The Book of Lost Names

by Kristin Harmel

  The soldier examined them both, his eyes narrowed. When he looked back up at Eva, his expression was smug, hard. “Fräulein Charpentier,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain, “what is the destination of your travel today?”

  “Paris.”

  “For what purpose?”

  Her heart thudded. Why had he picked her out to harass? Certainly her papers had passed muster earlier. She glanced quickly around the train carriage and found several people staring at her, some with sympathy, some with suspicion. She turned her attention back to the German. “Returning home.”

  “And where are you coming from?” The soldier’s gaze had grown more suspicious.

  “Aurignon.”

  “What was your business there?”

  “I was visiting an aunt.”

  “I’ll need to see some other documents.”

  “Other documents?”

  “Surely you must have other papers? To prove that you are who you say you are?”

  Eva just stared at him, her heart thudding. “But all I need to travel legally is my travel permit and my identification card.”

  The soldier’s eyes were bright now, excited, and Eva felt like a wounded rabbit being circled by a hungry wolf. “And yet most citizens would carry with them something else that would prove who they are.” He raised an eyebrow and added, “Unless they were traveling on false papers.”

  “What seems to be the problem?” A deep voice with a French accent cut in behind the soldier, and as he turned with a sneer, Eva’s mouth fell open. Standing just a row away was the dark-haired young man from last night, the one who had interrupted her in the church library. She sucked in a deep breath.

  “And you are…?” the German asked.

  “Her husband.” He slid easily into the seat beside Eva, placed his palm possessively on her thigh, and kissed her cheek. “Hello, darling. I’m sorry I was gone so long. I grew enraptured by the scenery and lost track of time.”

  “H-hello,” Eva managed to stammer.

  “Her husband? Let me see your papers, then.”

  Eva stopped breathing. How on earth would he get out of this?

  But he just smiled easily and withdrew documents from his pocket, handing them to the German.

  “Rémy Charpentier,” the soldier read, and this time, Eva gasped aloud, which earned her a swift jab in the ribs.

  “Sorry, darling,” he said cheerfully, glaring at her through a smile. “My arm slipped.”

  As Eva gaped at him, he pulled out a few other papers and handed them to the soldier. “Here you are. My wife’s student identification papers, her library card, and a ticket she got last week for riding her bike without a headlight. She tends to lose things, so I hold on to them for her. You know how women can be.”

  The soldier shuffled through the papers without a frown and then handed them back. “Very well. But you shouldn’t let her travel by herself again. She has quite a Jewish look to her.”

  “Yes, of course, thank you for your advice.” The dark-haired man nodded politely at the soldier as he moved on.

  Eva waited until the German was out of earshot before leaning over and hissing, “Would you kindly take your hand off my thigh?”

  “What kind of a way is that to thank me for rescuing you?” The man grinned at her, but after a few seconds, he moved his hand. He was still holding Eva’s papers, though.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Why, traveling with you, darling,” he replied loudly, pointing out the window. “Look, is that Varennes-sur-Allier we’re passing now? Why, I think it is. Don’t you love the way the river winds through the village? You can see it there, just beyond that field.”

  “You want me to discuss the landscape with you?”

  “No.” His voice was suddenly hushed, urgent, in her ear. “I want you to calm down and pretend to be in love with me. Or even simply acquainted with me. I just saved you, and the least you could do is trust me for the next few hours. I’ll explain everything once we reach Paris. There are too many people here paying attention to us.” He flashed a charming grin at an old woman staring at them from two aisles away. She snorted and went back to her knitting.

  “Fine,” Eva grumbled. “Now, will you give me my papers back?”

  He handed her the documents she had forged, along with the ones he had used to persuade the German soldier that she was who she said she was. She glanced at them and frowned. “But these are absolutely terrible.”

  The young man looked offended. “I assume that what you meant to say was, ‘Thank you so very much, handsome Rémy, for coming to my rescue.’ ”

  “I—”

  “Personally, I think they’re quite good for a rush job.”

  She just looked at him.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, there’s your rabbit-in-the-headlights look again.” He rolled his eyes. “Now, be a sport and hold my hand, will you? Your soldier friend is coming back.”

  Eva glanced up and saw the German striding toward them from the other end of the train car, his menacing gaze glued on her. But before the soldier could say a word, Rémy leaned over and covered her mouth with his, his lips soft and gentle as he kissed her. Eva hesitated and glanced once more at the sneering German before closing her eyes and kissing back. The oxygen seemed to vanish around her, making her light-headed. By the time Rémy pulled away, looking amused, the German was gone, and her heart was racing. She knew the kiss had been merely a diversion, but his tenderness had knocked her off balance. “You can’t just kiss me like that,” she whispered.

  He simply laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, what was that? Oh yes, was it, ‘Thank you so very much, handsome Rémy, for coming to my rescue for the second time today’?”

  “Was that all that was? You coming to my rescue?”

  “Of course,” Rémy said, settling back in his seat with a sigh, traces of a satisfied smirk dancing across his lips. “After all, you’re my wife.”

