by Elaine Young
Chapter 12
October 1974
Dougie Brewer was a bright young man who had come to Paris from England to complete his post-grad studies. He had become interested in the National Front as a student in Manchester and was finding his feet in the political atmosphere of the Sorbonne, where he had arrived in September of the previous year.
On the recommendation of the Party back home, he had soon made contact with Jean-Paul, the student leader of the Fronte Nationale on campus. Jean-Paul had invited him to meetings, but had seemed a bit wary of him. After some months Dougie was told that he had to perform certain tasks that would properly initiate him into the group. His first assignment, Jean-Paul had said, would be to find out all he could about Ari Mayer, Jewish senior lecturer in History at the Sorbonne. This had seemed an easy task to Dougie; he liked the Prof.
In February, he approached Ari and asked if he could be tutored by him. Ari had accepted with alacrity. Ari began tutoring him for a big exam that was coming up, mainly because he could speak English. As time went by and the tutoring was coming to an end, Dougie called Jean-Paul.
‘My exam is next week and after that I have no excuse to hang around and I don’t know how to extend the time. I don’t really need history tutoring anyway. He must surely suspect something.’
‘Well, how about asking him . . . Oh think of something, anything! What about asking him if he’ll help you with your French conversation. Try that. You could do with some practice! You have to find out more about him, we haven’t had anything of any value yet.’
Feeling a little foolish, he went to Ari’s office. ‘Prof, I know we are getting to the end of the tutoring I needed. I hate to ask you this, but would you mind if we still met but just for conversation. My French is improving but I still need some help there . . .’
Ari gave it some thought and reluctantly conceded one more term of tutoring French conversation. ‘You may as well make it late in the afternoon; say an hour from 4pm to 5pm once or twice a week at my home. But you’ll have to take your chances as I will not find you to cancel arrangements. I am quite busy in the evenings and if I have another arrangement so be it. That is all the spare time I am prepared to offer you.’ He thought by this gruff statement that Dougie would be discouraged, but he accepted the arrangement with alacrity
After that, Dougie would pop in to visit when he knew Ari was home, bringing delectable little cakes to have with coffee as they conversed in French. At first Ari was amused, but he found the young man taking up too much of his time and he didn’t have the heart to tell this to Dougie, who seemed to be visiting because he was lonely.
Dougie reported all of these conversations to Jean-Paul, who thought they were just the rambling memories of an old man and not worth much. He was urged to continue to gain his confidence and ask more pointed questions. There were people high up in the Fronte Nationale who would be glad to get some incriminating information about Mayer.
During the day when he had a free period, Dougie used to look into Ari’s office whenever he felt like a chat. However sometime after the autumn term began, he found out what Ari’s lecture schedule was, and decided to try and search his office while he was out. He tried the door handle and found the door wasn’t locked. After a quick look up and down the corridor to make sure he was unobserved, he slipped in and moved quickly to Ari’s untidy desk. He leaned over, poised to open the top drawer and straightened up almost immediately, astonished as Libby came into the office from the back in a dusty overall and headscarf. She hadn’t been working there the previous term and he had expected to have free rein in Ari’s rooms while they were unoccupied.
‘Who are you?’ he said rudely in French. Libby smiled at the young man.
‘I’m Libby Wentworth, Professeur Mayer’s assistant. He is in a lecture until eleven o’clock. Did you want something? Can I give him a message?’ she replied in English, putting out a dusty hand. He didn’t take it, just stared at her guiltily, feeling sure that she must be able to see his intentions written on his face.
‘How did you know I am English?’ was all he could say, his embarrassment making him truculent.
She lifted an amused eyebrow. ‘Your Manchester accent is very hard to disguise!’
Dougie looked very uncomfortable. He turned on his heel and left the room. Libby shrugged and went back to her sorting in the storeroom.
When Ari returned, Libby mentioned the incident. ‘There was a young English student looking for you today, speaking very poor French. Quite tall and quite skinny with a shock of blonde hair?’ She didn’t share her feeling that he had intended to open the desk drawer. She might have been mistaken after all.
‘Ah, yes. That would have been Dougie Brewer. A student I was tutoring last term. He’s a lonely young man,’ was all he said. He felt sorry for Dougie. Sometimes Ari wondered vaguely why he was prepared to hang around with an older man all the time, and why he didn’t appear to have friends of his own age.
A couple of weeks later, as Ari was rushing to get to a lecture, Dougie arrived at his office.
‘Hello Prof. I’d like to pop in for a visit this evening. Would that be OK?’
‘I am rather busy with marking . . . but alright.’ Ari said unenthusiastically, thinking he could get rid of the young man early in the evening. However, when Dougie appeared around supper time, he had a bottle of wine with him.
Ari thought it would be churlish to send him away, and he put another piece of steak in the pan and made some extra salad. Dougie watched Ari, tasting and stirring as he made the sauce for the steak.
‘You obviously love cooking, Prof. You’re a real chef!’
‘Well when you haven’t had enough to eat in your life, food becomes quite important.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘During the war, my boy, when I lived in Paris before . . . before I went to live in Scotland, we seldom had enough to eat.’
‘So how did you survive?’
