Never Turn Back

by Lorna Lee

  He averted his eyes from the woman he had known, helped, and shown such affection for all these years. His gazed was fixed on an oil painting hanging on his wall—a finely dressed woman with a parasol strolling along an avenue in Paris. The blue sky, verdant trees, and rainbow of flowers reminded Meri of a Paris she first met two decades ago. Or is this just a vision of Paris I conjured in my mind?

  “Monsieur?” Meri wondered if he heard anything she had said.

  “I understand. I am afraid, however, you do not understand.” He continued staring at the painting.

  “I suppose I don’t.” Meri furrowed her eye brows and began twisting her hem. Thrump, thrump, thrump…She could hear her heartbeat growing louder in her chest and her ears.

  He sighed then put his face in his hands.

  “You’re worrying me. Please tell me what you need to say. Knowing is better than not knowing.”

  Finally he looked at her. The gentle, kindness in his eyes returned. Along with his softened demeanor came sadness so profound her heart ached without him even speaking. Her eyes misted over. This is bad…very bad.

  “I never wanted to share this with you, my dear Meri. I am afraid after I tell you, nothing between us will ever be the same.”

  “Michel, you’re exaggerating. And you’re scaring me. Has Madame found out about when we…you know…when we…kissed?” Meri’s heart beat faster simply thinking of the kiss. Saying it aloud flushed her with the heat of embarrassment and something tinged with pleasure from her belly to her cheeks.

  “I am not exaggerating.”

  §

  Meri walked out of Michel Dorval’s fashion house without a job. I’ll be fine. I didn’t expect him to offer me a job anyway. Dreams don’t come true in my life. Mamma, you saw to that! She marched to the Dorval residence and resigned. Madame told her to pack her bags immediately and leave. Meri counted on at least a week’s notice and pay to find another job, but Greta’s spiteful termination did not surprise her. Michel had warned her and even gave her some money for at least a month’s rent in a modest apartment. Since the war ended, many rooms and apartments had “For Rent” signs in their windows.

  The story Michel told did not shock Meri as much as he thought it would. I’m savvier than he thinks. So is Greta, who suspected her husband and I had a special, private relationship. She just never guessed the innocence of it. Michel had told Meri, “Greta had enough when I came to your defense during the missing attaché incident. Karla told her parents and aunt you stole the satchel, woke up her to open it together (under much protest by poor Karla), and then brought it to Karla’s room to lay the blame on her. Greta, Ernst, and Ilsa were ready to have you arrested.”

  Meri’s eyes had narrowed and darkened. She opened her mouth to speak when Michel continued. “I stopped them. Greta only agreed to let you ‘get away with your crime’ if I swore on my dead child’s grave I would never again show any favoritism toward that Finnish traitor again. Greta vowed to watch both of us carefully. If she suspected anything, even the most minor kindness, you would be arrested for crimes against the Third Reich. I would never see you again.” He had held out his empty hands—a gesture of offering.

  “But what about that time in your fashion house office when we…” Meri felt too embarrassed about the kiss to speak of it aloud. “You remember, don’t you? That was well after your bargain with Madame.”

  “Greta had no spies in my office at work, Meri.” Michel spoke to the floor. “And I was wrong to…to use my position as your employer and friend to take advantage of you.”

  “Employer and friend? Michel, I thought we had a stronger bond than that. Was I wrong?” Meri’s darkening grey eyes were fixed directly on his face.

  He looked up to meet her searching gaze. “You were not wrong. I care for you…deeply. I love you, Meri, but Greta will see us both burn in hell rather than be made a fool of. You know her and what she did to Soldat. She told me she would kill you if I hired you here or…or left her to be with you.”

  “Michel! Do you believe your wife would actually kill me?”

  He nodded. “I think she could shoot me, as well. There is evil in that woman I never saw until this war with Hitler.”

  “You made a bargain with the, pardon my saying, the Devil to distance yourself from me, because you care for me?” Meri let out a bitter laugh.

