Our little group formed more firmly around Michel. To all of us Michel
represented the future, in a way. He was the future already present. And
in a way he represented God. None of us was particularly religious, nor
was Michel religious, but he carried within himself a God whose presence
we all felt, and this was precisely the God of whom we had need. It
wasn’t a particular deity with a form delineated by any religion. It was
rather an open way that made hope possible.
Michel never really entered into discussions with us. The girls didn’t
like intellectual discussions. But in the assembly hall in Down Street
he had long talks with the chemistry student, Monique. Monique was just
twenty years old, like Michel. She was dark, pretty, and serious. She
had passed these years in the refuge of her books, entirely impervious
to the atmosphere of Down Street. With her, Michel talked about the
world of the future and about religion. But in general it was Michel who
asked the questions.
Ursula liked to sit by and listen to them. For the first time in her
life she felt the need of knowledge. It seemed to her that she had come
into the barracks as an absolute child, and the barracks walls had
closed around her. But now the world was opening and she could see the
future appearing.
Since her acquaintance with Michel, Ursula had greatly changed. Little
by little, she had ceased to be a child. She ripened, and sometimes
assumed feminine airs, which suited her very well. She told me she had
decided that after the war, even though she was not Jewish, she would go
to Palestine with Michel. The moment she was offered an ideal, Ursula
seized upon it as though her entire being had awaited nothing else.
She was at last freed from her sentinel’s post at the barracks, only to
fill a similar post at one of the Free French headquarters. I too had
had a change of assignment, and now spent most of my time with the
Americans, at a newsroom that their Office of War Information had
installed in London. I was meeting many new people, and it was there
that I eventually was to meet my future husband.
Each day, when Ursula’s duties ended, she met Michel. At the time,
Michel was working in an office in the Polish GHQ in London.
By this time Ursula had begun to talk more freely to Michel, and one
evening, a little to her horror, she found herself speaking of her
experience with Claude. She told him everything then—her passion, her
suffering, her fear of not being normal. She told him too about
Philippe.
Michel reassured her. The affair with Claude didn’t seem to shock him,
nor the experience with Philippe. He took Ursula’s hand in his, and with
an awkward gesture plunged both their hands into the large pocket of his
coat.
They went regularly now to dine at Rose’s, or in a little Italian
restaurant in Soho, and sometimes Michel would take Ursula to the zoo,
and they would amuse themselves like children.
About that time a whole group of us got into the habit of going out on
bicycle trips in the environs of London on Sundays. We girls had all
purchased secondhand bicycles, prehistoric machines upon which we were
perched at vertiginous heights. Michel borrowed a bicycle from a friend,
and we took along bread, cheese, and apples.
One Sunday most of us had dates in town, and Ursula alone left for a
bicycle trip with Michel. It rained all day, a thin, acidulous little
rain that drowned the countryside. Ursula laughed, raising her face to
the rain. She was happy just to be alone with Michel.
Toward four o’clock they arrived in front of a little inn that seemed,
as she described it to me, to have appeared out of a fairy tale.
“It’s from the story of the witch who had a gingerbread house,” Michel
said. The roof was thatched, all shining with rain, and just beneath the
roof the little windows seemed to peer at them with secret cunning.
In front of a log fire, the two grown-up children were served an English
tea. There was no sugar, but there were hot buns and marmalade.
There was no more war. They were two young children who had taken refuge
in the forest, far from the rain, far from the night, encircled in
warmth and joy. Michel studied Ursula’s pure face. Life had not touched
her at all; everything had slipped from her as the rain from the
thatched roof. She was still the same little girl who had opened the
door on that night of the dance, when she had slipped outside to take
refuge from the world. A little girl without a past, and with no
knowledge of anything. She was like himself, she knew nothing, and he
had no fear of her. One day he could take her in his arms and keep her.
He had kissed her once, and she had fled; but that had been some years
ago, and then there had been Claude. He had even then suspected
something of the sort, but he had not been sure. But now Ursula had told
him everything, and Claude was no longer a danger.
He looked at her and was filled with a terrible desire for life.
Suddenly Michel wanted to live. Yes, why shouldn’t he claim her, and
afterward take her to Palestine? Everything was possible! There was a
whole world to rebuild! He could not die.
Ursula returned Michel’s gaze. She too was happy, and she knew that this
happiness and peace were in being with Michel. Then quite simply the
words came from her: “How good it is here, Michel! I’m so happy! I
believe it’s because I love you.” Then she halted indecisively, still
looking at him.
He arose, and together they went to the window. Outdoors the rain
continued to fall. Michel encircled her with his arms and kissed her on
the cheek. He held her pressed against him. They were exactly the same
height, like two children. He told her, “I have nothing to give you,
neither a home nor security nor a future.” But Ursula had never had any
of these. His words made her laugh. Then she saw that Michel’s eyes were
filled with tears. She placed her thin arms around his neck and kissed
him gently on the lips. Ursula had weekend leave until Monday. It seemed
quite simple and normal to them to spend the night at the inn.
The bed was wide and very high, with a thick red eiderdown cover. This
was a new experience for Michel as well as for Ursula, and both of them
were a little afraid. They pressed close to one another and were somehow
reassured in sensing each other’s fear. After all, it was neither so
terrible nor so difficult. Ursula suddenly thought of Philippe, and an
infinite thankfulness rose in her because he had left her for Michel.
They fell asleep and then awoke, and this time their bodies were already
acquainted with each other. The discovery had begun. It was still rather
awkward and slow because they were deeply moved, frightened, and happy.
But everything was so normal, so wonderfully and utterly normal, coming
out of these mad years.
Now they were two together and the war was going to end.
They were the future.