by David Leroy
“He doesn’t love me, but he is hiding something and, as you know, I am very good at finding out such secrets. I will let you know when I’m ready.”
“This is not too difficult for you?” he shifted in his chair while looking out on the street.
“No. Not at all! What do I care about some foreigner? I may have slept with him in the past, but make no mistake, he is part of the reason we became a weak nation. Jews, Communists, and foreigners—they are all the same. Godless ticks living off the blood of our country,” her voice low, but intense with contempt. “I am actually enjoying this one even more than the others. He is not even brave enough for the Resistance.”
He studied her intensity as she spoke. Her conviction was as strong or even more than some of the SS.
“I got my start at this café,” the agent said.
“What do you mean?”
“I cracked a smuggling ring from here. It was two old women and three dogs in a flat not far from here. A priest would bring them strays, some airmen, but most of them were stranded from Dunkirk. They ran quite a show for a while.”
“And, what happened?”
“Well, the American woman we traded for one of ours. Her British friend we just shot, but it took a while to get her. I think the priest got sent away. I am sure he has met his god by now. My hunch is that Marc is at least as big a case as those silly women, if not bigger. I think when this fish comes in, there will be a promotion.”
“Marc may have come here to just paint and draw, but I’m sure he has other talents, and I think you are right. It will be a nice catch when we are done.”
“Marie, before I forget, we’ve searched for your family in Tours, but with no luck. Have you heard anything?”
“No, I was hoping you had found them. Are you sure?”
“Yes, we’ve looked in more than a few of your suggestions, and no one has seen them. Do you have any idea where they might have gone?” He felt sorry for her because it was not the first case where people had become separated from their loved ones.
“There is one other place, but I don’t know if you can help. Do you have any resources in the free-zone?” she asked, almost doubting the response.
“Some, but why?” he asked, perplexed.
“My mother’s sister lives near Antibes by Nice, in the mountains just outside. I think maybe Biot, but it could have been Valbonne. I’m not sure, because she would talk of her but we never visited. She always came to Paris,” Marie lowered her voice. “Look, I trust you. My aunt is a very devout and adores Petain but, she has lived there forever and her husband is buried there, so she would never leave. I think if they really are not in Tours, then they might be down near Antibes. I know it is a lot to ask, but do you think there is any way you can get in contact with scouts down there?”
“I will see what I can do. I can make no promises, but I know what it is like. This war has really stirred people up and getting lost is common,” the agent said. He stood to go, leaving her to return alone to the Metro.
Chapter 31
“Philip, can you see who it is?” Torquette asked from the kitchen.
Philip walked to the door and opened it. The two men then quickly came inside the house without him even saying so much as “Hello.” The dog went wild as Torquette came out to see who had come in.
“Where is your husband?” they asked her.
“He is at the hospital, of course. Is there something wrong?” Torquette asked.
“No, nothing, but we have some questions.” Then the second man left and the first one sat down in the front room.
Torquette returned to the kitchen and held up her finger to the maid. She handed her the mail for others and the maid quietly left the house through the back door.
“Would you like some tea?” Torquette then asked.
“Yes, that would be nice,” he said.
“Philip, you’re going to be late,” she said.
“He cannot leave. He must stay here until your husband comes home,” the man said in a cool tone.
“Well, Philip, it appears you have a day off,” she said as she put the cup down. Torquette moved to the drapes and flung them open. “There, that is better. Let some light in so you can see what you are drinking.”
The second man then returned with Dr. Jackson. He smiled at Philip before he went to the porch. Outside, in front of the entire world passing by, Dr. Jackson sat out on the porch smoking a cigar with the one officer while the second officer made a phone call.
“I hope this does not make you uncomfortable,” the man said to Dr. Jackson.
“No, not at all. Why should it?”
“Well, perhaps you were expecting someone else today?”
Marc came riding down the street. As he neared the house, he saw that the drapes were perfectly open and a black Citroen was parked outside the house, a natural gas tank strapped to the roof for fuel. He decided to ride past and just look at the car, but he glanced up and saw the man standing in the front room. He then looked straight ahead and continued riding up the street.
Maybe it is family, he told himself as he rode to his apartment, but his stomach churned with another truth.
“We’ll be going in the morning, so be sure to pack,” the first officer said after he hung up the phone.
“Well, do you think it will be a long trip?” Dr. Jackson asked next.
“No, I am sure just a day or so to clear up some questions,” he said with a smile.
“Will you be staying for dinner?” Torquette asked next.
“Yes, we will be staying the night,” the officer said.
“Well, then, I will try do my best,” she said as she returned to the kitchen. “Sumner, we must not forget to mail off the bills before we leave,” she said, as she took all the clean dishes the maid had stacked and threw them back into the sink. As she filled the sink with water, she mumbled, “For all the lies we must tell to be true.”
“Marc, it is tight. I have a question to ask you, and please do not be upset with me,” she said after dinner.
“What is it? I don’t have anything left, but if you need something, maybe I can work it out.” Marc’s heart seemed to stop as he waited for the question to fall.
