But at last a break had come. There were rumours everywhere that, angered by the complacent acceptance by their elders of the German Occupation, the university students were planning some kind of demonstration on November 11th, armistice day. Melchior spent all his spare time in the cafés on the Boul Miche where once he had sought the occasional pick-up. The youngsters were happy enough to let him pay for their drinks, but laughed behind his back at his efforts to draw them. Did someone who had so shamelessly flaunted his Aryan nancy-boy really believe they were going to spill their plans for a few cups of coffee?
66
But there were others who noticed and did not discount his efforts so scornfully.
On November 10th, he was sitting disconsolately in the café where hed taken Bruno after their first meeting. The owner no longer greeted him by name now his usual clientele were back, and not even free coffee seemed able to buy him company today. As one student had explained, thinking to be kind, Youve grown so dull, Maurice, since you stopped trying to screw us.
He rose and left. As he walked along the rain-polished pavement observing with distaste the spattering of his mirror-like shoes, footsteps came hurrying after him. He looked round to see a youngster he knew as Émile approaching. He was a pale, sick-looking boy, and shabby even by student standards. When he caught up, he glanced behind him furtively, then drew Maurice off the boulevard into a doorway.
Monsieur, he said. I need money.
Im sorry, said Melchior. A couple of francs is all I have
I need a thousand. Five hundred at the very least.
Melchior looked at him sharply. This was obviously no ordinary touch.
He said, Even if I had such a sum, which I dont, why should I loan it to you?
Not loan. Pay. Look, monsieur, everyone knows youre very interested in the plans for our demo tomorrow. Well, I can tell you its not going to wait till tomorrow. Come midnight tonight, and youll be able to see to read, if youre in the right places. I know those places.
But thatll mean breaking the curfew.
Its not the only thing that will be broken, said Émile. Come on. Are you in the market or not?
Why are you doing this? asked Melchior.
Because if I dont, Ill be flung off my course by the weekend, if I dont get flung off a bridge first by the people I owe money to.
These were reasons Melchior could understand. He said, Id need proof.
For Gods sake, whats proof? Ive got a copy of the plan with timings and locations, if thats what you mean.
Ill tell you what, said Melchior who despite everything was quite enjoying getting into his role. You give me the plan. If it works out, Ill pay you five hundred francs tomorrow.
Go and screw yourself, you little fairy, said Émile angrily. You dont imagine Im going to trust someone like you!
Melchior smiled, unhurt, and said significantly, It wouldnt be me you were trusting, Émile. Your payment would be guaranteed, believe me.
The youngster weighed this up. Strange, thought Melchior. He knows I mean the Germans and hell doubtless end up by deciding he can trust them more than hed trust me.
He was right.
OK, said the student reluctantly. Payment tomorrow morning, nine sharp, the Tuileries Gardens, by the Orangerie. And itll be the full thousand for extended credit, all right?
Agreed, said Melchior, holding out his hand.
A folded sheet of paper was put into it, then Émile turned on his heel and hurried away into the gathering dusk.
Melchior walked along, studying the paper. There were going to be torchlight processions starting in the Place de la Bastille at 11.30. And once the authorities attention had been concentrated on the processions, the Embassy, in the Rue de Lille, and the Hôtel de Ville were going to be the objects of the main demos at midnight. Melchior practically danced along the pavement in his elation. No hint of such early activity had emerged hitherto. This would be a real coup for Bruno. Surely he must show his gratitude by restoring their relationship?
But now as quickly as it had come, his joy faded as a sense of revulsion swept over him. What the hell was he doing? Giving this to Bruno meant hundreds of youngsters could be walking into a trap. And the Boche wouldnt be gentle, that was sure. No! He wouldnt do it. Bruno could go jump in the Seine!
He walked on, feeling incredibly noble.
Then he heard the sound of breaking glass. He turned a corner and saw a tobacconists with its window shattered. Pasted on the door was a now familiar sign saying JEWISH BUSINESS. Two youths with the armbands of the Parti Populaire Français were standing laughing on the pavement. They fell silent as he walked past. Then he heard their footsteps coming after him. Faster and faster he walked till he was almost running.
