She smiled, and then nodded.
He took a seat at a small wooden table with two chairs.
“It’s much nicer in the parlor,” she said, dividing the food onto plates.
“Here is good,” Bruno said, “as long as it’s okay with you.”
Celeste nodded. She placed the food, napkins, and silverware on the table, and then retrieved a bottle of white wine, corkscrew, and glasses.
Bruno stood and slid back her chair.
“Merci,” she said, sitting.
Bruno opened the wine, poured two glasses, and sat. “To an end to war,” he said, raising his glass.
She clinked his glass and sipped her wine.
He took a bite of sausage, rich with fat and salt.
“Did you have bad day,monsieur?”
He took a swig of wine, crisp and citrusy, and then nodded.
“I’m sorry,” she said, cutting her sausage. “Would you like to talk about it?”
He shook his head, but his mind drifted to their last conversation.She’d survived by becoming a mistress to a German officer, who is now dead. Her aunt, one of thousands of Lille women rounded up by the German military to farm the French countryside, was taken from her home. Celeste confided in me, and I’d said little.A surge of selfishness swelled within him. He put down his fork and said, “My unit requires me to perform hellish duties.”
She looked at him. “I can see the burden on your face.”
He swirled his wine. Although he’d never spoken to anyone about the emotional toll of his work, he felt he could trust her. “I feel like my soul is rotting away.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Please remember that it is not your fault. War compels soldiers to perform terrible acts.”
But I have committed war crimes.He gulped down his wine and refilled his glass. “What I’ve done is far worse than most men.”
Celeste slid her hand toward his, but stopped short of touching his fingers. “Do you regret doing these things?”
“Ja.”
“Then all is not lost.”
Bruno looked into her eyes. “I pray you are right.”
She lowered her hand to her lap. “Have you confided in your fiancée about this?”
He shifted in his seat. “Nein. If she learns of my duties, it will be over between us.”
“Maybe your fate will be better than you believe it to be.”
“Perhaps,” he said, despite a dread gnawing at his gut.
She took a deep breath. “I know how you feel. After the war, my family will spurn me, too.”
“You collaborate to survive,” he said. “They’ll forgive you.”
“I wish you were right,” she said. “But I believe it will never happen.”
Bruno nibbled his food. “We come from different worlds, but we share a similar dilemma.”
