Hi everyone ! So, here is the first chapter of Take Shelter in my Arms, a story of mine that I am translating for a fellow who wanted to read it. I hope it won't disappoint you.
You have to know that English isn't my first language, I'm not a native speaker so there obviously will be mistakes. Also, a huge thanks to dgronison who helped me and beta'd the chapter (:
I'll let you with the first chapter. Please don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts, I'd like some feedback.
The wheels of her green colored bicycle passed along by the market and stores at Rochechouart Boulevard. Feeling the uneven paving stones underneath her brought such a pleasing sensation for her. It was the simplest way to go back up the avenue instead of waiting for the subway for ten minutes then leaving it two stops away. Moreover, she could do some exercising along the way. Climbing the steep streets of the butte Montmartre was becoming easier for Quinn, especially with only a few cars on the road these days.
Turning left, the blonde stopped when she saw two familiar figures in the middle of a discussion near the Maison Collignon at Trois-Frères street. Quinn waved in greeting as the two crossed toward her side of the pavement while she dismounted on her bike.
"Hi Quinn!" the fair young woman called Brittany, exclaimed as she hugged her. She was always smiling and it was nearly impossible not to be contaminated by her cheerfulness which never seemed to drop.
The other person who was an older boy named Sam, moved forward and took Quinn in his arms. "Happy to see you, Quinn. Is everything alright at home?"
All three talked for a moment in the almost deserted street. Even if they see each other a few times a week, it was always wonderful to keep in touch with them. Sam lived in an apartment at the same building where Quinn was staying while Brittany lived a few stops away with her family.
With their schedule catching up with them, the three friends had to bid each other goodbye then parted ways to attend to their own affairs.
Quinn did nothing but roam around with her bike along the precipitous streets surrounding the Sacré-Cœur for the next few minutes, appreciating the fresh air breezing through the alleys and the sun's rays piercing the foliage of the trees.
She didn't have to do anything today because there were no work available requiring her skills and no errands for her to attend to. So, the young woman enjoyed the free time she had by exploring the surroundings of a butte that she knew all too well because she lived there since she was seventeen. She had one thing to do in the evening however. When the clock struck six, she got back on her bicycle to follow a path she knew by heart, then stopped in front of a grocer's shop when she was sure she wasn't being followed. No one ever followed her, but it didn't prevent her from being careful.
Quinn put her bike against the wall which was next to the nearly empty fruit stalls before rushing into the store. She walked past the few products stored up inside until she reached the back of the room. She went down the wooden stairs leading to the basement ; stocked with bags of lentils, wheat and oat, kilos of white sugar, hams, steaks, salt pork, wine bottles and seasonal fruits and vegetables, as well as dozens of other aliments and hygiene products.
The place was slightly dark withonly three bulbs lighting the room up but it looked very well kept. It was a real pantry but only for those who knew where to find it and who knew how to keep quiet.
Between these full shelves was a tall blonde woman like her who was about fifty, wearing a severe but friendly face when she saw that Quinn Fabray entered the room and was waiting for her on one of the stairs.
"There you are, Fabray. I was wondering if you would visit me today." She began with a reproachful look on her face, but her mouth forming a small smile.
"Sorry Sue, but I couldn't not come and see you." Quinn smiled.
The tall woman straightened up a little. "Still, you have to be more careful. You're taking risks by coming here in broad daylight."
"Don't worry, I'm cautious enough."
Sue Sylvester smiled completely this time. "I'm glad to see you, Q."
Sue Sylvester lived in one of those houses near the Opéra Garnier a few blocks away. She was one of those women who had enough connections to live without being disrupted in her business, but she was also discreet to go unnoticed anywhere. The kind of woman who would keep her silence, even if she was tortured.
Quinn was one of her customers, but also a close friend of hers or something close to that term. Sue treated her as a daughter. Because of this she would give her a small share of her goods — in this case a few pounds of pork wrapped up in rags, one kilo of sugar, tea, cheese, two sticks of butter and some bread — for a lower price than she would have normally paid in a shop like this one.
But after all, she had to eat by any means.
Relieved of two thousands francs, Quinn got back on her bike half an hour later, after having concealed her purchases in her backpack and in the bag hanging on the vehicle. She now had to go back home, which was often the most hazardous part of her day. Nobody had to know what transpired behind that shop just a few minutes earlier or how she learned about that place. Being caught coming out of Sue's with her bags full of provisions hard to find during wartime would be signing her own death warrant.
