The Indigo Rebels: A French Resistance novel

by Ellie Midwood

  “So you’ve hit a kind of dead end?” Giselle inquired with a concerned look, silently cheering inside.

  “I never hit dead ends,” Karl proclaimed with confidence. “It only means that if I can’t find the printing machine, I should find people who write for this newspaper. These Indigo Rebels.”

  “Indigo Rebels?”

  “Ja. That’s what I named them, after the ink that they’re using.”

  “How are you planning to do this?”

  “Ach, Giselle.” Karl grinned again. “It’s not as complicated as it looks. Just like these copies of the paper, people have their signature marks that I only have to study, classify and compare. Every single journalist – or a writer for that matter – has his or her own particular style, you see. Favorite words they use more often than others. Certain expressions. Metaphors. Sentence structure. Punctuation. Some love dashes and some semicolons. Some love ending their articles with question marks. Some are cold, some are indignant, some idealistic, and some are outright sarcastic. Every single article in this newspaper has its own, very distinctive voice.”

  Giselle’s face took a guarded look against her intentions. Karl grinned wider and finished. “Now, I just have to find their owners.”

  Giselle forced a smile and turned to leave.

  “Well, it’s all very fascinating, but I’m already late for a meeting with Michel.”

  “Perfect.” He rose from his chair as well. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “That is not necessary.” She frantically tried to worm her way out of the situation, already sensing some malice behind his words. “It’s such a beautiful day outside. I don’t mind taking a walk.”

  But he was already opening the door of his study and making his way to the front door.

  “Nonsense. It’s freezing cold outside. Besides, I need to talk to Monsieur Demarche anyway.”

  Giselle could do nothing but follow him out of the study.

  Giselle forced herself to stop every time she noticed that she was biting her lips again. When their car pulled in front of the Demarche Publishing House, it was already dark out, and Giselle, to the last minute, nursed a hope that Michel wasn’t there together with the rest; that maybe the weekly meeting had somehow been canceled. But after she had stepped out of the car with the help of Karl and his gallantly outstretched hand, Giselle saw the light coming from the top floor and hung her head in defeat.

  They climbed the stairs in complete silence. Karl pushed the door open to let Giselle inside and nodded his acknowledgment to the stupefied doorman.

  “Is Monsieur Demarche upstairs?” she asked, sliding her glance over the black phone next to the doorman, hoping that he would get the hint.

  “Yes, he is, together with other gentlemen. I’ll call him at once to let him know you’re coming up.”

  “Merci.” Giselle’s smile was more of a grimace. Yet, she regained her composure before turning to her fiancé. “Well, you’ve seen my home away from home at last.”

  Karl only grinned enigmatically and gestured for her to lead the way. All these grins of his unnerved her, especially taking into consideration that this man hardly ever smiled. Now, he was beaming like a cat that had got the cream.

  Giselle pushed the heavy iron cage of the elevator door open and stepped into the silence of the fourth floor. The walk along the corridor towards Michel’s office felt like the walk to a scaffold. Giselle tried to pacify herself with the thought that the doorman had warned his boss of the unexpected visitor that she had brought with her.

  The office met them with dead silence. Giselle tried to smile brightly at Michel and her colleagues, welcoming Karl inside. The Chief of the Gestapo removed his uniform cap and headed straight to Michel’s desk, outstretching his arm. Giselle shook her head behind his back, indicating that there was nothing she could have done to prevent him from coming here.

  “Monsieur Demarche, I believe?” Karl was at his best, ceremonious self, bowing slightly as the publisher encased his hand in his. “Karl Wünsche. It’s my utmost pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Monsieur Wünsche.”

  “Doctor Wünsche,” Giselle corrected Michel before Karl would. “Karl is a surgeon.”

  “Please, pardon my ignorance, Doctor.” Michel bowed his head again, playing the part of a perfect host.

