The Daughter's Tale by Armando Lucas Correa

Author:Armando Lucas Correa [Correa, Armando Lucas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781508267980
Google: iI2RDwAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 40539216
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2019-05-06T23:00:00+00:00

29

On Saturday evening, a wave of damp hit the camp. At sunset, Amanda watched as the clouds swirled overhead, waiting anxiously for the three stars to come out—the signal for her meeting with Bertrand.

As usual there was a lot of noise from the men’s hut. They would frantically pass around pages from newspapers, throw them to the floor in disgust, and then somebody else would pick them up, read them, and curse the heavens. The guards kept their distance and overlooked the insults some of the men dared shout at them in Spanish. Even though they didn’t understand what the prisoners were saying, the meaning was perfectly clear: the moment for them to pay for what they were doing was bound to come someday.

“It’s not just the Germans who’ll be in the dock!” one of the inmates shouted. “You’ll pay the price as well!”

Amanda and Bérénice were listening.

“There’s no more room in Drancy,” said Bérénice, shaking her head.

In a clean dress and with her coat buttoned to the top, Lina was sitting at the doorway to the hut, apart from the other children.

“She still doesn’t feel well,” said Amanda, looking over at her, her mind preoccupied by that morning’s incident. “When night comes, the fever and cough will return . . . And now it looks as if it’s going to rain. That’s all we needed.”

“But we do need lots of water. Let’s see if it can wash away the bitterness of this place,” said Bérénice, rubbing her arms furiously.

Amanda went to sit with Lina, observing her every movement and reaction. She had timed all the comings and goings from the kitchen, the changing of the guards in their post, who went most often to the outhouse. On Saturdays the guards were less careful; they ignored what was going on in the huts. This lack of attention worked in her favor. But they also started drinking whole pitchers of wine in full view of the thirsty prisoners, and it wasn’t unusual for this shameless display to end in violence. Sometimes they began to sing, and one or other always ended up bawling a strident rendering of “La Marseillaise.” The men in the hut responded with the same anthem, then shouted that what the guards should be singing was a German one instead.

At six in the evening the storage shed was usually locked for the night by Bertrand, who was in charge of opening and shutting it each day. But not that night.

The drizzle was persistent. When Amanda arrived there, Bertrand was leaning against the wall opposite the door, in darkness. On the floor were several empty bottles, pieces of wood, wet chunks of coal. They had agreed he would wait for her in the corner closest to the wire fence looking out to the forest.

Amanda had left Lina in the doorway of the women’s hut, where she had no protection from the rain and was shivering. When Amanda headed for the shed, she was convinced the deal could be concluded quickly.

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