His only choice was to succeed. Somehow. “All right.”
Edward turned. He had much to do and not much time in which to do it. But first he must get back to work for La Libre Belgique and pray the others working for the paper had found another printer. The sooner they produced the next issue, the better for Isa and his mother. If the Germans thought for a moment they’d truly gotten the heart of the paper when they found the press in her cellar—the “automobile cellar,” as they’d once named their imaginary headquarters—then the women he loved were doomed.
35
Was it not Shakespeare who said:
And on your head
Turning the widows’ tears, the orphans’ cries,
The dead men’s blood, the pining maidens’ groans,
For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers,
That shall be swallow’d in this controversy.
La Libre Belgique
* * *
The guards woke them early, surely before dawn. Isa guessed the time by her own fatigue, without a clock, wristwatch, or even a window to gauge anything by the sun.
She and Genny had clung together in the corner through the night. From their cell she could see no others but guessed only women were nearby. They’d heard voices last night, and other than the guards’, all of them were female. A few had talked freely as if they’d been there some time and grown used to the surroundings.
But how? How could anyone adapt to the dark, the filth, the dampness, the hopelessness?
A nun came through once, speaking in German, telling the prisoners not to worry, that God was surely there. But somehow, hearing the comforting words in German brought no comfort at all.
The guards, instead of delivering the kind of tasteless food Isa remembered from the Kommadantur, thrust canvases through the bars, with a roll of thread and needles for each cellmate.
“You will sew the rest of these as the example on top shows,” the guard announced to Isa, then went on to deliver the same bundles to others.
“These are for sandbags,” Isa said to Genny.
“We cannot refuse—”
“They can’t force prisoners of war to do war work. It’s against international law.”
Someone gasped. Isa hadn’t meant to be heard outside of their cell; she wasn’t even sure of the source of her boldness to have said anything at all, even just to Genny. Except she recalled Edward once saying the Germans had enough reason to shoot him, so one more reason hardly mattered. How fitting were such words for her.
Another prisoner spoke up. “There is a law saying we don’t have to do this?”
“That’s right,” Isa answered.
“She is correct.” Another unseen voice echoed in the damp stone corridor. “One even the Germans must obey. They signed the Convention of the Hague too.”
“You will be silent as you work, Frauen and Fräuleins.” The guard’s voice drowned out the women’s chatter.
“Resist!” another voice farther down shouted.
“You will work!” the guard returned.
“We shall not do it anymore,” someone called. “We shall not work for the Germans against our own sons at the front.”
“Silence! I will have silence.” The soldier marched the corridor, stopping at Isa’s cell. “This is not against the law. As none of you are prisoners of war, it is perfectly legal to have you do this.”
His face was so cold, his gun so near, Isa took a step back.
“Not prisoners of war!” one of the women demanded. “Then what are we?”
He never took his eyes from Isa, despite her silence. “You are criminals. Now get to work.”
Isa didn’t move but the standoff wasn’t from courage. Fear made her immobile.
The objections stopped, the calls ceased, but based on the silence, no one had taken up the work, either. The guard took another step toward Isa’s cell. “You are the one who started this, Fräulein. It is you who will set the example for the others, even if I have to inspire you.”
His calm tone did nothing to lessen her fear. “If you beat me,” she said, “I shall be of no use at all.”
“True enough. I’ll not beat you. I’ll beat her.” He pointed his nose Genny’s way.
Bile rose in Isa’s throat. Bruises inflicted on her the day before reminded her how mercilessly efficient the Germans could be with their punishment, even upon women.
Isa sat on the cot, taking up the first piece of canvas and the needle.
“She is a wise woman to put herself to work. Work will help you to pass the hours of your confinement. It is for your own good. I suggest the rest of