Me, well, there was no use sending a one-legged man to a POW camp, even the Boche could see that. So they decided to discharge me back home. When I told Jean-Paul, he asked me to get in touch with you, Monsieur Valois, and tell you he was alive and well. He didnt want to risk putting anything down on paper in case I got searched. So here I am and thats my message!
By the time he finished it was nearly curfew or Id have come round last night, concluded Valois. He slept in the flat and this morning I sent him off with some money.
Did you get his address? Can I talk to him? demanded Janine.
Of course, said Valois. Though not straightaway, eh? Ill fix it up later. Theres still a slight risk now, and its best not to take chances.
This wasnt the real reason, but Janine in her joy and excitement was easily persuaded to accept it. The truth was that Valois had other cause to feel uneasy about a meeting between Pivert and Janine. Hed censored all references to the mental scarring left by Jean-Pauls wound.
I knew he was married with kiddies, Pivert had said. You talk about these things when youre under fire like wed been. But first time I mentioned them in the hospital, he just looked blank. Another time he talked about them, but like he was talking about something in a dream. Most of the time he just wanted to talk about our old comrades. I had to go through how each of them died, he was so desperate to believe that some others might have survived.
But you he seemed to remember all the time, sir. You and his old mother. He said to contact you first so you could break it to the old lady. Good news can sometimes shock even more than bad, cant it?
Good news so mixed with cause for unease certainly could, decided Valois. And he had taken it upon himself to convey only the joyous essentials of the tale to Janine and his reward was to see her face light up like a spring dawn.
When Sophie returned from shopping, complaining bitterly about the lack of most things and the price of the rest, Valois diplomatically withdrew. They neednt have worried, however. She short-circuited Janines tentative approach to the subject with a crisp, Whats this? Youve got news of Jean-Paul, havent you? Well, praise be to God, hes alive!
Bubbah! How did you know? demanded Janine amazed.
Know? Ive always known! And how did I know you were going to tell me? Well, Ive not seen your eyes sparkle like that for over a year, so I didnt think you were going to tell me he was dead! Come here, child!
Laughing and crying together, Janine fell into the old womans arms.
After joy came decision. Day to day existence had gone out of the window. There was now a future to be planned.
Janine wanted to sit down and write a long loving letter to Jean-Paul straightaway and once more found herself at odds with Christian.
You cant just write, he said. Letters are censored. I dont know how much danger Jean-Paul would be in if they discovered his background, but theyd certainly sit up and take notice if they did find out hed been misleading them about his name. So it cant help him if suddenly out of the blue he starts getting letters from his family, can it?
To Janines surprise and disappointment, Sophie supported Valois. There are stories told in the schul of what these Nazis have done in Germany. If my son is soon to go into one of these prisoner camps, better he go as Jean-Paul Simon, Catholic, I think.
But we have to let him know that were all well, Bubbah, you, me and the children! cried Janine. And if we dont contact him straightaway, how will we ever know where they send him? Oh, dont lets lose him again so soon after finding him! Couldnt I travel to Nancy to see him? Christian, couldnt your father help me to get an Ausweis?
Valois shook his head in exasperation.
Please, I beg of you, Janine. Do nothing without consulting me first, eh? Look at it this way. The Germans have got themselves a prisoner, an ordinary soldier of no particular importance, called Jean-Paul Simon. The only danger is from us, his friends, if we draw the Germans attention to him in any way.
Suddenly all Janines other emotions were blanked out by a single memory. Up to now shed completely forgotten her interview with the Abwehr lieutenant. Now Valoiss warning brought it all back. Just how much had her mother told Mai about Jean-Paul?
She shook her head. What did it matter? The Abwehr were hardly going to concern themselves with one French soldier who, as Mai had pointed out, was probably dead.
Are you all right? asked Valois.
Fine. Its just the excitement. So tell me, what do we do?
Heres my idea. The only person who can contact Jean-Paul without drawing undue attention is Pivert. So lets send a parcel through the Red Cross with a note allegedly from Pivert saying hes not forgotten his old fellow-patient. In the note, Pivert can say that hes safely back in Paris, and has found his own family, Sophie, Janine, Pauli and Céci, safe and well. And he can tell Jean-Paul to write to him, care of my address. Its a risk, but not much of one and weve got to give him an excuse to write back. How does that sound to you?