  He nodded once. “What else could I do? I heard too many stories of what happened to people taken prisoner by the Nazis. The lucky ones died quickly. And after the war ended, I remained afraid for your life knowing the lengths Greta will go to eliminate nuisances in her life.”

  Meri shook her head in disbelief. Only I could end up working for a maniacal German witch married to a kind man in the fashion industry who loves me enough to push me away from him. I’m so close to my dream and, poof, it’s gone. Then Meri sighed. “You didn’t believe Karla’s fairy tale about me, did you?”

  “Well…I…”

  “You did! No matter how much you supposedly love me, I’m still the one who gets in trouble and needs help getting out of it. I think you liked saving me. At least you had power over someone in your life.” Meri’s face had flushed bright red with anger and pain as she stood abruptly to leave. It’s easier to be angry with him than it is to admit how much he hurt me.

  Michel sat up straighter in his office chair, as if being taller helped with his defense. Meri looked at him, his eyes wide and mouth agape. He’s hurting too. Damn him! How can I stay mad at this handsome, kind man? He’s been nothing but kind to me while living with a violent bitch. My anger is misplaced. I’m really mad at Greta. Calm down, you fool. I overreacted because he hurt my feelings by believing Karla. When you live in a madhouse, you think crazy thoughts. The man loves me and I’ve loved him for a long time. But our love is not meant to be. I should be used to that kind of disappointment by now.

  Meri sat back down and continued, less aggressively, although her voice quivered slightly with tumbling emotions. The grief of knowing their relationship had ended trumped her wounded pride, fear of an unknown future, and anger at how cruel the world had been to her. “Forgive me for my outburst. I was unfair to you. No matter how much we want to be together, we can’t for many reasons. I know that and you know that.”

  Michel looked as if he wanted to say something, but Meri held up her hand to stop him. “Please, let me finish while I can. You did so much for me and for Jeannine. You saved our lives. I’m truly grateful. We wouldn’t have survived without your generosity. In my heart, I believe you helped us out of kindness and affection. You’re a decent man, Michel Dorval. I want you to know I’m a decent woman. Meri Vaarsara has and will never steal anything from anyone—not even a German. I admit I put the attaché in Karla’s room. She’s the one who dragged it into my room and ordered me to open it up or she would tell her father I had stolen it, which, of course, she did anyway. I saw the contents and was very frightened. In the middle of the night expendable people must think creatively to save themselves from impossible situations. I put Herr Freels’ case in the real thief’s room. I will say nothing more in my defense.”

  “I am sorry. How could I know?”

  “Michel. All you needed to do was ask me. Ah, you couldn’t—your deal with Madame wouldn’t have allowed such a thing. What does it matter?” Meri crossed her arms and legs, letting one leg bang on the front of his desk. “Under the circumstances, I can see why there’s no job for me here. My reputation in your household is ruined and I don’t want to be a domestic for the rest of my life. You know my talents as a seamstress and yet you don’t offer me a job working for you because you’re afraid that Greta will find out, hunt me down and shoot me like she did Soldat. She might shoot you, too, right? Is she really so blinded by her hatred that she would risk imprisonment or death for murder just to keep us apart?” Meri leaned forward and put her elbows on his desk

  Michel shook his head, but did not say a word.

  “You were open about your hatred of
the war she supported. Why can’t you stand up for yourself and me now?”

  “It is very complicated, Meri.”

  “I’m sure you feel that way, Michel. You feel like a trapped animal inside the cage of your marriage. The key to your freedom isn’t in Greta’s miserable fists, it’s in your hands, but you choose not to set yourself free. Why?” Meri shrugged. “Only you know. But I know this. It’s time I move on and find a life for me and my daughter. I’ll tell the Madame I resign.”

  Michel stood up as Meri stood. She offered her hand to him. Rather than shake it as she assumed he would, he kissed it. His kiss lingered on her palm. When she withdrew her hand, she felt the resistance. He doesn’t want to let go. Neither do I. Alas, I must. This part of my life is over. It’s time for me to rely on myself.

