She reached tentatively for his hand. 'I didn't abandon you,' she said. 'I let you live.'
'She used to tell me I was a casualty of war, some freak accident. Then she'd smile, torturing me, refusing to say any more.'
Sarah shook her head. 'My milk dried up and there was no food,' she said. 'At sixteen years old, I'd been branded as a collaborator. You had no chance with me! Nathalie had lost a child. She had milk and she wanted you. They were of the bourgeoise class, politically conservative. I was a Jew who consorted with a Nazi!'
'So it's really true,' he said. He stuck his dagger in the packed earth and sank down beside her, looking dazed.
With her bound hands, she stroked his shoulders, afraid everything would end as suddenly as it had begun. Seeing her old lover and being trapped by her lost son stirred yearnings inside her. Impossible ones. That old deep hurt had opened again.
Her few loose fingers stroked his back. 'We lived around the corner from here. One day I came home from my violin lesson, the courtyard was deserted. So was the building. Our Mezuzah, ripped from the front door, lay on the apartment floor. Papa had just had it blessed by the rabbi. That's how I knew. My parents warned me and fooled the Germans. They never came back. I never forgave them for leaving, I missed them so much. So I understand how you feel; a child whose mother leaves him will always think himself abandoned. If only. . .' She sighed deeply. 'If only I had escaped. . ..' Her voice trailed off.
'I can't believe I'm a Jew,' he said.
'Nathalie promised me that she would tell you the truth. Not torture you with it,' she said, her voice anguished. 'What good comes of it? Give me the knife.'
Thierry shot bolt upright, as if remembering his mission.
'Defilement of the Aryan race merits summary execution,' he said hotly. 'You know that.'
He pulled the dagger from the packed earth, slicing his wrist lightly. Sarah's hands shook. Thin beaded blood trailed over the tattooed lightning bolts on his hand.
'Please don't kill me,' she begged. 'Please, we need to—' A loud crack came as Hartmuth batted Thierry's hand. The dagger clattered, hitting the half-buried limestone arch beside them.
'Oh my God,' Sarah screamed.
Hartmuth reached for her and stumbled over the mound of bones.
'I couldn't hurt her,' Thierry faltered.
Hartmuth gripped a rotten wood post. Shocked, he stared at Sarah. Thierry cut the duct tape from Sarah's ankle and helped her up.
'I wanted to,' he wailed. 'I wanted to, but I couldn't, oh God.'
'So pathetic,' Hartmuth said in disgust, 'there are no words. How can you threaten your own mother?'
'He's confused,' Sarah pleaded. 'Everything has turned upside down for him. He doesn't know who he is.'
Hartmuth reached in his pocket. He pulled out a small pistol and leveled it at Thierry.
'No, please,' she begged.
'If she's Jew scum,' Thierry said, bewilderment shining in his haggard face, 'so am I.'
'Sit down, Thierry,' Aimee said, interrupting the strange scene. Holding Vitold's black Luger, she climbed down the bits of wood jutting out from the caked dirt in the cavern walls. Rene followed behind her.
'It's under control,' Hartmuth growled. 'Put your gun away.'
'You first,' she said.
Hartmuth hesitated. Sarah put her hand tentatively on his arm. 'You don't need this,' she said. Slowly, he lowered the gun.
Aimee reached the catacomb floor, where her heels sank promptly into the dirt. The last ladder rung splintered. She turned and caught Rene before he landed on a pile of rubble and bones.
'Come here, Thierry,' she said.
Thierry perched on a rotten timber, his eyes twitching. 'Let's play possible scenarios,' he said, his voice rising in a high pitch.
'Thierry, calm down,' Aimee said. 'You need time to work things out.'
He ignored her. 'Son tries to knife long-lost mother because she's a Jew pig,' he said. He stood up, his face contorted in the flicker of light. 'Father shoots son because he's a two-bit Nazi wannabe. Father puts bullet in his own brain because long ago he disobeyed the Fuhrer.' He laughed manically. 'I like it. Let me do the honors.' He reached out to Sarah.
Aimee moved towards him but Hartmuth had leveled his gun.
'Leave her alone!' Hartmuth yelled.
Thierry stumbled.
Too late. Hartmuth shot, but not before Sarah had flung herself in front of Thierry. The shot reverberated, almost deafening Aimee as Sarah's body slammed into the earth wall. Blood spurted from her chest as she thudded to the ground, clutching at her heart.
Aimee grabbed Hartmuth's arms, while Rene quickly took the gun from him. Rumbling rose from deep in the cavern as bones and pebbles slid down the walls. The wood posts trembled above them. Dirt showered over Aimee's face.
She ran to a moaning Sarah, wanting to cover her ears and shut out this woman's agony. Instead, she knelt, attempting to staunch the blood pooling in a dirt puddle.
Hartmuth fell to his knees. 'What have I done?'
'Maman,' Thierry said. 'You saved me.' He knelt and stroked her clammy forehead.
Sarah's breathing came in shallow gasps as Aimee propped her head up.
'My baby,' Sarah crooned, pulling him close. 'My baby.'
Aimee applied direct pressure to the hole in Sarah's chest.
'Hold on, Sarah.'
'The ambulance is on its way,' Rene said, putting the cell phone in his pocket. 'It won't be too soon either.' He looked nervously above him.
'Sarah, you can make it,' Aimee said. 'Just a little bit longer.'
Sarah nodded. 'Thierry, your Jewish name is Jacob, the healer of men.' She smiled weakly. 'After your grandfather.'
Hartmuth remained in a heap near the bone mound, curiously immobile. Aimee realized he was in shock. His eyes focused somewhere distantly in the catacombs.
'Thierry?' Sarah wailed as her eyes clouded, gripping him tightly. 'My son!'
'Bring your father, Thierry,' Aimee said. She gestured towards Hartmuth. 'Reunite them.' She didn't need to add 'before it's too late.'
Hartmuth meekly knelt with Thierry. Aimee gently put Sarah's head in his lap. Wordlessly, he caressed her face as Thierry gripped his shoulders and looked away.
'I need your help, Rene.' Aimee whispered instructions while she pulled him aside.
As she climbed up the ladder, her last glimpse was of a weak, smiling Sarah being held by Hartmuth and Thierry illuminated by a flashlight beam.
THE MEDICAL crew couldn't get Sarah to let go of Thierry until Morbier arrived. Finally she let go. He nodded to the attendants, who slipped her onto a stretcher they'd unfolded.
Panic sparkled in Sarah's eyes. 'I gave them all the food!' she screamed, now struggling to get away from Hartmuth. 'We're hungry.
'Take any statements?' Morbier swiveled his head, addressing the young uniformed sergeant at the scene.
The sergeant shook his head.
Morbier leaned closely over Hartmuth's outstretched palm. He sniffed. 'Notice the residue oil from the bullet chamber?' He pointed at the glove. 'Your theory, sergeant?'
The uniform shook his head again and cleared his throat unsteadily.
'Strong smell of gunpowder on his right hand.' Morbier cocked his eye down at the sergeant, now taking
