Lana's War

by Anita Abriel

  “You’re home,” she said happily.

  “I brought you something. I went shopping and realized I don’t know what kind of perfume you like. The saleswoman asked me to describe you. I said you are a modern woman who can take care of herself but there are parts of you that you don’t reveal. And when you’re wearing an evening gown with a cape draped around your shoulders, you’re the most mesmerizing woman in the room.” He placed three perfume bottles on the table. “She suggested Je Reviens by Worth if you want something romantic, Joy by Jean Patou if you appreciate a floral scent, or Shalimar if you prefer something exotic.”

  Lana examined the bottles and felt a catch in her throat.

  “I couldn’t decide, so I bought all three. I also got this in case you don’t like any of them.” He reached into the bag and brought out a box of chocolates. “It’s impossible not to like pralines.”

  “I love all of it,” Lana said hoarsely. “But why?”

  Guy took her in his arms. He kissed her tentatively, and she kissed him back.

  “I know you were worried about Giselle,” he began. “Resistance work can be overwhelming. There’s so much responsibility with no room for error.” He stroked her cheek. “I didn’t want you to forget that you’re a desirable woman. And a woman who deserves pretty things.”

  “I am worried about Giselle. I hope she isn’t in trouble,” Lana said, opening the bottle of Shalimar. The scent reminded her of her mother. Her mother’s perfume always preceded her when she entered a room. “Thank you, I’ll wear all of them. It was very thoughtful.”

  Guy pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “You made two sandwiches.” He waved at the counter.

  Lana turned, and her heart beat a little faster. “The sandwich isn’t for you, it’s for Odette.”

  “Who is Odette?” Guy asked.

  “I told you about Odette, Sylvie’s daughter,” Lana said nervously. “They’re the Jewish family who live on Rue Droit. Odette’s father was killed by German soldiers more than a month ago.”

  Guy’s eyes darkened, and he stepped back.

  “What is Odette doing here?”

  “Her mother was shot and killed last night. Odette’s in the attic.”

  Lana told him about her visits to Odette and the Gestapo showing up at the nightclub. When she was finished, Guy started toward the staircase. His jaw was clenched and lines formed on his forehead.

  “Where are you going?” Lana demanded.

  “To take Odette to the orphanage.”

  “You can’t do that! Her mother was murdered.”

  “That’s what orphanages are for.” Guy’s voice was clipped.

  Lana’s mind went to Brunner when he discovered Esther Cohen hiding in the piano at the convent. Frederic gave his own life to protect her. An orphanage wouldn’t be safe for Odette.

  “You can’t take her to an orphanage,” Lana pleaded. “Odette is Jewish, she’ll be sent to a camp.”

  “She can’t stay here,” Guy insisted. “The last thing we need is a Jewish child in the attic.”

  “Why not?” Lana said boldly. “You check the house for bugs, and no one saw us coming inside.”

  “You don’t know for sure.” Guy shook his head. “German soldiers are everywhere. Someone could have seen you and Odette leaving Old Town.”

  Lana had been in such a hurry, she hadn’t checked if anyone followed them.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said stubbornly. “Odette is too upset, she can’t go to the orphanage.”

  Guy thought for a long time.

  “The escape of the Jews in Old Town takes place in three days. Pierre will take Odette on the boat to Algiers, and from there she’ll go to England. You must see that’s the only choice. If she stays here, we’re all in danger.”

  Lana debated what to do. She could go with Odette, but then she would be letting down Henri and Guy and Pierre.

  “Odette doesn’t know anyone in England,” Lana said. She thought about Bernadette. But Bernadette was a child, and Lana knew nothing about her family. And a letter could take weeks to reach her. “She’s twelve years old. What will she do?”

  “I have a contact there,” Guy replied. “He can arrange for her to stay with a family. Many families are accepting Jewish orphans.”

  Odette would be safer in England. After the war, if they survived, Lana could collect her.

  Lana heard a car outside and froze. The car kept going, and she let out her breath. Guy was right. Sending Odette to England was the best option.

