still frowning. “It’ll probably take both of you to distract her so I can get those bundles out.”
“Maybe she won’t come,” Isa said. “Since she stayed so late today, she may want to spend some time at home with Jean-Luc. He must be as bored as she.”
But Isa could see neither Edward nor Genny appeared convinced that might be a possibility.
31
We Belgians have always valued our freedom, and yet what freedom do we have, living under martial law? Why must martial law be imposed when the armies are no longer at our doors and we have proven ourselves peaceable? Injustice—that is what we live under.
La Libre Belgique
* * *
Much to Edward’s surprise, Pierrette Guillamay did not return the next morning. He wanted to think Isa was right, that the woman would spend more time at home with the husband she loved so much. But he couldn’t convince himself not to worry.
It occurred to Edward as he finished packing bundles destined for different depots that he was fortunate. Despite being caught in the center of a military occupation, there were still things to be thankful for. The theme of the latest issue of La Libre Belgique was to resist working for the Germans because every job a Belgian filled left a German free to fight. Poverty wasn’t so tragic as betraying one’s fellow Belgian, it said, and far less a price than those who forfeited their lives.
Yet he and Isa were spared the boredom. They had work. The blessing of work, his father had called it. Without it, Edward would surely go mad.
Edward harnessed copies of La Libre Belgique beneath his clothing while Jan took the greatest amount all at once in a box of books labeled for donation to the hospital. This particular box had a false bottom in which were stowed nearly a thousand copies to be delivered to the provinces, northward to Antwerp and eastward to Liège.
Edward left the house with Jan and walked toward the ring road, where Jan would go south and Edward north. Eventually Jan would end up at Midi Station and Edward at various shops along the way, familiar distributors all. Isa was to follow in another hour so they wouldn’t attract too much attention with so much activity from her home. She would make two runs to the flat, where Rosalie and others would pick up their copies.
Near the end of Avenue Louise, Edward saw Jan shift the bulk of the weight from one forearm to the other. “Getting heavy?” At his friend’s nod, Edward added, “You carried heavier books than those between buildings at the university.”
“We’re getting old before our time.”
“It’s the food—or want of it, I should say.”
They would soon reach the point where they would split. More people were on the street today, mainly soldiers enjoying a rare day of sun despite the continued chilly January temperatures. “There are too many sentries out today. I’ll cross here. It’s safer alone than together, considering what we’re carrying.”
Jan nodded and Edward left him. For a little while they traveled the same street in the same direction. At the ring road, Edward turned to the right, sparing a quick glance behind him. Jan had fallen behind, no doubt still feeling the weight of the books. He would have to switch methods or at least get rid of some of the legitimate books he carried.
The attention of a sentry who focused on Jan caught Edward’s eye. He stopped to watch, making himself an unexpected impediment in the stream of increased foot traffic. Another man bumped into him.
“Passen Sie auf!”
A German civilian, so Edward only bowed a silent pardon.
But the contact loosened the harness beneath Edward’s coat, and he knew he would have to right it quickly or risk leaving a trail of illegal newsprint in his wake. His nearest destination, a news shop, was nearly three blocks away. So he slipped inside the first café he passed, knowing all he needed was a place to stop and open the top of his coat, slipping one hand inside as if reaching for a wallet.
He ordered coffee he didn’t want and did just that.
Barely five minutes later he returned outside and glanced back in the direction he’d last seen Jan. There Edward froze. A commotion had erupted, Belgian Polizei blowing their whistles—crowd control being their most trusted duty—and a swarm of German sentries buzzing beneath a swirl of paper blowing on a breeze.
Just beyond the edge of the crowd were the remnants of a crate and