At this time of the day, the streets were still crowded. Most of people wanted to enjoy the last sunrays and the heat in the streets before deserting the alleys of Paris.
Quinn didn't draw attention on herself. It was not surprising at all ; she was a young woman like many others, going back home after a long day's work or a stroll in shadowy parks, and to melt away into the masses was the best way to go unnoticed.
Crossing Pigalle square, the blonde girl noticed some soldiers in uniform near the Clichy Boulevard. The men seemed to be in the middle of a conversation without paying attention to the passersby and there were no roadblock in sight. It was only after she turned into another street, began climbing the butte Montmartre to be sure that no one noticed her tense shoulders along with her quick glances toward the uniforms and her bags which seem to weigh a lot more than it did two minutes ago, that she felt safe enough and released a heavy breath of relief. She was becoming more and more nervous whenever she saw these men, even from a distance.
Quinn only felt sheltered enough as soon as she crossed the doorstep of her apartment. Almost nothing could reach her once she was between these walls.
Tomorrow, she would wake up about eight thirty then take a shower and buy the newspaper. She would listen the news on the radio, the same ones they'd been spreading weeks ago then look for something she could eat. After that she'll have a tea at her neighbors' Mercedes and Sam's place, stay awake to finish writing an article, head to sleep and do the same exact routine the next day — just like how it has been happening for the last four years.
Tomorrow would be another ordinary day in the summer of 1943. A day, like every day of these last four years, controlled by the worst of the monster the Earth had ever known.
One Thursday at the end of the month when the clock struck eleven that night, the aparment was suddenly immersed in nothingness. The bulb on the ceiling flickered a little as it seemed to fight against the darkness before giving up entirely.
Quinn sighed and dropped her pencil before she leaned back against her chair. Situations like this one happened often during these times, not because of a neighbor complaining about her intensive electricity consumption because she paid her bills, or because of an unhappy officer because someone didn't respect the curfew. There were a plenty of reasons like having wires nibbled by rats, blown fuses, overheating filaments or a button of the circuit breaker being misplaced that caused these problems.
It only gave Quinn trouble whenever a breakdown like this happened at a very late hour. Of course, who would need to work this late in this tiny building of Montmartre ? Nobody, according to her. When she went down in the basement to relaunch the current power, she never crossed a single soul except a few of these little rats — she was now lead to the conclusion that the lack of electricty after ten o'clock must be because of the little rascals.
Like every other time, she headed for the living room with the help of a kerosene lamp she kept for situations like this one. It was out of the question to open the curtains and show the entire town that one of its inhabitants wasn't sleeping yet. The young woman quickly found what she was looking for ; copper wire, a screwdriver, some candle wax and a flashlight with batteries.
"It should be enough." she said quietly.
A minute later, she locked her door and went down to the basement.
The door leading to it was never locked — a matter of safety, according to the Wehrmacht. If safety meant nobody had to come in, that was a failure. After going on a jaunt there dozens of time, Quinn had never been caught by anyone. In fact, the place wasn't very welcoming. Water was leaking at the corner, stagnating until mold would appear. A few containers were stocked at the back of the room, under a small window which didn't let enough light come in to be able to see through. Quinn was used to coming down here and she knew where to put her feet without them being soaked.
There was humidity in the air which made it a bit suffocating, nothing much for the end of August. In the silence that was only broken by the irregular creaking noises and snaps coming from the old plumbing, Quinn brought her screwdriver out to unscrew the metal plate which was protecting the circuits before putting it down against the wall. She began to seek for the reason of the power failure, examining every wire, fuse, switch attentively. There was no noise to disturb her from observation, until her foot came into contact with the metal plate she previously put down.
The sound of the falling object against the hard and cold floor reverberated in the closed space. It wouldn't have been any problem to Quinn if she didn't hear a muffled gasp resonating feebly.
The blonde stiffened upon hearing it and turned right to face the weak light source coming from outside. There was no one. But of course if there was anyone there at all, they must be hiding somewhere. She walked carefully with her flashlight pointed downward, the soles of her shoes alternately touching the floor of the basement and the stagnant puddles.
She stopped a meter away from the containers before calling out to ask : "Ist da jemand ?" in an audible voice, without the sentence sounding imperative or harsh.
No one answered her but as she moved closer to where she thought the culprit was, Quinn could make out a strangled breathing noise. For a minute, nothing happened. Quinn stood up with her flashlight and screwdriver in hand, ready to use it.
