The Girl You Left Behind

Sophie’s portrait supported by one hand. She stared at the letter in her hand, as
     if checking something, shook her head slightly, and then, with chalk, she inscribed
     several words on the back. She sat back on her heels, as if confirming that she had got
     it right. She wrapped it carefully in a blanket and handed it over to me. “Herr
     Kommandant is shooting in the woods this afternoon. I need you to take this to
     him.”
    ‘“Never.” I hated that man
     with a passion. He had been responsible for the loss of my mother.
    ‘“Do as I say. I need you to
     take this to Herr Kommandant.”
    ‘“No.” I was not afraid of
     him then – he had already done the worst thing imaginable to me – but I would not spend
     a moment in his company.
    ‘Hélène stared at me, and I
     think she could see how serious I was. She pulled me to her, and I have never seen her
     look more determined. “Édith, the
Kommandant
is to have this
     painting. You and I may wish him dead, but we must observe …” she hesitated
     “… Sophie’s wishes.”
    ‘“You take it.”
    ‘“I cannot. If I do the town will
     talk, and we cannot risk my own name being destroyed as my sister’s was. Besides,
     Aurélien will guess something is going on. And he must not know the truth. Nobody
     must know, for her safety and ours. Will you do it?”
    ‘I had no choice. That afternoon, when
     Hélène gave me the signal, I took the painting under my arm and I walked down
     the alleyway, through the wasteland and to the woods. It was heavy and the frame dug
     into my underarm. He was there with another officer. The sight of them with their guns
     in their hands made my knees knock with fear. When he saw me, he ordered the other man
     away. I walked through the trees slowly, my feet cold on the icy forest floor. He looked
     a little unsettled as I approached, and I remember thinking, Good. I hope I unsettle you
     for ever.
    ‘“Did you wish to speak with
     me?” he said.
    ‘I didn’t want to hand it over.
     I didn’t want him to have a single thing. He had already taken the two most
     precious things in my life. I hated that man. And I think that was when I got the idea.
     “Aunt Hélène says I’m to give this to you.’
    ‘He took the picture from me, and
     unwrapped it. He glanced at it, uncertain, and then he turned it over. When he saw what
     was written on the back, something strange happened to his face. It softened, just for a
     moment, and his pale blue eyes appeared moist, as if he would cry with gladness.
    ‘“
Danke
,” he said
     softly. “
Dankeschön
.”’
    ‘He turned it over to gaze upon
     Sophie’s face, then reversed it again, reading the words to himself.
     “
Danke
,” he said softly, to her or me, I wasn’t sure.
    ‘I couldn’t bear to see his
     happiness, his utter relief, when he had ruined any chance of happiness for me. I hated
     that man more than anyone. He had destroyed everything. And I heard my voice, clear as a
     bell in the still air. “Sophie died,” I said. “She died after we
     received her instruction to give you the painting. She died of the Spanish flu in the
     camps.”
    ‘He actually jolted with shock.
     “What?”
    ‘I don’t know where it came
     from. I spoke fluently, without fear of what might result. “She died. Because of
     being taken away. Just after she sent the message to give this to you.”
    ‘“Are you sure?” His voice
     cracked. “I mean there may have been reports –”
    ‘“Quite sure. I should probably
     not have told you. It’s a secret.”
    ‘I stood there, my heart like a stone,
     and I watched him staring at the painting, his face actually ageing, physically sagging
     with grief, before me.
    ‘“I hope you like the
     painting,” I said, and then I walked slowly back through the woods towards Le Coq
     Rouge. I don’t believe I was ever afraid of anything again.
    ‘Herr Kommandant spent another nine
     months in our town. But he never came to Le Coq Rouge again. I felt it like a
     victory.’
    The courtroom is silent. The reporters are
     gazing at Édith Béthune. It is as if history has suddenly come to life here,
     in this small chamber. The judge’s voice, this time, is gentle.
    ‘Madame. Could you tell us what was
     written on the back of the painting? It appears to be quite a salient point in this
     matter. Can you remember it clearly?’
    Édith Béthune looks around her at
     the packed benches. ‘Oh, yes. I remember it very