  “All right,” she agreed. “But she’s staying here until then.”

  Lana finished making the sandwiches and took Guy to the attic to meet Odette.

  Odette sat in the chair, her arms circling her knees.

  “You must be Guy.” Odette rose and held out her hand. “Thank you for letting me stay in your house. I know it’s dangerous with me being Jewish.”

  Lana expected Guy to say it was only for three nights, but he simply returned Odette’s handshake.

  “I’m sorry that you’re in the attic, but we don’t want anyone to see you.”

  “I’m used to it.” Odette shrugged. “When the war ends, I’ll have to do a lot of living.” She lifted her shoulders. “To make up for everything my parents will miss.”

  They ate the sandwiches, and Odette curled up to take a nap. Guy left to run errands, and Lana sat in the living room.

  The tray sat on the coffee table. Lana remembered how she used to bring a tray to the living room while Frederic practiced piano. She’d curl up on the sofa with a cup of tea, and he’d take bites of a sandwich between concertos. Now she cared for Guy and Odette in the same way. It was hard to imagine that Frederic would never meet Odette, that he knew nothing about her work in the Resistance.

  * * *

  The phone rang, and she picked it up.

  “Lana, sweetheart.” Her mother’s voice came down the line. “I’ve missed talking to you. I wanted to see if you’re all right.”

  “It has been too long; I’ve been busy,” Lana answered. “You sound upset, is anything wrong?”

  “Jacques was arrested and taken to the police station.”

  “Arrested!” Lana’s pulse quickened.

  “It was frightening. Jacques was at the store, and a Jewish man was accused of stealing a box of cigars. Jacques defended him, and German soldiers took him to the police station. I had to go down with his Cartier watch and convince them to let him go.”

  “You bribed an official!” Lana exclaimed. “You could have been thrown in prison too.”

  “I could tell by his silk handkerchief that he wasn’t opposed to bribes. I’m just relieved Jacques is home.” Tatiana paused. “How is the Riviera?”

  “Every day there is something new.” Lana pondered. Odette’s comment about living stuck in her head. “It feels so odd that Frederic is gone. So many things happen that he’ll never experience. I worry that I’ll forget him.”

  “I know how you feel,” her mother agreed. “When I first arrived in Paris, I found a Russian tearoom that sold your father’s favorite cakes. Once a week I’d go and sit by myself. I couldn’t even afford a coffee, but just sitting at the table and seeing the glass case filled with the moloko cakes and poppy seed sushki he loved brought him closer.”

  Lana pictured her mother sitting serenely in a noisy tearoom.

  “Don’t tell Jacques, but I still go there sometimes.” Her mother’s voice tinkled. “Now I don’t eat the blintzes because they’re bad for my waistline.”

  They wrapped up their conversation and said their goodbyes.

  Lana noticed Odette’s suitcase standing in the entry. She had brought it in from Gerard’s car and left it there when they went to explore the attic. On top of it was a packet of Odette’s letters to Bernadette. Lana opened one and went to stand by the window.

  Dear Bernadette,

  I don’t have much to report, but I wanted to write to you anyway. Every night my mother perform
s at the cabaret, and I am home alone. I don’t mind too much. I have The Jungle Book Lana gave me for company. My mother has a voice like Edith Piaf. When I was younger I wanted to be a singer, but now I’m not so sure. She hates working at night because she can’t sit with me before bed.

  I don’t think I’ll be a chef like my father either. For a while I wanted to be a doctor. But what if a patient was sick and I couldn’t save him? I’m tired of people dying. I want to do something that brings people together. Maybe I’ll work as a translator so people from different countries can read one another’s books. You must have someone who will translate my letters. Our teacher was going to translate the letters from our pen pals, but I can’t go to school anymore. I’ll figure out a way to read them. And I’ll learn so much about life in England. Isn’t that the important thing? That people of all nationalities learn to communicate with one another. If that happens, maybe there won’t be another war.

  What do you want to be when you grow up?

