The Paris Architect: A Novel (39 page)

“Can you make it, Mendel?”

“Yes, I’m just stiff as a board. Give me a second.”

Slowly, he crawled out from under the bottom of the painting and onto the wide ledge in front of it. Then he swung his body over the edge, his foot searching for the top of the pilaster. When he found it, he extended his other foot to the base, but it slipped off. He lost his grip on the ledge and crashed to the floor. Once he was out from under it, the painting dropped back into place.

Manet ran over to Janusky, helped him up, and, with great difficulty, guided him over to the sofa. Janusky was breathing heavily, and his clothes were soaked with sweat. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it, old friend?” said Manet, patting Janusky’s knee.

“You wouldn’t have anything to drink, Auguste?”

“I most certainly do. I knew you would be thirsty and hungry, so I brought you a bottle of wine and a hunk of bread.”

Janusky pulled the cork out of the bottle and gulped down its contents, then bit off a piece of bread with the ferocity of an animal.

“You must forgive my manners.”

Manet laughed and patted him on his shoulder.

“Innocent people died today because of me, Auguste. I heard it all. I can’t do this anymore. After I finish this wine, I’m walking right across that street and turning myself in. I should’ve done it months ago,” said Janusky in a voice shaking with emotion.

“Because of their sacrifice, you
must
escape. If you don’t, everything up until now will have been in vain.”

“But I’m responsible for their deaths, Auguste.”

“What’s done is done, Mendel. People are dying every minute in this war; that’s the way it’s going to be for a long time before we win this thing.”

“You actually still believe we can win? I admire your faith. Mine vanished months ago.”

“Good triumphed this afternoon, didn’t it?”

“That, my friend, was a miracle.”

“And a clever bit of design to hide you up there,” said Manet as he gazed up at the painting.

“Even better than at rue de Bassano. Does your architect know what the word
mensch
means?”

“Yes, I once explained that word to him.”

“Please tell him again for me that he’s a
mensch
.”

“I’ll never see him again. He’s made arrangements to leave the city. But I think he now knows that.”

“So what’s next, my old friend? Did your architect prepare another hiding place for me?”

“After today, it’s become too dangerous for all that. You’re going to Spain, tonight. It’s extremely risky, but I think we can manage it.”

“After today’s experience, it’ll seem like child’s play.”

“We must leave now; the building could still be under surveillance from across the street. Do you by any chance happen to know the Lord’s Prayer?”

“No, Auguste, they neglected to teach me that in Hebrew school. What, are you going to Christianize me?”

Manet walked over to the side of the door of the apartment and picked up a large bundle wrapped in brown paper and handed it to Janusky.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Please put these on,” said Manet.

“This is most stylish,” Janusky said, holding up a priest’s cassock. “At least it’s not a nun’s habit.” He pulled out a hat, shoes, socks, trousers, and white shirt and collar.

“You are joining the priesthood for a while. In fact, tonight you’re going on a pilgrimage to Lourdes, which as you know is quite close to the Spanish border.”

“Am I stopping there to pray for a miracle?”

“You’ve already had one miracle today. Don’t press your luck.”

Janusky undressed and put on the new clothes and hat. He twirled around like a fashion model in front of an amused Manet.

“So? I don’t look too Jewish, do I?”

“Yes, you do. We can’t do anything about that nose, so keep your hat pulled down tight. And carry these rosary beads on that belt there. But first things first. Repeat after me…Our Father, who art in heaven…”

“
Barukh
atah
adonai
,
eloheinu
…”

“Stop.”

66

“He’s not coming.”

“He’ll come.”

“Is this the right spot? You didn’t get it mixed up, did you? And what about the time?”

“This is the right spot and the right time to be here. His message was very specific. Please don’t worry,” replied Lucien in a cheerful tone that did a good job of masking his fear.

“I can’t help it,” said Bette as she looked at the backseat of the Citroën, where Emile and Carole were sleeping next to Pierre, who was wide awake and totally calm. He smiled at her.

