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

Henri
The winter was very cold and, at Henri’s farmhouse, everything froze. The mud of the yard was frozen into deep ruts and the surrounds of the well were covered in ice. The task of collecting fresh water usually fell to Cecilie, but Henri saw her slipping on the ice, with a heavy bucket in her hand, and went to her aid. She was expecting their first child and Henri didn’t want her to risk falling.
“Thanks for the water,” said his mother, as he clanked into the kitchen, “but I can get it myself.”
“You’ve enough work to do anyway Maman,” Henri said.
Henri was content that Cecilie did her share of cooking and cleaning, but she had quailed at the idea of helping with the animals. The mud and blood upset her.
“You should have married a farmer’s daughter,” his mother had said, disapproving.
“Cecilie’s fine,” he’d said, though he knew she missed the social life of the town. She complained the farm was lonely and boring.
One night when a piercing cold wind blew from the north, a cow started to give birth. Henri hurried across the rutted farmyard for help. Irène was sitting knitting by the fireplace in the kitchen,
blowing her nose and coughing occasionally. She had been struggling with a cold.
“I’ll come, “ she said and put her knitting aside.
“It’s cold in there.”
“That’s nothing.” Irène wrapped herself in her husband’s old greatcoat and hurried across to the barn. Henri was glad of his mother’s help. She knew when to when and how to pull. Nevertheless, it was a while before the calf slid out into the straw and its mother turned to lick it.
“Healthy little female,” said Henri and nodded appreciatively.
Then he looked at his mother, who trembled a little as she stood up. “But you must be tired. Go and sit down and get Cecilie to make you a hot drink.”
“Cecilie? She’s probably in bed.”
“Well, go inside and sit down anyway. ”
A few days later, Irène’s cough grew worse. Both Henri and Cecilie tried to persuade her to go to bed and rest but she snapped. “I’m not an invalid. Not like your father.”
“No, you’ll be well again soon.” Henri knew his mother had long nursed a kind of resentment about his father’s illness after he came back from the First World War. Almost as if he had been responsible for the rasping breath which stopped him in the middle of ploughing or harvesting wheat.
Instead of improving, the cough turned into a fever and Irène took to her bed. Although she still occupied the biggest bedroom in the house, it was cheerless: there was no fireplace and the only way to warm the place was with a paraffin heater in the corner. Paraffin was difficult to get and made the room smell. Cecilie had closed the shutters to keep out draughts. There was little in the way of ornament. Always thrifty, Irène had sold the big double bed she’d shared with her husband and replaced it with an iron-framed single bed that she’d bought in a second-hand sale. A big, carved wardrobe took pride of place in the room, and there was a dressing table with a mirror. The only items that were not strictly practical were a plaster image of the Virgin Mary and a rosary on a small table by the bedside.
Henri called Doctor Roux who stood by Irène’s bedside, took her temperature and felt her pulse. “I’ll give you some medicine and come back in a couple of days. You may well be over the worst by then,” he said in a voice that was clearly meant to be reassuring.
However, once he had left the room with Henri, he shook his head. “I fear she’s got pneumonia. She’s strong and she may get over it but...”
Henri knew from the doctor’s tone his mother’s illness threatened her life. For a moment, he stood and digested this news. It seemed hard to believe, as she had been his source of advice and comfort for as long as he could remember. She had held the family together, coping with his father’s illness and persuading both him and Michel to do their share of work on the farm, as well as producing an almost endless supply of food. Losing her would be like seeing a wall of the farmhouse fall down. He knew he must tell Michel as soon as possible, so he set off to the garage on his bicycle.
Henri returned to the farmhouse in Michel’s lorry. This meant sitting squashed in the passenger seat next to Danielle, who had Jean Jacques in her arms. He was strongly aware of the lavender perfume she wore, and the curve of her leg pressing against his. She was still beautiful, though more rounded, perhaps than she had been when they first met.
When they reached the farm, Cecilie came out into the farmyard to greet them. She looked at Danielle with evident dislike, then hurried inside to prepare substitute coffee for the guests. Though he was fond of his wife and proud that he too would soon be a father, there was still a deep vein of longing for Danielle. He glanced at Cecilie and wondered if she suspected his feelings. However, his concern for his mother soon made him forget other worries.

Henri was sitting by his mother’s bedside one cold night, when the land outside was covered in ice and snow. The cattle were in the barn but the ducks were sitting around their pond, with their feathers fluffed up. In a way, Henri was relieved that the weather stopped him from doing any practical work outside as, otherwise, he would have resented the time spent with his mother. He knew his mother was dying. Irène’s breathing was growing shorter and noisier, and her body was shaken by coughing fits. At about three, she woke and coughed, her feeble body shaking with the effects. When the bout of coughing was over she looked at Henri. “I’d like something to drink.”
Henri fetched a glass of a cocktail Cecilie had made, of weak brandy, mixed with honey and cloves.
He held it to his mother’s mouth, she drank a sip and laid back on the pillows.
“I’ll sleep a little more,” Irène said.
“Yes, it’s important to get some rest.”
Irène laid her head back on the pillow, coughed several times, then gave a long sigh and laid still.