Janine considered. It sounded cautious, reasonable, well-planned. It sounded so many things she found it hard to be but which she knew she was going to have to learn.
It sounds all right, she said.
When Christian left she accompanied him to the street door. He was in a quiet mood which contrasted with his excitement as the bearer of good news earlier. She guessed he was still worried that by some impulsive act she might endanger Jean-Paul. The thought annoyed her. Didnt he know that while there was an ounce of strength in her body she would fight for Jean-Paul? Then she thought, of course he knows it, just as I know that while theres any strength left in his mind, he will be fighting alongside me.
Ill be in touch then, he said.
Awkwardly he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She jerked her head back and for a second he thought she was going to thrust him away. Then her arms went round his shoulders and she pulled him close.
Thank you, Christian, she whispered. Thank you for being such a good friend.
Before he could think of what to reply, she released him and slipped back into the house.
He stood in the doorway for a while after shed gone, not thinking anything in particular but savouring the memory of her slim, strong body pressed against his like the reverberation of music after the players have laid their instruments down.
Then he smiled as if at some recognition of his own foolishness and set off walking towards the centre of town.
4
Maurice Melchior was bored with his job.
He was bored with the countryside. He was bored with bumping around in a smelly army truck. And he was bored with his companion, SS Sergeant Hans Hemmen, who had no conversation whatsoever. What he did have was a certain Nordic beauty but when Maurice had let his hand brush those firm swelling buttocks on an early excursion, Hemmen had bent his fingers back till they almost broke.
Also, though this he kept very well hidden, he was beginning to get a little bored with his patron, Colonel Walter Fiebelkorn. The man had a certain hard wit, but little refinement. His sexual demands were sadly unimaginative and always contained a strong element of humiliation. And if only he looked like Hemmen!
Maurice Melchior was bored with his job.
He was bored with the countryside. He was bored with bumping around in a smelly army truck. And he was bored with his companion, SS Sergeant Hans Hemmen, who had no conversation whatsoever. What he did have was a certain Nordic beauty but when Maurice had let his hand brush those firm swelling buttocks on an early excursion, Hemmen had bent his fingers back till they almost broke.
Also, though this he kept very well hidden, he was beginning to get a little bored with his patron, Colonel Walter Fiebelkorn. The man had a certain hard wit, but little refinement. His sexual demands were sadly unimaginative and always contained a strong element of humiliation. And if only he looked like Hemmen!
It was of course Walter whod got him attached to the SSs Art Preservation Section. Everyone was at it, the SS, the Abwehr, the Embassy, not forgetting visiting notables like Goering. Melchior had eased his early pangs of conscience by assuring himself there was real preservation work to be done in places where the owners had been too concerned with packing everything portable to worry about protecting what wasnt. Winter was the worst enemy. Delicate inlays developed a bloom, the frames of fine old pianos warped into discord, the pigment of paintings cracked and flaked. Yes, there was work to be done here.
But in the end it came down to looting.
This was brought home to him beyond all doubt one glorious June day in a villa on the Heights of the Seine. The usual anonymous delation had told them that the owner had gone for a long holiday in Spain. The tipster must have been very keen for the house to be preserved as he had evidently informed the Abwehr preservation group too. Melchior recognized one of them, a big piratical red-head who occasionally visited old Madame - or perhaps young Madame - Simonian in the flat below. He seemed an amiable fellow, which was more than could be said for his mate, a nauseating little man called Pajou whose bloodshot eyes behind their thick frames never stopped moving.
It was Pajou who said, as the argument reached its height, Look, lets not be silly about this. Were all in the same game, arent we? Spin of a coin, winner takes the lot.
Hemmen rejected the offer angrily, but it turned out to be merely a time-wasting tactic anyway, to give an Abwehr captain time to turn up and throw his rank about. Hemmen, with the weight of the SS behind him, refused to be intimidated, while Melchior retired in disgust.
