The Rose Gardener Read online

  Andrew had looked at her, eyebrows raised. “That sounds a bit worrisome, I must say. You sound like a young girl dreaming of her great love. Maybe I’m not enough for you anymore!”

  Deborah had laughed and hugged him and given Beatrice the sense that she was only joking. But Beatrice knew that sometimes at night her mother had sat in the garden, her gaze fixed on the bands of light to the west. Three or four times she had surprised her there, when she herself had been wandering around, unable to sleep. Deborah’s whole body had been tense, and in her eyes there had been a strange and frightening despair. Beatrice hadn’t dared to speak to her. She had slipped away on tiptoe back to her room and buried herself under the covers. A crack had appeared in the certain sense she had that the world she lived in was perfect. She didn’t know what to make of Deborah’s behavior, but she sensed that, in reality, her mother wasn’t as happy and well-balanced as she always seemed to be. Over the years, however, she realized that it was only in May that Deborah’s restlessness was always sure to set in. It reached its peak in June and died away mid-July. It was the bright nights. The dark gave back to Deborah her cheerfulness and her happy smile.

  But for now it was June, and Beatrice couldn’t stop thinking of her mother. Did she walk outside at night over in England? Did she sit in the grass, trembling in expectation of an event she knew nothing of but which she nevertheless longed would come to pass, like nothing else in the world? Or was she so consumed with worry for her child that everything else faded into the background?

  Beatrice was certain she would see her parents again — she couldn’t have borne any thought to the contrary — but there were times when she was afraid. Things could happen in the intervening time that would change them all far too much. It would be impossible to resume their life together where they had so suddenly left off. They wouldn’t be able to find their former happiness. They would live with images seared onto their consciousness, and with horrors that stalked them in their dreams. And how long would it be? How long before the Germans either had conquered the entire world or had been forced to surrender to their enemies?

  Maybe it will last till I’m an adult, thought Beatrice, full of fear, and Mum and Dad won’t even recognize me anymore when they see me. I’ll have become someone else and we won’t have anything to say to one another. She was depressed by the time she reached the drive leading up to the house, and the heat laid into her. She had not been bothered by any kind of weather before, whether sun, wind, or rain. Recently, though, she had begun to feel faint when it was especially warm or cold, and she often felt worn out and ill.

  “You’re growing too quickly,” Helene had said. “You’re almost three inches taller than you were last year.”

  She dragged her feet up the drive, hungry and thirsty, and suddenly she saw Julien and Pierre. They were stacking the first stones they had hauled up from the sea on a cart as the watchman looked on. Sweat was streaming down both their faces. Their clothes were soaked and clung to their bodies. Julien especially gave the impression that he would tip over at any moment; it seemed to take his last bit of strength just to stay on his feet. The soldier on guard had retreated into the shadows of a beech tree. He was smoking a cigarette, and every now and then took a bored swig from his canteen. In his right hand was a pistol.

  Beatrice hurried to the house as quickly as she could. Helene stood in the kitchen, slicing tomatoes and putting them into a salad dish.

  “How nice that you’re back already!” She called. “The salad’s almost ready. You absolutely have to eat something, you look rather pale!”

  Beatrice set her bag down in the corner. “Julien and Pierre need something to eat too. And to drink. They’re both at the limit of their strength.”

  Helene gave her an unhappy look. “I can’t. You heard what Erich said.”

  “But they’re working so hard! And it’s so horribly hot outside. Helene, we have to give them something.”

  “We can’t take the risk. The soldier would tell Erich. There’s no use, Beatrice. I’m frightfully sorry for both of them, but there’s nothing we can do to change it.”

  They ate their salad in silence. Half an hour later they saw the Frenchmen walk into the garden behind the house, followed by their guard. Apparently, they’d been allowed a brief rest. They both fell to the grass and wiped the sweat from their faces, breathing hard. The soldier lit another cigarette. He walked up and down for a few steps, then threw a searching look back towards the two fully exhausted men, seeming certain now that they were hardly in a condition to move. He quickly disappeared into the bushes.