“If I need to hide … If I need to not be seen for a bit, because it gets too hot, can I stay with you? Or, do you know some place I can stay?” she said quietly, almost pleading to him, while smiling and attempting to keep eye contact with him.
The question startled him. He’d heard the question over and over again in the past few years, but not from anyone so close to him.
Where was he going to stay? He had never asked this question of anyone. He always just assumed that if things got hot, he wouldn’t have to worry about it because he would’ve been arrested and the problem of where to stay would be solved by the Germans.
“No, Marie, I don’t, and you cannot stay with me,” he said, feeling a deep sense of guilt. It sounded more like he had failed her or in some way had betrayed her already.
“But why? It wouldn’t be long, maybe a night or two?” she continued to plead, watching his reaction. Her voice almost cracked. “I wouldn’t ask, but everyone else is gone. I have no place else to turn, Marc,” she said as she looked down and then up again into his eyes.
“I never thought it would come to this, or get this bad. Someone betrayed us from within and, now, I have no idea whom to trust anymore. I trust you, Marc, but I cannot trust the others,” she said in a depressed voice. “I don’t even know where they are anymore. Everyone has scattered,” she said. Her words became softer with every sentence.
“Marie, it’s not because I don’t love you, or want to save you. It’s because I cannot save you or protect you. I am not the one you want to stay with,” Marc broke down, trying to explain to her why he couldn’t protect and hide her. He tried to shake off a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that there was something Marie was holding back, but dismissed it.
“You need a place where
you know you are safe, and with me, that is just simply not going to be the case. I don’t want to lead you into danger.”
“I see. I understand,” she said, not looking at him.
Marc returned to his apartment, and after turning on the light, he looked at the cribbage board with a deep sense of doubt weighing upon him. The conversation with Marie seemed off to him, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why.
December, 1940
Saint-Nazaire, France
Marc returned to the beach alone. He searched from skeleton to skeleton for the identification disk. He wondered if he’d ever find him, as it was likely the disk washed away or had been otherwise lost. Then he came to one of the bodies lying face up in the sand. Only the bones remained along with the uniform and the boots.
Marc took the disk and turned it over and there was Allen Lee’s name on it.
Marc sat next to the body in the sand.
“So, what do you say? You want to come ashore with me to the real graveyard?” he asked, and then in his head he heard a voice say, “Not fair.”
“Not fair, not fair,” Marc heard between the waves.
The voice triggered in his mind. “You’re right. Not fair to the others here on this beach, is it. Not fair I’m alive and you are dead. Not fair they put all those people on that ship. Not fair innocent civilians died. None of it is fair, Allen.” Marc spoke out loud the thoughts streaming through his mind. “Not one fucking bit of it, the whole shitty mess is not fair.” Then he stopped.
“Whom am I talking to?” he said in his head. “What was that?” He sat a bit longer. The tide was starting to come in. It was time to go. It was late and he needed to walk back to town.
He rose and said, “Look, friend. I’m going back into town to play some cards with the officer. You are welcome to come. I need a drink. I really need to get drunk. But, if you stay here, I understand. It is really beautiful on this beach.”
The ocean waves started to reach further up the shore. Finally, one just touched the lower part of Allen’s boot sticking up from the sand. “It looks as if your ocean blanket is coming back to tuck you in for the night.” Marc watched the water with a peaceful fascination. It comforted him in a way, like visiting hours at the hospital and the nurse coming in to tell the guests they must go.
“I think Officer Sean cheats. It’s not fair the way he plays cribbage, but I have come to enjoy it. He is a funny German. He just wants the war to be over so he can go back to America.” Then Marc walked away, never to return to that beach again. He knew that his friend would not appreciate being buried alone without his friends along the beach. Then Marc remembered the last time he saw Allen. It jolted him like the bomb back on the ship. He’d seemed so real. He could see him as clearly as anyone else that day in the hospital. But he’d been so sick. Doubt returned and he settled into believing that it was just that he had wanted to see him. Marc wanted to know that Allen had made it.
“Another round? You are certainly enjoying yourself tonight,” the officer said, holding a curious stare.
“I’m better at the game when I feel a bit relaxed,” Marc lied through a slur.
“I think you have something there.”
May, 1944
Paris, France
Marc folded his shirt neatly and then placed it on the ship’s plates. He removed his trousers and folded them like he was putting them back on a store rack. Then he removed his boxer shorts. The officer said this was his best chance.
Marc turned and a peacock rose out of the porthole, followed by a second, then a third. He had no idea who, why, or even when the peacocks had got on the ship. Why they were so important that they could escape through a porthole and not the men perplexed him. Just then, he heard a bell sound. “Bling! Bring-bling!”
Marc looked up and Allen, his friend, was riding the bicycle on the side of the ship, his dress uniform perfect. “Marc, Marc!” he called over as he rode the bike down the plate of the ship, swerving around portholes like some kid riding around cones in the street, swerving past the peacocks as they strutted down the plates. “Marc, over here!”