  Your friend, Odette

  Lana folded the paper and slipped it in the envelope. Odette must have written it before Sylvie died. What would it feel like to be Odette? To have no one left and worry about the future every day?

  She rustled through Guy’s albums and found a record of Chopin’s sonatas. She placed it on the phonograph and sat on the sofa. The room filled with the lilting melody, and she pictured Odette huddled in the attic. She thought about Frederic giving Vivienne piano lessons, and the baby who would have grown up to appreciate music like Frederic. Then she put her head in her hands and cried.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nice, December 1943

  Lana spent the next morning making the attic more comfortable for Odette. She took up a lamp and small table. They ate porridge for breakfast, and Lana found notepaper and a pen so Odette could write to Bernadette.

  After they finished breakfast and Odette was content with her books, Lana went to Giselle’s to feed the chickens. She didn’t know when Giselle would return. At least she could make sure her chickens were fed.

  The smell of smoke greeted her when she entered Giselle’s gate, and Lana was afraid something caught had fire. The door was slightly ajar, and she walked toward the living room. Giselle, shoulders hunched, sat on the sofa. A cigarette case rested on the coffee table.

  “You’re here!” Lana exclaimed in surprise. “I didn’t mean to barge in, I thought you were away. I came to feed the chickens. I didn’t know you were home.”

  Giselle glanced up. There were dark circles under her eyes; her normally glossy skin looked translucent.

  “Thank you, that’s very kind. I’ve never seen the chickens look so content.” Giselle smiled thinly. “I’ll have enough eggs until New Year’s.”

  Lana was silent. There were so many things she wanted to ask Giselle. She didn’t know where to begin.

  “Would you like a cigarette?” Giselle waved at the cigarette case.

  “No, thank you.” Lana shook her head. “I only smoke at parties.”

  “I gave it up for years. My fingers turned yellow, and I developed a cough. But I started again about a month ago.” She inhaled deeply. “The war will do that to you. What does it matter if you have a bad habit when the world has gone mad?”

  Lana looked at Giselle. She wasn’t sure how she felt. She was relieved that Giselle was safe, and angry that Giselle kept so many secrets at the same time.

  “I was at a party at the Petrikoffs’ and Natalia told me about your German lover. You lied about not having a man in your life, and you lied about being in Paris.”

  “Natalia! She always has the best gossip.” Giselle let out a little laugh. She looked at Lana, and her eyes were wide. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, but it was so nice to have a friend. You can’t imagine what it’s been like the last few months.”

  Lana remembered that Odette was waiting at the villa.

  “You shouldn’t have lied,” she said abruptly. “And I was worried about you. I thought you had been captured.”

  “Natalia has great gossip, but it’s not always true. Hans wasn’t my lover. I am not a traitor.”

  “Then what was he?” Lana asked. “Why do you have a humidor box engraved with his initials? And why didn’t you tell me you were in Berlin?”

  “I should have told you,” Giselle acknowledged. “But you have to believe me: I’ve done nothing wrong. Hans and I were childhood sweethearts. We grew up together in Strasbourg, near the German border,” Giselle began. “When Hans was twelve he gave me a promise ring and said we’d be together forever. A few years later he joined the Hitler Youth. All the local boys were doing it; it made him feel useful.

  “In 1938, Hans was invited to become a member of the Gestapo. He thought it would be safer than fighting in the German army if there was a war.” She paused. “Strasbourg was in France but controlled by the Germans. He was afraid there would be a draft and he’d be sent to fight the Russians.

  “Hans moved to Berlin, and I stayed behind. At first we visited each other, but I started hearing what the Gestapo was doing—burning shops and herding Jews into ghettos. I told Hans he had to choose between me and the Gestapo.”

  Giselle took out another cigarette. She fumbled with the lighter, and Lana noticed her hands were shaking.