“You’ll have plenty of time for worrying. We’ve got a four-hour ride to the Swiss border. Anything can happen between here and there,” replied Lucien, looking straight ahead through the windshield into the cold December night.

“That’s reassuring, my love.”

“That’s the truth. And you always told me to tell you the truth.”

“How do you know you can trust him? He’s a German.”

Lucien smiled at this question. It was only 9:45, and he knew Herzog would show up. An envelope had been delivered to Lucien’s office instructing him to drive to St. Dizier, a town to the west of Paris. When he got there, he was to take a country road heading southeast from the town center and wait behind the ruin of a stone barn. They had been packed and ready to go all day but had to wait until dark to leave Paris. Waiting in Bette’s flat had been unbearable. Any minute they expected Schlegal and his men to crash through the door. The little talk Schlegal had mentioned still hadn’t been scheduled, but Lucien knew he wouldn’t forget about it. He and Pierre sat by the window to keep watch for the Gestapo to pull up in front of the apartment building. If they came, Pierre and the two children would go into the window hiding place, and Monsieur Manet would fetch them later. Lucien and Bette had arranged with Manet, who was not yet under suspicion, to care for the children and get them out of France. Pierre didn’t want to hide, but Lucien, in the only time he ever lost his temper with the boy, ordered him to do what he was told. The hours dragged by and mercifully nothing happened.

“He studied at the Bauhaus, you know.”

“So that makes him trustworthy? Because he’s an architect?”

“A modernist architect.”

“You’ve got an odd sense of trust, my love. He’s still a German, and you can never trust a German. Always remember that.”

“Yes, my dear, I’ll keep that in mind.” Lucien rolled down his window a bit to draw in some of the cool night air. It was a beautiful clear night with a steady breeze that refreshed Lucien, evaporating the sweat that was beaded on his face. He ran both his hands through his hair and rubbed his eyes to keep alert. The silence in the countryside reminded him of the deafening silence of Paris at night after the curfew, where one could hear a pin drop in the next block. The only sound he heard was the wind whispering softly through the trees that flanked the car. It was suddenly broken by the sound of cracking twigs and leaves off to his left. His heart began to pound. He continued to look straight ahead into the night, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel at ten and two o’clock. A short rap on the side of the car gave him a start. He slowly turned his head to the left and just a few centimeters away was Herzog’s smiling face. He motioned for him to get out. Lucien was surprised to see the German dressed in civilian clothes. He didn’t know what to make of it and was confused about what was happening.

“Do you know what you have to do?” said Herzog casually, as if he were asking Lucien to pick up his laundry.

“We’ll drive to the west of Belfort to the exact point you told us, then we get out and walk across the border.”

“It
has
to be that exact position. There’ll be no guards on either side of the border there tonight,” said Herzog. “You mustn’t get lost.”

Herzog rested his hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “I brought a couple of things for your trip,” said Herzog, pulling out two folded pieces of paper from his pants pocket. “It’s another official pass from the armaments division authorizing you safe passage at any time with today’s date. You won’t have any trouble on the road tonight.”

“The French police won’t get suspicious with the kids in the car?”

“Show them this too. It’s a letter from me saying you’re going to Montbéliard to start work on a factory, and you have to relocate your family.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“Not quite. This is a backup plan just in case of an emergency,” said Herzog as he pulled a Luger from his other pants pocket. “It can come in handy if an unexpected problem comes up.”

“Why…thank you,” said Lucien, holding the butt of the pistol uneasily.

“They did teach you how to fire a gun in the French army? I know you people aren’t much good at fighting wars, just sitting around smoking, drinking, and bullshitting,” said Herzog with a smile.

“Yes, you pull this thing,” said Lucien, pointing at the trigger.

“Very good. And the bullet comes out at this end. Important to remember that.”

“We have some extra room in the car. You’re sure you won’t come along, Dieter? You’re certainly dressed for the occasion.”

“I’m still a German soldier sworn to defend the Fatherland, so I’ll be going back to building factories and fortifications.
And
there’s still much to add to my art collection. You know, I may even reconstruct your building those bastards in the Resistance blew up.”