  He was hardly gone for a second when Julien got up. He swayed as he got to his feet, stumbled. His sweat-soaked face was ghostly white. He staggered up to the open kitchen door.

  “Please,” his voice was like a croak. “Water. Just a sip!”

  Beatrice immediately went to hold a glass under the faucet, but Helene grabbed her arm. “No! We’ll be in horrible trouble!”

  Beatrice shook off her hand. “It doesn’t matter! He’s going to collapse any second!”

  Julien’s lips were cracked, his breathing was labored. His dark eyes shone feverishly.

  “Please,” he repeated, “just a sip for Pierre and me!”

  Pierre had also hauled himself up. He came closer, hesitating.

  “Some water, please,” he took up his comrade’s request.

  Before Beatrice could fill the glass, the soldier appeared from the bushes. Right away he raised his pistol.

  “What’s going on here!” he roared.

  Beatrice went to the door, the glass of water in her hand. “They both need water. They’re almost dead of dehydration.”

  “You don’t get dehydrated that quickly,” said the soldier. “Pour the water out, young lady! It’s a direct order from Herr Major!”

  “But you can’t do this,” Beatrice pleaded. “They’re both working so hard! And it’s so hot!”

  The soldier was unmoved. “You’ll have to take it up with Herr Major. I have my orders and there’s no way in hell I’m making any more problems for myself!”

  Beatrice looked at Helene. “Helene …”

  Helene raised both her hands helplessly. “There’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry but I don’t have a say.”

  “I’m only following my orders,” the soldier reiterated and turned his weapon towards the exhausted men. “Let’s go, move. Back to work.”

  Beatrice felt herself becoming dizzy again.

  What’s going on? She thought. Why do I feel so bad all the time?

  “You’re monsters!” She screamed. “How can you do something like this? How can you stand to do something like this?”

  “Take your complaints to Herr Major,” the soldier responded, but his voice sounded strangely far away all of a sudden, as if there was a wall of gauze between him and Beatrice. Beatrice caught a glimpse of Julien’s eyes. They were full of sadness and hatred and a mute thank you for her courage in trying to defy Erich’s orders. His gaze triggered something within her, a peculiar, unfamiliar feeling. She didn’t know what to make of it, she couldn’t explain it. But before she could think of it any longer, the wall of gauze came down upon her, crept inside her mouth and filled her ears, wrapped itself around her, thicker and tighter, and finally it plunged everything around her in a darkness as black as night.

  She lay in bed, trying to remember what had happened. She realized to her surprise that she was dressed. She was wearing her school uniform, even. Why had she gone to bed with it still on?

  But just then the familiar face of Dr. Wyatt appeared as he was bending over her.

  “Well well, the young lady has come back to us. You slept a good long while, Beatrice. Before that you were really out of it.”

  “What happened?” she asked and quickly sat up, but right away she felt ill again. She gr
oaned softly.

  Immediately, a pale Helene emerged from the corner of the room. “Are you in pain?” She asked.

  “No. I just feel dizzy. It’s getting better though.”

  “I’m leaving you some medicine. Take a few drops every morning, and you’ll soon be feeling healthy again,” said Dr. Wyatt. “You’ve just grown a bit fast in a short time, that’s all. Adolescence sometimes overtaxes the body,” he added, turning towards Helene, “it can cause the blood flow to weaken.” He spoke slow, deliberate English, making it easier for her to understand him. “That, and this hot weather … it’s been a long time since we’ve had a June as hot as we’re having this year. You needn’t worry.”

  “She just fell over all of a sudden,” said Helene. “I was so upset, I had no idea what I should do.”

  “It was nothing at all,” Dr. Wyatt said reassuringly. “And I don’t think such an event will be repeating itself all too soon.” He snapped his case shut, gave Beatrice a friendly wink and stopped Helene when she went to follow him. “Please, don’t bother, I’ll find my way out. You can stay up here with the patient.”

  “A very nice man,” said Helene after the doctor had left the room. “Thank goodness we were able to reach him right away.” She looked very exhausted and extraordinarily unsettled.

