CHARLOTTE
The next evening, under cover of darkness, we set off alone. Marie has given us both a pair of cord-soled espadrilles; apparently they’re the best things for climbing the Pyrénées. I’m just relieved they’re not big hard leather boots, and I am able to squash the backs down—the skin on my heels is still tender. Jean-Luc carries a small bag containing a change of clothes, milk, cognac, and water, while I carry Samuel, the long pillowcase tied around me, holding him close against my chest.
In silence we follow the trail that was described to us, but the brisk pace soon makes me hot and clammy. I lift Samuel away from my body, letting some air circulate, but the movement wakes him, and I feel his fingers reaching out, clinging onto my light coat. “Shh,” I whisper, pulling him back closer to me, covering his head with my hand. He settles back into me, and I decide I can put up with the extra heat his little body is giving out. In a few days’ time, if all goes well, we will be safe and ready to start our new life. Reaching out for Jean-Luc’s hand, I pause in my stride.
“It’s okay, Charlotte. We’re going to make it.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand, but we don’t speak again, the only sound the soft impression of our feet on the rough ground, and the hooting of owls.
We haven’t been walking for long when Florentino steps out soundlessly from the darkness. Without a word, we follow him through a small pine forest; the numerous trees and the ground covered in small soft twigs absorb any sound we make. I feel safer here with Florentino than I did on the trail, but he walks so quickly, darting in and out among the tall, thin trees. I feel my breath rasping in my chest and a ring of sweat gathers around my hairline. Briskly I wipe it away, blowing air up onto my hot face. I worry for Jean-Luc with his cane, but he doesn’t slow down, not once.
After a few hours, we come to a farmhouse. Florentino pushes hard on the heavy wooden door and lets us in. It’s dark inside except for the light of a couple of dim candles. I heave a sigh of relief, impatient to sit down and unstrap Samuel. My neck aches with the weight of him and I feel a rivulet of sweat dripping down my chest. An old woman comes to greet us, helping me out of my light coat and unknotting the pillowcase tied around my back. I lift Samuel out, watching as he screws up his eyes, probably sensing the change in environment. His face is red and I realize he must have been just as overheated as I was. He brings a tiny fist up to his mouth and lets out a cry.
Jean-Luc is soon by my side with a bottle ready. Taking Samuel from me, he makes soothing noises as he cradles him in his arms. I look at the ragged couch and gratefully flop onto it, watching Florentino and the old woman whispering together as she heats something up on the stove. It smells of nutmeg and garlic, and my stomach rumbles loudly.
The woman turns around, passing me a bowl of the broth. It’s delicious, and I slurp it up greedily, watching Jean-Luc out of the corner of my eye as he whispers to Samuel while he feeds him. I know Samuel will be looking up at him with his innocent brown eyes. Jean-Luc is falling in love with the baby, and I’m falling in love with him. I’ve never seen such tenderness in a man before, but what surprises me the most is his ease and total lack of self-consciousness. He doesn’t seem to care what anyone thinks. How refreshing.
I close my eyes, happy but exhausted.
It feels like I’ve only just dozed off when Florentino shakes me awake, handing me a bowl of hot milk and a piece of baguette. Someone must have taken my espadrilles off last night and covered me with a blanket. I sit up, sipping the milk, noticing that Jean-Luc uses his milk to prepare a bottle for Samuel. Florentino stands against the stove, his exasperation evident in his deep, regulated breaths, as though he’s counting them out, waiting. As soon as the baby is fed, he passes us old blue workman’s clothes, like the ones he’s wearing. We put them on quickly, then Jean-Luc helps me tie the long pillowcase around my back so I can carry Samuel.
Once outside the hut, Florentino hands me a thick branch to be used as a walking stick. He looks at Jean-Luc’s cane. “Good, you have a stick, but if you are slow…”
“I can run with this stick.” Jean-Luc laughs nervously.
Florentino ignores him, pointing a finger ahead and starting to walk, his strides long and silent.
