We ask all of the men of the community to bring us their weapons, rifles and revolvers, and I am amazed at the haul. By the end of the day a pile of these weapons, many from World War One, are in my driveway. We hide these relics in a cave under my stables floor that can be entered by a trapdoor. Our neighbor, a woodworker, puts a pile of drying lumber over the spot. The cache of weapons is invisible for the moment.
Fatigue has dimmed my critical good sense. If the Germans were to discover that pile, they would shoot everyone at this house. This idea doesn’t enter our minds. The Merlin’s and I think we can avoid any problems in this little village of Anzy.
Two days pass without any incident except for the arrival of a young woman and her two children, ages 8 and 6. She has checked into the small hotel, and then on the third day two incidents break the spell of stupor in which we have been living.
First, during lunch at the hotel, the street door opens and a young French artillery officer enters. He looks very tired and asks, “Are there any soldiers in the area that can come with me? I have put a75 cannon about 200 meters from here and we can stop the Germans, but I need some men. There are not enough of us to move the gun.” He is gasping for breath and has a wild look in his eye. No one answers. We are all so surprised at this intrusion into our lunch and our village that no one responds. The officer turns around and, without another word, departs the hotel. We look at each other in anguish, upset by our common helplessness in the face of this truly foolish request. One by one the guests depart the common eating area.
The young woman with the two children remains and tries to get her children to finish their lunch. Outside a Citroen pulls up, full of suitcases and packages. A man dressed in an officer’s uniform gets out and goes into the bakery next door. The young woman has seen him and leaves her children and approaches the car. When the officer returns there is a violent verbal exchange between them. She insults him with her words, “You are one of those who have abandoned your men, aren’t you? You have saved yourself with you wife and your car.”
She continues this verbal abuse, telling him that her husband has not been in contact for nearly a month. She doesn’t know if he is dead or a prisoner, but she is sure that he would never abandon his men. “He is not a coward,” she screams.
The man in the car is trying to leave. His wife is now screaming at the girl. As they drive away she is completely without control, waving her fists and heaping foul words on the couple. I try to console her in this anguish. The Merlin’s, nearby, are speechless. The children have come out of the restaurant and seeing their mother cry, have begun to wail. There is deep sadness.
When the woman calms down, she explains that she saw her children looking at this handsome couple, and had to speak to them. “They started to explain, without shame, that they are leaving for the coast where they have property, and I couldn’t help myself. What is happening to France?” I am dumbfounded. The contrast between these two incidents is striking; it is impossible to even be objective.