  She’s going to make a big awful drama of it, as usual, thought Beatrice.

  “You came around again in the kitchen,” Helene explained. “But you couldn’t stand up. Pierre tried to carry you up the stairs, but he was so weak himself … the guard had to help …” She swallowed.

  “I feel pretty good, really,” said Beatrice. “I’ve been feeling dizzy sometimes of late, but never as bad as today.”

  “Once you got up here you fell asleep immediately. I called Dr. Wyatt, and luckily he was able to come at once.” She sighed. “I was so afraid for you. But Dr. Wyatt seems to think it’s not at all uncommon at your age. My goodness, what a day!”

  Beatrice was now fully awake. She registered that something strange was going on. Voices came from the garden, shouts, yelling. Doors slammed, cars drove off, still others arrived. And between all this there were dogs barking wildly.

  “What’s going on outside?” Beatrice asked. “Why is there so much noise?”

  “You shouldn’t concern yourself with any of that right now,” Helene replied. She seemed frantic and distraught. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

  Naturally these words made Beatrice even more alert. “No. I’d like to know now. I feel well, really. I’m not going to just keel over, it doesn’t matter what you tell me.”

  “Oh,” said Helene. “Of course Erich is frightfully angry … but it’s not my fault. It was … it was simply an accident … You fainted and, well, we had to do something … we couldn’t just let you lie there, and …”

  “Helene,” Beatrice interrupted. “What happened?”

  Helene didn’t look at her. “Julien is gone,” she said quietly. “In all the commotion, he managed to run away. He vanished without a trace.”

  Erich took the Frenchman’s escape as a personal affront. In the weeks that followed he pledged to move heaven and earth to find Julien and bring him back. He sent soldiers all over the island with orders “to turn over every stone and see if the bastard hasn’t crawled under it!”

  The secret police force, which got many of its recruits from the ranks of the Gestapo, undertook the search of private homes in every city and village. Residents of the island were summoned out of their beds in the middle of the night and had to stand by and watch as police searched their homes top to bottom. They threw everything into violent disarray and asked terse questions, their voices sharp. If the occupation force had up to that point made an effort to practice a certain restraint with the island’s populace and had abstained from unnecessarily cruel methods of harassment, now they showed the side of themselves that had long been daily routine in other occupied countries. They showed just how dangerous, ruthless, and brutal they could be. They had presented themselves as opponents, as a force with which one had to — and could — come to an agreement. But they could be enemies as well.

  It seemed like the earth had swallowed Julien whole.

  “Someone’s got to be helping him!” Erich roared. “How the hell else is he supposed to survive? Of course he can hide himself in whatever godforsaken crack in the cliffs by the ocean. We’ll never find him there. But how’s he going to feed himself? He can’t manage it alone!”

  “Maybe he left the island,” Helene suggested timidly. “It’s not so far to Alderney, and …”

  “Nonsense. He’d have it even worse on Alderney. There’s hardly any British population left, our people are everywhere. Maybe he went to Jersey …” Erich kept on brooding, then suddenly he slammed his fist down on the table, startling the others. “If the bastard managed that then he must have more luck than brains. You can’t just hop on a boat on one island and land on another, it’s not so simple. There are guards all over the place. The nights are bright and clear, he could be seen from miles away. It’s insanity for him to risk it!”

  Soldiers took Pierre away on the day of Julien’s escape. He was as pale as death when they led him off. Beatrice was half sick with worry for him. That evening she asked Erich what had happened to him.

  “They’re interrogating him,” was the answer. “It’s possible he was aware of Julien’s plans and knows the place where he’s hiding.”

  “I don’t think he knows anything,” Helene jumped in. “Julien definitely hadn’t had a plan. He acted on the spur of the moment and made use of the few seconds of commotion around Beatrice. He couldn’t have seen that coming.”

  Erich gave Beatrice a dark look. “A person could get really suspicious, Beatrice, if he didn’t know you were too smart to do something that stupid. Someone could take it all for a trick you’d had planned in advance. But you wouldn’t dare do that, right?”