I support Samuel with my hand under his bottom, taking the strain off my neck and back. All I can see ahead of me is the dark shape of Florentino. The earth smells of fresh wood, evoking memories of Christmases past. I wonder what my Christmases will be like now. Will the three of us form a happy family? Will we have children of our own one day? But these thoughts for the future seem surreal, almost like a fantasy. All that matters right now is getting Samuel to safety. The rest will come later.
It feels like the whole world is sleeping, except for the birds, chirping out to each other. A sudden cracking noise makes me jump. I freeze, my left knee in midair. I can only just make out Florentino now, marching away from us.
We run to catch up again. Florentino turns around when we are just behind him. “Branch broke,” he grunts. “I’ll tell you when to be afraid.” His tone is dry.
There is no time to look at the beauty of the new day dawning; our eyes need to be constantly on our feet, looking out for twisted roots, loose stones, or muddy patches. Soon the terrain becomes steeper, and I pant heavily, trying to keep up. Then soft ground begins to give way to slated rocks. I slip. Instinctively one hand flies to Samuel at my chest, while the other reaches out to break my fall. He lets out a cry. I lean down, murmuring softly in his ear. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be okay.” I’m talking more to myself than him, but my words seem to soothe him, and he goes quiet again.
Florentino looks back at me, and in the half-light I catch a glint in his eye. He really doesn’t trust us to make this journey, and I am pretty sure he would feel justified in abandoning us if he thought it necessary. I’ll show him, I whisper to myself.
Suddenly he stops, pointing to a mass of trees. But before we can tell which way he’s going, he’s vanished. My heart pounding hard against my ribs, I follow Jean-Luc into the trees, guessing which way he took. Thank God, we soon see his bulky form threading its way through the spindly pines, out to a clearing, where we suddenly come face-to-face with a steep cliff. A gap the width and depth of a large human body runs vertically down from the top of it. Florentino is there at the bottom, his legs spread across it, his hands spanning it as he grips the sides. There is no time to think. No time to feel the fear. Jean-Luc pushes me in front of him. “Go.”
Quickly, I pull the espadrilles up around the backs of my feet, or surely I will slip backward out of them. Using all the strength in my legs, I push myself up into the gap, reaching a hand out, groping for the first rock ledge, the other hand still gripping Samuel.
“You’ll have to use your other hand too,” Jean-Luc shouts up. He gives my bottom a shove, egging me on. But I’m too afraid to take my hand off Samuel. What if the pillowcase isn’t strong enough to hold him? What if he falls forward? Tentatively I move my hand away from the baby, stretching it out to the next ledge. But immediately I return it. I can’t let him go. I’ll have to put the other hand out to grab hold of the ledge instead. But it’s too far away. I’m stuck. Frozen with indecision, I make the fatal mistake of looking up. I’ll never make it.
Florentino’s red face swims into view. I sense his anger. It freezes me farther into the rock. His large feet start to slide back down the gap in the cliff. Soon he’s just above me. “Give me the baby,” he rasps, holding out a hand. But I can’t move a muscle. He lands next to me and reaches forward, slipping his hand into the pillowcase, pulling Samuel out. Then, like an agile bear, he scales the cliff again using only one hand.
Don’t look up or down, I silently tell myself. Concentrating only on the next handhold above me, I move up through the gap slowly, gaining confidence with every step I take. I hear Jean-Luc’s labored breathing as he comes up behind me. For a moment I wonder how he’s managing to hold on with his injured leg, but I dismiss the thought. All that matters is that he is doing it.
“Allez,” Florentino whispers urgently from above.
I glance up to see him lying down, leaning over the cliff, his hand reaching out for me. Suddenly I realize how far up we’ve come. How far down I could fall.
“Allez,” he whispers, more loudly this time.
Closing my eyes, I reach up toward him. He wraps his strong hand around my fragile one and pulls. I push up with my legs, hoisting myself toward him. Rolling onto my side, I land next to him. Thank you, God. I dare not look down as he helps Jean-Luc up.
Unceremoniously he hands Samuel back to me, making me feel like a bad mother. But I’m not his real mother! How could it be then that fear for him paralyzed me?
