My French Whore

by Gene Wilder

  TWELVE

  THE NEXT MORNING I RECEIVED A hand-delivered message.

  Dear Monsieur Harry:

  I was very angry last night. I thought I was angry with you, but I realized later that I was angry with myself. I owe some kind of explanation for my behavior. It may change your opinion of me. Perhaps not. If you don’t want to see me again, that’s all right. If you do, please call.

  Kind regards,

  Annie

  01-24-30-71

  “Hullo ...”

  I wasn’t sure if it was Annie or her maid.

  “Annie?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Monsieur Harry. you remember me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I remember you very well.”

  “I would like to meet with you someplace, now that I’m not drunk. But not at your apartment, if that’s all right.”

  She paused for a moment and then said, “There is a Japanese garden not too far from where I live. It’s called Karlsruhe Japanese Garden. It’s also called Stadtgarten.”

  “You’re sure I’ll be able to find it?”

  “Oh, yes. Anyway, your driver will know it. You enter through a red gate and at the far end of the garden you’ll find a Shinto shrine that’s guarded by two very large, stone Lion Dogs—I promise you won’t miss them. Follow the small footpath, which will lead you to my favorite place, next to a young maple tree. We can sit and talk there. It’s very peaceful.” “What time?”

  “In an hour—if that’s all right?” “I’ll see you there in an hour.”

  The two Lion Dogs were easy to find. I suppose they were meant to scare off any people who would harm the Shinto shrine. I followed the footpath, and there was Annie, sitting under the maple tree. She was wearing a raincoat, so I couldn’t see her dress, and she had a scarf around her head that also covered much of her face.

  “This is a nice place,” I said.

  After a token smile she said, “Please sit down. I’m a little nervous, and I want to talk to you.” She was sitting on a small stone bench. I sat next to her. She wouldn’t look at me directly when she started talking.

  “On my summer vacation, when I was sixteen, I went with my mother and father to Bavaria, because my father loved climbing. He met a man at our hotel, and he and this man would climb together. One day my father came back very dizzy and had pains in his arm, which turned out to be a heart attack. His friend carried him back to the hotel and called a doctor, but my father died a few hours later. This very helpful friend turned out to be Gustav Gruner, a colonel in the German army.”

  The muscles in Annie’s face were pulled tight. She still didn’t look at me.

  “My mother was so upset that she wouldn’t eat for several days. She just drank tea. I could see that Gustav was attracted to my mother. He persuaded her to come—with me—to his home in Karlsruhe, just to rest and recover. She reluctantly agreed. When she started to feel better, he took both of us to wonderful restaurants and we rode bicycles together. Then he proposed marriage to my mother. My father hadn’t left us very much money and Mother did like Gustav, so she said yes. After only a few months she discovered that Gustav was faithless ... like most men, but not my father.”

  Tears were starting to drop from Annie’s eyes, but her voice remained strong. I didn’t interrupt her to offer any senseless words of wisdom.

  “My mother was always very emotional. She attempted suicide, with laudanum, but it failed. Gustav told her how sorry he was, and he seemed genuinely apologetic. He suggested that Mother and I take a vacation in Italy, while he was on maneuvers. ‘Allow me make it up to you,’ he said. ‘Please, let me send you to Rome, Siena, Florence ... See beautiful things and recover your health.’ She reluctantly agreed. When we returned from Italy, Mother found out that Gustav had taken a mistress.”

  This time Annie didn’t speak for almost a minute. Then she cleared her throat and spoke again.

  “When Gustav demanded sex from my mother, she took out a knife from under her pillow and tried to kill him. A few weeks later Gustav was promoted to general. The day that he was promoted, Mother took a very large dose of laudanum and this time she died, leaving me alone with Gen. Gustav Gruner. I was just eighteen and a virgin.”

  Her fists were clenched into tight balls as she continued.