All in the same game indeed! Whatever game he was in, it certainly wasnt that little rats. His indignation led him into temptation. There was a beautiful piece of Nevers verre filé in a niche, a tiny figurine of a young girl strewing flowers from a basket. She probably represented Spring, one of a set, overlooked when the family packed and ran. Its intrinsic value was not great but it gave him great pleasure to look at. What would its fate be if it fell into the hands of either set of looters? And if preservation really was their job, who would preserve it more lovingly than he?
Checking that Hemmen was too immersed in the row to keep his usual distrustful eye on him, Melchior slipped the figurine into his pocket.
Five minutes later it became clear that the sergeant too had merely been playing for time. A staff-car drew up outside the villa and Colonel Walter Fiebelkorn got out.
Now there was no contest but Fiebelkorn seemed ready to be a good winner.
We are after all in the same line of business, my dear captain, he said echoing Pajous words, but with a wider meaning. We both look after our fatherlands security in our different ways. This is merely a diversion, not something to sour friendship over. Why dont we simply divide the spoil? You take the ground floor, we take the rest.
It was not an offer the Abwehr man could refuse even though it was clearly based on Hemmens intelligence that the ground floor had been almost entirely cleared, the upper floors much less so.
It didnt take Pajou and Boucher long to remove what little remained downstairs. Fiebelkorn watched with an impassive face.
All done? said the disgruntled captain.
Not quite, said Pajou.
What else is there?
If we are to have everything from down here, what about the figurine that little fairys got in his pocket?
All eyes turned to Melchior. He felt no fear yet, only irritation that in his eagerness to be sure he was unnoticed by Hemmen, hed ignored Pajous shifty gaze.
Oh this? he said. Sorry.
He held out the little Spring.
This is a serious offence, colonel, said the Abwehr captain, delighted to have captured the initiative from the SS. Theft of works of art sequestered to the State is punishable by death.
You want him killed? asked Fiebelkorn indifferently.
Well, no, said the captain. I just wanted to be sure the SS would take the serious view I think this case demands. Examples should be made.
I agree, said Fiebelkorn. Sergeant.
Hemmen approached Melchior, his eyes alight with pleasure. In his hand he held his machine pistol. For a terrible second, Maurice felt sure he was going to be shot. Then the figurine was swept out of his outstretched hand by the dully gleaming barrel. Before it hit the floor, the gun had swept back, catching Melchior along the side of his face. He felt no immediate pain, only a warm rush of blood down his ravaged cheek. Then the barrel came back, laying open his temple this time, and now he felt pain. His scream seemed to incense Hemmen, who drove his knee into the little Frenchmans groin and as he collapsed sobbing to the ground began to kick furiously at his chest and stomach.
Melchior rolled this way and that in his effort to avoid the blows, finally fetching up at Fiebelkorns feet.
He looked up into that blank face and choked, Walterplease
Perhaps something moved in those dead eyes, but the voice was perfectly calm as the SS man said, Well, captain, is this sufficient to satisfy the Abwehrs understandable demand for an example to be set?
Yes. Enough, said the captain unsteadily.
Good. Rest assured, if our friend here troubles us again, we will not be so merciful.
To Melchior remembering the moment later, the most horrifying thing was to recognize that Fiebelkorn had been utterly sincere. In his eyes this beating had been an act of mercy. But just now he had no thought for anything but pain. He lay very still, heard footsteps leaving the room, heard them more distantly mounting the marble stairway. Then silence. Then a hand on his shoulder. He screamed in terror.
Come on, my little hero, said Michel Bouchers voice. Youve got a lot to learn about thieving, my friend. Here, lets clean you up a bit.
A large red kerchief was applied with surprising gentleness to his cheek.
Now, can you stand? Well get you out of here before Attila returns.
Unsteadily he rose. Something crunched beneath his feet. He looked down and saw the little Spring had strewn her flowers at last.
He liked to think some of the tears in his eyes were for that.
Arent you the chap who lives upstairs from old Sophie? asked Boucher as he helped him out. My cousins married to her son whos missing.