  She sighed, clearing her fractured heart. She smiled a smile marred by regret, yet infused with gratitude and love for this man who she knew as her generous employer, her Papa incarnate, and her never-to-belover. Her tears were all wiped away by the time she returned to the Dorval residence to resign.

  §

  Meri wanted an apartment easily accommodating both mother and daughter. Unfortunately, without a job, I must be realistic. “Realistic” meant thrifty with the money Michel gave her before she left his office. If I’m smart, I can make this money last several months.

  She had the presence of mind to ask Michel about paying for Jeannine’s tuition at the convent when he gave her the cash. Am I being bold or a good mother?

  “Until you find a new job and new place to live with her, I will continue to pay for the convent. I care about Jeannine’s welfare as much as I do yours, Meri.” He opened his mouth as if to say more, but closed it and turned his head away. As he did, Meri saw his normally straight shoulders slump. His country has won the war, but he looks defeated.

  “Merci, Michel. With your help, Jeannine and I will live together as mother and child soon. I can’t thank you enough.” She wanted to go over to him and hold him, if only to comfort him, but she knew they were destined to walk different paths. Hanging on to each other will only deepen the wound and make the scar harder to heal.

  “Thank me by letting me know where you end up and how you are doing. Perhaps I might visit you when you are both settled?” His voice was the voice of a little boy pleading with his parents.

  “Perhaps.” Meri looked away as she spoke. Another lie. Being close to this man is too tempting. When I leave, he will never see me again. “I will be sure to contact you to let you know when she is out of the convent. The nuns will be sad to see the money go.” They both managed smiles at the thought.

  Meri found a boarding house where, for a few Francs a week, she shared a bedroom with two other women. All other facilities—bathroom, kitchen, parlor for entertaining—were all shared by between nine to twelve women, depending on the week.

  Next, she needed a job. She gave up on the fashion industry. While she had experience working as a domestic and a cook in a hotel, and hotels were slowly recovering from the German occupation, Meri shied away from applying for those types of jobs. She wanted something different, something new. Paris is being reborn, and I’m in the mood for a rebirth of my own.

  While walking along Rue Bonaparte on her way back to the boarding house after a day of looking for work, Meri stopped at Le Bonaparte, a bar by night and a café by day. She wanted a coffee and wished her old friend, Siri, could join her. Is she still in Paris?

  An old man came to her table. She had selected a table under the tattered, dingy red, blue, and almost white canopy. Even with a chilly breeze occasionally lifting the awning—it was early October—Meri preferred the open air tables.

  “Bonjour, Madame. What may I get for you?” Sparking eyes hid under his heavy gray eyebrows.

  “A coffee. Black. A job, too.” Meri could not explain her immediate comfort with this man. His gray moustache looked like the end of a wide and worn broom. He wore round, wire-rimmed spectacles, the frames bent and crooked as his back. The left lens cracked, both he and his glasses were weathered and worn.

  He chuckled. “There’s plenty of coffee. I must check in the back to count how many jobs are left. I’ll be right back.”

  Meri kicked off her shoes and rubbed her aching feet. The old man returned with her coffee. He also brought her a pastry. She looked up at him. “I…I didn’t order this. I can’t pay for—”

  “Today all pretty ladies get a free pastry with their coffee.” The cup rattled in the saucer as he placed it on the table with hands so knotted Meri winced when she saw them. She could not tell if exhaustion or pain caused the shaking, which he tried to mask with his good humor. Whatever it is, he’s a jolly man—something of a rarity in the bleak landscape of Paris and her survivors.

  “Merci beaucoup, Monsieur. Did you notice any jobs while you back there?”

  “It’s quiet here now, Madame, but when the American soldiers come, I’m not so sure this is the place for a proper lady.” He pulled a chair out and sat down, groaning the way people blink or breath: habitually and natural.

