The French Promise Read Online Free Page B

brother is Luc Bonet, the lavender farmer?’
    Her throat was so dry that she couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. How could this stranger know them? How could he be naming her family? She began to shake.
    ‘Your trembling is enough, Jew. Commander, perhaps this afternoon we could visit the recordsoffice,’ he said, seemingly no longer intrigued by her.
    ‘Of course,’ she’d heard Hoss reply.
     
    It was three days later and Rachel had not been called back to the house. She knew everything had suddenly changed because of von Schleigel. She’d not spotted him since, though. He’d been like a ghost; he’d breezed into her life, terrified her, and then disappeared.
    Rachel now strained to catch a glimpseof Sarah coming home from work. The workers had staggered past and almost all of them were within the compound but she could not pick out her sister. The last of the stragglers lurched in and the gates were closed. A snarling yell went up. There was nothing unusual about the sound of orders in German but she recognised it as the most fearful of all.
    Selection.
    It happened randomly, most oftenat morning roll call. Those too weak to be considered useful any longer were packed off in trucks. The hierarchy liked to call suddenselection raids, as a warning against complacency. Did the Germans really believe that any one of them took their life as a given? Rachel had long ago realised that the only defiance possible in this hell was to keep living. By living, the Jews, the gypsies, thepolitical prisoners, the homosexuals or anyone else who challenged Hitler’s warped sense of perfection defied their persecutors simply by breathing. Every roll call, every new trainload, every person who recovered from their previous night’s weaknesses, all who ignored their hunger or fought back their sense of helplessness, effectively laughed in the face of the Nazi regime.
    That’swhy they had to keep breathing, had to continue rising each day to face the hell that was Auschwitz-Birkenau.
    A flash of grey uniform caught Rachel’s attention. Her grip tightened around her violin. He was back. It was him. Kriminaldirektor von Schleigel was moving towards them with his odd small-strided walk and she knew in her heart she would not see out this day.
    Her first and surprising thoughtwas that she’d wished now she’d eaten the apricot, or taken food from the Hoss household, stolen from Canada, or asked Albert for more privileges. But even as she thought it, she knew it lowered herself to where these criminals wanted them.
    Rachel watched von Schleigel move towards her. Beneath his heartless gaze workers were picked out as being too scrawny, too weak, too useless for tomorrow’sshift. They were loaded onto a waiting truck. Each person selected knew the horrible silence was their death knell and still they walked meekly to await help into the back of the lorry from those who were already aboard.
    Von Schleigel had said nothing but pointed at each victim.After thirty were selected, the officer in charge told the remaining women to make their way with their guards to theircamp, and for the men to go to their accommodations, which were little more than sheds and former stables. Rachel was safe for another day.
    But a finger was raised, a calm voice interrupted the murmurs, and she met his eyes, not at all surprised.
    ‘Rachel Bonet,’ von Schleigel called out, and then turned to the officer. ‘Add this woman to the list,’ he said, pointing at her.
    She had nochoice. There were gasps amongst the orchestra. Rachel barely looked at the musicians or their sad glances of farewell. She nodded, resigned, and handed her instrument to her neighbour.
    ‘Tell the next person it has been loved,’ was all she said, and then walked with her head held high – now sporting a dark, defiant thatch – to the waiting vehicle.
    Von Schleigel approached her and spoke softlyin French. ‘
Bonsoir
, Rachel. I thought you’d rather like to join your sister.