The Soldier's Mirror

by Jay Zendrowski

  Chapter 19

  “I had an interesting call from Mr. Ducet’s office today,” my wife said when I got home from work one day about a month later. “Mr. Leveille has invited us to come back to Paris next week. The painting is going on display at The Louvre that Saturday and there is a special invitation-only showing the night before. They’d like us to be there.”

  “You know we can’t afford that, we’re still paying off the trip to Paris that we just got back from.”

  “This is the good part; they’re going to pay for all of it.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yep; the plane, the hotel, our food and expenses, everything. Mr. Leveille insisted. Apparently reservations for us have already been made at the Citadene.”

  “The Citadene?” We had seen this hotel when we were in Paris. It was beautiful and apparently incredibly expensive.

  “Do you think you can get a couple more days off?” my wife asked. “Oh yes, and I’m going to need a new dress.”

  The following Thursday found us winging over the Atlantic once again. My wife had been contacted by a woman in Mr. Ducet’s office and we’d been told not to buy anything new to wear to the event; an appointment had already been made for Friday morning in a couple of the hotel’s shops for my wife to be fitted for a gown and a tuxedo for me.

  The Citadene was beautiful. I had never dreamed we’d ever have a chance to stay somewhere so nice.

  The next morning a hotel employee knocked on our door and ushered us downstairs to a posh women’s shop.

  “Mrs. Nuzurka?” A fashionably-dressed blonde woman approached my wife as we stepped through the door.

  “Please, call me Mary.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mary. I’m Claudia. Now, let’s get started.”

  I did the dutiful husband thing and politely commented as my wife tried on gown after gown. Finally, she appeared in a beautiful form-fitting gown. The color was a breathtaking emerald green.

  “That’s the one,” I said.

  Claudia said they had to make a few minor adjustments to the gown and would have it sent to our room in the afternoon. A few minutes later we went through the same routine in the men’s shop next door as my wife helped me pick out a tuxedo that we were both happy with.

  “You look just like James Bond,” she said, giving me a naughty little wink.

  “We’ll have this sent up to your room with the gown, Sir,” the shop attendant said to me as we finished up.

  “What time do I have to have it back tomorrow?”

  “Sir?” he asked, a quizzical look on his face.

  “After the event tonight, what time do I need to return the tuxedo by tomorrow?”

  “Oh, you don’t, Sir. This is your tuxedo now, courtesy of Mr. Leveille.”

  My wife laughed as she saw the surprised look on my face.

  Hours later, a driver picked us up and escorted us to The Louvre. He gestured with a gracious nod for us to enter a crowded banquet room before turning and leaving. I spotted Mr. Leveille and Mr. Ducet across the room at the same time they saw us.

  “Michael, I’d like you to meet my wife, Yvette,” Mr. Leveille said as he and a beautiful blonde woman came over to us. She looked like a perfect match for him. She carried herself with an indefinable grace that only some woman are capable of. I could see that Mary was as impressed by her as I was. The woman offered me her hand and smiled warmly.

  “Michael, it’s so nice to meet you,” she said before turning to my wife. “And you must be Mary. My dear, that gown is gorgeous.”

  “I love yours too, Yvette; the color looks just wonderful on you,” Mary replied. Yvette’s gown did look amazing; the brilliant electric blue color of the gown brought out the warm blue of her eyes.

  Yvette looked around to make sure no one was listening before she turned back and whispered to us conspiratorially, “Yeah, it might look good now, but I can’t wait to get home and put my pajamas on.” I smiled; shocked to hear a woman of her status say something like that. The ease with which she spoke made Mary and I feel much more comfortable in such unfamiliar surroundings.

  “Francois,” I said as I pointed to Mary and myself, “the gown, the tuxedo, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “You don’t like it?” he asked. I noticed he gave Mary a little wink.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just that you didn’t need to do it.”

  “Michael, my friend,” he said as he put his hand on my shoulder, “every man should own a tuxedo at least once in his life. Don’t you think so, Mary? Don’t you think he looks handsome?”

  Mary took my arm and smiled as she gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  We had some champagne and spoke with Mr. Ducet and his wife for a few minutes while Francois and Yvette made the required rounds. A short time later, I saw him excuse himself from some people and head in our direction.

