We ascended the steps to find the house a mess, and Papa nursing a bloodied lip.
‘What have they done?’ I wailed, tears filling my eyes.
‘It’s nothing,’ said Papa. ‘Just an over-zealous German. I’ll live.’
Mo’s head dropped, and he apologised once again.
‘This is not right,’ he told us. ‘I will leave and remove you from danger.’
Maman took his hand.
‘No,’ she told him, her tone stern. ‘This is what we live through, all of us. They killed our friends, our neighbours. They took our Jewish folk away, for God knows what reason. They have stolen our country and our liberty. We must stand against them, don’t you see? If we can save you, you might one day return and save us from them. We must help you.’
‘But you have a child, a home, a life…’ he replied.
‘I have a child and a home, yes,’ said Maman. ‘But this is not life. This is not a life at all.’
Mo looked at me and I saw a tear fall from his left eye. He wiped it away and sat down and watched silently as I tended to Papa.
FIVE
Over the next few days, Mo and I began to share stories. Mostly, it was I who asked the questions and Mo was generous in his responses. He seemed to enjoy spending time with me and I wondered if he had any children. When I asked, he simply shrugged.
‘I am not married,’ he replied.
‘You have a sweetheart, then?’ I said. ‘In India?’
Mo grinned.
‘In my culture, such things are frowned upon,’ he told me. ‘There was a girl, but her father thought me an unsuitable match, and so I came to England unwed.’
‘Do you write to her?’
‘Yes, but in secret,’ he revealed. ‘Her father would not approve, so we pretend that the letters are from a female friend.’
‘But that is silly!’ I replied. ‘Surely her father can see that you are brave and worthy?’
Mo shook his head.
‘Not that man,’ he told me. ‘He would rather she married a rich boy than some pilot thousands of miles from home.’
He had removed his pagri and his long hair was tied atop his head, in a bun. This was unheard of for French men, and I found it amusing and then intriguing.
‘Have you really never cut your hair?’ I asked.
‘Never,’ he replied. ‘Sikhs are forbidden from cutting their hair, or shaving. I trim my beard, but that is all.’
‘Why is that?’ I asked.
He talked of someone called Nanak Dev-Ji and told how he was a rich man who gave up his possessions to roam India. To help those in need.
‘The religion began with him,’ Mo told me. ‘He is our first guru.’
‘What is a guru?’
‘The best translation is teacher,’ Mo told me. ‘Guru Nanak taught the people that we are all one humanity, one people.’
‘I think I like this man,’ I replied with a smile. ‘That is what I believe too.’
‘You and your parents are Christians?’ Mo asked.
‘Maman is,’ I told him. ‘Papa and I are not so sure…’
‘You do not believe in God?’ he added.
I shrugged.
‘Since the Germans came,’ I said, ‘I am not sure what I believe in. Only freedom and winning back my country.’
‘You are too young to be part of this,’ he replied.
I nodded.
‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘But what choice do we have?’
I told him about Grace and her family, and what the Nazis had done to them. When I was finished, Mo shook his head in sorrow.
‘What could possess men so?’ he asked. ‘To kill children and women, and innocents?’
‘Now do you see?’ I asked. ‘Why I am not sure about God and such things?’
‘I do,’ he replied. ‘Just don’t lose hope, Joelle. Without that, we are nothing.’
On his fifth day with us, after he had left the cellar where he now slept, washed and eaten a breakfast of bread and cheese, I took Mo outside. I was careful, making sure that no one was around to spot us, but Mo was uncertain.
‘If someone sees us, you will get into trouble,’ he told me.
Maman and Papa had gone to run errands and find more food. I knew that they would disapprove but Mo had been locked in our cellar. He needed the fresh air.
‘I’ve checked twice,’ I told him. ‘There is no one within sight.’
Our house sat on the edge of town, some distance from the next dwelling. Behind us were poor Monsieur Deschamps’ fields, the stream and woodland. The only way to access our house was the single-track lane. If anyone approached, we would see them coming.
‘But there is too much risk.’
‘Look at you,’ I said. ‘Your cheeks are sunken and your eyes red. You need to get some air. Besides, I have a secret place to show you.’
‘Your clearing?’
I nodded. I had forgotten that I’d found Mo there.
‘Not so secret, of course, but still…’
Mo shrugged.
‘How far is the crash site?’ he asked.
‘Nearby,’ I told him. ‘Why?’
‘I want to see if my things are still there,’ he told me. ‘If we could do that, then I’m happy to venture out.’
‘What things do you mean?’
‘A memento from my mother,’ he told me. ‘In my kit bag.’
‘That will be more dangerous than going into the woods,’ I pointed out.
‘That is my wish,’ he replied.
I nodded.
‘We must be quick, though,’ I told him. ‘Maman will be cross if she returns to find us gone.’
‘Not Papa?’
I grinned.
‘Papa is soft,’ I replied. ‘It’s Maman’s temper you have to watch!’
I checked the lane again, just to be sure, and then we left via the garden and cut across a fallow and muddy field behind it. At the stream, we crossed a rickety footbridge, and then turned right, away from the woods. The crash site lay beyond the next field, through a thicket of oaks and maples. It did not take us long to reach it, and luckily, we found no Germans guarding the plane.
‘Be quick!’ I told Mo.
The plane was broken in half, and the engine had exploded. The ground around the wreckage was charred and debris