  “How can you tell I’m a proper lady, Monsieur?” Meri felt as if she was flirting with a man who could be her grandfather.

  He smiled. The wrinkles on his face deepened to hills and valleys. This man has seen too much and still he smiles so easily. I want to work for someone like him. “I think you’re the kind of woman who’s had a very good life.”

  Meri raised one eyebrow, saying without words, oh, really?

  He chuckled. “You’re the healthiest woman I’ve seen in years, except for some women on the arms of the Germans earlier in the war.” He held up his hand. “Please don’t take offense. I’m not a political man. I serve my customers and don’t ask questions. That’s how I kept my little establishment throughout the war.” He smiled more broadly and lowered his voice. “I’m a Jew and they never knew it!” Then he slapped his hand on the table, nearly spilling Meri’s coffee.

  Meri studied him. She understood enough to know he appreciated people who did not sympathize with the Germans. “You’re the owner, then?” Meri took a sip of her coffee.

  “Oui. Do you like my coffee?”

  She nodded gently as she sipped the rich, smooth, dark French roast. The aroma of good Parisian coffee is just as important as the flavor. “Très bon. Did you make it yourself?”

  “Non. I have help.” He started the process of getting up, an effort neither graceful nor quiet.

  Meri used this as her opportunity to offer her services to him. She stood, took his arm and helped lift him out of his chair.

  “Merci. You’re stronger than you look, Madame.” He adjusted his spectacles, which had slipped down his nose.

  “My name is Meri Vaarsara, Monsieur. I’m experienced with cooking and serving.” She showed him her hands—the ones Jeannine had criticized so many years ago. “Can you tell I’m a hard worker who needs a job?” She only stopped to take a breath, not wanting to give him a chance to turn her down yet. “I’m a single mother, too. My daughter’s name is Jeannine. Her father was a Jew. He’s gone.” I never thought I’d tell anyone but Siri about Jeannine’s real father.

  The old man’s eyes lost their playful glint. “He didn’t make it?”

  “Non.” Meri hung her head. She hated lying. It’s probably not a lie…. Meri had no remorse when thinking about Amiel or his probable fate. He’s just another person, like Jani, Tuula, Elina, or Michel who I had to leave behind for my life to move forward. What’s the use of wasting time on people who are gone when focusing on surviving now is all that matters?

  “Where’s your little girl now?” He asked, as concerned as a grandfather.

  “She’s in a Catholic convent not too far from here. Who would search for a Jewish girl in a Catholic convent?”

  He smiled. Then he laughed. “You’re as cunning as I am, Meri Vaarsara. I like you. Do you know about the Americans? The soldiers? Drunk American soldiers? I would be throwing a rabbit to the hounds b
y giving you a job here.”

  “Monsieur. I’ve dealt with many hounds before.”

  “I need another waitress but mostly at night serving drinks. The pay is not so good, but the soldiers, they’re loose with their money if they like the service. It’s hard work. Hectic.”

  “Are you trying to talk me out of the job you just offered me?” She laughed and hugged him. “Merci! Merci beaucoup! When do I start? I can start tonight. My dream is to save enough money so my daughter and I can finally live together in a place of our own.”

  The sparkle returned to his eyes. “I’ve made a pretty lady happy today. It’s a good day. Let me show you inside and introduce you to your new coworkers, at least the ones who are here. We can talk about your duties, uniform, rules, pay—details. You can start tonight. The Americans come every night. I think Le Bonaparte is popular with them because it’s one of the only bars they can all pronounce. None of them speak much French. Do you speak any English?”

  “Non, Monsieur. Is that a problem?”

  “It’s not for any other waitress. You’ll learn what you need to learn in time.”

  “I’m sure I will, Monsieur.”

  “Since you’re now working for me, please call me Gratien. I warn you, those crazy Americans, they call me Groucho. I think it’s because I look like Groucho Marx, and they can’t pronounce my real name when sober, let alone drunk!” He shook his old head of wavy, scattered gray hair and chuckled.