  “I’m sorry. I know you don’t know most of these people. I hope you’re alright?” he said.

  “We’re fine,” I said as Mary nodded in agreement.

  “I have a little something planned for tomorrow that I think you might like. Do you think you could be ready by say, 10:00am?”

  We looked at each other and nodded. “Yes, that should be fine.”

  “Good, I’ll send a car around. Now, we’re going to open the room with the painting in a few minutes for everyone to see. Before they do, I wonder if you’d like to see it first?”

  I was surprised at this; I thought we’d be viewing it at the same time as the others.

  “Yes, that would be very nice. Thank you.”

  “I have one question for you first, Michael. This tattered little piece of canvas you brought back to us, do you have any idea how much it’s worth?”

  “I…uh….no. Actually, I have no idea.”

  “Well, it will be all over the papers tomorrow anyways. It has been appraised at $82 million American dollars.”

  Both Mary and I stared at each other wide-eyed, unable to grasp the concept of that sort of money.

  “Well, I guess you’re ready to see it now,” Mr. Leveille said as he gave my arm a little shake to bring me back to planet Earth. “Right this way.” He motioned to Yvette who joined us as we followed him over to a big door covered in frosted glass. Mr. Leveille held the door for us as we entered the adjacent room. We stepped aside as he moved past us down a short hallway. Mary and I followed behind the two of them until the hallway opened up into a larger room. He stopped and pointed to a spot on the wall opposite. The lighting in the room was magnificent. There were many other pieces of work on the walls, but the lighting in those areas had been dimmed. It was obvious which piece was the focal point.

  “Go ahead,” Mr. Leveille said as he nodded towards the far wall.

  I felt Mary’s hand creep into mine as we slowly walked across the room. The painting had been put in a simple yet tasteful frame; nice enough to emphasize the beauty of the piece but not overpower it. The whole thing was behind glass, I’m sure for security reasons. It was splendidly lit, the light above coming from different angles. Somebody really knew what they were doing. We stopped and stared at the picture, the colors looking vibrant and alive. I wondered how van Gogh had felt when he had finished his masterpiece so many years ago.

  “Michael, look,” Mary said. She was nodding to a little plaque on the wall beside the painting.

  I couldn’t quite make it out from where we stood. I turned to Francois, who nodded that it was alright for us to move closer. I stepped forward until I could read the words:

  Painter on the Road to Tarascon

  Vincent van Gogh

  The Leveille family is sincerely grateful for the return of this lost masterpiece.

  Without the valiant efforts of two Canadian soldiers in WWII,

  This treasured piece of artwork would have been lost forever.

  Private Gianni Russo and Private Alexander Nuzurka,

  We are forever in your debt.

  I felt Mary clutch m
y hand tightly. Tears were welling in my eyes as I read the inscription once more. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned. Francois reached forward and took my hand in his as he kept his other hand on my shoulder in a fatherly manner.

  “Michael, you’re a good man,” he said as he shook my hand. “Your father would have been proud of you.”

  I turned and saw Mary and Yvette with tears in their eyes as well.

  “Come now,” Francois said, breaking the solemn mood, “let’s go enjoy the rest of the night.”

  The driver came exactly at 10:00 the next morning. It was a breezy spring day and we dressed accordingly, especially since we had no idea where we were going. He drove us a short distance to a small airstrip where Mr. and Mrs. Leveille were already waiting in their private jet. As soon as we boarded, the jet took off and headed north. Even with Mary’s playful prodding, Francois still refused to tell us where we were going.

  It seemed like no time at all before I felt the plane start to descend. We hadn’t been in the air very long at all before the little jet rolled to a stop and the door was opened.

  “Welcome to Normandy,” Francois said as he stepped off the plane and reached for my hand. I stepped on the small runway and saw the ocean in the distance, the same ocean Rusty had looked out at with longing all those years ago. The smell of the sea wafted into my nostrils, making me think of my father and Rusty sharing their thoughts as they sat on that fallen tree so long ago.

