Five Quarters of the Orange / Пять четвертинок апельсина - стр. 51
“You don’t know any Resistance,” I said cynically, trying not to sound impressed.
“Not yet, maybe,” said Cassis. “But we could find out. We’ve found out all kinds of things already.”
“It’s all right,” continued Reinette. “We don’t talk about anyone in Les Laveuses. We wouldn’t tell on our neighbors.”
I nodded. That wouldn’t be fair.
“Anyway, in Angers it’s different. Everyone’s doing it here.”
I considered this.
“I could find things out too.”
“What do you know?” said Cassis scornfully.
I almost told him what I’d said to Leibniz about Madame Petit and the parachute silk, but decided against it. Instead I asked the question that had been troubling me since Cassis had first mentioned their arrangement with the Germans.
“What do they do when you tell them things? Do they shoot people? Do they send them to the front?”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”
“Then what?”
But Cassis was no longer listening to me. Instead his eyes were on the newspaper stand by the church opposite, where a black-haired boy of about his own age was watching us insistently. The boy made an impatient gesture in our direction. Cassis paid for our drinks and stood up.
“Come on,” he said.
Reinette and I followed him. Cassis seemed on friendly terms with the other boy-I supposed he knew him from school. I caught a few words about holiday work, and a snort of low, nervous laughter. Then I saw him slip a folded piece of paper into Cassis’s hand.
“See you later,” said Cassis, moving casually away.
The note was from Hauer.
Meet me at twelve by the school gate. I have something for you.
Only Hauer and Leibniz spoke good French, Cassis explained as we took turns reading the note. The others-Heinemann and Schwartz-knew only basic French, but Leibniz especially might have been a Frenchman himself, someone from Alsace-Lorraine perhaps, with the guttural dialect of the region.
For some reason I sensed that this pleased Cassis, as if passing information to an almost-Frenchman were somehow less reprehensible.
Reinette touched the paper with her fingertips. Her face was flushed with excitement.
“What time is it now?” she said. “Will we be late?”
Cassis shook his head.
“Not with the bikes,” he said, trying for a laconic tone. “Let’s see what they’ve got for us.”
As we retrieved the bikes from their usual place in the alley, I noticed that Reinette took a compact from her pocket and quickly checked her reflection. She frowned; snaking the gold lipstick from the pocket of her dress she retouched her lips in scarlet, smiled, retouched, smiled again. The compact closed. I was not entirely surprised. It was clear to me from the first trip that she had something on her mind besides moving-picture shows. The care with which she dressed, the attention she gave to her hair, the lipstick and the perfume… All this must be for the benefit of someone. To tell the truth I was not especially interested. I was used to Reine and her ways. At twelve she already looked sixteen. With her hair curled in that sophisticated style and her lips reddened, she might have been older. I had already seen the looks she got from people in the village. Paul Hourias grew tongue-tied and bashful when she was around. Even Jean-Benet Darius, who was an old man of nearly forty, and Guguste Ramondin or Raphaël at the café… Boys looked at her; I knew that. And she noticed them-from her first day at the collège she had been full of tales about the boys she met there. One week it might be Justin, who had such wonderful eyes, or Raymond, who made the whole class laugh, or Pierre-André, who could play chess, or Guillaume, whose parents moved from Paris last year… Thinking back I could even remember when those tales stopped. It must have been about the same time the German garrison moved in.