They had hosed her down. They had allowed her to dress in a simple shift. They had given her her shoes. But they did not treat her wounds. She ripped strips from the bottom of the shift to bind her leg and hold against her chest and behind her ear.
She didn't think her heart could sink further into despair, but when she saw the cattle car, it did. They pushed her in, shutting the door, and she blinked in the darkness, trying to see who was there with her. There was a shuffling around her, as her eyes struggled to adapt to the shadows broken only by dusty rays of late afternoon sun coming through one small ceiling vent and a few chinks between metal and wood. She was further blinded by the sweat that instantly formed on her brow and dripped into her eyes. The car must have been sitting in the summer sun all day, breezeless, stagnant. The reek of urine, feces and body odour was gag-inducing.
The shapes of other women materialized around her. Some sat, while a few seemed unable to lift themselves from prone positions, or perhaps too resigned to lift themselves from the layer of filth that covered the floor. Eyes seemed too large in faces thinned by starvation. A group of women, however, had approached her, and were standing around her, asking questions in low voices or whispers.
"Where are we?"
"Are we still in France?"
"Do you know where we're going?"
"Have your heard any news?"
"Where are you from?"
"Why did they bring you?"
She shook her head, overwhelmed.
"We're in Paris. I was told I was going to be taken to Fort de Romainville," Delphine answered, keeping her voice as low as theirs. "They arrested me for spying. They seem more harried than usual, but I don't know why."
An older woman in a headscarf and flowered dress put one hand on her arm and gently took Delphine's chin in the other, angling it to look at her battered face. She clucked her tongue.
"They really got you. Was it the Gestapo? Anna, give me your handkerchief to soak up some of this blood. I'm Babette, by the way."
The kerchief was handed to the older woman, who carefully pulled Delphine's hand from the blood-soaked rag she was holding to the cut behind her ear and replaced it with the blood-free cloth.
"I'm Delphine. Thank you."
Before she could say more, another voice cut in, from a woman in a smart-looking blouse and skirt approaching her and holding, of all things, a fashionable purse.
"That was not the Gestapo," the woman said, her compact form and dark, curly hair coming into view. "They make you kneel and stand on your back. They hang you from your arms. They almost drown you, or beat you, or even shoot you, but this is too precise." She pulled a small bottle out of her purse, opened it and tipped a drop of liquid onto her finger.
"This was someone higher up, special. Probably the SS."
She reached out the moistened finger and dabbed it just under Delphine's nose. A floral perfume penetrated Delphine's nostrils, incongruous and sweet.
"Here, this helps with the smell," the small woman said. "I'm Danielle Fournier. I was just brought here this morning."
"Thank you," Delphine murmured again, and the woman took her arm and led her to lean against one wall where the reddening sunlight came through a crooked gap between two boards.
"Spying, eh?" Danielle asked. Her French was like Delphine's: Parisian, upper class. Yet, there was some additional tone or resonance in her voice that Delphine found familiar, and warm. "Me, too," Danielle continued. "That, and propaganda. I was a journalist. When the papers and magazines were shut down or taken over, my compatriots and I decided to publish our own newsletter. The Nazis were not so happy with the some of the news we found and published. And you?"
Delphine hesitated for a moment, wondering if this questioning could be some kind of trap. But the SS already had her, and if she didn't reveal anything they didn't already know, how could it help them? Besides, just having another human, a Frenchwoman in a similar position, greet her with amity was a gift at this point.
"I helped some foreign soldiers," she simplified. "I had some outside connections."
Danielle nodded, cocking her head.
"More than that, I think," she said quietly, "considering you kept company with Öberführer von Leekie."
Delphine's eyes widened, the left one reminding her of its injury with a sharp jab of pain. What to say?
"Relax," Danielle reassured her, putting a hand on her arm. "A journalist, remember? It's been my business to know such things."
Delphine looked her over again. Her face was youthful, kind, but her eyes were knowing. And how ever did she look so put-together now, in this nightmare?
Danielle took note of Delphine's gaze and seemed to read her mind.
"Are you wondering why I look so healthy? They just brought me in. They let me keep my clothes, my purse. I'm accused of spying, but they really wanted me because I have family in the Free French. They're going to hold me as a hostage, and if the Resistance attacks somewhere they don't like, they say they'll kill me." She shrugged as if this was just a threat, but when she reached into her purse, pulled out a tube of lipstick and began to apply it, her hand trembled.
Delphine watched her. When Danielle finished applying the lipstick, she dropped it back in her purse and clicked the fastener shut.
"There are different levels," she explained. "Some prisoners get shipped in box cars so crowded they must stand, and have no room to even fall if they faint. Some are immediately killed. Some go to solitary confinement, some to factories. And some, who are considered valuable, go to a prison where they are allowed a few small privileges, but if things go wrong — comme ça," she snapped her fingers, "they're on the next train to Poland. But the men, they are often immediately shot." She glanced out the gap in the train car wall. The sun had nearly set, and an orange, flame-like glow streaked her face. "That is what happened to my husband, I am told."
Delphine caught her breath, and her own hand moved to the smaller woman's arm, a gesture of condolence, of comfort.
"I wish I had a cigarette," Danielle said, after a moment, a small, wry smile lacking real warmth coming to her lips as she glanced back at Delphine.
A woman lying in the corner groaned. A girl sitting by her stroked her head.
"This is another tactic — always a tactic," Danielle resumed, waving a loosely pointed finger to indicate the cattle car. "We're close enough to the fort that they could take us by truck, but they put us in here with women who have been here longer, who are meant to be sent on, to scare us, to give us a taste of the consequences." She looked at the swelling and blood on Delphine's face. "Although it seems you have already been given a serious dose of those."
Delphine nodded, and turned her gaze toward the light, as well. The sun was no longer visible. Shadows covered a half-collapsed wall by the train tracks. Deep blues crept toward the horizon from the heavens.
"I'm told," she finally said, her voice coming out with a rasp, "that there will be more questioning when I arrive."
Danielle tutted and lightly touched the side of Delphine's head.
"I wasn't sure about you, you know," she said. "I thought you really might be attached to him, to them. So, you did very well."
Her hand moved to Delphine's chin, raising it slightly.
"We all know we've done good work, even if we don't get to see the end of it. So, don't despair."
She leaned closer to whisper in Delphine's ear.
"The Allies have landed."