CHARLOTTE
The next evening when we sit down to eat, three rapid knocks on the door shoot through the room like a pistol. I pull Samuel closer to me. Jean-Luc jumps up.
“Stay calm.” Albert leaves the room. “It’s our signal.”
He soon returns with a large, stocky man. “Our passeur, Florentino.”
I watch as the bear of a man removes a flat beret from his head. When I stand to greet him, I can’t take my eyes off the deep lines etched in his face. His eyes, in contrast, are bright, like those of a younger man. Holding Samuel with one hand against my chest, I offer him the other. He takes it in a firm grip, his enormous hand enveloping mine. He makes me feel small and fragile, almost insignificant.
I withdraw my hand, and Marie passes him a glass of red wine. He nods his thanks before guzzling it down as though it were water, then he turns to Albert. “No baby.”
I grip Samuel tighter.
“I know, I know.” Albert shakes his head. “But it’s necessary. They can pay more.”
“No baby.” Florentino holds out his glass for a refill.
I glance over at Jean-Luc. What will we do now? He catches my eye and takes out a wad of notes he’s prepared from his back pocket. As he flicks through them, he looks at the passeur. “How much more?”
“No! No baby!” Florentino puts his empty glass down with a thud.
Albert slaps his hand on the passeur’s shoulder, leaning over to whisper something in his ear.
I watch as the lines on Florentino’s forehead grow deeper. Then, abruptly, he turns back toward me, holding out his arms. “Baby.”
“What?” Instinctively I pull Samuel back.
“Charlotte, he wants to see.” Jean-Luc touches my elbow.
With trepidation pumping through my veins, I place the sleeping infant in the man’s enormous hands. He glances at Samuel, then lifts him in one hand, laying him against his shoulder.
Please don’t wake now.
With a sudden and swift movement, he changes him over to the other shoulder. Samuel squirms in his sleep but doesn’t cry. I can’t help feeling a rush of pride. Then Florentino grunts, fixing Albert with his bright blue eyes. “You know what happens if the baby cries.”
Albert nods, looking at me. I turn away from the intensity in his gaze. It won’t happen. It can’t happen.
Jean-Luc coughs. “We won’t let him cry.” He takes a step toward me, putting his arm around my shoulder. “We know how to keep him quiet.”
Florentino stares at him, a thick eyebrow slightly raised, as though he’s working out exactly how he might know how to keep a baby quiet. Then abruptly he passes Samuel to Jean-Luc, reaching his large hand out to the table to pick up his refilled glass.
After taking a couple of gulps, he barks out a list of instructions. “Tomorrow, twenty-two o’clock, farmhouse, Urrugne. Hard work. One thousand five hundred pesetas now, one thousand five hundred next time.”
Jean-Luc counts out the notes my mother gave us. “Thank you.”
Florentino grunts, turning back to Albert. “Give cognac for baby.”
Albert nods, and my stomach lurches, but I hold my tongue. We just need to get Samuel out of France.
Florentino sits down, and Marie brings him a plate of pâté and pickled vegetables. I watch as he shovels pieces of slimy red pepper into his mouth. We are putting our lives into this man’s hands, but he doesn’t even seem to like us very much. The danger of crossing the Pyrénées is too close now. I close my eyes, blocking out my fear. “Confidence,” I whisper to myself. Everything will be all right.