The Siren of Paris (27 page)

“They are not giving us what you bring,” he said, shocked.

“It has to last. It is all we have and it has to last for your trip out of here. They cannot give you everything,” she continued on, staring angrily at him.

“This is just a gimmick for you people. You are being paid. If I am a pain, then why don’t you just give me to another house?”

Drew’s eyes narrowed and she glanced at Marc. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

“They get 100 francs per day, per man, and it costs 800 francs per day, per man, to live in this rat hole of a city. You are right. It is a gimmick and we are the ones being played.”

The airman fell silent. He backed up against the wall and looked away from Drew, first toward Marc, and then to the ground.

“So, if you want to go someplace else, this man is with the Milice, the French Gestapo, and I can trade you right now for a handsome reward that will go a long way to helping support more sensible characters than you.”

When they returned to the apartment, the captain barely looked up at the woman he was staying with. Drew assured the woman there would be no other problems, but if there were, to call her quickly.

“Thank you, Marc. You are such a good actor,” she said to him before they parted.

“You are a tough bird, Drew,” he said, smiling.

“You need some more ass-kicking with your new bird?” she joked.

“No. I’m not sure of him yet. I need to teach him a bit of French at least. Look, Drew, the Jacksons are now gone. If I don’t call you, don’t chance anything with me,” he said.

“You got it, but I hope to hear from you more,” Drew said before she left.

“I
t’s me, all clear,” Marc called out as he entered the apartment. The airman came out of the back room.

“Don’t worry, I made something for myself but I was sparing. Thank you for everything. I want you to know that. I know this is a big risk for you,” he said.

“Thanks. Risk is everywhere these days. Look, can you speak any French?” Marc asked.

“Some, but not well.”

“What do you know?”

“Well,
voulez vous couche avec moi chez soir
.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“Sort of.”

“Don’t ever say that sentence again. What else do you know?” Marc asked.

“Let me see. There are all kinds of sentences in the back of my pocket guide,” he said as he took out a small four-by-six brown pamphlet with the seal of the American Eagle on it, as well as
A Pocket Guide to France
.

“Uh, look, that will not be much help. So, you’ve never spoken French?” Marc said.

“Wait—I have something else,” and the airman took from another pocket a very small American Red Cross map of Paris. He opened it to the section where it had a list of simple questions. Marc covered his mouth in shock. He took both the pocket guide and map away from the airman.

“Listen carefully. If you take these things out, they’ll know you’re an American. See, American Red Cross? And see here, it says down here ‘War and Navy Departments of Washington, DC.’ I’m sorry, but you cannot have these with you ever.” Marc took them and put them under the cribbage board.

“Now listen. Say you get stopped walking along the street, or on the Metro someplace, by a German, and before he says one word, what do you say?” Marc asked the airman. He looked back at Marc with a blank stare.

“
Vous sie haben fumer
?” Marc said next. The airman squinted slightly.

“
‘Sie haben
’ is German, not French,” the airman protested.

“Yes, and
vous
and
fumer
are French for ‘you’ and ‘smoke.’”

“You are telling me to ask in German and French, mushed together like that, for a smoke?” The airman looked perplexed.

“Fuck yes, I am. The German thinks you are either American or British. But if you ask for a smoke using both German and French, he will know, without ever asking for your papers, you are from Paris,” Marc said.

“
Foomay
,” Marc said lifting his head a bit. “Think fuck you, but instead say ‘
foomay
.’ It’s not just what you say, but how you say it, as well.”

“Wouldn’t I want to say it the correct way, to show I am really French?”

“No. You want to talk like a fool. Otherwise the German will start speaking in French to you as well as the Parisians, and then what? Do you want to die and sound good, or be an idiot and live?” Marc said. He hated dealing with Americans now, with all of the attitudes they had about the Europeans.

“Why a smoke?” the airman asked.

Marc studied him closer and began to doubt some of his sincerity, but decided that he just was another young stupid flyboy who survived his crash. “Because everyone wants one here, and the Germans have the best rations,” he said.