"Is someone in there?" she asked after another moment. She didn't know if she had to speak German or French anymore, with all these Germans in every corner of Paris.
This other person may think that Quinn would leave if she didn't receive an answer. They didn't know her. She pointed the torch at the container before her, still moving forward and what she discovered once behind the large box nailed her on the spot.
The cause of the sounds was due to the presence of a woman, not very old — probably the same age as Quinn — tightly closing her eyes and clenching her hands together until her knuckles turned white. She looked terrified. She surely was — because of this basement, who could easily scare people.
A puzzled Quinn kneeled before the intruder, careful not to let her dress trailing on the ground. Unlike what she did earlier, she spoke in a soft, whispered voice.
"I'm not gonna hurt you."
It took time but the young woman relaxed a little then finally opened her eyes and laid a mournful and fearful gaze at Quinn. She seemed to have understood French. She looked so young, however she seemed to have lived a life of eternity. Smiling weakly, Quinn stood up and offered her hand to the stranger.
"You don't look well," she said — God, she was so thin ! "You can come with me to my place to wash your face and have something to eat. I won't hurt you."
The dark-haired girl hesitated while Quinn patiently waited for her to decide. After all, trusting people who would pass their time in morbid basements wasn't the first thing to do. She finally raised a timid and shaky hand toward her then let Quinn pull her up to stand.
She looked sinister and she was deathly pale. Quinn's first thought was that she was homeless, and that that was why she took shelter in a repulsive and uncomfortable basement. Her clothes weren't much better than her complexion ; the sleeves of her coat were tattered, there were holes and tears scattered over her pants. She was visibly shivering — because of the cold, but also because she was scared too. By looking more at her face the blonde could guess her hollow cheeks, her tanned skin under the paleness, her nose which was more prominent than most of the population living in Paris.
Quinn noticed the nearly unstitched yellow star on said woman's coat — making her realize that the stranger was Jewish and was probably hiding.
How should she act in a situation like this ? It was the first time she was faced with such a specific dilemma — a Jewish girl hiding in the building she lived in, who would certainly be noticed at dawn, by a nosy neighbor or even by a soldier.
Her heart sank a little at the idea of a thousand of people hiding and fleeing every day for more than four years because of their religion — because of something they didn't choose, something they had inherited.
Quinn gave a feeble smile to the little brunette — the corner of her mouth uplifting just slightly — before taking the Jewish stranger to her apartment.
"Tea ?"
The brunette was startled that somebody asked her such a trite question before getting over the shock and nodding in response, then she looked back at the floor again.
In the little kitchen adjoining the living room where she just replaced the fuse, Quinn turned on the gas and put a teapot filled with water on it. She then walked back to where the young woman was who still haven't uttered a word.
'How will I handle the circumstance I found myself stuck into?' Quinn thought with a sigh. She had never helped a Jew secretly before. She had never denounced one either. She knew people, neighbors, friends who had hidden some under the floor, in a cellar or even at a workplace. But not her. What could she do ? Keep her here, in this apartment ?
Probably. She didn't have a choice.
"Tea's ready. Drink, it's gonna warm you up."
Quinn put a steaming cup in front of the young girl, who muttered a barely audible 'thanks'. Her hand shook when she reached to take the cup. It made the blonde woman smile a little. That was a first step.
She looked harmless and very vulnerable, in her rags and with her dirt-covered skin. Quinn told herself that she would offer the young girl to clean up tomorrow morning, if she will be staying — but of course, the stranger would still be here. She only didn't want to use the shower when it was past midnight, which could wake the neighbors up and bring up suspicions and that was the last thing she wanted to happen.
No other words were said by the young stranger again. Quinn decided that she would let the Jewish girl stay for the night. She offered the brunette to occupy her bed but the latter refused to, choosing to sleep on the couch instead with some blankets even if it was far less comfortable. Quinn made sure that the girl's needs were attended to and made her promise to call the blonde if she ever needed anything. After sending her a grateful smile, the girl fell asleep instantly in a comfort she haven't had the luxury to experience for a very long time.
When she laid down on her bed that night, Quinn tried to think of a solution to the problem which could possibly destroy the balance in her life at the moment. Unfortunately her mind couldn't think of anything because of the pain and worry it brought which tore her heart out, cutting and crushing it into pieces.
She hoped that the night would still bring her answers.
