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

Michel

It was October and the season of harvest was over at Henri’s farm. However, Michel had gone there to sharpen ploughshares for next season. It was good to get useful work to do, as he found it difficult to be inactive. Tired from a day’s work, he fell asleep as soon as he got to bed. He woke with a start to discover that Danielle was no longer in bed beside him. He walked downstairs to find her standing in the kitchen, with a glass of water in her hand. She looked very pale.
“Are you feeling ill?”
“I'm getting pains in here.”She drew her hand across her abdomen.
“Do you think the baby's coming?”
“Possibly.”
“I'll get Madame Bousquet,” he said, opening the door.
“There's no hurry. It might be hours yet.”
It was several hours later that Danielle retreated to their bedroom, with Madame Bousquet standing ready with towels and hot water. Michel sat in the kitchen and smoked. From time to time, he paced around and listened for sounds from the bedroom. When he heard Danielle crying out, his instinct was to rush in to see if she needed help but he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. This was women's work.
At last he heard a cry. A little while later, Madame Bousquet emerged with a small form wrapped in white cloth.
She beamed. “You have a son.”
Michel took the child into his arms and looked at him with amazement. All he could see was a pink face and a shock of black hair. A moment later, the baby opened a pair of blue eyes and cried. What was he supposed to do with this strange new being? He wondered if he was ready to be a parent. In the past, he’d been responsible only for his own safety and well being; Danielle was capable of looking after herself. Now, he had this little boy to care for. It would be hard enough to find the money to clothe and educate him, but safety would be another matter. Their involvement with the resistance made their position precarious.
How's Danielle?”
''She's tired but she will be fine.”
Michel opened the bedroom door with his left hand, while cradling the baby in his right. Danielle was lying in the bed, her hair loose on the pillow. She looked pale and gaunt but, as soon as she saw the baby she smiled and opened her arms to receive him. “We were going to call him Jean-Jacques.”
“Yes.” He remembered their discussions about the baby’s name. Jean-Jacques was an obvious choice, after his own father. However, he wondered if Danielle would prefer to name their baby after her father. She’d said that, in Jewish tradition, a family could name a child after a relative who’d died but not a living person. That raised the uncomfortable question whether Ferdinand was alive or dead. He gave the baby back to his wife. “But I think Jeannot will be better for every day.”

Danielle
When Madame Bousquet handed Jeannot to Danielle, she looked at him and marvelled. She touched his fingers, his toes and kissed his face. Every part of him was so small and yet perfect. He was pink and wrinkled, but had a head of dark hair and blue eyes. The next few weeks were a blur of feeding, changing nappies and comforting Jeannot when he cried. It seemed to Danielle the centre of her world had changed. Instead of the house and the world outside, her life now centred on her little boy. She was entranced by everything about him: the way he curled his hand around one of her fingers, and tried to focus his blue eyes on her face. Everything else receded into the background.
That made a difference to her attitude to the Resistance. At first, her decision to get involved had been an act of loyalty to her father, as well as expression of an inherited belief in the value of freedom. It hadn’t occurred to her that delivering newspapers round the town was such an act of daring. However, as she had continued, the risks had grown and multiplied. She’d told herself the risk of hiding refugees in the house was justified, because they fled in fear of their lives. That had been before Jeannot was born. Now she felt risking her own life might be acceptable, but she must at all costs defend Jeannot. He must be kept safe.