  “Of course I didn’t do it on purpose,” Beatrice said reluctantly.

  Pierre was brought back about a week later and resumed his work. They had broken his nose, given him a black eye, and appeared to have done something to his right leg; he limped and dragged his foot behind him. He received food and water again now, but Erich had rationed his portions so strictly that anyone could tell Pierre wouldn’t be able to bear the hard physical labor for long. He now had to build the rock garden by himself, plus he still had to keep up the house and garden. Erich seemed determined not to find someone to work with him. Pierre would pay for Julien’s escape.

  “What did they do to you?” Beatrice asked in a whisper. She was giving him a cup of water at the kitchen door.

  Pierre drank the water as fast as he could. “They tortured,” he whispered back in his unwieldy English. “But I say nothing … know nothing. No idea where Julien can be!”

  Beatrice asked Erich what would happen with Julien if he was caught. Erich’s answer didn’t lack for clarity. “He’ll be shot.”

  Erich couldn’t continue the search indefinitely on the same massive scale at which it had begun. After awhile he wouldn’t have had enough manpower at his disposal. But he did have Wanted posters printed and put up all over the island.

  “Someone will see him eventually,” he said grimly. “And perhaps that someone will be interested in working together with us Germans.”

  There were quite a few Britons on the island who harbored such an interest. The number of denunciations — most of them made anonymously — was astonishingly high. It was most common for people to be informed on for owning a radio. This was forbidden, but many had resisted the order to give them up. Aside from this a booming black market had sprung up that made it possible to avoid relying solely on ration cards. People were reported for this as well. Erich could certainly maintain hope that people who harbored an escaped prisoner of war would sooner or
later be reported — by a neighbor or by someone with whom they had some long-standing feud.

  Germany invaded Russia in the last weeks of June. At school it was spoken of with excitement. The German teacher announced that final victory was close at hand. She showed the students on a map how big Russia was.

  “I’m sure you can all see for yourselves how powerful Germany will be when all this belongs to us,” she said proudly, as if she was leading the conquerors herself. “After this, no people in the world will be able to offer any real resistance.”

  It seemed to Beatrice that Germany looked rather small on the map compared to Russia. She found it rather brash of Hitler to take on so powerful an opponent. But then she saw the many shaded sections of Europe that marked the territories Germany had defeated. She let out a deep sigh. The Nazis had already accomplished a great deal. Perhaps they had reason to be so self-assured. Eventually they’d rule the world, and people would be surrounded by soldiers stomping past in their boots forever. They would have to drive on the right side of the road instead of the left, speak German, and see swastika flags flying in place of the Union Jack. But at least then she’d be together with Deborah and Andrew again.

  The summer passed, hot and dry, without Julien ever resurfacing. His escape caused a rift in Erich and Beatrice’s relationship as well. She no longer acted as his confidant. He knew — and she made no effort to hide it — that she was on Julien’s side and that she hoped he would never be caught. She had never been one of Erich’s followers, of course. She wasn’t with him or the Nazis at all, her heart had beaten for the defeated, not the victors, but there had not been any situation in which this could really have come to light. Now the battle lines had been drawn. Erich was once more aware of the fact that he had commandeered the house he lived in with Beatrice; that he had not been taken in willingly. She was a foe — a foe in whom he had confided all too many intimate secrets. He beat an inner retreat, avoided being near her, let no conversation take place between them that would have gone beyond a necessary exchange of information. Beatrice felt him staring at her constantly. She felt how sometimes he would latch on to her with his gaze and how he had to struggle with himself not to draw her into a conversation about his problems, as he had before. He looked bad and drank too much, often starting in the afternoons as soon as he had gotten home. The heat would make it so that he quickly became sleepy. Beatrice found it splendid that she would often eat dinner alone with Helene because Erich lay snoring on the sofa or even sometimes had already gone to bed. Helene got on her nerves too, it was true, but her behavior wasn’t hostile. She whined and complained, but she didn’t attack anyone.