After Dunkirk

from gratitude. In the dark, he dropped his head. I’ll probably never see them again. He put Amélie out of his mind once more and started the cycle of remembrance yet again.
Before dawn, sleepless, he heard soft tapping on the ceiling, and then the trapdoor lifted. The shadow of a bowed figure resembling Ferrand Boulier appeared and beckoned to him. Apprehensively, Jeremy climbed the stairs and looked into a face very similar to Ferrand’s.
“I’m Claude,” the man said in French, “Ferrand’s brother. He says you speak our language.” He handed Jeremy a paper sack. “Food.”
Then he opened another sketch map. “We’re here.” He indicated a point on the map representing the barn. “You’re going here.” He moved his finger to another place on the paper. “I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but time is short.”
Jeremy nodded without replying.
Claude nudged his arm and pulled another, larger bag from behind him. “Here are clothes for you.”
Jeremy pulled back. “If the Germans catch me in those, they’ll shoot me as a spy.” With both hands, he mimicked the act of shooting a pistol.
Claude grasped Jeremy’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “They don’t need a reason,” he said slowly. “They’ll shoot if they see this.” He grabbed Jeremy’s uniform sleeve to make his point and stuffed the bag of clothes in Jeremy’s hands. “Your chances are better if you wear these, but you must be alert.”
Jeremy took the clothes with lingering doubts.
“My son will be here in an hour,” Claude said. “He has papers. You’ll play a fool. You won’t talk.”
“A fool?” Jeremy echoed while examining the map.
Claude circled his finger around his temple, the universal gesture for “crazy.”
“I’m crazy.” Jeremy chuckled. “You’re not the brightest man I’ve ever met either.” Despite his good nature, his pique showed.
Claude shook his head patiently. “Nicolas will explain. He’s my son.”
Understanding dawned on Jeremy. “I see. I’ll act crazy.” He laughed. “I can do that.”
Claude looked relieved. “Eat and get dressed. We’ll burn your uniform. When Nicolas gets here, he’ll take you to the next destination.”
“The next?”
“He’ll explain.”
Jeremy nodded and gathered the items Claude had brought. Before descending back into the room below, he reached over and grasped Claude’s hand. “Merci.”
An hour later, Jeremy heard another soft tap on the trapdoor. When it opened, a younger, bigger version of Claude appeared. As Jeremy ascended, the man reached a hand down to help him up the final stairs.
“I am Nicolas,” he said. “We must hurry.” He grinned. “You’re the fool?”
“That’s me,” Jeremy confirmed.
“Let’s go.” Nicolas led him rapidly across the barn to a flatbed truck laden with hay. “You sit in the passenger seat. When we see Germans, don’t speak. I’m your brother. You’re sick in the head. Foam at the mouth. I’ll carry your papers and show them if needed. I’ll do all the talking. If someone talks to you, you grin, like this.”
He plastered his face with a crazed grin and let his head flop around, seemingly out of control. “You understand?”
With that, they boarded the truck and drove out of the barn, down a driveway, and onto the street. When they had gone a short distance, Jeremy asked again, “Where are we going?”
“To my cousin’s farm, southeast of Dunkirk. Tomorrow, you’ll go to Paris.”
Jeremy’s reaction was immediate. “Paris? The Germans just took that city. They’ll have soldiers everywhere.”
“Not everywhere, my friend. Think. Here they have many soldiers controlling fewer people. There they have millions of people but not so many soldiers by comparison, and we French hate them. You’ll go to some friends. They’ll help get you through France and Spain, to Gibraltar. Then you’ll get on a boat to England.”
Jeremy regarded him in astonishment. “You’ll help me that much? Why?”
“We’re at war together,” Nicolas replied. “Tell them in England how we helped.”
They approached a German checkpoint. Without hesitation, Nicolas pulled to a stop in the line of vehicles waiting to have documents inspected. Taking on the attitude of a bored driver, Nicolas put a reed of straw between his teeth and leaned against the corner of the truck’s cab.
“Remember, you’re a fool,” he said. “I’ll show your papers. When the guards talk to you, smile big, let your head go like this.” He wobbled his own again.
“I get it,” Jeremy said. He let his jaw go slack, his eyes vacant, and his head loll about loosely. Despite his demeanor, his heart beat wildly as their truck approached the checkpoint. The vehicle ahead of them slid into place next to the German sentries who inspected thoroughly, taking time to read through identification documents, scrutinize passengers, and go through the trunk.
Then it was Nicolas and Jeremy’s turn. Nicolas straightened in his seat while retaining his bored attitude. When he pulled up by the soldiers, Jeremy let his head roll in the direction of the guard on his side of the vehicle. He opened his mouth in an absurd grin and let loose an unearthly guffaw.
On the other side of the cab, Nicolas yelled something unintelligible, then reached across and slapped Jeremy’s face while apologizing to the soldier. Then he reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out papers for himself and Jeremy, and handed them to the respective sentries. Meanwhile, Jeremy closed his mouth, letting saliva form in bubbles on his lips and drip down his shirt. He lolled his head and grinned again.
Disgusted, the sentry on his side of the truck backed away. Moments later, the other one waved them through.
“We did it.” Nicolas laughed as they drove away. “Now we’ll go on backroads that I know, and they don’t.”
Jeremy sank back in his seat, and for the first time in many days, he relaxed completely. “Where did my papers come from?”
Wide grain fields rolled by, green and swaying in a gentle breeze. The sun had risen against a blue sky, and now that Jeremy felt safe to observe, he watched birds flitting between trees and cows grazing in their pastures with the occasional horse. For the first time in his recent