Existentialism and Death On a Paris Afternoon

by Victor Methos

  “Treason.”

  Renard finished his wine. He regretted coming here tonight.

  “Colonel, I do not—”

  “You mustn’t say no. I am holding my hand out to you as a friend. If you were to slap it away, it would be as an enemy.”

  “Well, in that case, I accept.”

  The Colonel smiled widely and said, “Good, good I knew you would. My men will tell you where to go and what to do. The position pays…to be honest I hadn’t thought of pay until just now. Shall we say three hundred francs a day?”

  “That would be fine.”

  “Excellent.” He held up his glass. “To new opportunities for those wise enough to take them.”

  *****

  Renard took his few belongings out of Luke’s home and took up a room at the Peninsula Paris on the second floor at the insistence of the Colonel. Renard was to be his guide; and not just to Paris, but to the people of France. The Colonel would ask questions like, “How do the French feel about anal sex?” and “If a Frenchman had to cut off part of his body, what part would he cut off?” or “What is a Frenchman’s favorite animal?”

  Renard would answer as best he could but the Colonel would not stop with questions. One day, the Colonel simply came to his room and said, “It’s time to begin a new aspect of your position.”

  Renard was taken to an auditorium of a secondary school. The school was still in session and teenage French students were walking in the narrow hallways with Nazi soldiers. Renard was taken to the stage of the auditorium where a desk was set up with files to one side and pen and paper on the other. There were two rubber stamps: “Guilty” and “Not Guilty.”

  The Colonel glanced around and the only instructions he had for him were, “Find the traitors.”

  Renard sat at the table, and waited. One hour soon turned to two. He would listen to the bell chime letting the students know it was the hour for another class. Then he would hear their chaotic machinations in the hallway as they made their way to other rooms. He began looking through the files.

  Each file opened to a photo and brief biography of the person’s life. The rest of the file was evidence collected against that person. Usually nothing more than handwritten notes from neighbors or friends. One wife turned in her husband and a young woman turned in her brother.

  By early afternoon German soldiers entered the auditorium. Five were stationed in back and two were on stage with Renard. Two others were at the auditorium double-doors. Another soldier walked in and was pulling along a man in handcuffs. He stood the man before Renard.

  Renard sat quietly, waiting for someone to say something. No one spoke. The man quietly stared at the floor. Renard swallowed and said, “Name.”

  “Gard Depaul.”

  Renard pulled the file from the stack. He was an accountant by trade and was married with two children. There was a letter from a neighbor saying that she had seen him collaborating with a man that was later arrested and convicted of being a terrorist against the new government.

  “Not guilty,” Renard said, stamping the file. The soldiers glanced to one another. “Next,” Renard said. No one moved. “Next!” he shouted.

  The soldier that had brought him in uncuffed the man and led him out. He came back a few moments later with a young boy of about fifteen. Renard glanced through the file and said, “Not guilty.”

  The Germans brought in all manner of people. One girl was seven-years-old and was accused of inciting a riot with anti-government rhetoric. One man was so old he didn’t remember his age. They figured out that he was ninety-seven based on who the politicians were when he was a youth.

  By the end of the afternoon, Renard had issued forty-two “Not Guilty” verdicts and no “Guilty” verdicts. When they had gone through the files, he stretched his back and waved good-bye to the soldiers as he left for the day.

  He went and smoked cigarettes with Luke on his porch. Apollina came by and Renard introduced her as his friend and it seemed to upset her. To make up for it, he put his arm around her waist and kissed her with the entire neighborhood watching.

  “Renard, I have to leave for awhile.”

  “For how long?”

  “Just a few hours.”

  “Where are you going? Perhaps I could come with you.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “No, not here. It’s just something personal I must attend to.”

  “What is it?”

  She kissed him. “There must be some secrets between lovers, no?”

  When she left, Luke shrugged his shoulders and said, “That is women.”

  That night Renard met Apollina and took her to the restaurant at the Ritz Hotel. He had bought a tuxedo and had to admit it fit him quite well. She looked stunning in a simple backless white dress.

  After their meal of beef brisket and salad, Renard ordered wine and smoked a cigarette.

  “How did you like the food?” he asked.

  “It was good,” she said as she pushed a bit of lettuce around on the plate.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I want to ask you something and I want you to be honest with me, Simon. Will you do that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you working with the Germans?”

  “Yes.”

  She was shocked at how casually he had uttered the word. “Are you not ashamed? Fighting against your own people?”

  “No. We owe allegiance to ourselves before all else. Besides, the Germans will be gone one day and all will go back to normal.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “I am,” he said. “They are too direct. They cannot rule a people with that directness.”

  She stood up and threw the wine in his face. “You are a traitor.”

  As she stormed out of the restaurant Renard cleaned himself with the linen napkin and ordered another wine. He would go talk to her tomorrow when she had calmed down.

