him before.
Ferdinand smiled. “Ah, Danielle, I don't think you've met Georges Bertrand. Georges, this is my daughter.”
As Georges rose, she noticed his right hand was missing, being replaced with a hook. He seemed about the same age as her father, with receding dark hair and a dark moustache. He offered his left hand and took hers with a firm grip. “Delighted to meet you.” He had a slight accent she couldn't place.
“Georges is a travelling salesman. He's stopped here on his rounds,”said Ferdinand.
Danielle looked at Georges in surprise. She and Michel had equipped the house with furniture and cutlery they had scrounged from the farm or bought at brocante sales. She wasn't sure why her father would want a travelling salesman. “What are you selling?”
Georges opened a battered case that had been propped against his chair. “Kitchen utensils – whisks, tin openers, bottle openers, all sorts of useful things.”
Danielle picked up a whisk and looked at it. “We don’t need these things, Father. We have enough utensils in the kitchen now.”
The two men exchanged a look and Ferdinand sighed. “I didn't mean to involve you, Danielle. It could be dangerous. But you're a grown woman now. You can show her what else you've brought, Georges.”
Georges unzipped a pocket in the lining of the case which she hadn't noticed before and took out a sheaf of papers. There was a title in large type: “Free France'. The printing was smudgy but the picture on the front page caught her attention. It showed a group of women and children standing behind a wire fence. In the background was a watchtower but what shocked her was the emaciation of the people, their faces hollow and their eyes desperate. Underneath the picture, there were columns of text and a headline “Awaken, citizens”. The text explained the picture had been taken at a camp at a place called Gurs, near the Pyrenees. The people were Jews from Baden and the Palatinate, who had been deported there from their homes. “This is what the Nazis are doing,” the text went on. “Do we want our fair land of France defiled by such cruelty?”
Danielle thought for a moment and understood. “So you're part of a resistance organisation. Do you want these papers distributed?”
“I thought I might be able to help,” said Ferdinand. “I can pass them to people I know.”
“If you know you can trust them,”said Georges. “There is a danger of informers. You could easily be reported to the gendarmes.”
“Could you put them in public places?” asked Danielle. “Churches and schools?”
“If you do that, you need to vary your route, or you would run a risk of attracting attention.”
“I could do that,”said Danielle. “I've got a bicycle. And I could hide them under shopping or something.”
“What about Michel?”asked Ferdinand. “Would he approve? Can you trust him?”
“I'm sure I can trust him,” said Danielle. She knew Michel well enough by now to see him as a straightforward man, who said what he thought. He wouldn't be involved in betrayal or double dealing. Moreover she knew the defeat of the French army still rankled with him and he would like the chance to fight back.
“It's best to build up a network of contacts,”said Georges. “Sound people out but do it carefully.”
Ferdinand took his little glasses off and laid them on the table. “We'd be taking a risk. I don't want you to get hurt, Danielle.”
Danielle nodded. “If you can take risks, I can too.”
Georges left a pile of the news sheets on the table, but Danielle could see others in his case, before he zipped it up. “I had better be going. I've got other visits to make.” He kissed her hand in an old-fashioned gesture and shook hands with her father. For the first time, he smiled. “It's good to see you again after this time, Ferdinand. I'd say you haven't changed but of course you have. But it seems we only survived one war to fight another.”
Ferdinand sighed. “I'm not sure I can do much but you can rely on me to try.”
After showing Georges out, he returned to the living room and resumed his chair.
Danielle asked “I've not met that man before. Is he what he seems to be?”
Her father smiled. “Bertrand's not his real name. He's a Polish Jew in origin, but he's an old comrade of mine from the war. The last war. As brave as they come but a committed Communist.”
“I didn't think you were a Communist.”
Ferdinand wiped his glasses with his handkerchief and put them back on. “I don't belong to any party but I certainly believe that society is unfair and we should work to make it fairer. And Georges has left me lots of papers to read. He's trying to convince me.” He smiled.
Danielle watched her father flicking through the papers on the table and was pleased to see he had found a cause in which he could believe. For a time, as the news from the war had grown worse, he had seemed to lose hope, distracting himself with gardening in order to stay sane. She wondered what she believed herself. Despite what she had told Father Corot, she remained unconvinced by Catholicism and she certainly wasn't a Marxist. Maybe her belief was not a worked out ideology, more a feeling that people should be treated fairly, regardless of class or religion. “Perhaps I ought to read those too.”

