The Collaborators Read Online Free PDF

age with the kind of flesh that looked, not unfittingly, as if it had been moulded from well-kneaded dough.
    The black-swathed customer looked in alarm at Mai’s uniform, said abruptly, ‘Good morning, Madame Crozier,’ and left.
    ‘Good morning, Madame Duval,’ the stout woman called after her. ‘Monsieur?’
    Her attempt at sang-froid failed miserably.
    He set about allaying her fears.
    ‘Madame,’ he said in his rolling Alsatian French. ‘I have been drawn here by the delectable odours of what I’m sure is your superb baking. I would deem it an honour if you would allow me to purchase a few of your croissants.’
    The woman’s doughy features stretched into a simper.
    ‘Claude!’ she shouted.
    The door behind her opened, admitting a great blast of mouth-watering warmth and a man cast in the same mould, and from the same material, as his wife.
    ‘What?’ he demanded. Then he saw the uniform, and his face, which would have made him a fortune in the silent movies, registered fearful amazement.
    ‘Good day, monsieur,’ said Mai. ‘I was just telling your wife how irresistible I found the smell of your baking.’
    ‘Claude, are there any more croissants? The officer wants croissants,’ said Madame Crozier peremptorily.
    ‘No, I’m sorry…’ began the man.
    ‘Well, make some, Claude,’ commanded the wife. ‘If the officer would care to wait, it will only take a moment.’
    The man went back into the kitchen and the woman brought Mai a chair. As she returned to the counter the door burst open. A good-looking woman of about twenty-five with dishevelled fair hair and a pale smudged face rushed in. She was carrying a child of about two years and at her heels was a boy a few years older.
    She cried, ‘Maman, are you all right? Madame Duval said the Boche were here!’
    ‘Janine!’ exclaimed the woman. ‘What are you doing back? Why aren’t you in Lyon? Oh the poor baby! Is she ill?’
    The child in arms had begun to cry. Madame Crozier reached over the counter and took her in her arms with much cooing.
    ‘No, she’s just hungry,’ said the girl, then broke off abruptly as for the first time she noticed Mai sitting quietly in the corner, almost hidden by the door. She was not however the first of the newcomers to notice him. The young boy’s eyes had lit on him as soon as he came in and the lad had thereafter fixed him with a disconcertingly level and unblinking gaze.
    Mai got to his feet.
    ‘I’m sorry, madame,’ he said. ‘Please do not let me disturb this reunion.’
    ‘No, wait,’ cried Madame Crozier. ‘Claude! Where are those croissants?’
    ‘They’re coming, they’re coming!’ came the reply, followed almost immediately by the opening of the door. Once again Mai had the pleasure of seeing that cinematic amazement.
    ‘Janine!’ cried Crozier. ‘What’re you doing here? Why’ve you come back?’
    ‘Because the Boche dropped bombs and fired bullets at everyone on the road,’ cried Janine vehemently. ‘They could see we were a real menace. Men, women, children, animals, all running south in terror. Oh yes, we were a real menace!’
    Sighing, Mai put on his cap. Not even the best croissants in the world were worth this bother.
    ‘But you’re not hurt, are you? And the children are all right? Claude, the officer’s croissants!’
    The man put the croissants in a bag and handed it to Mai. He reached into his pocket. The woman said, ‘No, no. Please, you can pay next time.’
    A good saleswoman thought Mai approvingly. Ready to risk a little for good will and the prospect of a returning customer. The young woman was regarding him with unconcealed hostility. As he took the croissants he clicked his heels and made a little bow just as Major Zeller would have done. She too might as well have her money’s worth.
    He left the shop, pausing in the doorway as if deciding which way to go. Behind him he heard the older woman say, ‘Oh look at the poor children, they’re like little