Free In This Hospitable Land by Jr. Lynmar Brock

back the passports, smiling almost imperceptibly. “Take your family to France. The war in Belgium is already lost.”
    Though he was flustered, André didn’t hesitate. He eased his foot from the brake to the gas and rolled the Buick into the no-man’s land adjoining French soil. The Sauverins clapped and cheered.
    While they waited for the French authorities to approve their entry André asked Alex anxiously, “Should I go back? Does my nation really need me?”
    “Not if you’re not willing to take up arms,” Alex replied blithely.
    “Is Papy afraid?” Ida asked her mother. “Is he a coward?”
    “No,” Denise declared instantly, definitively, startled to realize Ida knew such words and concepts. “Your father is very brave. He’s a pacifist.”
    “What’s a pastafitz ?” little Christel asked.
    “Someone who doesn’t believe in killing,” André said firmly. “Someone who thinks it’s never right to take another person’s life.”
    “Oh,” Ida said very quietly.
    “Relax, André,” Alex told him, trying to do so himself. “Didn’t you understand the border guard? Belgium’s done for. Better save your family than risk your own skin on a losing battle.”

     
    Waiting and watching with some concern the uniformed men who would determine the Sauverins’ fate, André considered the two years he had spent in uniform himself as part of the combined Belgian and French forces occupying the Ruhr Valley. The heart of Germany’s coal, iron, and steel industries had to be “overseen” to enforce compliance with the onerous reparations payments required by the Treaty of Versailles. But what had André’s service amounted to? Observing Frenchmen and Belgians mistreat Germans so badly it had inevitably led to the present mess. Exercising the Belgium general’s horse on the long rides through the countryside had exposed André to the misery and anger of the sorely put-upon German people. He had watched in horror as leading industrial and investment interests organized a campaign of passive resistance, grinding production to a veritable halt, leading to arrests, prison sentences, and ultimately the collapse of the German economy, complete with huge numbers of unemployed and inflation on a hitherto unknown scale.

     
    A pall of gloom spread over the Sauverins. They looked a sorry sight to the French guards who examined their passports next. This time Louis and Alex’s nationality caused comment.
    “Have you heard the latest?” one Frenchman asked, leaning in through the passenger-side window. “Yesterday Rotterdam fell and the government went into exile in London.”
    “Terrible,” Louis said, shaking his head. Not that he was surprised.
    And that was that. Geneviève held her telegram from Lilla Tirouen at the ready should proof be needed that the Sauverins had a place to stay but the immigration officials handed back the passports, not even bothering to stamp them, and quickly sent the Sauverins on their way. With one caution.
    “Remember to register as soon as you reach your destination.”
    Moments later André watched the border crossing recede into the distance.
    “I suppose the French don’t much care who enters the country,” he speculated, “as long as the roads stay clear.”

     
    Smartly dressed auxiliary police directed the flow of Belgian vehicles. Strikingly, businesses all across the northern coast were open for business as usual. How strange after the panic in Belgium to see French citizens sitting easily at outdoor cafés, drinking their cafés au lait and eating petites gateaux as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
    Traffic was orderly and steady, allowing the Sauverins to make real progress. At Dunkirk they turned south for the longest leg of the journey.
    The children settled into a routine, with Ida and Katie reading books they had brought along and Christel regaling Philippe with fairy stories she invented. The adults focused on the changing scene of low hills green