Finally, exhausted by effort and fear, he stopped and turned.
He was alone. But he had left his feeling of nobility far behind.
7
Every year on November 11th, Sophie Simonian went to the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior to leave some flowers and make her own personal thanksgiving.
Bubbah, this year say thanks at home or in the synagogue, urged Janine.
Sophie looked at her in surprise and said, Why should I change the habit of twenty years, child? I owe it to Iakov for his safe return.
Realizing she had no hope of winning the argument, Janine insisted on accompanying her, leaving the children in the care of a neighbour.
As their train pulled into lÉtoile métro station, she saw that the platforms were crowded and the crush of people getting into the carriage prevented the two women from getting out. When Sophie began to grow agitated, a middle-aged man whod just entered said, Take it easy, old lady. Youre better off down here than up there. Youd not be let out of the station anyway!
Whats going on? demanded Janine.
Chaos, he said. Theres been demonstrations, students mainly. The Boche are clearing the streets, and not being too gentle about how they do it.
They managed to get off at the next station. Janine wanted to cross platforms and head straight home, but Sophie ignored her pleas and, clutching her small posy of Michaelmas daisies, marched out of the station and turned up the avenue towards lÉtoile.
Janine half-expected to find a howling mob. Instead what she saw was a lot of people, scattered enough for passage among them to be relatively easy, and not making a great deal of mob-noise. But the atmosphere felt electric.
Janine! Madame Simonian! What are you doing here?
It was Valois, his sallow face flushed with excitement.
Janine told him and Sophie flourished her posy.
Id get rid of those, said Valois. The Boche seem allergic to flowers. Oh Christ, here they come!
An armoured car was moving steadily down the centre of the avenue with soldiers fanning out on either side. They held their rifles at the port and their trotting feet kept perfect time so that the thud of the boots was a powerful heartbeat under the panicking cries of the crowd.
People started to scatter and run.
People started to scatter and run.
Come on! urged Valois.
But Sophie had neither the strength nor the inclination to flee and the best Janine could manage was to pull her behind an advertising stand which would at least part the advancing line.
The soldiers broke, re-formed, passed on. Except one, a cadaverous, pock-faced man who looked frightened enough to be brutal.
Go on, he snarled. Fuck off out of it quick! Run! Run! Run!
He thrust at them with his rifle as he spoke. Janine and Valois tried to protect Sophie but she pushed between them.
Im going to the tomb, she said clearly. To lay these flowers.
She held out the posy. The soldier looked at it in puzzlement as if imagining it was being offered to him. Then he struck it from her grasp and said, Get off out of it, you old bag. I wont tell you again.
You bastard! cried Valois. Before he could move, Janine flung her arms round him. She could see the soldier was keyed up enough to shoot.
We must get Sophie away, she urged.
Valoiss tense body relaxed. Youre right, he said. Therell be time for that.
They hurried the old lady to the station. A sergeant and two privates were lounging there, cheerfully waving back anyone still trying to emerge. When they saw that the newcomers wanted to go in, they politely stood aside.
Thats right, darling, said the sergeant. Homes best today. I wish I was coming with you!
And the soldiers mocking laughter followed them down the stairs.
Half a mile away, a German corporal was growing very irritated. Hed been up since before midnight, first of all lying in wait to quell an assault on the Embassy which never happened. Then, when at last he was stood down, hed just had time to have some breakfast and stretch himself out on his bunk before he was ordered out again to deal with some real demonstrations. All was quiet now, and he could be thinking of getting back to that bunk if this funny little twerp would stop babbling at him in broken German.
Maurice Melchior had woken up to a terrifying silence. No one was talking about midnight marches and torchlight processions and assaults on the Embassy. He was supposed to meet Zeller early to collect Émiles pay-off, but he had the sense not to keep that appointment. He did go to the Orangerie, however, and hung around in growing despair till news of the disturbances at lÉtoile had brought him hurrying here, hoping against hope that somehow his disturbances had moved on in space and time.