Michel

Michel was surprised to hear the phone ringing early one morning before it got light. He left Danielle dozing in bed and answered, stumbling into the garage and turning on the light. Could it be a call to a broken down vehicle somewhere.?The voice on the other end was unfamiliar.
“It’s Gérard. You remember meeting me in the crypt?”
Michel thought of the members of his group and remembered Gerard. A big, lumbering man who worked in a sawmill, he saw himself as fighting for the rights of workers. Michel told himself to be cautious and avoid committing himself. “Is there a code word?”
“Yes. It was Sebastien.”
Although he was alone, Michel nodded. The group had agreed the code word after some discussion, because everyone knew it as the name of the saint to whom the church was dedicated. Michel had wondered if it was too obvious, but at least it was memorable. The fact that Gérard knew it confirmed him as one of the group, but didn’t avoid the possibility of betrayal. “Go on.”
“An English airman’s crashed in the neighbour’s field. He's hurt and the plane's wrecked.”
“So why are you ringing me?”
“He's in my kitchen but he can't stay there.”
Michel was wary. All those who attended the meeting knew he was prepared to hide refugees. If this man was a traitor, he could be stumbling into a trap. “What do you want me to do?”
“We wondered if you could take him. Me and the wife.”
Danielle came out of the bedroom, hugging a dressing gown round her. Michel put his hand over the receiver and murmured to her. “I’m being asked to take an injured English pilot. But how do I know if it’s genuine?”
Danielle shook her head. “Where are you being asked to go? It would be safer if it was a public place.”
Michel nodded and returned to the phone. “How do I find the plane?”
The caller gave a description of a location which Michel knew.
“All right. I'll get the lorry and meet you by the plane.” He put down the phone and gave Danielle a kiss. “I don’t want you involved, in case it goes wrong.”
“I’ll be involved if you’re bringing him here.”
“I am afraid so. I might need to hide him in the back of the lorry.”
“I’ll find some sheets if that helps.”
Michel dressed quickly and piled tyres and planks in the back of the lorry, to form a hiding place which couldn't be seen by someone opening the rear doors. Danielle emerged from the house with sheets and laid them in between the piles. Once he was satisfied, he drove through darkness, arriving at the place just as the sun rose. A ploughed field stretched towards the dark shape of a wood and he saw a plane lying in a broken heap, close to the trees. He parked the lorry at the edge of the wood and stood for a while, looking around and listening. There was no-one else there. He walked towards the wreckage, aware of every sound he made as sticks broke under his feet, and prepared to flee if anything unexpected happened. Although the fuselage was broken, he recognized the blue, red and white roundel that proved it was a British plane. He had almost reached it when the big man he’d met at the meeting in the crypt stepped out from among the trees.
“Sorry to get you out of bed,” said Gérard, offering his hand.
“That’s all right. But we need to be careful. You never know...”
Gérard pointed. “My house is through there.”
Michel followed him through the wood to a cottage in a clearing. It occurred to him it wasn’t a bad hiding place. “Couldn’t you keep the pilot here?”
“Not really. I’ve got three kids and they’re not old enough to understand.”
Michel entered a small room with a low ceiling, and saw a man sitting on one of the kitchen chairs. He had one leg propped on another, his face was ashen, his blue-grey uniform was torn and he looked at Michel with suspicion in his eyes. A tall woman, with long dark hair looped on her head, was standing by the chair with a cloth in her hand. She had clearly been washing the man's face.
She looked at Michel “Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
A door behind her opened and a boy of about five stood in the entrance to a dark room. He stared at Michel with big, dark eyes.
“No,” cried the woman, “not in here,” and she put her arm round the little boy and hustled him out.
“The pilot doesn't speak French,”said Gérard.
Michel raised his hands, palm open, to indicate that he came in peace. “If we can get him to the lorry, I'll take him home.”
Together, the two men carried the airman to the lorry, and lay him on the pile of sheets in the truck. He groaned but didn't say anything.
“What will you do with the plane?” Michel asked.
“Break it up and bury the pieces.”
Michel drove back to the garage aware that every bump in the road caused the pilot pain. He saw nothing suspicious on the road and drove straight onto the forecourt. There were only two mopeds which had been brought in for service in the garage, so he got out, opened the door and drove in. It was now growing light and he knew people could be watching, so he had to find a way to move the airman into the house without anyone noticing. He left the lorry on the forecourt and went into the house.

