TWENTY-SIX
Elaine
“You are very lucky, mademoiselle.” The doctor lifted his heavy brows, indicating the seriousness of Elaine’s situation. He gestured to his open book where a black-and-white sketch revealed the innards of the human torso and tapped the point of his pen against the liver, leaving a small dot of black ink.
“This is where you were struck,” he went on. “Thankfully, too low to do any real damage. The bullet missed your heart and lungs, barely skimming over your liver before going straight through. Truly a miracle.”
Elaine stared at the drawing, numb.
The doctor’s eyes were soft brown and kind. “You are very lucky,” he said again.
It might have been funny if the laugh did not stick in her throat with a barely suppressed sob.
Yes, how lucky she was to be spared an immediate death so she could be slowly dismembered by the Gestapo, not only in body but also in soul, her secrets peeled away.
Already they had visited her in the last week, refusing to allow her to speak to a doctor again until she gave the names and addresses of Resistance members. She said nothing as she attempted to will her bandaged injuries into mortal wounds. The nurses had not tolerated such tactics and badgered the Milice until finally the doctor was allowed to come to her bedside, to explain her injuries.
“The other bullets struck you in the calf and at the hip, just missing your bone.” He shrugged with a smile. “Lucky, non?”
She swallowed the invective rising in her throat. It burned on its path down, like sour bile. Her focus shifted to the ache of her wounds, testing her weakness against its pain, weighing it to see how much more she might be able to withstand at the hand of her enemy.
Days before the warehouse was attacked, a woman arrested by the Gestapo had thrown herself from the top floor of the building they took her to for interrogation. She knew she would not be able to handle their torture without giving up her comrades, and so she bravely chose death.
Elaine’s gaze wandered to the window where a cheerful rose garden mocked her. She had been allowed out the previous day for fresh air and sunshine. The first floor.
How lucky, came the bitter thought.
“There is more,” the doctor continued.
Mutely, she turned to face him as he pulled a large brown bundle of cloth from his leather bag and set it on her bed. She frowned and looked up to him once more.
“You have friends who would see you recuperate in a more ideal location.” He set his age-spotted hand over the cloth. “I admit, I am a foolish old man.” He shrugged his thin shoulders again, his eyes twinkling. “I sometimes forget to lock the door. That is how it is when one gets old.”
Elaine’s lips parted, but he made a motion for her to hide the bundle. She swept it beneath her hospital sheets, the bulk pressed against her naked leg as she discreetly glanced about to ensure no one had seen. Nurses rushed by in the hall, focused on their tasks.
“As I said, mademoiselle…” The doctor snapped his leather case closed and lifted it by the handle. “You are a very lucky woman.”
In this particular case, she was inclined to agree.
Once he left, she slid from her bed to the small bathroom and untied the cloth. Within, she found a pair of glasses, some sandals with soles made from the cutouts of rubber from old tires, a turban, a tube of red lipstick and the brown dress that held it all together, tied like a hobo’s sack.
As she wound the turban around her blond hair and smeared the waxy red lipstick over her mouth, she could not help but recall the day she and Nicole had escaped the Nazi officer in the traboule. Suddenly the ache in her heart superseded the bullet wound only a couple centimeters below.
She would continue on with the fight with the Resistance. For Joseph. For Nicole. For Antoine and Manon and Marcel. For all those who sacrificed everything for the chance of freedom.