  “No need to apologize, Monsieur Demarche. I’m afraid the title remained only on paper after the Reich called me to begin a different duty. I haven’t practiced medicine in a while.”

  A pause followed until Giselle remembered to act as naturally as possible and proceeded to exchange kisses with Michel and other men in the room. The look that Pascal gave her barely concealed his anger.

  “Karl, allow me to introduce you to my esteemed colleagues and very good friends,” she chirped, a bright smile plastered on her face despite an almost panicked look in her eyes. “This is Antoine Levy, my favorite novelist.”

  Again, Karl was the first one to hold out his arm, even though Giselle was almost confident that he would refuse to shake a Jew’s hand.

  “Monsieur Levy. My pleasure.”

  “As it is mine, Doctor.” Antoine returned his polite smile.

  “Excuse my curiosity, please.” Karl slightly narrowed his eyes without releasing Antoine’s hand. “Are you still holding a position here? I’m only asking because Giselle told me that this was a routine, scheduled meeting and you would be discussing your work.”

  “Your assumptions are absolutely justified, Doctor,” Antoine replied, slightly uncomfortable with the German’s prolonged grip still clasping his palm. “I’m afraid I was let go a few months ago, but I still come here from time to time to see my friends. I’m not breaking any law, I hope? If I am, I am terribly sorry; I was unaware of that.”

  “No, no, you aren’t breaking anything,” Karl rushed to reassure him. “Only the blackout law, but with this issue I should address Monsieur Demarche, I believe.”

  Karl chuckled almost kindheartedly.

  Just now noticing that he had forgotten to lower the blackout drapes, Michel hurried to do so under the German’s amused stare. Karl was visibly enjoying himself.

  “I don’t understand how I possibly overlooked it,” Michel muttered, struggling with the thick material.

  Karl walked over to him and pulled the drapes down with a precise, practiced move.

  “Merci, Docteur.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Karl turned to the other two men, who still stood by the chairs from which they had risen upon his arrival. “And these gentlemen are novelists as well, I suppose?”

  “Yes, they also represent my finest. Monsieur Thierry and Monsieur Le Roux.” Michel followed up with the introductions while Karl regarded every man closely, shaking their hands. “Now that we’re all acquainted, may I ask how I can be of assistance, Doctor Wünsche? I don’t believe Giselle mentioned anything to me…”

  “Giselle had no time to mention anything to you.”

  Her heart sank against her will at those words. He knew everything. He knew everything, and he was going to arrest them all.

  However, Karl proceeded with a strangely ordinary request.

  “I need a list of your writers, Monsieur Demarche. It’s routine procedure, and I’ll be collecting those lists from all the publishing houses in Paris. I decided to start with yours solely because my fiancé works with you.” He was all smiles and charm again.

  “Are you… looking for someone in particular, perhaps?” Michel inquired carefully, fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “In this case, I can probably help you. I’ve been working in this business for many years, and I know almost everyone in it.”

  “I am looking for some particular people, yes.” Karl slid his glance over the tall redwood bookcase occupying the opposite wall. “Unfortunately, I don’t know their names yet.”

  Michel scowled slightly, but proceeded to his safe, in which he kept all legal paperwork and documents. Karl, me
anwhile, walked over to the impressive office library and traced his fingers along the top of the books, took one out and shuffled through the pages.

  “Monsieur Demarche, do you have copies of your novelists’ books here by any chance?”

  “Of course, Doctor. Not all of them, but the most celebrated ones, yes.”

  Karl placed the book back on the shelf and turned back to his silent audience.

  “Since I’m here and have made an acquaintance with all of these fine masters of the literary word, it would be my utmost honor to have their books in my collection,” Karl said, smiling sweetly once again. “Would it be possible to arrange?”

  “Bien sûr.” Michel had already found the folder with the lists of his employees and went to hand it to Karl. “It’s the only copy, I’m afraid… I would ask the secretary to copy them for you, but she has already left…”

  “No need to worry. I’ll have my adjutant duplicate them for me and have them returned to you next time Giselle comes to see you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Now, which books would you like?”