“Allen, is that …” Marc felt drunk struggling to speak.
“Marc, this is important. Do you have a smoke?” Allen asked, looking deep into Marc’s eyes. Everything around Allen seemed to recede as Marc focused upon his friend.
“No,” Marc whispered as loudly as he could.
“Don’t move, Marc. Don’t move one single inch,” he said, looking over Marc’s head. Allen’s voice penetrated Marc’s entire body. It pierced his bones. The peacocks circled Marc and the bike in a dance. The sun sparkled off the chrome bike. Allen waved his hand over Marc’s head and, just then, a monarch butterfly flew in front of Marc’s face. Where did a butterfly come from way out here in the middle of the bay? Marc thought.
Allen said to Marc in the clearest tone, “Be careful of the butterflies.”
Marc awoke and immediately jumped from his bed. His skin itched. Wide-awake, he ran to the sink to wash. There was nothing on him to wash, but he scrubbed his arms. He breathed deep and fast, and his heart raced in his chest.
He stopped washing his arms and looked at his face in the mirror. He then closed his eyes, again seeing Allen in his mind’s eye. He held onto his face. It had been now just under four years. He wanted to shake the dream, but could not resist the temptation to share a few more minutes of sweet friendship with a familiar face unburdened by the trials of life and war.
Chapter 32
“There is someone out in the garden for you,” the orderly said to Marc.
“Who is it?” Marc said.
“Don’t know, but says he knows you.”
Marc walked out into the hospital’s garden. He looked around and almost left, believing whoever it was had already gone.
“Are you Marc?” the man said, emerging from a bush.
“Yes. How do you know my name?” Marc asked the airman. None of the airmen whom Marc had assisted over the years ever openly asked his name like this, and when he did give it, it was short, such as “M,” or even Winoc. Many times Marc concealed that he was even from America as his own personal joke on the airmen.
“Dr. Jackson told me that if he was not here, to ask for you,” he said. A trigger inside Marc closed all the doors of trust. Could this be true? he considered. The man seemed American, and was in a flight uniform but, still, how in the world did this man know ahead of time to ask for Dr. Jackson, and how is it that Dr. Jackson had told him that Marc would be a back-up?
Nothing like this had been discussed in the past, but perhaps Dr. Jackson knew something was coming. Perhaps his arrest was not so much a surprise to him, as it was to Marc.
“Is that so? When did you talk with Dr. Jackson about this?” Marc asked the man, still trying to decide who he was under the uniform.
“I didn’t. He is not here. But according to what we were told at the base, if we could make it here, we were to ask for him, and if not him, then you,” he explained next.
“You were told this where? What base?” Marc pressed quietly.
“The airbase, in Britain, before we took off on the mission for the factory,” he said.
“What factory?”
“The Renault factory, you know, the one that burned to the ground a few weeks ago.”
“You’ve been down that long?”
“Yes. I was staying with someone who then brought me here.”
“Is that so,” Marc said. He pondered to himself. Could it really be true? Could it have traveled all the way through the previous airmen, through the hospital, down to Lyons and through to Spain, and back to England? He had been doing this now for a few years, so, anything was possible. But the idea that Marc was actually now a person who was known to British and American air forces, as well as Dr. Jackson, Marc found a bit odd, but plausible.
“Here, it’s in here,” the airman said. He pulled from his pocket a small officers’ guide, which Marc had seen before. “See?�
� He pointed to a page with a small detail about the American Hospital in Paris, and Dr. J, and Mr. M. Marc grew alarmed and horrified that they would be so stupid as to print that in a book that could fall into enemy hands.
“Look, are you able to help with a place? I haven’t had any food and have been on the run for a bit. The people I was staying with couldn’t keep me and they brought me close enough to the hospital. Can you help me get to the next leg out of Paris?” the man asked.
Obviously, the airman knew not only about his mission but what to do if he should be downed. And it was 1944. Back in ’42, even ’43, this was simply not the case. Marc’s guard eventually dropped to the familiar American accent.
“Yes. Stay out here until I come for you. I need to get some stuff,” Marc said.
The airman returned with Marc to his apartment that night. Marc had a change of clothes at the hospital for just such occasions, so he was able to pass through the streets of Paris without too much problem. Marc had become remarkably adept at bypassing the checkpoints. The airman was appreciative and a bit chatty at times that night.
“Do you play cribbage?” the airman asked Marc while looking at the board on the mantel.
Marc glanced at the board. “Sometimes. It was a gift.”
December, 1940
Saint-Nazaire, France
Joan rolled over to her side. She looked at the clock and told herself, Five more minutes. The clocked chimed at the top of the hour. She started to lift herself out of bed, looking out the window.
“What a stormy day. Maybe I will not take a walk,” she said out loud to herself. A knock came to the door.
“Yes.”
“Breakfast.”
“All right,” she said as she fell back into the bed.
Marc opened the door and brought in the tray. He set it up on her lap and then took the seat next to the bed.
“Is something bothering you?” Joan said.