  “After the first time he raped me, I decided that trying to shoot him or take a knife to bed with me would probably fail. All my friends told me that war with France was inevitable, and that I had better stay put.”

  Annie turned and looked directly at me. She was extremely excited and had a strange smile on her face, but I didn’t know if it was from anger or pleasure. It was almost as if she were telling me one of her favorite bedtime stories.

  “So I began telling his own officers that General Gruner was a rapist,” she said. “I told them to please be very discreet with what I was telling them, and if they were, I would reward them with my body. Each officer told me how discreet he had been, but I knew that rumors went around very quickly in the army, AND I WANTED THAT. I WAS COUNTING ON THAT. In a short while Gustav Gruner started to hear those rumors. He didn’t come to my bedroom anymore.”

  Annie took hold of my arm, and with a crooked smile she said, “I act like a whore, Monsieur Harry, because I am a whore. But I don’t take money—I take revenge.” She let go of my arm.

  “Why do I tell you all this? I’m not sure, except that there was always something in the way you looked at me—even when I was angry with you— that I don’t see in men. But if you don’t want to see me again—that’s all right.”

  As tears flowed from her eyes, she turned away. I put one arm around her, and she buried her head in my shoulder. I tried to imagine what these last years must have been like for her, but I couldn’t.

  While she cried, I looked up at the sky. Rain clouds were moving toward us. Because she was wearing a raincoat and a scarf, I assumed that Annie must have known it was going to rain. I looked down at a stone slab near my feet that had some writing carved into it.

  “How delightfully the fish are enjoying themselves in the water,” exclaimed Chuangtse.

  “You are not a fish,” said his friend. “How can you know they are enjoying themselves?”

  “You are not me,” replied Chuangtse. “How can you know that I do not know that the fish are enjoying themselves?”

  —Chuangtse

  “Please go, Harry,” Annie said, as she straightened up. “I’d like to sit here for a while. You’ve been very kind.”

  I squeezed her hand lightly and left.

  THIRTEEN

  AFTER I RETURNED TO MY ROOM I POURED A small glass of sherry from a crystal decanter that was refilled each day. I went to the window and watched the deer grazing on the lawn under an apple tree, which was a safe-enough distance from any humans. The fawns were eating apples that weren’t ripe yet, but which the mother deer managed to reach with her long neck and pull down.

  I went downstairs. When I found Viktor alone, I asked him if he could possibly “loan” me some money. I made up a cock ‘n’ bull story that, before I could get any of my secret funds from my secret bank, which was under my secret name, it would take weeks, and I wanted to buy some socks and under-shorts and assorted things.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, “of course you need money. I would be honored.” Five minutes later he handed me an envelope that was filled with German marks. It looked like it was much more than sufficient, but I was afraid to ask him how much one mark was worth. Then I called Annie.

  When I heard her voice, I said, “I’ve just won a horse race and was handed a pile of money. Would you care to have dinner with me tonight?”

  “What was the horse’s name?” she asked.

  “Asshole,” I answered.

  She had obviously never heard that word. “What does ‘ash hole’ mean?”

  “Well, it means a kind of nice but stupid horse,” I said.

  “I see,” she said. “And wher
e would you like to have dinner?”

  “Do you know a quiet restaurant that serves duck? I haven’t eaten roast duck for almost two years now.”

  “Le Petit Bedon,” she answered.

  “Pardon?” I had no idea what she had just said.

  “In French it means ‘The Little stomach,’” Annie explained. “You would probably say, ‘The Little Tummy.’ It’s quite a small restaurant and very good.”

  “What time shall I pick you up?” I asked.

  “Eight!”

  “Good evening, Joseph,” I said. He had now been assigned exclusively to me.

  “Good evening, sir,” he said with a little smile, happy, I think, that I continued to call him by his first name.