‘My father was a tailor and we used to ride out in the country. He would barter his sewing skills for food. Every crust was consumed. We planted small vegetables in the window boxes so we would have some greens; we even had a few rabbits we kept in a hutch on the back stairs for meat.’
Dougie had never known want in his life and he was silent while Ari put the finishing touches to the salad. When the meal was ready, they talked as they ate. Dougie soon had Ari talking about his life in Israel. Casually Dougie asked him about his early years, during the war.
‘Ah. That was long ago, my boy. But when I came back to Paris from Israel in ’67, I was glad to see how little had really changed since those days.’
‘Tell me what you remember. What happened to your parents? Did they also go to Israel’? At first Ari did not want to talk about his own experiences, in fact it was strange to have someone to confide in. But gradually he spoke about his childhood in Paris and the horror of the Nazi Occupation.
‘You should write a book Prof. This is too interesting to let it die with you!’
‘I am not as old as you seem to think I am, young man!’ Ari chuckled.
‘Sorry, Prof. But surely you have had many fascinating experiences that you should write down. About people you have met and the war and so on . . .’
‘Well, I am considering a memoir or something but it isn’t to be published yet.’ Ari hesitated, unsure whether he should share more. Dougie did not say anything, sensing that Ari would continue. He realised he had been holding his breath and was disappointed when Ari suggested they put on their coats and go for a walk. Dougie was puzzled because it was almost dark and a cool breeze was blowing, but as they walked towards the Seine Ari said quietly,
‘The truth is, my friend, that I am looking for evidence, to convict someone of Nazi collaboration during the war. This person is a respected member of society so I have tried to be discreet, but my enquiries have made me very unpopular in certain quarters.
‘However I have taken my documents to Venice and left t
hem there with a friend where they’ll be safe. I don’t want them to fall into the wrong hands.’
Dougie’s eyes widened but he didn’t comment. To warm themselves, they stopped to buy pancakes from a stall at a night market near the Luxembourg Gardens and lost themselves among the bustling evening crowds as Ari’s tale of his search for Jacques unfolded.
Eventually, Dougie let out his breath slowly in a long whistle. ‘Wow. That is unbelievable.’ He saw the look on Ari’s face and hastened to add, ‘But I do believe you. Of course I do. I want you to know that I want to help you in any small way I can. I’m your man,’ he said lamely. He could have kicked himself for that dumb remark. He was fond of the older man, but he knew that Jean-Paul was waiting for more information. Dougie had a strong feeling that what he had just heard was exactly what Jean-Paul was looking for. Almost bursting with excitement, he finally excused himself and hurried away as soon as he could. He decided to use the phone at the Monoprix down the road from his apartment.
Back at home, Ari lit the gas fire and flopped wearily into his armchair. He was beginning to feel more than a bit troubled about Dougie’s attachment to him. There seemed to be a jumpiness about him that had not been there in the beginning. At first he had been open and friendly but now Ari found that even though his tutoring had ended, it seemed as though Dougie was trying very hard to maintain the connection rather than letting it die a natural death. Ari realised he had come to depend on him for companionship, but there was something ill at ease in the young man that he, Ari, had become aware of since the beginning of the term.
Almost mechanically, he turned on the television, staring blindly without seeing it. The news anchor was saying something that Ari scarcely heard or understood. All of a sudden there was Dubois’ face filling the screen. It seemed that there would be no more delays. The long-awaited trial would begin the following week. The charges were to be embezzlement of public funds.
The next day Ari got a call just before he left for a lecture. It was Bragadin.
‘Ciao, my old friend! I saw Dubois on television here last night. It seems that everything will go forward from here. Michel is in Paris at the moment, discussing certain points with the prosecution. He will come around later. He needs your signature on some papers. How are things?’
Ari wondered if he should tell Bragadin about his feelings about Dougie, but he decided that it was not important for now. ‘Oh, everything is fine. I don’t have much that is new. I even wonder if it is worth pursuing these additional charges, if all we have is hearsay and speculation.’
‘Don’t you worry Ari. Michel is sorting out the gold from the dross as it were. Leave it to him to decide what he can use. Keep in touch.’ The phone clicked and he was gone. Ari replaced the receiver slowly.
When Michel arrived later, they sat in Ari’s study drinking coffee after they had gone over the papers and Ari had signed them.
‘I feel quite despondent about the lack of progress in this matter, mon ami. I have heard nothing else that could even vaguely be construed as more evidence. Maybe we should just be content to let him be jailed for embezzlement . . . at least that would be some justice.’
‘It is worth pursuing, Ari, no matter how little we have. We must just pray that this trial is the opening we need. It is due to start next Wednesday. I expect it will probably just be the charge sheet read and he’ll be asked to plead. Then there will be a postponement and we can work on the next step. The prosecution has a very strong case for the present charges anyway, and from my consultations with them I know they are open to further charges being added. I’ll be flying back to Venice in the morning but I’ll phone you in the next few days.’
Ari didn’t feel confident at all. After Michel had gone, he sat at his desk, absent-mindedly scribbling on his blotter. Sometimes he felt like giving up and leaving France. Maybe I could go to Canada and try to find my uncle Joseph or the cousins, he thought idly, and just leave the whole thing behind.
