JEAN-LUC
There was something about Charlotte that drew Jean-Luc in. As he lay in the hospital bed watching her mop the floor in the central aisle, he wondered what it was. Maybe it was her warm, gentle manner; so natural, so unpretentious, totally unaware of how attractive she was. There were no airs or graces about her, no flickering of eyelashes or fake smiles.
Abruptly she looked up from her mopping. He caught her eye and she smiled—a wide, effortless smile. He smiled back, inclining his head slightly, inviting her to come and talk to him.
He saw her glance around, checking to make sure the matron wasn’t within sight. The coast was clear, and Jean-Luc’s neighbor was under his blankets, facing away, his body rising and falling with his labored but regular breathing. Fast asleep.
“Is everything okay?” Charlotte asked, the smile still playing across her lips.
“Yes, thank you. I just need some company.”
“I can ask if anyone wants to play cards with you.”
“No. Your company.” He saw her cheeks redden and realized what a sheltered upbringing she must have had. “Have you always been a nurse?” He tried to steer the conversation back to where she was comfortable.
“I’m not a nurse,” she replied.
“Oh? You look like one.”
“It’s only because of the war. I was supposed to go to the university to study literature.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “My parents wanted me to work.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“It’s the war.” She paused. “The future isn’t clear, and we’re hungry now. We get extra rations because I’m working here.”
“Yes. That’s understandable. So you enjoy reading then?”
“I love reading.”
“What’s your favorite book?”
“Le Comte de Monte Cristo.”
He smiled. “Alexandre Dumas?”
She nodded. “You’ve read it?”
“Yes, when I was a kid. My dad read it to me. He loved… loves stories. He made bookshelves for me. Every birthday and Christmas he’d give me a book.” He went quiet for a moment, remembering his father, his love of reading. Then he continued. “It’s a great story, isn’t it? Le Comte never gives up.” He felt the gap between himself and the heroes of his childhood widening.
“No.” She paused. “But is it realistic? The way he keeps coming back after each awful thing that happens to him?”
“I don’t know. It makes us dream, though, doesn’t it?”
“Dream of being better than we are?”
As he stared into her eyes, he understood her wish to be better, braver, as if it had been written in black and white. “Yes. He stood strong despite all the cruelty that was thrown at him. I loved Les Trois Mousquetaires when I was a boy. I wanted to be d’Artagnan when I grew up.” He laughed ironically. “And here I am in a German hospital.”
“Have you always worked on the railways?”
“Yes, I’d had enough of school by the time I was fifteen. I was happy to get out and learn a trade.”
“What about your parents? Didn’t they mind?”
He smiled. “No. My father has always worked on the roads, and my mother… well, she looked after us. They were pleased I’d found a job with the SNCF.”
“But now the Germans run the SNCF.”
“Yes.” He saw her glance away and knew she was anxious that the matron would be back, but he didn’t want her to leave. “Yes, the Boches are in charge,” he whispered. “And I shouldn’t have stayed.”
“I shouldn’t be here either.”
He hadn’t meant to make her feel bad. “I think it’s brave of you.”
“What?”
“It takes courage to come in here every day, to see all this pain and suffering. Look around.” He paused. “Most of them are young men, just like me. They’re not the real enemy. The real enemy are the men at the top—the ones who give the orders. And you can bet they won’t end up in the hospital.”
She turned back toward him. “But the rest of them are following, aren’t they?”
“Do you know how much courage it takes to stand up to a system?” He paused, answering his own question. “More than most have got, and I include myself there.”
“And me. I should stop working here.”
“No, don’t do that… well, not until they let me out. You’re the only bright thing in here. You shine out like a—”
“Shh,” she interrupted him. Just then his neighbor turned over in his sleep, coughing.
Charlotte took a step backward and, with one last glance at Jean-Luc, walked briskly away.