“I crept closer until I could see Anton and Jean Pierre. They were in another alcove at the back of the larger cave. The ceiling hung down so low that I could see only Jean Pierre’s hands as he began to gather up small items from the dressers and bookshelves. Jewelry, several pieces of gold, a precious kitten sculpted from marble.
“Anton fought with him over every piece. He shouted at him again, trying to persuade him to stay, to change his mind. They could become partners. Jean Pierre would not bend. Anton was beside himself, and he lashed out. Jean Pierre shoved him, and Anton fell, hitting his head. I was afraid he was knocked unconscious, but he stumbled back onto his feet. And then—I hesitate to write this down, but I must—Anton pulled out a gun and shot Jean Pierre!”
I swallowed hard, looked up at Derek, and saw the same grim resignation I felt carved into his features. After a moment, I began reading again.
“I ran from the cave, no longer caring if Anton saw me or not. He didn’t, though. And over the next few days, he banned the workers from the storage cave. I watched him push a heavy wheelbarrow back and forth from one of the supply barns to the cave. It was filled with bricks and stones. A week later, Anton was called into town on business, and I ventured back into the cave. He had plastered over the entire alcove! The small inner cave where he’d hidden all of our friends’ treasures was completely concealed behind a wall of brick and cement.
“And suddenly I wondered if Jean Pierre’s body as well was hidden forever behind that wall. We will never know, because as you know, Camille, Jean Pierre’s mother and father passed away during the war. He has no brothers or sisters, no family left to question where he disappeared to. No one will inquire why he has not returned home to France. I thought to myself, if only your Luc had been home during Jean Pierre’s visit. Of all times for him and Jacques to go fishing! Now no one will mourn the poor man’s departure. Except me. And perhaps Anton, in those moments when his mind is clear.
“Anton seems happier now that the cave is closed off. He goes about his days, working in the fields and pressing the grapes. But I can’t look at him without thinking of poor Jean Pierre. They were best friends, Camille. I know you must remember what great comrades they were when we were all in day school together. I yearn for those carefree times.
“I don’t know if I will mail you this letter, knowing my words will betray my husband. But if I do, please remember that he was a good man, Camille. Never forget that, I beg of you.
“I feel relieved to have written down my story, and I pray that my dear Anton will find peace someday. I am not sure I ever will.
“With much love,
Marie.”
Speechless, I looked up at Derek and shook my head. It was unbelievable.
He placed his hand over mine and squeezed. “I can tell by your expression that you’re thinking of Robson.”
“I feel awful. I’m going to have to give this to him and watch him read it.”
“I’ll go with you when you do.”
“Please. I’m dreading it.”
He stood up and went to the refrigerator to pour each of us a glass of ice water. He handed a glass to me and remained standing as he drank his. “You probably need this after all that reading.”
“I’m parched,” I admitted. “Thanks.” After taking several long sips of water, I said, “I don’t believe Marie ever mailed the letter. So no one else ever knew.”
“I think you’re right.” Derek leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Now we have to ask ourselves if Anton was essentially a good man or if he had some underlying need to steal from his friends.”
“I seriously doubt that. It sounds like the war and the fear of the Nazis drove him crazy.”
“Probably so. But can we honestly believe that he kept all of those things hidden inside that cave, that he killed his best friend because of some sort of post-Nazi stress disorder? Did he truly slide down into madness, or was that Marie’s excuse for his behavior?”
“She didn’t sound as if she was making excuses for him. She sounded heartbroken. It was much worse to lose her husband than to lose a painting or a fancy dressing table.”
I took a quick sip of water and added, “Frankly, Derek, the world still suffers from post-Nazi stress disorder. To this day. Look at Trudy. She remembers the tragedy at Oradour-sur-Glane as if it happened yesterday. Millions of people suffered and died, and we’re still dealing with the aftermath.”
He nodded. “It was a devastating time.”
We sat in silence for a minute or two. My mind was reeling from Marie’s letter. I couldn’t imagine having to witness one’s own husband killing his best friend. I sighed. “Did I tell you what Guru Bob said that day we met the Frenchmen?”
Derek thought for a moment. “I don’t recall your telling me.”
“He talked about his grandfather and wondered if Anton’s purpose was altruistic or not. If he was a thief, why didn’t he sell off the pieces or display them in his own home as if they were his? But he never did. That must mean something.”
“It must,” Derek agreed, “but who’s to say what?”