“I have to go into work. I’ll be back at the end of the day. Stay away from the windows. and, if it makes you feel any better, here are your little books back,” Marc said as he took the pamphlets from under the cribbage board.

December, 1940
Saint-Nazaire, France

Officer Sean finished filling out the rail pass, and then turned to another folder on his desk. He scanned the list of names alongside the various graveyards that he requested Marc to prepare. A small package rested on the corner.

“The American is here,” his secretary said.

“Send him in.”

Marc entered and sat down. He took a deep breath and waited in silence. Officer Sean finished looking through the file and put it to one side. He inhaled deeply and smiled at Marc.

“I am not happy about this, Marc. Not one bit. I am more than a little disappointed that you want to return to Paris. I thought you were getting along here quite well and I had found myself a cribbage partner for good.” He studied Marc’s expression to see if he had changed his mind. “You really want to return to Paris?”

“Yes. I think it’s best,” Marc said.

“Why?”

“I can’t get home. I can’t get to England. I don’t have any papers for the border to prove I’m American. At least in Paris …”

“Why? I can get you papers for Spain if you need them. Why Paris?”

“There are Americans in Paris and maybe I can help with the hospital there.”

“I knew you were an American even before you did. The day I came into Joan’s hospital and you told me that Eleanor Roosevelt was the chancellor of Germany, I knew right then you were American. The nurse told me later that you thought I wanted to know if you were the father of her baby. Who else would have ever thought of such a crazy thing?” the officer went on, looking down at his desk, talking more to himself than to Marc.

“Why?” he snapped at Marc as he looked up.

“I can’t stay here any longer,” Marc paused and looked into his eyes. “I need to get away from the sea. I need to get away from the yards,” he said, trying to hold back his emotions. “I found someone the other day, and now I just need to go.” His upper lip quivered.

“Was that why you got drunk? I had never seen you drink before, so I knew something was wrong,” the officer said in a softer tone.

“Yes. I needed those drinks.”

Officer Sean began to speak, but then stopped. He shifted his weight in his chair and then leaned his elbow upon the desk, leaning in toward Marc.

“I do not understand you. I will tell you something that most people do not know. I wake up everyday with a plan on how to get back to America. I cannot do a thing about it, because if I leave, what will happen to my parents? But you, Marc, you can leave, but you won’t. I understand that you need to leave Saint-Nazaire. I am shocked you have been here this long. I am sorry if you found a friend in your work.”

Marc’s eyes turned away from Officer Sean. He looked up at the new portrait of Hitler that had replaced the previous head of state.

“Marc, look at me. What siren of Paris is calling you back there?”

Marc sat considering the question. “I know Americans in Paris who I can stay with, and, maybe, she will come back. I knew this woman and she went south with her family, and maybe. I know it won’t be easy. I know it’s going to be hard in Paris. But, I need to be where I feel like I’m needed. I just cannot stay here anymore.”

“I have your pass. I had already decided to give it to you. I just wanted to know why. I understand what you are saying and maybe you are right. But I have another question for you.” He paused. “Do you see who I am?”

“What do you mean?” Marc asked.

“Marc, I want to win the war, but it is a different war than the British, French, or Germans want to win. I think you just see my uniform and think I am a Nazi. It is not true. It is not easy being a slacker German. I just want to stay put. I don’t want a promotion, and I do not want to leave my post. I am just trying to stay put and stay alive. If I live through this, then I win the war, my war against death.” He gazed deeply into Marc’s eyes.

“And I am not the same kind of German you are going to meet back in Paris. They want an Iron Cross, Marc. They want promotions and commendations,” the officer said as Marc sat, unblinking, listening to every word.

“They want glory, heroism and, most of all, they want destiny, to shake his very hand. Just remember, if you find yourself someplace you never expected, you made the choices to put yourself there. I made the choice to return to Germany after school, and now here I am. Now, I just want to know, do you see me, or do you just see this uniform?”