  “Your most favorite works by these gentlemen.” A slight nod in the direction of the three novelists followed.

  Michel walked over to the bookcase and instantly pulled three copies from three different shelves, finding the books without any effort. After he had offered them to Karl with a slight bow, the latter studied the covers with a faint grin, and suddenly handed the first one to Antoine.

  “Would you be so kind to sign it for me?”

  Antoine wavered for a second, but then took the book from the German’s hand and lowered it onto Michel’s table, scribbling something.

  “Gentlemen.” Karl handed the other two books to their respective authors. “You would do me the utmost honor.”

  After the reluctant writers handed him the copies back, he almost beamed at their small company before bidding his farewell.

  “Well, I won’t bother you with my presence anymore. Discuss what you came here to discuss, and pardon my intrusion once again. A pleasure to meet you all and I’ll be looking forward to reading your works, gentlemen.” Karl bowed slightly to Giselle, passing her by. “I’ll be waiting for you in the car, Süße.”

  “I won’t be long, chéri.”

  “Take your time. Gentlemen.”

  The room remained silent until they heard the sound of the elevator door closing. After that Giselle turned back to the men, shaking her head vehemently.

  “I did not invite him here, I swear! He told me that he was coming with me when I was already at the door of my house. There was no way I could prevent him from coming.”

  While Pascal Thierry eyed her with suspicion, Michel only sighed, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief.

  “That’s all right, Giselle. I understand completely.” He stood at his desk, his fists butting the surface while he tried to regain his composure, and then asked, “Why did he come though? Really, he acted mighty strange if you ask me. Not that I know him, but… I imagined him to be quite different from your words.”

  “He was acting strange,” Giselle confirmed with a frown. “Far too strange. I think he suspects that it’s us.”

  “What do you mean, he suspects?” Thierry exploded at last. “He wouldn’t suspect because someone tipped him off, would he now?!”

  “What are you implying, Pascal?!” Giselle took her stand as well, sounding indignant. “That I told him to come here and snoop around?! Putain, I write for this goddamned paper together with you!”

  “Who knows if you’ve switched tables!” He squinted his eyes slightly. “Maybe he cut a deal with you to sell us out in exchange for the new position of Madame Le Chef de la Gestapo!”

  “You pig,” Giselle hissed, stepping closer as well despite Michel’s and Antoine’s efforts to pacify them both. “My brother is in the Resistance! He shot that naval officer, he’s the man who Karl is hell-bent on finding! You think he cut a deal with me on that too?!”

  “Enough!” Michel shouted with unusual emotion. “Do you not see what’s happening?! We’re going at each other’s throats when we should bond together even tighter than before.”

  “I don’t trust her,” Pascal cut him off at once.

  “I trust her.” Antoine shifted closer to Giselle. “I’ve known her for years; she would never betray us.”

  “Legrand?” Thierry snorted with contempt. “Legrand would sell anything for money. Everybody knows that it’s all she cares about. Even her own brother.”

  “Pascal, this is going too far,” Michel spoke, with a sense of warning in his voice.

  “I don’t care anymore. I’m out of all this.” Pascal jumped to his feet and headed to the exit, fumbling with his coat. “You can wait all you want until you hang together, while Madame watches you from beneath the scaffold, together with her new husband.”

  He slammed the door on his way out, leaving the room immersed in the gloomiest of atmospheres once again.

  “I didn’t invite him here, I swear,” Giselle repeated softly once more.

  Antoine reached out and pressed her hand in a reassuring gesture.

  “We know you didn’t. It’s all right.”

  “Why did he ask for our books though?” Always quiet, Gilles Le Roux voiced his thoughts for the first time that evening. “Is he reading a lot?”

