The Last Bicycle

JACQUES COULDN’T KEEP from grinning as he rode his bicycle along the cobblestone road, past the old castle, and down to the town square. From a mile away he could hear singing and cheering as the townsfolk celebrated the end of Hitler’s war. That day, August 26, 1944, Charles de Gaulle marched triumphantly into Paris, and the proud French national anthem song La Marseillaise lifted millions of hearts.

- Betty X. Davis

Jacques not only grinned for France, but also because he had found the last bicycle in town.

His friends stopped in their tracks when they saw his bicycle. “Hey, Jacques, where’d you get that bike?”

Jacques felt a lump in his throat. Then he squeezed out the words, “My brother Philippe hid it really well.”

The boys fell quiet. Pierre, one of Jacques’s schoolmates, said at last, “It sure is a beautiful bike.”

“Yes . . . Philippe loved it. Hey, anyone want a ride?”

The boys clamored. “Me, me!” “Let me ride it, Jacques!”

After they all took turns, Pierre offered, “I’ll pay ten francs for it!”

Jacques laughed. “It’s not for sale.” The bicycle was priceless beyond measure.

Almost nothing was for sale in Uzaire, not bicycles or cars or fuel—only secondhand clothes and rusty tools. Food was scarce. Edgy, wary of danger, people emerged from their stone cottages and scattered farms, getting used to a world without constant fear. A few shops and an inn opened. Trains ran, carrying mostly troops.

But no one forgot the awfulness of war, especially Jacques. Four years earlier, Philippe had told him, “I heard that in Chinon the enemy torched the buildings and smashed whatever was left. They’ll come here next.”

Jacques’s family hid what they could in the rubble of the old castle. Jacques and Philippe stashed the bicycle up in the tower. The enemy raided the castle soon after; the bicycle survived. But Philippe—kind, handsome Philippe—went to war for his beloved France and didn’t return. For Jacques nothing would ever be the same, though now he could finally once more breathe the air of freedom.