Lucien turned away and stared off toward a grove of trees. “When all this madness is over, I hope we meet again,” said Lucien.

“We will, I’m sure of it,” replied Herzog.

“I never thought I’d ever say this to a German oppressor, but I’ll miss you. We made an odd team.”

“That we did, my friend,” Herzog agreed. “But now it’s time you were on your way. You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

“Good-bye,” said Lucien, extending his hand.

Herzog shook his hand firmly. “Good luck to you, Lucien.”

Lucien turned and walked back to his car. Climbing into the driver’s seat, he gave the German a final wave of the hand. Bette said nothing and looked straight ahead. He started up the engine and drove off.

Herzog lit a cigarette as he watched the red taillights of the car get smaller and smaller until they were just tiny specks of light, disappearing over the horizon. He took a deep drag and looked up into the cold night sky and saw a sea of stars above him. He knew nothing about constellations or astronomy, but he enjoyed the beautiful sight. In Paris, he had never even noticed the night sky, but out in the country it was immense, almost drawing you up into the heavens. One couldn’t help but be awed by the sight. As he smoked, he continued to stare at the sky, marveling at the vast number and configurations of stars. Finally, he threw down the butt, stamped it out, and turned to look down the road. After about a minute, headlights appeared on the horizon. Herzog took one more look up into the sky then walked slowly into the woods, where he had hidden his car. He opened the front passenger door and pulled out a green canvas bag and a machine gun. Behind some bushes at the very edge of the road, he waited as a car raced toward him. When the car was about fifty meters away, he stepped up onto the edge of the road and fired the machine gun. Bullets ripped through the windshield and side windows, and the car careened to the right and ran off the other side of the road. Herzog walked toward a gray-green German staff car, which came to a dead stop almost directly opposite where he was standing. A soldier was slumped over the wheel, and two officers were moving around in the backseat. Setting the machine gun down on the road, Herzog casually reached into the canvas bag he carried on his other shoulder and pulled out a stick hand grenade. He moved a few steps closer and threw the grenade by its long wooden handle. It skidded under the car and exploded, causing it to rise a meter off the ground and burst into a ball of flame. Herzog watched the inferno for a few seconds then walked back to his car and pulled it out from its hiding place. Driving back to Paris, he smiled to himself. He knew Schlegal would never ignore an anonymous tip.

***

As Lucien drove through the night, he realized he wasn’t scared. Despite the danger still ahead of them, they were going to make it. He was certain of it. As he stared at the beams of the headlights piercing the empty road stretching in front of him, he smiled as he imagined what his father would’ve thought of what had happened in the last six months. His son had been a goddamn fool. For a bunch of Jews! What madness. “Didn’t I teach you anything, boy?” Professor Bernard would’ve sighed and said, “A child’s failures are the parent’s failures.” But Lucien knew he hadn’t failed in the least. He thought he didn’t have it in him to help another human being. But to his great surprise, he did. He was proud of it. And he had proved his father wrong.

He was amazed that such good fortune had come to him in such terrible times. They say that nothing good comes of war, but that wasn’t true. Meeting Bette, his friendship with Herzog and Manet, and above all finding Pierre. Their paths would’ve never crossed if it hadn’t been for the war.

“Do you think everything will be all right?” whispered Bette in a scared voice. She had not said a word since they drove off.

“Everything will be fine.”

Bette leaned over and kissed his cheek, then laid her head on his shoulder. Lucien knew she believed him, and that absolute trust gave him a very comforting feeling. He turned the heat up and gently pushed his foot down on the gas pedal so the acceleration wouldn’t wake anyone. The Citroën, with its quiet purring motor, was like a warm cocoon protecting them as it sped through the cold night.

It had all been an illusion, Lucien knew. The buildings, the arches, the sweeping, graceful lines. All this time he had been worshipping a façade of concrete and glass.

Lucien could tell from her soft breathing that Bette had fallen asleep. Turning, he looked at the three sleeping children huddled under a blue woolen blanket on the backseat. Curled in a ball in the folds of the blanket was Misha. He smiled at the family. His family.