I’m hoping for a little rest after the exertion of that climb, but no, Florentino is straight up again. And Samuel is restless now, moaning and squirming against me. Maybe he can sense my fear and fatigue. But just when I think I can go no farther, Florentino signals for us to stop. We flop down around a large tree, my legs giving way before they hit the ground. Samuel whimpers. “Shh,” I murmur, stroking his head.
“I’ll feed him,” Jean-Luc whispers in my ear.
I wonder if he’ll add the cognac as we were told to do, but he doesn’t, and Florentino doesn’t appear to notice. Instead he closes his eyes as he leans against the tree. My muscles heavy and aching, I do the same. As my eyelids drop, I’m vaguely aware of Jean-Luc taking a clean cloth from the bag, folding a new diaper. Then, just as I’m abandoning myself to sleep, Florentino pushes me with his hand. “Allez.”
“Non! Please, can we rest?”
“Rest when you’re dead.” He holds his hand out to help me up.
“I can do it. I can,” I whisper to myself, forcing myself up onto heavy legs.
“Are you all right to take Samuel?” Jean-Luc looks at me with concern.
I nod.
We trudge along, no longer under cover of the trees, and then the climb is up, up, and up, loose sheets of slate slipping beneath our feet. I reach out my hand, grabbing tufts of hard, prickly grass to balance myself.
We’ve been climbing like this for what seems like hours when Florentino stops, diving behind some rocks. He quickly reappears, snorting as he produces a bottle of clear liquid. He takes a large gulp, passing it to Jean-Luc.
Jean-Luc sniffs it. “Eau de vie.” He takes a swig, bringing tears to his eyes. He coughs before drinking again, then passes it to me.
It burns my throat but calms my jittery nerves. I look up to see Florentino grinning at me as I suppress a cough. He holds out his hands, pretending they’re trembling uncontrollably. “Eh, eh?”
“Yes,” I admit. Of course I’m petrified. But we are alive, and the alcohol has taken the raw edge off my fear.
He digs in his pockets, coming up with a small paper bag, which he passes to me. Dried apricots. Gratefully, I stuff a couple into my mouth, then pass the bag to Jean-Luc.
Florentino taps his wrist, holding up five fingers. Five minutes. “Allez! Allez!” he urges.
Surely it must be lunchtime. I’m still hungry and so thirsty. We’ve been walking for hours, and I need something to keep me going. My reserves of energy have been used up. My thoughts turn to Maman and how she tried everything to stop me from leaving. Now I understand that I could die up here in the mountains, but I didn’t stop to think twice about it. Was that bravery or idiocy?
The bundle of Samuel is making me hot and sticky, the pillowcase pulling down on my aching neck with his weight. Florentino watches me as I adjust it, trying to make it more comfortable. He holds out his large hand, but I shake my head. Partly due to my pride, and partly because I like the feeling of the baby’s little body lying right next to my beating heart.
After an entire day of walking, with only momentary breaks, the darkness begins to settle in. Florentino finds us a sheltered spot behind a large rock, and we collapse on the ground. Jean-Luc and I huddle together for warmth; no question of lighting a fire to warm our stiff, tired joints. Florentino passes us some dried ham and a handful of raisins. Then, by some miracle, he produces a whole Camembert, which he proceeds to tear into three parts, spilling out its thick, creamy insides. He hands it out quickly before it runs onto his fingers. I bite straight into the middle of mine, savoring the smooth, rich softness of a pleasure almost forgotten. Florentino makes a lot of noise licking the gooey cheese off his fingers, too much noise for a man who’s insisted on silence. He passes the eau de vie around again, and we knock it back like hardened drinkers.
Exhausted and forbidden to talk, we quickly fall asleep. When I wake, suddenly, I can only see a few inches in front of me, but I sense something is terribly wrong. Leaning over, I touch Samuel’s cheek. It’s surprisingly warm. I lean toward Jean-Luc; he’s breathing heavily, his mouth slightly open. Then I turn to look at Florentino. My heart jumps up into my throat. The space where he was lying is empty.
A sudden cracking sound shatters the silence. I suppress a scream. A gunshot rings out. Shouting. More shots.
