My ears were ringing! I asked Mess. Falla what time the body was found but he wasn’t too inclined to talk more.
‘What’s it to you? What were you hatching? If you’ve been stirring up trouble for the rest of us you won’t make any friends. People round here just want to live as best we can. They’ll have us all shipped to some camp in France because of this. What were you thinking?’
You see how it was going, Emile? It’s a lot easier for folk to put all the sin of the world onto one pair of shoulders. They did it then and they do it now. I must have the Devil on my back, or else it was Ray. And where was he? I thought about going back to Paradis but didn’t know where that would get me. The officer in charge had sent his mother packing, calling her a madwoman. I went to Ray’s home to check, and then I went to Le Brun’s farm where he used to work, and then I went to the Salerie Inn, and then I went down to Petit Bôt, and Bon Repos and Pleinheume and all around Fort Doyle and the Vale. I think I walked all around the island looking for Ray, and then I went back into Town and asked at the police station and the prison. Nothing. Ray had gone.
The next day was the night of our supposed exodus. It was raining non-stop and I stayed indoors. I could never forgive Ray for deserting me, and that’s what I knew he’d done. But had he managed it, or had the boat sunk? Had him and J-P been plotting secretly behind my back all this time or had Ray done the dirty on J-P, as well? Pop told me to pray for my so-called friends, but I couldn’t pray. I hated God as much as myself. The miserable wretched sinner that I am! Don’t waste your prayers on me, Emile, pray for our father instead.
On our last night together I begged and pleaded with him to go and see the doctor. Everyone knew the Germans were terrified of TB and that cough was a right bone-rattler. They’d never send him to the camps if we could get a diagnosis. Pop finally agreed and I went easier to my bed, knowing he might be saved. I didn’t see him walk out into the night, but in my head I see him now. He never does go to the doctor. Instead, he’s making his way slowly down to Belle Grève. I don’t know how he climbs over the wire but he does and then he’s staggering quickly down over the shingle. He probably never expected to make it through the mines, but on he goes, drawing closer to the water’s edge.
Our dear father couldn’t take his own life because he knew what a sin that was. He carried on walking even when he heard the shouts behind him. Perhaps he quickened his pace. He was a broken man but he didn’t turn back, and there was no begging for mercy. It was just him and the waves as the bullets drilled into his back.
That was how it ended, Emile, there on that north beach. The Germans won the War and I lost everything, every ounce of love, hope and faith, I lost a father and a mother and a baby brother. That was when I died and there’s but one reason I hang on so. Whilst I still live and breathe I can think of our father, and I can love and I can miss him. Once I’m gone he’s gone.
Emile, you will see our father in Heaven, and you tell him that I learned my lesson, tell him he was always in my thoughts. You two shall be together one day and I’m sorry I won’t join you. I will miss our talks. I’ve tried to tell you what I can and I hope to God it helped some. I love you, dear Emile . . . and I hope, I hope I was a better brother than I ever was a son.
21ST DECEMBER 1985, 12.18 a.m.
[In bed]
Michael doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell. He’s got closer to death than most living people and he tells me there was no tunnel of light or dancing angels. I’m a bit disappointed, to be honest. It means I won’t see Dad again and be able to say sorry in person.