The corporal grew angry. The little fairy was apparently taking the piss about last nights abortive ambush! Only his eagerness to get to bed stopped him from arresting him. He turned away. The Frenchie grasped his shoulder! That did it. He turned and hit him in the gut. Melchior sank to the ground. The corporal swung back his foot.
No, said a voice from a staff-car which had drawn up alongside.
Through tear-clouded eyes, Melchior recognized a face. No. Two faces. One, looking at him through the window, was Colonel Fiebelkorns. The other, less frightening but more incredible, belonged to a man getting out of the car. He looked at Melchior and smiled as he walked past. It was Émile.
Monsieur Melchior, said Fiebelkorn opening the door. Wont you join me?
For days there were rumours of pitched battles, hundreds killed, thousands arrested. The truth was less dramatic. No deaths, a few injuries, and only one arrest on a serious charge.
Some poor devil miles away from the demos got jostled by a drunken Boche and jostled back. Now hes facing the death penalty for violence against the German Army! At least itll show people what kind of monsters were up against.
Isnt that a big price to pay for an illustration? wondered Janine.
Dont give me that bourgeois sentimental crap, retorted Valois.
All I mean is a mans life seems more important to me than anything else.
Oh yes? And to get Jean-Paul home safe and sound, how many death-warrants would you be prepared to sign? One? Two? Three? A hundred?
I dont know. Thats different. It would dependI dont know!
Its a question of objectives and priorities, isnt it? said Valois bleakly.
Christian, are you a communist? asked Janine.
Dont be silly, he replied, suddenly gay. Didnt you know, the communists are Herr Hitlers friends, bound to him by formal agreement? Theyre finding it even harder to be consistent than you are!
It was true. This seemed a time of inconsistencies. On December 15th the Marshal had his vice-president, Laval, arrested. Abetz, the German ambassador, immediately went to Vichy to have him released. Meanwhile, at midnight on December 16th, a gun carriage rumbled through the curfew-emptied snow-feathered streets flanked by a mixed escort of French and German soldiers. On the carriage was a coffin containing the body of the Duke of Reichstadt, Napoleons only son, exhumed from the imperial vault in Vienna, and returned at Hitlers own behest to be set at his fathers side in Les Invalides. For a short while Bayreuth came to Paris and under the flaming torches of this Wagnerian stage-setting, all the civic dignitaries, French and German alike, shivered through their walk-on parts. This conciliatory gesture was followed a week later by the execution of the man arrested during the November demonstrations.
Then it was Christmas.
You must go to your parents, for the childrens sake, especially, but for your own sake too, said Sophie firmly.
But what about you? said Janine. Why should you be left alone at Christmas?
Sophie laughed merrily.
What are you saying? An old Jewess alone at Christmas? Whats Christmas to me, liebchen?
All right, Ill go, said Janine. Then she added, guiltily aware that despite her objection she had really made up her mind before Sophie spoke, I was going to anyway.
I knew you were, said the old lady laughing. Youre a good daughter.
You think so? said Janine doubtfully. I dont always feel it. I dont feel grown-up yet. Adults should be prepared to suffer the consequences of their own decisions, shouldnt they? In any case, its me who has the rows with maman, but its papa and the children who suffer the consequences.
Sophie shook her head.
Yes, when I first knew you, that was very much how you were. But youve grown a lot since then, child. And youre still growing.
Am I? Have I far to go, Bubbah? she asked, half-mocking, half-serious.
Further than I care to see, it sometimes feels, said the old lady, for a moment very frail and distant. But before Janine could express her concern, Sophie laughed and said with her usual energy, And when I said you were a good daughter, I meant to me as well as to Madame Crozier.
The welcome they received on Christmas Eve made Janine ashamed that she could even have dreamt of staying away. Louise burst into tears of joy at seeing them and later, while she was out of the room putting the children to bed, Claude said confidentially to his daughter, If youd not come here, we were going to come round to see you tomorrow.
Maman too? But she said shed never visit Sophies flat again.