  The bell outside of Annie’s door sounded like a music box. Annie opened the door, not the maid. She was wearing a lavender dress, with little swirls of rose and blue, and ... she wasn’t wearing any makeup. When I saw her unpainted face, I was so moved that I was afraid I’d say the wrong thing. I certainly didn’t want to embarrass her. It wasn’t that Annie was suddenly beautiful; she was just nice looking, with a little nose, a tiny mouth, and very thin lips. With the thick makeup off of her face I could see that she had the fresh skin of a young girl, and, without all the mascara on her lashes, her greenish brown eyes looked terribly vulnerable. In that sense I did think she was beautiful.

  I smiled and said, “I’m very happy to see you.”

  She nodded politely, but she seemed self-conscious. I had the feeling that she, also, didn’t want to talk about the makeup. We stepped outside and into “my” auto. Annie gave Joseph the address and after about ten or twelve minutes we stopped in front of what looked like an ancient house.

  “This is the oldest part of town,” she said. “It dates back to the sixteenth century. I hope you like my little restaurant... and they do have duck tonight.”

  Joseph helped Annie out of the auto and we walked into “The Little Tummy.” I told Annie I’d call it that because I felt awkward when I tried to say the French name. Not that I couldn’t, I told her—I just didn’t want to sound like a phony.

  The owner came by to greet us and Annie introduced me. The owner was a round man, French, about sixty. Annie called him “Jamy.” He had a nice smile, but I thought he looked a little sad. He and Annie talked in French for a minute and then Jamy said, in German (for my sake), that he would like to offer us some wine. I was afraid I was going to be put to another wine test, but then Jamy said, very proudly, “French wine! I still have some left in my cellar, but I can’t get any more until this war is over.” (I knew what he said, even though he said it in French.)

  The white wine he brought us was delicious. I thought Jamy said that the name of the wine was “Sincere” and when Annie heard me repeat it she let out a big laugh. When I asked if I had said it wrong, she said, “No, no—’Sincere’ is perfect. You speak good French.”

  We both had duck with red cabbage, sauteed apples and little roast potatoes. I think it was the best meal I had ever eaten. After I looked at the bill, Annie helped me figure out how many marks I should leave.

  As we were on our way out, I shook hands with Jamy and thanked him for the Sincere. Annie smiled when I said it, then she and the owner kissed each other on each cheek. He held her hands and looked into her eyes for several seconds and said something in French—I don’t know whether it was about her not wearing makeup or if it was about me—whatever it was, he seemed to be happy for her.

  We hardly spoke on the ride back to her apartment. I knew what I was thinking: I was afraid of not doing what I felt like doing ... and afraid of doing it.

  To break the silence I asked Annie which part of France she was from, as if I would know the difference whatever she answered. She said she was born in a tiny village that I wouldn’t have heard of. It only had a thousand people, but it had a grade school and a church and a tabac shop for cigarettes, and a small brasserie, where you could sit and have a sandwich, an omelet, coffee, beer, whiskey, and orange drinks. It was mostly farmland around her home, she said. Her family moved to Paris when her father got a job with a company that made paper products.

  When we arrived at Annie’s apartment, she didn’t make a move to get out of the auto—she just sat quietly, without looking at me.

  “May I come up?” I asked.

  She looked at me. For the first time since I met her, she seemed fragile. “Do you really want to?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  She took out a key and opened the door to her apartment; again, no maid to greet us. I followed her into her bedroom. Annie took off her cloak. She didn’t disappear into her bathroom this time—she just sat on the edge of her bed. I didn’t want to make love with her—not this night—I just wanted to kiss her, which was something I understood more than love-making. I was afraid that if I made love, I would make a botch of it or else reach my climax too soon.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  “What would you like, Harry?” she asked.

  “I’d like to kiss you,” I answered.