Michel

The farm looked at its most bleak as winter closed in. The fruit trees had long lost their leaves and the fields were bare. Thrushes from the far north arrived to eat the berries on the bushes by the barn. The farmyard was deep in mud, which froze into hard ruts. However, the work of the farm never stopped. Michel expected to find Henri checking the cattle, or mending a fence brought down by the wind. Nevertheless, he took the precaution of knocking on the door, given the unpleasant taste his brother's resentment at his marriage had left.
His mother opened the door and gave him a hug “It’s good to see you, Michel. You know Cecilie, don’t you?”
As she moved aside, Michel saw a fair-haired young woman sitting in one of the shabby armchairs close by the fireplace. Henri was squatting by the fire with a big bowl of chestnuts. Although Michel knew Cecilie as a friend of his cousin Sophie, he didn’t realise a relationship had developed between her and Henri. The firelight and flames from the oil lamps threw odd shadows in the room. Nevertheless, the impression Michel gained was one of domestic comfort and he was pleased to see Henri apparently content.
“You don't often come and see us Michel,” said Henri. “Too busy I suppose, now you're a married man.”
“I'm sorry if I've deserted you,”said Michel, refusing to rise to Henri's needling. He took Cecilie's hand. “How are you? I haven’t seen you for a while.”
Cecilie smiled and her face took on pretty dimples.
“What brings you here, anyway?”asked Henri.
Do I need a reason? As far as I'm concerned, we're still brothers. I just wanted to see how you are, how you’re coping with winter.”
Henri stood up and moved to a chair by the kitchen table. He was wearing a thick jersey, but Michel got the impression he’d lost weight, making his trousers bag. “Sit down anyway.”
“Do you want a coffee?” asked Irène. “It’s not real coffee any longer, just a kind of substitute.”
“Thank you.”
“Shall I go and get some more chestnuts?” asked Cecilie.
“Thank you. Can you get some more of that mock coffee too? You know where it is, don’t you?
Cecilie bustled out of the room,while Irène filled a kettle with water and put it on the range to heat.
“She’s a nice girl, Cecilie,” said Irène. “No fancy notions.”
Michel wondered if that comment was meant as a contrast with Danielle. Cecilie must have been in the house several times to to be on comfortable terms with his mother, and to know where things were kept. It pleased him to think Henri had found a woman to love, as that might ease the bitterness he felt over the loss of Danielle. He swallowed a mouthful of the liquid, then took out a packet of Gauloises and offered one to Henri.
“The garage isn't doing very well, with petrol being rationed.” Michel admitted. “Well, the main business isn't but I'm being asked to mend all sorts of implements.”
Henri snorted. “I don't think anyone is doing well this winter.”
This gave Michel the opportunity he needed. He opened the tool bag he carried everywhere and took out a couple of copies of Free France and placed them on the table. “This tells you the truth about the occupation. If Nazi officers are shot, they round people up and shoot them. Anyone suspected of resisting and others as well.”
Henri looked at the news sheet and threw it down. “This is just Communist propaganda.”
Michel stared at him, disappointed. “Do you mean you're happy if half the country is occupied by the Nazis?”
“I mean I don't want the Communists here. They'd take our land.”
“You don't have to be a communist to want the Nazis out.”
Irène stood up, picked up the sheet and read it. “I hope you’re not going to get into trouble handing these out. Especially with a young wife dependent on you.”
“I’ll try not to.” Michel slipped the news sheets back into his tool bag as Cecilie returned with a scoop full of chestnuts and a bag of mock coffee. He wondered how much he knew about her: little beyond her friendship with Sophie and the fact her father was the baker. Who were her other friends and relatives? He couldn't assume she was sympathetic. Although he was confident neither Henri nor his mother would betray him, he couldn’t be sure about Cecilie.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to accept Henri’s dismissive attitude without query. “ Have you handed in your hunting rifle, Henri?”
Henri gave a kind of snort. “ If I hadn’t would you report me?”
“Of course not.”
“I'm a law abiding farmer. As long as they let me plough my fields and keep my cattle, I'll keep quiet. Yes?”
Rather to Michel’s surprise, Irène shook her head. “Things are getting bad though. They’ll be taking the cattle next.”
“You always expect the worst, mother,” said Henri
Michel picked up his tool bag and moved towards the door. He was clearly not going to gain any support here.
Cecilie took Henri's hand, which engulfed her own. “You haven't told him our news. You do think it's important, don't you?”
He smiled at her and his glowering face lightened. “Of course. Cecilie and I are going to be married in March.”
Michel smiled. “Congratulations. I'm delighted to hear it. Am I invited to the wedding?”
“Of course. And Danielle too.”
As Cecilie glanced at Henri, Michel wondered how much his brother had told her about Danielle. He could hardly admit to having loved her himself. “I'm sure Danielle will be pleased to hear your news,” he said politely.
He left the house and slung his tool bag on the top frame of his bicycle in a mood tinged with regret.
It grieved him he couldn't count on Henri's support for the resistance that was beginning to emerge in the area. He was committed to it because if seemed the only way for the French to fight against German occupation. Henri in his farmhouse seemed content to put up with things as they were. To him that seemed like laziness or lack of imagination rather than cowardice. Michel couldn't believe Henri was a coward. It would be a pity if the gulf between him and his brother grew rather than shrank with time.

The plot thickens! I love the idea of a bicycle powered Resistance!

Oh, yes. Bicycles everywhere in Occupied Europe.

I remember all the difficulty the Scholl kids had in Munich with buying stamps, too. Passing around leaflets was really dangerous.

I like this story.

I only remember one book about the resistance: "Charlotte Gray, a sequels of sorts to "Birdsong.'