The Siren of Paris (25 page)

“What is most important to him? What is his most important object?” the agent asked.

“The board. He has a board with pegs in it. It is the only thing he has from Saint-Nazaire and he does not talk about it, but I saw it once. It is strange looking,” she said.

“What does it look like?” the agent asked, intrigued by the object.

“It looks just like a piece of scrap wood, but it has holes in it, in a design, formation sort, and a few pegs,” she answered.

“And he protects it?”

“You’re brilliant. I never thought of it, but of course. It is the board,” she said next in a flash.

“I think you’re right. The board must mean something. It likely is a counting device, and that means it is connected to the others. It is a way of keeping track,” the officer said.

“I’ll try and find out more, but I need to do it in such a way that it appears I’m just trying to get to know him better. I would expect a little more from someone who once proposed to me,” Marie said.

“What? You never mentioned that before. Are you engaged?” the agent asked, appearing shocked.

“No, well, maybe. It was tentative, until after the war, but I don’t think Marc will be available then,” she said, smirking.

“You really are something else. He loves you and, yet, you impress me with your devotion. If you were German, I could get you into the SS,” the agent said with a smile.

“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.

“P
hilip, 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.