  “Only what’s useful for him,” Giselle replied and gratefully accepted a cigarette that Antoine offered her. Her fingers shook slightly as she held it for him to light. “I’m afraid he’s getting closer to the truth concerning La Libération than we thought. He knows what the paper is being printed on and he knows that it’s educated liberals who are writing for it, and not communists. He also said today that each writer has their specific manner of writing and that he only has to compare their writing in the articles in La Libération with… other articles, written in different papers and magazines.”

  “Or books,” Michel concluded, sounding strangely calm.

  “Or books,” Giselle took a long drag on her cigarette, immersed in her thoughts together with the men in the room.

  “What shall we do?” Antoine inquired quietly. “Stop writing?”

  “Not yet.” Giselle shook her head, narrowing her gaze. “I know him. He won’t act until he has all the facts in his hands and is one hundred percent sure of his theory. If he were certain that it was us, he wouldn’t have come alone today; he would bring a small army with him to arrest us. No. We still have time. Let’s use it wisely.”

  “Time until what?” Gilles frowned.

  “Time until…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Until, I don’t know. Until I find a way to stop him. Once and for all.”

  29

  Kamille kept blowing into her cupped hands even after she had removed her warm, fur lined gloves.

  “The winter just won’t go away,” she complained to Jochen, who was warming her cheeks, rosy from the cold, with his palms. “And to think of it, it’s almost March.”

  “Yes, indeed,” he agreed, brushing melting snow off her dark locks that had been exposed to the storm outside. “Did you manage to get it?”

  “Giselle’s friend – I don’t know who he is and I don’t want to know – was a godsend.” Kamille opened her bag and dug inside the lining, which she had purposely torn before leaving to see her sister. “He made papers for them both, and they’re so good that I couldn’t tell them from my own if I had to.”

  “Let me see.”

  Kamille finally found the carefully concealed documents and handed them to Jochen. After studying both passports with thoroughness, he smiled at last, and Kamille let out a sigh of relief.

  “They’re really well done.” He nodded in appreciation at the mastery with which the documents were executed. “I wouldn’t know they were fake if I had to check them. The privates on the border definitely won’t question them.”

  “That’s good to know.” Kamille beamed.

  Lili had fully recovered from her illness weeks ago d
ue to the gentle care of the doctor that Jochen initially brought to treat her. He was a military man, but having hardly any patients to treat he was more than glad to devote all of his attention to a little sick girl, who reminded him of his own daughter, whom he hadn’t seen in over a year.

  Violette was elated at the new living arrangements and having her best friend always available to play with. She didn’t understand at first why Lili wasn’t allowed to go to school with her, but when Kamille warned her that Lili was not Lili anymore, but Sabine Clemenceau, her distant cousin from a farm, and that she was not to mention her at school at all, Violette nodded solemnly and made a motion, imitating locking her lips. Jochen only chuckled at how fast she learned about keeping secrets. The children weren’t children anymore, too; they were little adults now, carefully guarding their parents’ secrets.

  “How’s Giselle?” Jochen inquired.

  “She’s fine.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “Yes. Wünsche always dines with the Prefect on Sundays. He started taking Giselle along after they got engaged, but today she talked her way out of it, feigning illness.”

  “Is she really unwell?” Jochen frowned slightly.

  “Of course not. She’s just a first class actress, that’s all. She did seem a little pale to me, but since she stopped using her rouge and wearing bright lipstick, she always looks pale to me. Maybe I’m just not used to seeing her like this.”

  “Is she still going to marry him?”

  “That’s what Horst always asks.”

  Jochen couldn’t suppress a wry smile.

  “I feel for him, the poor fellow.” Kamille sighed, shaking her head. “She’s breaking his heart.”

  “Horst is a hopeless romantic,” Jochen retorted with a slight shrug. “He needs to suffer, otherwise he’s not happy. He still dreams that she’ll run away with him to Switzerland. A typical artist, I told you. She’s doing him a favor, really. You should see the beautiful paintings he draws now. He already has a small gallery in his bedroom.”