Danielle

Danielle stood in the kitchen with Jeannot in her arms. After taking sheets to the garage, she felt she couldn’t go back to bed, but waited up, worrying about Michel’s absence. Jeannot woke and cried. Although she tried to comfort him, her nervousness affected him and he wouldn’t settle. She carried him back and forth from the bedroom to the kitchen, worrying about Michel. With a baby to look after, she felt vulnerable. Michel’s absence reminded her how much she loved and relied on him. As she patrolled, she looked at the shuttered windows of the house next door and the road beyond. Who might be watching? The old couple next door went out rarely and were probably still in bed. The woman who lived opposite, on the other hand, took an interest in everyone who passed. Her husband was a prisoner of war and she waited for his return. She might be sympathetic but Danielle could not be sure.
Jeannot’s eyes had just closed when Michel hurried into the kitchen. Danielle’s relief was overwhelming. She lay Jeannot back in his crib without waking him and wrapped her arms round her husband.
“I’ve got the pilot in the lorry but I need to get him into the cellar without anyone seeing. He can’t walk. We need to disguise him somehow,” said Michel
“Maybe if we put blankets round him?”
Michel shook his head. “I think the shape would show through a blanket.”
Danielle thought for a moment. “There’s the living room carpet but it’s going to look odd if we carry it into the lorry and then out again.”
“There’s a crate I got when I bought some spare parts. That’s big enough to carry a man. I can always tell anyone who asks I’ve been moving my tools.”
Danielle thought about the pilot, left alone in the lorry and then loaded into a crate, like a piece of meat. “I know a little English. I’ll try to talk to him.”
For a moment, she thought the curtain of the house opposite twitched, but saw no other movement. Michel opened the big garage doors, found the crate and took out a couple of exhaust pipes. When he lifted the crate into the lorry, Danielle climbed in after him and crouched over the pilot. His leg was bent at an odd angle, his trousers were torn and covered in blood. Although pale, he was conscious.
He looked up at her. “Who are you?” he asked in English.
She took his hand. “My name’s Danielle. This is our house and we can help you. But we need to hide you, so we want to put you in this box.”
He raised his head and looked at the crate. “It looks like a coffin.”
At first, she didn’t understand the word. “A coffin?”
“That you put dead people in.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not a coffin. I promise you.”
He nodded.
Together, they raised the pilot and lowered him into the box but he groaned. Michel closed the lid then jumped down from the lorry and looked both ways along the road. Having satisfied himself no-one was watching, he and Danielle carried the box out of the garage, along the alley and carefully down the steps. As soon as they reached the cellar, Michel raised the lid and they carried the pilot to one of the beds in the hidden room and laid him down. Danielle climbed the stairs but stopped to check on Jeannot, before returning with water, scissors and bandages. She cut the damaged trouser leg away and cleaned the bloody wound.
“That's very kind of you,”said the man in English. “I'm Paul Greene.”
She ran her hand up his leg and found a shattered end to the bone. “It's broken. It ought to be plastered but I can only bind it up. We ought to get a doctor but...”
“ I could ask Doctor Vidal,”said Michel. “He’s worked for our family for years and he’s no friend of the Vichy people.”
Danielle turned to Paul, who was looking at them, obviously unable to understand what they said. “You must rest,” she said in English and he nodded in response.
When Danielle brought Paul some bread and coffee for breakfast next morning, he tried to sit up and smiled at her.
“A doctor is coming to look at your leg,” she said. “We don’t know him but our friends say we can trust him.”
“Thank you.”
“And I will try to teach you French.”
“You are kind. And very pretty.”
Danielle blushed. “My husband is in the kitchen.”
“And I have a wife at home.” He fumbled in the pocket of his uniform and pulled out a picture of a smiling woman with fair hair. “I hope I get to see her again.”
“So do I.”
Next evening when Danielle and Michel were eating a simple meal, there was a soft knock on the door. Michel rose and opened it cautiously. He showed in a little man with glasses and a dark coat which was too big for him. When he took off his hat, he revealed a shiny bald head. He carried a big leather bag.