  She got up and stood next to me. I touched her lips with my fingertips, as softly as I could. It was nice to actually see her lips. So much thinner than I thought they would be. I kissed her lips, very gently, but her muscles tightened and there seemed to be a struggle going on inside of her. Then I felt her nipples harden and she suddenly clung to me with so much force that it almost knocked the wind out of me. When I felt her open mouth on mine and her tongue touch my lips I became so overtaken with emotion that all of the meaningless thoughts that had been running through my head disappeared as suddenly as a lightning bolt. We helped each other off with our clothes quickly and clumsily. If we could have watched this scene in a silent movie, I’m sure we would have burst out laughing.

  We made love intensely, without any thinking. Afterward I believe I was unconscious. I don’t know for how long. When I returned to life I saw Annie lying next to me, very still, with her eyes closed. I leaned over and kissed her gently. Without opening her eyes, she pulled my head onto her chest.

  When I got up to leave, Annie put on her robe and slippers and then helped me get dressed. She went outside with me and we kissed once more. The headlights from Joseph’s Mercedes flashed on/off once, to let me know he was there. At her door, she kissed me one more time, and I left.

  When I returned to my room, I tried to sleep, but I was too excited to let go of the night. I lay in bed reliving everything: her face without makeup, the smell of her body without the perfume, her small breasts, the sensation I felt when her tongue touched mine— which had never happened to me before—and what passion really was. When I finally fell asleep I dreamed that Elsie was crying and Wally and Murdock were still in the trench, but they were sitting up, eating duck. Even I could interpret that one.

  FOURTEEN

  I CALLED ANNIE THE NEXT MORNING AND ASKED if she had another restaurant I could take her to that would be as good as last night’s. She laughed and said, “I know one such place. It’s very quiet, very intimate.”

  “Good—where is it?” I asked.

  “My place,” she said. “But I’m sure you must be a very difficult person to cook for.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “Spaghetti, olive oil, and then throw in anything else you want.”

  My heart filled with joy, I hung up and was about to eat my breakfast when I heard someone knocking on my door. It was Colonel Steinig’s lieutenant, who asked if I could please join the colonel as soon as possible. I gobbled down my breakfast, put on one of my uniforms, and hurried downstairs. Steinig was waiting for me in the hallway.

  “Harry,” he said, without his usual smile, “could I impose upon you to join me on a duty which I hate, but which I’m obligated to perform?” I told him that if I could be of any real help, I would be happy to join him.

  We drove for over an hour, but Steinig hardly said a word. I took a glance at the p
apers he was studying so seriously, but all I could make out was a list of names, with brief descriptions under each name. I didn’t ask any questions.

  His Mercedes came to a halt near what looked to be one of the German trenches. When we got out I saw six young German soldiers, tied to wooden posts that had been pounded into the ground. It looked like they were going to be crucified.

  Steinig spoke for a few minutes to the commanding officer and then walked back to me.

  “This is our field punishment,” he said. “The Americans and the British use it, too, as a way of treating cowardice. Our commanding officers are finding it more and more difficult to keep spirits up and to stop desertions, so we do this in public to drive in the message to other soldiers.”

  “Are you going to flog them?” I asked.

  “No, they’re going to be shot,” he said, “by men they’ve known and worked with. I don’t like it, but it’s absolutely necessary or there would be chaos. You certainly must understand this.”

  My mind raced. I should be up there with them, I’m a coward, too ... and I deserted... but instead of being shot, I’m making love and eating duck.

  I walked closer to the row of crosses, close enough to see the tears from several of the young soldiers. A sergeant came up to each of them and tied a white cloth around their heads, covering their eyes. One of the soldiers couldn’t help crying “Papa” out loud. “Too late for Papa,” the Sergeant answered as he put the white cloth around the boy’s head.

  Steinig nodded his head to the commanding officer, who shouted orders to a small group of soldiers who were standing at ease with their rifles. They quickly came to attention. My knees went limp. The soldiers raised their rifles and, upon hearing the command, shot their comrades.

  As we walked back to his Mercedes, Steinig said, “It’s an awful thing, but it brings across the message very clearly.”