"The Winter Ghosts" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mosse Kate)

At the Break of Day

‘I was woken by my father shaking me. It was a grey dawn. We could hear the soldiers shouting to one another down below, their coarse words carried on the thin morning air to where we lay hiding. They must have known we could not have gone far. We knew none of those who had stayed behind would betray our whereabouts, though I feared for their safety.’

‘Were they…?’ I left the question hanging.

‘We did not see them again,’ she said simply.

There was no need to say more.

‘Jean was weaker. The night air and the horror of the situation had further reduced his strength. My father carried him on his back, my mother and I following behind. At first, we doubled back down the steeper of the two paths, looking for the hidden way my father remembered. There was an atmosphere of neglect, of stillness. And always shouting from down below, the soldiers shouting.

‘We had not gone far before we came upon a break in the undergrowth. My father pulled back the twisted and overgrown branches of laurel to reveal ancient roots.’

Fabrissa smiled at the recollection.

‘In truth it looked like a flight of steps fashioned from wood, and I said so. Jean was amused at this, so from then on, I concentrated my efforts on keeping him entertained. Distracting him.’

Her face grew serious again.

‘But he was coughing almost all the time now. More than once, my father had to gently lower him from his back, and we would wait while Jean struggled to catch his breath.

‘At last, we reached a plateau, not much more than a ledge on the mountainside. I could see my father’s relief that his memory had not been at fault. Up above I saw a cleft in the rock, in the shape of a half-moon, concealed beneath an overhanging escarpment. From below the plateau, the mouth of the cave was not visible at all. A short tunnel led to a wider space, which connected in turn with a network of caverns deep inside the mountain.

‘Then we heard voices, and soon were reunited with our neighbours.’

A sigh escaped from between my lips.

‘Each family occupied a small area within which they made their camp. To start with the atmosphere was hopeful. The children played, delighted with the subterranean world, and women helped my mother to nurse Jean. At first, his health improved, and every day he became a little stronger.’

I frowned. ‘Every day? How long were you in the caves, then?’

‘A long time.’

‘Weeks?’ I said, appalled at the thought.

‘More.’ She paused. ‘Because it was winter, we had assumed the soldiers would give up and leave us alone until the spring. That was what had happened in the past. And, at the beginning, it seemed to be their intention. They did go, but in the end they always came back. They always came back. It was a game of cat and mouse.’

Fabrissa turned her eyes on me, then back to the wooded horizon. ‘We were the last, you see. Our village was one of the few remaining strongholds. They could not let us be. So we waited and we waited. The heavy snows came and we thought they would leave then. But they did not. They occupied the village. Our village.

‘The weeks passed. Our spirits began to dwindle. Men left the caves at night to fetch food and more provisions – a little oil for the lamps, candles, kindling to make fires – but it was never enough. Everyone was hungry and cold.’

She hesitated and I, for the first time since she had begun her story, could not stop myself reaching out for her. I tried to take her hands in mine, but her fingers were so cold I could not seem to catch hold of her.

‘Jean suffered very badly. The chill and damp got into his bones, his chest. At night, he could not sleep. He coughed continuously, clawing for breath, choking. He needed fresh air and sunlight, the very things we could not give him. Each day, I watched him grow weaker and knew there was nothing I could do. When he died, he was only fourteen years old.’

My heart contracted in pity. That Fabrissa also had lost a beloved brother, but in circumstances so much worse than mine, was more than I could bear. Although my ignorance of the precise circumstances of George’s passing had haunted me for years, I’d not had to watch him die. But Fabrissa had been there with Jean. She had seen him slipping from her, unable to do anything to save him. How could anyone live with such memories?

‘I’m so very sorry,’ I said quietly.

The sun had risen, cold and white in the sky. The black trees and the night-time silhouette of the mountains had transformed into the greens and greys of the new day. I could see snow on the peak of the Roc de Sédour in the distance.

I gathered her to me. This time I held her tight, though she felt insubstantial in my arms, like mist.

‘We could not bury him,’ she whispered. ‘The ground outside was too hard and the floor of the caves was rock. So he was laid with the others who had died: widow Azéma, the Bulot children. Later, many more.’

I caught my breath. For so long, my nights had been haunted by images of George dying in the mud and the blood and the barbed wire, dying with the stench of the charnel house in his nostrils, his men blasted to pieces by mines, by bullets, choked by gas. But to think of Fabrissa trapped in such a place, her beloved Jean dead beside her, this was horror of another dimension.

‘It was perhaps a week after he had died, about the time of the Espéraza winter fair, when we saw tendrils of smoke rising up above the tree-line. And we knew, then, that the village was burning. Angry they still had not captured us, even though they knew we were somewhere close by, they put everything to the torch. The church, the Ostal, our homes. Everything was destroyed.’

‘Fabrissa…’

There was nothing more I could say.

‘Later, when the thaw began and we had begun to think ourselves forgotten, we became careless. Two men were seen coming back into the caves by night. The soldiers followed and placed a sentinel. Then they found one of the entrances and it was only a matter of time before they found the others.’ She paused. ‘We heard them, piling up the stones, hammering as they braced the rubble with timbers. The light became more shallow, then darkness overcame us. What was a refuge became a tomb. Every opening was blocked. We could not get out.’

I felt Fabrissa slide from my arms. I was suddenly dizzy. The nausea I’d managed to keep at bay overwhelmed me.

‘No one came back,’ she said. ‘Not one.’

I feared I was going to pass out. My palms were clammy and my chest tight. I leaned forward, head down, my arms resting on my legs.

‘Freddie?’ said Fabrissa. I heard the concern in her voice and loved her for it.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Freddie,’ she whispered, ‘do not be afraid.’

‘Afraid? I’m not af-’

I jerked my head up, setting colours dancing before my eyes. Heard her lullaby voice saying my name. And this time, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it had been Fabrissa’s voice I had heard through the storm. ‘But how?’ I murmured. ‘How?’

I glanced at her in mute confusion, seeing my own anguish reflected in her face. I was so tired now. I had worn myself out by talking and I realised I was deathly cold.

Fabrissa, too, seemed to be tiring. She did not move, but I sensed a restiveness in her, as if she had already lingered too long. I could feel her slipping away and, much as I wanted to keep her with me, I felt powerless to stop her.

‘It’s morning,’ I said, looking down at the village stirring beneath us. ‘I should take you home.’

Sweat was trickling down between my shoulder blades, though I was shaking, frozen right through. I tried to stand but found that I couldn’t. I raised a heavy hand to my forehead. My skin was hot to the touch.

‘Perhaps I could see you again?’ I tripped over my words. ‘Later today. I…’

Did I even speak out loud or only in my head?

Again, I tried to get up, but my knees buckled. I slumped back to our makeshift bench, feeling ridges of the bark jabbing into my skin.

‘Fabrissa…’

It was a struggle to hold my head up. I wanted to free myself, to escape from the prison of my memory.

‘I must… take you… home,’ I repeated, but it came out all wrong. I tried to focus on Fabrissa’s face, on her grey eyes, but there were two girls now, and the image floated in and out of focus. I tried to say her name again, but the word turned to ashes in my mouth.

‘Find me,’ she whispered. ‘Find us. Then you can bring me home.’

‘Fabr-’

Was she leaving me, or was I leaving her? My heart turned in on itself.

‘Don’t go,’ I murmured. ‘Please. Fabrissa!’

But she was already too far away. I could not reach her.

‘Come and find me,’ she whispered. ‘Find me, Freddie.’

Then nothing. Only the dreadful knowledge that I was alone once more.