  *****

  The next day garnered fifty-one “Not Guilty” verdicts. Renard was done before noon and left to find Apollina. He checked the café where they had met and asked around at the hotel. Trying to find her in a sea of people, he realized how little he really knew about her.

  He spent most of the night walking along boulevards and the Canal St. Martin. He took a taxi to the Louvre. He took another taxi back to the café and sat on the veranda and ordered Turkish coffee.

  The chair across from him was pulled out and Luke sat down. “Are you mad!”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Apollina came to see me. You are—” He glanced around and then lowered his voice. “You are working with the Germans?”

  “I told you the Germans made me chef for a day and then promoted me.”

  “I thought you were joking! How did you start working for them?”

  “I met a colonel and he seemed to like me. It is just a job, Luke.”

  Luke threw his hands in the air. “You are mad. Do you know what these Germans do? They will take what they find best in you and turn it against you.”

  Renard sipped his coffee. “I have been in between loyalties before. War tends to do that to certain types of people.”

  He pointed his finger at him. “You will come to my house tonight and we will talk more about this.”

  “I don’t feel like it tonight, Luke. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “Fine, tomorrow in the evening after work. What time?”

  “What?”

  “What time will you be there?” He hesitated. “I will have my wife cook something for us.”

  “Oh. Six o’clock then.”

  “Fine. Be there and I will tell Apollina to meet us there as well.” He stood up. “Don’t be late.”

  *****

  The Colonel’s hotel room was a mess of charts and graphs and dossiers. Renard sat in a chair. He had been summoned before work and assumed the Colonel wished to discuss more of the idiosyncrasies of the French.

  “I have heard troubling news, Herr Simon,”
he said as he sat at the dining table signing documents.

  “What is that, Colonel?”

  “That not a single person has been found guilty of treason.” The Colonel looked at him, his face stern and unmoving. “That is disappointing news. Today, you will find at least one person guilty.”

  “Even if they are not?”

  “They are all guilty!” he shouted as his fist came down on the table. “You work for me. You will do as you are told. I want one name today at least, and then we will talk about your future with this government. You are excused.”

  Renard stood to leave and then stopped by the door. “Colonel, what happens if someone is found guilty?”

  The Colonel smirked. “Why a fine of course and a brief stay at the jail. Then the person will be released to their family.”

  “Colonel, we are simple men, you and I. Lying to one another is unflattering.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. What do you think will happen to them, Herr Simon?”

  Renard turned and left.

  *****

  Renard sat at his post the next day on the auditorium stage. There were over two hundred files in neat, alphabetical stacks on the table next to him. He was filled with nausea as he looked them over. But at least the Colonel had given him a large pool to choose from.

  He picked up the first file: a young woman. “Not Guilty.” Second file: ten-year-old boy. “Not Guilty.” Third: a young woman with five children. “Not Guilty.”

  Renard went through file after file until one name made his heart sink. “Apollina Gravois.”

  He stared at the photo. He read her file. She had held gatherings at her flat recruiting people for a coming resistance movement. The evidence was solid. A German soldier dressed as a civilian had attended the meeting and reported on all the activities.

  One particular section of the soldier’s report stuck out: “subject Gravois is known to have met a lover. The lover must be investigated as well.”

  He flipped through the files to nearly the end and found what he sought: the file for “Simon Jean Renard.”

  It was an older photo, weathered with time, but it was him. The allegation was that numerous people had seen him collaborating with a known resistance leader. He placed the file down.

  “Call in Apollina Gravois,” he said to one of the soldiers.

  Moments later, Apollina was brought in. She looked rather pedestrian compared to when they had spent time together and Renard wondered which was the costume.

  “You should have told me,” he said.

  She stared at him. “I owe nothing to a traitor.”

  “Tonight we were to be at Luke’s flat. Were you going to be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you going to do?”

  She looked to floor. “We were going to kill you, to send a message to other collaborators.”

  Renard lit a cigarette. While everyone waited, he smoked and went through all the files stamping, “Not Guilty” without so much as looking at the names.

  After twenty minutes there were only two files left: himself and Apollina.

  “They will rape me,” she said. “Before they kill me they will rape me.”

  “I know.”

  He held up her file and stared at it awhile. He stamped her file and threw it on the stack. “Not Guilty. Let her go.”

  The guard uncuffed her. She looked up at him as he took the other stamp and pressed it to his file.

  “Tell the Colonel he has his treason charge,” he said. He stood and walked down to the auditorium floor. He handed his file to the soldier and the soldier read through it. Renard put his hands behind him. The soldier placed the cuffs on him and took him outside. Apollina followed and saw several soldiers push Renard into a waiting car outside.

  He looked at her through the window, and smiled.

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  BY VICTOR METHOS

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  Copyright 2011 Victor Methos

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  *Cover painting by Casper David Friedrich.