“I see you. I know you are not the same as the others. I wish everything could be different. I wish it could be 1939 again. But …” Marc stammered.

“Oh, yes, who would not love to go back to 1939? Here is your pass and here is something else I have for you. It is a token of my appreciation for your help. You made things a lot easier for me here working with the French and that crazy British woman, and I have appreciated playing cards with you, as well.” Officer Sean then gave him the pass and a small package.

“Go ahead, open it. It will not explode,” the officer joked.

Marc opened the package and it was a small wooden cribbage board made from a piece of oak.

“I know, not what you expected. It is not chocolate or cigarettes or extra rations, but I thought you might like it now that you seem to know a little bit about the game,” the officer went on.

Marc studied the board. “Thank you. Where did you get it?” Marc’s voice cracked.

“I made it,” he said, as if it were obvious.

“Where did you get the wood?”

“One of the soldiers got it for me. I think from the beach. Why, is there a problem?” the officer asked, perplexed.

Marc looked up from the cribbage board made from an oak handrail and said, “No, it is perfect. Thank you. This means a lot to me. You have no idea.”

“And, Marc, thank you for the work on the file. The list of graveyards is impressive. But one question—why are there two lists?”

“One is alphabetical, and the second is by size and distance from the ship’s sinking.”

“The list, starting then with Angoulins-sur-Mer and ending with Pornic, is by number buried and distance from the ship?”

“Yes. The ones at the top have only one or maybe two graves, and are towns up or down the coast, and the ones at the bottom are where most of them are buried and closer to Saint-Nazaire.”

“Eight hundred fifty-nine, and the rest got away?”

“No, most died. These are just the ones who came ashore.”

“How many do you think were aboard?”

“I have no idea. At least seven thousand, but it could have been more.”

“You’re very lucky.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I hope your luck continues in Paris.”

Marc placed the board in his bag and shook Officer Sean’s hand. He then walked to the train station with his travel pass, on his way back to Paris.

Officer Sean sat back down at his desk. He picked up the folder and began to look through the file. He then removed his glasses and stopped.

I did the same damn thing. I needed to feel needed and so I returned to help at home, and now here I am. I see a damn fool because I am a damn fool
, he thought as he began to laugh. “I am so needed now, there is no possible way to escape.”

May, 1944
Paris, France

There came an unassuming knock at the door. The airman stood and walked over where he knocked back twice. A single knock then came back and he then opened the door to Marie standing in the hallway.

“
Voulez vous sie habben fumer avec moi ce nach
?” he said in a perfect American accent.

“Who taught you to talk like an idiot?” she asked.

“Your boyfriend, of course,” the airman said.

“If you said that to me, I would run away thinking you are crazy,” she said as she entered the apartment.

“That is the idea and, frankly, he is very smart,” the airman said, smirking.

“We will soon see just how smart he is. Have you found anything?” she asked.

“Well, not much. He has some food now, and a lot of extra clothes for an unexpected guest such as myself, but I haven’t found any maps, names, contacts, or anything. The cards are gone, as you know.”

“What about the board?”

“It is just a board with nothing on it. No compartment, no marks, nothing.”

“Is there anything strange about the holes, or number of holes?”

“Maybe. I mean, there are seven up both sides, and I think normally there are six. It is a custom-made board, of oak. It is not a board that he would have bought,” he said as he gave it to her.

“So, either he had to have made it, or they made it, but it definitely is not just any board for cribbage,” she said.

“I believe it is just a block of wood.”

“He will be here soon,” she looked down at the street through the window. “Are you ready with what we rehearsed?”

“Yes, absolutely. It’ll be fun. He actually believes I am from America. My accent is as good as any other boy from corn country,” he said with pride.

M
arc walked through the door as Marie stood behind a door in the hallway. The airman sat on the bed in the back room, away from the windows, just as Marc had told him. She came out, and Marc stood shocked and said, “Marie, what are you doing here? How did you get in?”