  * * *

  Dusk was falling as their train pulled into Paris after a dozen delays. Once, they’d heard explosions in the background, and closer to the city, there had been gunfire. Had it truly been only four days since Eva left the capital? Already, things felt darker, more foreboding.

  Rémy held her hand and carried her small valise as they left the train, both of them nodding politely to the German who had harassed her earlier. He waved them on, but Eva could feel his eyes boring into her back as they walked away.

  As soon as they had left the station and were walking north on rue de Lyon, Eva pulled her hand away. “Fine, now we’re alone. Tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m still not sensing much appreciation from my lovely wife.” He grinned at her.

  “I’m serious. Were you following me?”

  “If you must know, I came to deliver documents to you this morning at your boardinghouse, but you were already gone. I caught a ride to Clermont-Ferrand with the postman, hoping to find you at the train station, but you had already boarded, and I couldn’t find you. So at the last moment, I bought a ticket. I was searching for you when I saw the German harassing you.”

  “What were you doing with identity papers that made you out to be my husband?”

  He laughed. “I made them at the same time I was putting together your school identification papers.”

  “But why?”

  “Just in case I needed them.”

  She shook her head in frustration, and as they passed a small cluster of German soldiers laughing outside a bar, he took her hand again and kissed her on the cheek as they walked. “Needed them for what?” she asked, pulling away again once they were out of the soldiers’ earshot.

  “For exactly the kind of situation we encountered today. Looks like I arrived just in time.”

  They were going in circles, and she was beginning to get the feeling that he was enjoying drawing out the torture. “Fine, well, thank you. And enjoy your journey back to Aurignon.”

  He stopped abru
ptly, and after a few more steps, she stopped reluctantly, too, and turned back. He was wearing the expression of a lost puppy.

  “What?” she asked with a sigh.

  “This is serious, Colette. You were in real danger.”

  “I would have been fine.”

  “I couldn’t take the chance.”

  “Why not?”

  He hesitated. “Because as much as I hate to admit it, you’re good at what you do. And we can’t afford to lose someone who’s good.”

  “ ‘We’? ” she repeated.

  He glanced around. “Père Clément. And others like him.”

  “Forgers.”

  “Shhhh,” he said instantly.

  “Look, I appreciate the compliment. And I’m touched that you came all this way. But I’m only here to retrieve my father, and then my parents and I will go to Switzerland.”

  He nodded. “I thought you might say that.”

  “Well, then, I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you. I suppose I’ll see you back in Aurignon.” She hesitated. “I understand that I owe Père Clément something for his help, all right? I’ll stay on for another day or two to help before we head east, but I won’t be there long.”

  “You really want me to leave you alone here in Paris?”

  “This is my city.”

  He frowned. “I’m afraid it’s not.”

  Now he was making her angry. “Of course it is. I’ve lived here my whole life.”

  He gestured to the Germans behind them and to a swastika flag flapping in the evening breeze a block ahead. “Colette, Paris isn’t yours anymore. Or mine. It no longer belongs to the French. Not right now, anyhow.”

  She blinked at the flag and then took a hard look around. The rue de Lyon should have been bustling in the beautiful evening light, cafés and windowsills overflowing with happy people enjoying the summer air, but instead, it was nearly deserted, most of the windows around them shuttered and dark. She sighed and felt the last of the fight go out of her. “It’s Eva.”

  “Pardon?”

  “My name. It’s not Colette, it’s Eva. Eva Traube.” The moment the words had left her lips, she wondered if she’d said too much. Certainly she wasn’t supposed to tell people her real name, not here. He had saved her on the train, though; it was clear he meant her no harm.

  He nodded and took her hand as they began to walk again. This time, she didn’t want to pull away. “Well, Eva, it’s very nice to meet you.”

  “And I suppose you are not really Rémy.”

  “Actually, I am.”

  She gave him a look. “You expect me to believe that you just so happen to share a last name with my false identity?”

  He smiled. “No. The Charpentier surname is incorrect, of course, but I really am named Rémy.”

  “You used your real name on your false papers?”

  He shrugged.

  “Why would you go to that trouble?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Because I’m of the opinion that no friendship should start out with a lie.”

  “But you’ve spent the day pretending to be my husband.”

  “Well, in that case, I suppose you’ll have to marry me someday.”

  She laughed and quickly ducked her head so he couldn’t see the color blooming on her cheeks. “Is that a proposal?”

  “No. You’ll know it when I propose.” He held her gaze for a long time before breaking into a grin. “And for the record, it’s Rémy Duchamp—just so you know the name you’ll take after we’re wed.” He nudged her with a grin as they began to circle the Place de la Bastille. The July Column soared over them, the gold-winged Génie de la Liberté statue staring down at the city in disappointment. “Now where are we going? It’s almost curfew, and we don’t want to be conspicuous.”

  “To my family’s apartment.”

  He stopped abruptly, forcing her to stop with him as his grip tightened on her hand. “Eva,” he said softly.

  “What? Let’s go. You’re right. We should hurry.”

  “Eva.” He waited for her to look at him. “Your apartment? We cannot.”