  “Hans chose the Gestapo, and I moved to Paris. I didn’t have any training, so I became an artist’s model.” She smiled weakly. “I always loved anything to do with painting. The pay was minimal, so I took a lover. Armand was an officer in the Free French army.” She flicked ashes into the ashtray. “He was killed in North Africa and left me a safe-deposit box with enough gold and jewelry to start a new life.

  “So I came to the Riviera. I didn’t lie to you about not wanting a man in my life. All I wanted was to paint and enjoy the sunshine. But then Hans showed up a few months ago. I almost didn’t recognize him. His hair was long, and he was so thin; I could see his rib cage.

  “I had no idea Hans would do anything like plant a bomb until after it happened. He told me about the failed assassination attempt and asked me to hide him. He believed Hitler was going to destroy Europe and had to be stopped. What was I to do?” Giselle asked plaintively. “I couldn’t send him away; he’d be killed. I let him stay in the studio and tried to figure out a way to get him over the Alps. Then the Germans arrived, and the escape routes were cut off. You don’t know how desperate I became. I was afraid to leave the house. Even going to the market in Nice was agonizing.

  “A month ago Hans received a letter from a childhood friend in Strasbourg. It was addressed to me. Hans had given him the address; he was certain his friend would help him. He offered to get him papers. It was just before you arrived on the Riviera. I warned him it could be a trap, but he swore his friend could be trusted,” she said slowly. “I don’t know, maybe he really believed that. He was going stir-crazy; he always had to be doing something.”

  “Natalia’s friend heard a story that you were in Berlin,” Lana cut in. “What were you doing there? Why did you say you were in Paris?”

  “I was afraid you’d ask questions. It was easier if I said I was in Paris,” Giselle answered. “I heard on the radio that an accomplice in the assassination attempt had been caught. I knew it was Hans. I was afraid there might be things in his apartment.” She waved her hand. “Photos of us and old love letters.”

  Lana pictured Giselle going through memorabilia and winced. Once Giselle and Hans hadn’t been a man and a woman on opposite sides of a war. They were teenagers planning a life together. Giselle seemed older than Lana because she was sophisticated and worldly, but they were only a few years apart.

  “And where did you go now?” she asked. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving again.”

  “I went to his mother’s house in Strasbourg.” Giselle swallowed.

  “To Strasbourg!” Lana said in alarm. “What if his parents alerted the authorities? The Gestapo could have followed you here.”

  “No one knew I
was there. Hans’s father is dead, and his mother was at work. Even if I didn’t approve of Hans’s activities, he was a good son. I had to give his mother his belongings; it was all she had left of him.”

  Giselle stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray. She took out another cigarette and looked at Lana.

  “You’ve been a wonderful friend, and I felt terrible for lying to you,” Giselle finished. “If there is any way I can repay you, just ask.”

  Lana thought for a moment. She had to return Gerard’s car, and she had promised Odette she would collect Sylvie’s things. But she couldn’t do that on her bicycle.

  “There is something. I need to run a few errands later today. Is it all right if I use your car?”

  “Keep it for as long as you like,” Giselle said with a little smile. “But think of something important I can do. You can’t understand how I feel. I’m tired of this war, and I’m tired of hiding.”

  * * *

  Later in the afternoon, Lana picked up a box of Sylvie’s belongings from the house on Rue Droit. She stopped at a creamery on Rue Saint-François de Paule to get cheeses for Guy and Odette. As she left the creamery, a male voice called her name. Alois Brunner stood across the street.

  “Countess Antanova.” He joined her. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

  Lana arranged the shopping bag so that it hid Sylvie’s box.

  “Captain Brunner, what a pleasure.” She greeted him. “What are you doing here?”

  Captain Brunner pointed at the creamery.

  “The same thing you are. This creamery sells the best Camembert in Nice,” he said. “When I was in Paris I grew quite fond of French cheeses.”

  Lana glanced down at her packages.

  “I don’t know for how much longer,” she said with a smile. “With all the new rationing, soon one won’t be able to find small luxuries like fresh cheese anywhere on the Riviera.”

  Brunner’s eyes danced. He stepped closer, and Lana had to stop herself from moving away.