  Francois had a car and driver waiting and that day we toured the whole region. I was flooded with emotion as we viewed row upon row of crosses at one of the cemeteries. He took me to Juno beach, where my father had landed on that fateful day. I looked at the waves lapping against the shore, trying to picture what it must have been like that horrific day and how frightened he must have been.

  “So many good men died during that time,” Francois said later in the afternoon as we left the car and started walking back to his plane. Mary and Yvette walked in front of us, talking between themselves. “Americans, British, Canadians, Frenchmen: so many died. Even the Germans too. So many of them were no more than boys. They should have been home, pulling at their mother’s skirts.” The women entered the plane and Francois turned to me before stepping aboard. “Your father, he was very lucky.” He paused for a second as we both looked out to the sea. “He was a good man, Michael, just like you. I wish I had had the opportunity to know him.”

  “You would have liked him,” I said. “And he would have liked you too.”

  “Come,” he said as he gestured to the open door of the plane, “It’s time to go home.”

  The plane ride back was just as short, and it passed quickly as we each sat quietly, lost in our thoughts. After we landed, Yvette said her goodbyes before climbing into their waiting car.

  “Mary, do you mind if I have your husband for just a minute more?” Francois asked.

  “No, that’s fine,” Mary said as she climbed into the other car that would take us back to the hotel.

  “Michael, I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for what you have done.”

  “That’s fine, Francois, it’s been an honor meeting you. And what you’ve done for us this weekend, the hotel, the plane tickets, this little trip to Normandy—”

  “And don’t forget the tuxedo,” he said, a playful smile on his face.

  “And the tuxedo.” I smiled, looking into the handsome face of this man who had been so kind to us. “It’s been an incredible experience. It should be me that’s thanking you.”

  “It’s been my pleasure. I have one thing more for you.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “I want you to have this.”

  “No, really Francois, that’s not necessary,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand.

  “Michael, I know you did a bit of research before coming here the first time, am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ve had my people do some research too. I know more about you than you might think.” He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he said this. “For example, your son is finishing his schooling soon, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “That has set you back a little bit, right? Plus he’s going to be graduating with a sizable student loan to pay back as well, correct?”

  I nodded.

  “And your home; there’s still a small mortgage there, if I recall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then take this; I insist. Think of it as….let’s see….think of it as a ‘finder’s fee’. You can do with it as you wish. Share it with your siblings, give it to charity, I’ll leave that decision up to you. But for now, take it, put it in your pocket and don’t open it until you are on your way home. Will you promise me that?”

  Once again, I was overwhelmed by the generosity of this man. “Yes, thank you,” I said as he pushed the envelope into my palm.

  “Alright then.” He shook my hand one more time. “Just so you know, I’ve also sent along a little something to the children of Johnny Russo’s sister, Maria. And remember, any time you want to come back to Paris, you and that beautiful wife of yours will have a place to stay.”

  “Thank you, Francois. Thank you so much.”

  He nodded and walked away, his car pulling away as soon as he closed the door behind him.

  Mary drifted off to sleep on the plane ride home. As she leaned on my shoulder and softly snuffled, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the envelope. It was just a plain white envelope, unsealed and without any name on it. I eased it open and drew out the piece of paper inside. I could see that it was an official cashier’s cheque, the stencilled impression made out in my name. My heart fluttered as I looked at the amount: $500,000.

  Two weeks later I knocked at the door to my son’s bedroom.

  “Come in,” Justin called through the door.

  I opened the door and leaned against the frame. He had a big duffle bag open on his bed, the sides already bulging with the stuff he’d packed inside. With his schooling now complete, he was leaving tomorrow for that year in Africa.

  “What are you taking those sweaters for? You won’t need those in Africa,” I said.

  “Trust me, Dad, it gets cold there too.”

  “What time’s the flight tomorrow, 4:00?”

  “4:15.”

  I looked longingly at my son. I was going to miss him. “I‘ve got something for you,” I said as I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out the faded blue handkerchief.

  “What’s this?” he said as I handed it to him, a puzzled look on his face.

  “Just put it in your bag for now. How about you and I go out and grab some pizza and beer. I’ve got a little story about your grandfather that I need to tell you.”

  THE END