  “It’s only five minutes away.”

  “But you can’t think—” He shook his head. “Eva, I’m sorry, but we can’t go there.”

  She pulled away and began to walk again. “I know what you’re trying to say. That the apartment has probably been ransacked, that it will be hard for me to see it that way. I know all that, and I’m prepared for it.”

  “That’s not what I’m concerned about, Eva.”

  “What, then, that the police will have their eye on the place? Certainly they have better things to do than watch the apartments of every deported Jew in Paris.”

  “Eva—” Rémy seemed to be searching for words. “There’s a good chance the apartment won’t be empty.”

  “Of course it will be.”

  “Eva, people aren’t just ransacking apartments. They’re moving in. They assume you won’t be back.”

  She stared at him, openmouthed. “You think a stranger is living in my apartment? Already?”

  “I’m almost certain.”

  “We only left a few days ago, though.”

  “Scavengers work quickly.” He squeezed and released her hand. “Look, let me go in. I’ll knock on your door. If the apartment is occupied, I’ll tell the people I’m searching for my uncle and was given a wrong address. If it’s not, then, well, I’ll come get you, and we’ll move right in.”

  She nodded, though her heart felt like it was a stone sinking in the sea of her chest. “All right. But I’m sure you’re wrong.”

  Five wordless moments later, they were standing in the shadows outside Eva’s building as the last rays of twilight danced at the horizon. The curfew would be in effect soon; there wasn’t much time.

  “Second floor, apartment C?” Rémy asked, his eyes full of a sympathy she hadn’t asked for and didn’t want.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Eva. Stay out of sight in case anyone recognizes you.”

  She watched him go with a sinking heart, and when he returned three minutes later, she already knew.

  “Who was it?” she asked dully as he put an arm around her and led her away from the place that had been home all her life. “Who was living there?”

  “A woman with a face like a prune who had two young children, two girls,” he said as they walked quickly north, trying to beat the setting sun. “She called the smaller one Simone.”

  “Madame Fontain.” Somehow, Eva wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  “You borrowed your false name from that shrew?”

  Eva sighed. “Well, she’s undoubtedly a Christian, isn’t she?”

  It took Rémy a few minutes to reply. “If you ask me, that isn’t really Christian, isn’t it? To move into someone’s home like that the moment they’re gone? It’s like dancing with glee on a grave. Though I’d wager with a sour puss like that, Madame Fontain has never danced a day in her life.”

  Eva couldn’t help but crack a smile at the thought of Madame Fontain attempting a jig. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. I should have believed you.”

  Rémy shrugged. “Just remember from now on that I’m always right.”

  Eva gave him a look, but he was grinning. “So what now?” she asked. “Where will we go?”

  “I know a place.”

  As Eva followed him into the falling darkness, she was suddenly too tired to think about any of it. She just wanted a place to sleep for the night where she wouldn’t have to worry about the Germans taking the pieces of her away one at a time until there was nothing left of her at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Awhorehouse? Really?” Eva asked thirty minutes later as they stood on a seedy side street in Pigalle, looking up at a stone building with opening hours listed on the left windowpane in both German and French. “You want me to stay here?”

  “First of all, it’s called a brothel, not a whorehouse.” Ré
my grinned at her, obviously enjoying her discomfort.

  “A brothel, a bordello, a cathouse, does it matter?”

  “Well, considering the fine folks here will be putting us up for the night, I would suggest being polite.”

  “Ah, yes, fine folks, the first phrase that comes to mind when I think of ladies of the night.” Eva frowned up at the building. Just below the opening hours, a German phrase was printed on the window in block letters: Jeder Soldat ist strengstens verpflichtet die frei gelieferten Praeservative zu benutzen. “So what does that mean? That German soldiers are welcomed here with open arms? Or open legs?”

  Rémy laughed. “Why, my dear, I see you have a sense of humor.” He nudged her. “Actually, it means—and I quote—‘Every soldier is strictly obliged to use the free provided condoms.’ Frankly, you have to respect a place that has standards.”

  Eva shuddered. “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

  “Whatever you say. But let’s head in through the back entrance. I don’t want any of the Germans thinking you’re on the menu.”

  She made a face at him, but she followed him to the alley behind the building. He knocked three times on a nondescript door and pulled her quickly inside when it opened. Eva found herself in a dark kitchen that smelled of cigarettes, garlic, and sweat, a combination that made her stomach turn.

  “Bonjour, Rémy.” A woman stood cloaked in the shadows, and as she leaned in to kiss Rémy on both cheeks, Eva could see she was at least in her fifties, with deeply rouged cheeks and bright pink lipstick, her gray hair slicked back into a severe bun. “You have brought a friend.” She regarded Eva with interest, and Eva averted her eyes.

  “We just needed a place to stay for the night. My dear, this is Madame Grémillon. Madame Grémillon, this is Marie Charpentier.”

  “Not her real name, of course,” the older woman said, looking Eva up and down appraisingly.

  “You are as perceptive as you are beautiful, madame,” Rémy replied.

  “If she’s in need of a bit of extra work…” Madame Grémillon began.