Danielle
Irène's funeral, although solemn, provided a chance to mix with relatives and friends of the family. Danielle was careful what she said, as she knew little about some of the guests. They might well be unsympathetic to the cause of the Resistance. However, the occasion enabled her to get out of the house. In the worst of the winter, she had felt trapped. Although Michel had lagged most of the pipes, one had burst, leaving a sheet of ice outside the kitchen door. Once, when she had ventured out with Jeannot in his pram, she got caught in a shower of sleet, which left him cold and crying. She was glad to be able to resume her shopping trips into the town once the cold yielded. However, she asked herself if she was betraying him in some way, when she slid a bundle of news papers under the bedding of Jeannot’s pram.
When Michel told her the group meeting in the Post Office cellar were expecting a visit from a woman who helped to save children, Danielle was keen to join them. She settled Jeannot into his pram and walked into Caillac. Rather than cross the square in front of the Mairie, she approached the Post office along a minor road. A couple of gendarmes were walking the same way, overtook and stopped her. She froze. Did they suspect that the Post Office was being used for secret meetings?
One of the men peered into the pram at Jeannot. “How old is your baby?”
For a moment, Danielle hesitated. The question seemed innocent, “Five months.”
He smiled. “I’ve got a little girl of the same age.”
Danielle smiled, relieved. She walked past the back entrance to the Post Office and stood in the square until she saw the gendarmes enter their headquarters building. The delay made her a little late and, when she edged her pram into the Post Office cellar, there were several men and women already sitting there. Michel stood up and helped her stow the pram in a corner. She sat down with Jeannot on her lap. An attractive woman, who was sitting near to Georges Bertrand, met Danielle’s eyes and smiled. She wore a plain dress of green wool and her black hair was looped into a bun, showing off her slim neck and wide spaced grey eyes.
“This is Yvonne,” said Georges. “She works for an organisation which aims to save as many children as possible.”
Yvonne stood and spoke about her work. She spoke about detention camps where people were huddled together in squalid conditions, before being sent East. Their destination was unknown but rumours said people were taken to camps but nobody came out. “There are thousands of Jewish children in detention . We can't do much for the adults but we sometimes manage to get children out. Then we take them to children’s homes, although we sometimes use private houses for a few weeks until we can find a space. ”
After Yvonne had finished speaking, Danielle took Jeannot in her arms and walked towards Yvonne, feeling drawn to her. She both understood and admired Yvonne’s commitment to the cause of children in need.
Michel joined them and shook hands with Yvonne. Danielle thought he gave her an admiring glance. It didn’t surprise her, as Yvonne was lovely, but it occurred to her she knew little about Michel’s former relationships. There might have been a string of girlfriends. Although she had no reason to be jealous, she knew she shouldn’t take his loyalty for granted.
“We've got room for several people,”said Michel, looking at Danielle. “We've taken families and I suppose we could take children.”
“How long would they stay?” asked Danielle, wondering if she was taking on a long term commitment. “Is there anywhere for them to go after leaving us?”
“I often can’t say where I’m taking children,” said Yvonne. “But some of them go to a Jewish children’s home in Megére where they'll be safe.”
“I don’t want to take on too much. I’ve got Jeannot to look after already. I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“I understand that. We all want to protect our children. You can imagine how hard it is for the parents in the camps to hand their children over to us. But it’s their best chance.”
Georges looked from Yvonne to Danielle and back. “I admire your courage, ladies. However, things are getting more brutal. You need to understand the risks...”
He stopped in the middle of the sentence and, for a moment, the only sound was made by Jeannot whimpering as he tried to struggle free from his mother’s arms. Danielle turned him round, so he could pull himself up against her breast and look over her shoulder.
Yvonne stroked his soft hair before turning back to Georges.“What were you going to say?”
“Well, there was a public execution near Castelnau,” Georges said. “I’d heard it was going to happen and made it my business to be there in the crowd. Anyway, a group were brought out of the prison and lined up in a gravel pit.”
“Anyone I know?” asked Danielle, watching George’s face. He seemed to have aged since she had met him. The shadows under his eyes were becoming pouches.
“There was one man I knew. But I don’t think he was one of your contacts.” Georges hesitated and shook his head, as if trying to dispel an distressing image. “They’d obviously been tortured. Some of them could hardly walk. But they all refused blindfolds and they sang the Marseillaise before they died.”
Everyone sat with downcast eyes and thought the brave men who’d been lost.
“But the news from the war seems better,” said Danielle, thinking of the news she’d heard on the radio. “The Russians have held out in Leningrad, and the Americans have joined the war.”
“None of that helps us at the moment,” said Georges. “I beg you to be careful.”
Yvonne nodded. “We will. But we’ve talked about our children. If we want them to have a decent future, I think we have to resist.”