“This is Doctor Vidal,” said Michel. “If anyone asks, he’s come to see your baby.”
Doctor Vidal shook hands. “How is the baby?”
“He’s fine,” said Danielle. “I’ve just put him to bed.”
“But our other patient is in the cellar. Before we go down, I’ll check that no-one’s watching.”
Michel stood in the doorway for a minute, looking along the alley to the road and back.
“It’s all clear.”
Danielle showed the doctor down the stairs. She introduced him to Paul, who was sitting in bed, propped up with pillows. To her relief, the doctor spoke to him in English and Paul beamed and nodded to show he understood. The doctor gently examined Paul’s leg, then opened his bag and took out a roll of bandage and a pot of some material.
“Can you bring me some water, please,” he asked. “And a bowl of some kind. It needs to be clean.”
Danielle climbed the stairs up to the kitchen and brought back a bucket full of water and a earthenware bowl she used in the kitchen. He opened the pot, took out plaster of Paris and mixed it with water to produce a smooth paste. “Can you hold our patient’s leg straight?” he asked
Danielle gripped Paul’s foot firmly and, although he winced, he didn’t cry out. The doctor dipped the bandage in the mixture and wound it round Paul’s leg from the knee to the foot.
Having examined his handiwork, he nodded. “That will do. Rest it for a couple of weeks before you try to walk on it. And good luck.”
“Thanks,” said Paul.
Over the next few weeks, Paul grew stronger. When he first tried to walk, a grimace of pain spread across his face. Danielle held his arm so he didn’t fall and told him to be patient. She brought Jeannot down into the cellar, let Paul hold him and smiled when he tried to talk to the baby in English. Paul also responded willingly to Danielle’s attempts to teach him French though his accent was very bad. After a while, he was able to hobble up the stairs and join the family at meals.
One evening, when Paul had returned down the stairs and Danielle had put Jeannot to bed in his crib, Michel sat by the fireplace and smoked. “We need to move Paul on.”
“It's difficult for him. He can only just walk.”
“I know, but the longer he stays here, the more likely it is someone will find out.”
Danielle laid down her knife and fork.“I'm not sure how he'll get away. He can hardly pass himself off as French. He can only speak a few words of the language.”
“ All right. We’ll give it a few more weeks.” Michel rose and paced back and forwards across the living room. “ He’ll need clothes, papers and transport as far as we can take him.” In his childhood, he'd sometimes been in trouble for doing risky things. He remembered the time when his father beat him for riding an unbroken horse. Now, however, he was aware of the responsibility involved of having a wife and child, an injured airman in the cellar and a network of contacts, any one of whom could be caught without warning.
Over the next few weeks, Danielle was aware of Michel making cautious inquiries. In the end,she went to talk to Paul in to the cellar, carrying a pair of Michel’s old trousers, an even older coat and a beret. “ We’ve found there’s an English person who can help you but you must leave tomorrow. Can you put these on?”
“Thank you. You’ve been so kind. I couldn’t ask for more.”
Next morning, as Danielle and Michel sat in the living room with Jeannot, Paul hobbled in from the stairs, looking like a French workman. They sat together and ate a simple breakfast of bread, with a scraping of butter and substitute coffee. Michel gave Paul a piece of paper with the name of the contact and a password.
Once they had finished eating, Michel rose. “It’s time to go. I'll go with you as far as the river.”
“Good bye, and good luck,” Danielle said in English.
“I shall never forget you,” said Paul. He kissed her on both cheeks, kissed Jeannot, then left the house with Michel.

Sorry, I nearly forgot to post this.

This is a masterpiece. You have a bright future as a writer.

Suspense level is kept nicely high. Good work. I just hope Jeannot will not give them away by speaking English.

Paulh, have you lost the "l" on purpose?

Not really.

Just thought I'd mention it.

Speaking English didn't go too well for Gordon Jackson in the Great Escape either! Careful!!!!

Thanks paulh but I'm a bit old to have much future!

So am I.

So maybe your past is bright?