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GENERAL |
| As soon as I had turned my back, the Captain nudged Madame Merell and
asked, "Well, Madame, is this or is this not the pastor?"
The poor woman was by then in agony. Should she acknowledge my identity, or should she deny that I was the pastor? Which one of the answers would be right? Was I a prisoner, the hostage of the Germans, attempting to conceal my identity, or was I there in my official capacity, trying to negotiate with them? Should she lie or tell the truth? She finally decided for the truth and blurted out, "Oui, Messieurs, c'est le pasteur." Whereupon the German officers thanked her briefly and had her taken back to the Gendarmerie. Sobbing uncontrollably, she threw herself on her bed, crying, "I have betrayed the pastor! I have betrayed the pastor! It is my fault. I have his life on my conscience!" She finally calmed down only several hours later, when she saw me walking back to my house after the departure of the German convoy. Her anguished decision to tell the truth had saved my life. Satisfied that the Maquis had left Lasalle and that the cleanup operation was a success, the Germans decided to leave. The tanks swung around, the cannons were removed from their positions, and everything was readied for the departure of the convoy. I went up to see Jean Soulier for the last time. He told me that, only a few minutes before, an elderly German soldier had entered his room, warmly shaken his hand, saying, "Me, Austrian," and disappeared as mysteriously as he had come. While I still was in Jean's room, two German orderlies arrived with a stretcher. They put him onto it with infinite care and carried him downstairs. Madame Soulier was already waiting in the ambulance. Before the door was shut I said a brief prayer with Jean and his mother, while the Lieutenant watched from his Command Car. Pierre and the girls climbed upon a flatbed truck loaded with supplies, most probably artillery shells. Other soldiers joined them and everybody waved with a smile. It was an almost happy goodbye as the tanks, the cannons, and the two ambulances lumbered away down the road to Alès. Suddenly weary, with my Greek New Testament still under the arm, I slowly
made my way back to Lasalle for some rest. It felt like a miracle:
I was still alive after twenty harrowing hours. The Lord had not
wanted us to die that day. Blue had replaced the overcast sky of
yesterday. There were useful lives yet ahead of us. "Thank
you Lord," I said, as I pulled the covers over my tired head. |
