CHARLOTTE
“What have you got to be so cheerful about?” Maman snapped at me.
I realized I’d been humming. Immediately I stopped.
“You’d better hurry, Charlotte. You’ll be late for work. It’s six thirty already.”
Now I had a reason to get out of bed in the morning. I leaped out, eager to get to the hospital. And I was no longer hungry; in fact, I’d lost my appetite completely, as though my bursting heart were feeding my hollow stomach. Of course, I told myself to calm down, tried not to let my excitement show, warned myself that he probably talked like this to all the girls he met. But it made no difference. With him I felt like I was stepping out of my skin and into the skin of a more mature, more beautiful woman. The woman I wanted to be. Not only that, he made me feel braver than I’d ever felt before. My heart was stronger—it beat harder. I felt alive. With him I believed I would be ready to stand up for what was right, face dangers I couldn’t have dreamed of facing alone. I wanted to be courageous for him. I wanted to be a better person for him.
As the Métro sped through the tunnels toward the hospital, I felt my anticipation growing. I looked around at the weary, expressionless passengers, thinking to myself: I have a secret they’ll never know. Though it must have shone out from my eyes. I was on fire with love.
He was due to leave the hospital today. Excitement ran through my bones. I couldn’t wait to see him outside, in real life. We’d be able to walk together through Paris, through the Tuileries maybe, hand in hand. The thought thrilled me.
When I came to say goodbye, he was sitting on the bed, still in his pajamas. He hadn’t noticed me yet, and I could tell something was wrong. His face was deathly pale. And there was a Boche sitting in the chair next to his bed. What could they possibly be talking about? Jean-Luc was listening while the Boche spoke. I strained my ears to catch the words.
“… sabotage… interrogation…”
Merde! What was going on? The Boche looked very serious.
Suddenly, he turned around, looking right at me. “Is there something you want, Nurse?”
“I need to take the patient’s temperature.” I took the thermometer from my top pocket with a trembling hand, holding it out as though it were evidence.
Jean-Luc looked up, his eyes wide with surprise. Without saying good morning as he usually did, he opened his mouth, ready for the thermometer. I wished I could have surprised him and kissed him, but instead I stepped closer, placing the thermometer under his waiting tongue. The Boche looked on, sighing, as though bored with the whole hospital routine.
“I thought your patient was leaving today.” He turned to address me.
“Yes, he is.”
“Then why are you taking his temperature?”
I hated the Boches who spoke French even more than the ones who didn’t. “It’s procedure,” I lied, concentrating on keeping my tone stable and neutral. “Just checking he hasn’t developed an infection before we let him go.”
I spoke quietly to Jean-Luc. “You look tired. Will you be all right to leave today?”
The Boche looked up at me. “He’ll be fine. He just needs to get back to his function now.”
His function? It made me want to laugh sometimes, the way they talked. I turned away from him, looking at Jean-Luc instead, but his eyes darted around the room, not landing on anything. I spoke quietly, daring myself to be braver than I felt in front of a Boche. “Your leg is only just starting to repair itself. You should be careful.”
This time he looked at me and nodded, but I could tell he just wanted to get out of the place, whether he was better or not.
The Boche leaned forward, staring at Jean-Luc. “Indeed you should. Be careful. We can’t afford any more accidents like this. We asked for good workers, not men who can’t even keep hold of a crowbar properly. Maybe it’s your handicap. Your deformed hand isn’t strong enough to be manipulating such heavy tools. We might do better to send you to one of the work camps in Germany, where the work is less skilled.”
Jean-Luc coughed, dislodging the thermometer. I took it out, shook it, then put it back under his tongue. When I took my hand away, I let my fingers brush the rough, jagged skin that would become his scar.
The Boche turned his attention to me, narrowing his eyes. “Do you take such good care of all your patients, Nurse?”
I couldn’t help it—I felt my cheeks burning up.
He laughed. “Ha, I’ve embarrassed the poor girl.”
I removed the thermometer dangling from Jean-Luc’s lips without meeting his eyes. My hands trembled as I looked at the reading.
“So?” The Boche leaned back in his chair. “Is he okay to leave?”
“Thirty-seven degrees.” I tried to sound assertive. “A little cold, but he’s fine.”
“A little cold?” The Boche laughed loudly. “I’m sure you can fix that, Nurse.”
He was enjoying himself, that damned Boche. I had to take control of the situation. Turning to Jean-Luc, this time looking him in the eye, I spoke clearly and calmly. “Once you’re dressed, I’ll bring you the exit papers to sign.” Then I glanced at the Boche. “Goodbye, monsieur.”
“Don’t go rushing off on my account. I’m leaving.” He turned back to Jean-Luc. “Any more accidents and we might start to question your capabilities.” He paused. “You wouldn’t want that.” He stood abruptly, saluting us.
We had to salute back; we were in a German hospital. Then we watched as he strode away, his hobnailed boots echoing down the corridor.
As soon as he was out of sight, Jean-Luc laid his head back on his pillow. “Thank God for that. He wanted to know about my accident.” He paused, looking at me, as though he wanted to say more. “I think you just saved me, Charlotte.”