Jean-Luc jumps up, grabbing Samuel. Together we huddle behind the rock. A small cry escapes from the baby. Jean-Luc leans over him, stifling the noise.
Then we see Florentino running toward us. “Allez! Allez! Now!”
Grabbing our bags, we run, stumbling over rocks, slipping on slate. Thank God Florentino told us to keep our shoes on to sleep. I feel Jean-Luc at my side, breathing heavily. My head is swimming, the ground swirling beneath me. It takes all my strength to keep going.
“Stop!” Florentino whispers under his breath, pointing to a thick tree. Bending over, he points to his back. He wants us to climb on him to clamber up the tree.
I take Samuel back from Jean-Luc. “You go first. I’ll pass him to you.” Don’t think, I tell myself. Just do it.
Jean-Luc climbs onto Florentino’s broad back, hoisting himself up onto the lowest branch. I do the same, Florentino raising himself to half standing so I can pass the baby up to Jean-Luc. Then I grab the same branch, pulling myself up into the tree. In a moment, Florentino is beside us. I can’t work out how he did it with his great bulk.
Samuel lets out a whimper, and Jean-Luc immediately gives him his finger to suck on. Thank God, he goes quiet. I don’t doubt for a minute what Florentino might do if he felt he had to.
In the distance I hear footsteps crunching on the ground. Holding my breath, I freeze myself into the tree, pretending I am part of it.
The footsteps grow quieter. Can we dare to believe they are retreating?
We wait a further thirty minutes, my joints growing stiff and numb, but I will not let myself move till Florentino gives the order.
“Down! Allez!” he whispers across the branches. “They’re going after another party.”
I scramble down the tree. My ankle catches on a stub, and I tumble backward. The air is knocked out of me as I hit the hard earth. I roll over and vomit. The ground spins before my eyes. Lying facedown in the dirt, I wish for oblivion.
I feel Jean-Luc’s arms around me, pulling me up, but my legs are like jelly. I slip and slide against him. “Charlotte.” I hear him whisper my name, but his voice sounds miles away. “Charlotte, you have to get up.”
“You go on,” I hear myself answer as my knees buckle beneath me. “Take Samuel. Leave me here.”
But his arms hold me tight. “I’m not leaving you anywhere.” He buries his head in my hair. “I’m not going without you.”
His words make me want to cry. My exhausted body just wants to surrender, but I have to go on. I must. I can’t give up. On trembling legs, I force myself upright, and with Jean-Luc’s arm around me, we stumble through the darkness. I soon realize that neither of us is carrying Samuel. Florentino, five steps in front of us, has him. The passeur belongs to these mountains. They are tough, unforgiving, and enduring, just as he is. But the mountains do not know us. We are intruders.
Eventually we come to a stream, where we take a few minutes to stop and drink. The sun is just rising behind the trees. Samuel, maybe sensing the dawning of a new day, lets out a cry. Yes, it is breakfast time.
“Can we feed him?” I ask Florentino.
He nods. “Don’t forget the cognac.”
I watch Jean-Luc add a glug of cognac to the milk before taking Samuel back from Florentino. I’d quite like some myself. My nerves are still raw.
As we march on, Florentino carrying Samuel again, I hear the river before I see it. Then, through the trees, I glimpse swirls of blue. It’s flowing fast. I swallow the fear growing in my throat. Maybe we will be able to take the bridge, but we were told it is usually guarded; only to be used as a last resort, if the water is in full flood.
We clamber along the riverbank looking for a good place to cross, my feet slipping and sliding in the soggy earth as I try to keep up.
After about twenty minutes, Florentino stops. “No,” he whispers.
We look at him, confused.
“It’s too dangerous. No crossing today.”
“What?” The word jumps from my mouth like an accusation.
“Too dangerous,” he repeats.
What are we supposed to do now? Go back? We hired him because he could cope with the danger, and now he’s scared! We have to go on. The thought of turning back is more frightening to me than the river.
“Please.” I put my hand on his arm, begging him with my eyes.
“Not today.” He pauses. “In the dark. Tonight. We’ll wait for night.”