“Okay. Lean back. Take your two thumbs, like this.” Lily demonstrated, placing her thumbs at the bridge of her nose. Sylvia raised her hands and imitated the gesture. Lily instructed her to apply pressure. Sylvia closed her eyes. Lily had gotten migraines all the time when working at the bookstore. Maybe it had something to do with book dust or book customers. She guided Sylvia through the motions of rubbing her temples. Sylvia glanced up at Lily, her hands moving across her face. For a second she appeared hopeful, young almost.
“I can watch the shop if you need to lie down,” Lily said.
“You can handle it?” Sylvia stood.
“Of course. And don’t stop with the acupressure.”
“The what?”
Lily gestured toward her head. “Pressing on your face.”
Lily knew Sylvia soon wouldn’t care if she could handle the customers or not. No one had come in during the last hour. Sylvia went upstairs, accompanied by the sound of creaking steps. Teddy stood at the curtain, glancing back at Lily as if unable to decide whether to stay or go. Finally, he nudged the curtain aside and ascended the stairs, click-clacking his way to his mistress.
Here was Lily’s chance. She started at Sylvia’s desk, crouching down to inspect the spines of the books stacked there. Nothing. Lily was about to peek in the largest drawer when the door chime rang. Looking up, she almost tipped over the ink bottle on the desk. Her heart beat faster at the thought of being caught in the act of snooping. A tall blond man who looked to be in his thirties walked toward her. She recognized him immediately. It was the man from the reading.
“Hello,” he said, glancing around. “Is it possible to speak with Miss Beach?” He spoke in fluent French with a pronounced German accent. Lily stumbled over her French.
“No, she’s not available. She’s a bit unwell. Maybe if you return in an hour, she’ll be available.”
He frowned and glanced at his watch. Lily offered to help but he refused.
“Not necessary. I will return in an hour. Good-bye,” he said, bowing slightly. At the door, he turned back around. “Hmm, perhaps you can help me with something else.”
“Yes?”
“Do you have The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein? I would like to borrow it.”
“Probably,” she said, though she had no idea whether they had the book or not.
Lily, scanning the shelves, wondered if it would be in fiction or biographies. She didn’t know how to classify Gertrude’s book, a collection of anecdotes about her circle of friends—Picasso, Matisse, Apollinaire, and many other great artists and writers. The style was rather plain but Lily loved being in the position of voyeur, looking through the keyhole at the sometimes-dissolute life of these artists seeking inspiration.
Within a few minutes she found the book and returned to the desk. The man watched her every move. He was attractive, his eyes a deep blue, his face sculpted, with an aquiline nose. He smiled and she blushed, hoping he hadn’t read her thoughts.
“Is this the book you’re looking for?”
The man approached the desk. “Yes, that’s the one.”
“I loved this book,” Lily confessed. “Being part of their world, hearing about their lives driving an ambulance during the war, all the famous people they know . . . it was fascinating.” Lily stopped, embarrassed to have revealed such enthusiasm. The man just nodded, thumbing the pages. “Anything else?”
“That’s it. Until I can speak with Sylvia.”
“Your name?” Lily said, opening Sylvia’s file box of library members.
“Heinrich. Heinrich Werden.”
Lily flipped through the W’s until she found his card.
“Here it is. Werden.” She silently read the addresses on the card:
Rathausstraße 15, Berlin
78 rue de Lille, German embassy, Paris
She wrote the title on his card, her mind racing. Was he a Nazi? That angelic face smiling at her now, was it hiding a future war criminal, a genocidal power monger? A shudder passed through Lily at the idea. She wondered why he was borrowing this book. Wasn’t this the kind of work that would easi-ly find itself on the long list of degenerate art banished from Germany by Nazi officials? Maybe this title had already been a victim of book burnings. Gertrude was Jewish and lesbian as well—two crimes in the eyes of the Nazis. Suddenly, she heard herself questioning him. “Why are you borrowing this book? Isn’t this degenerate art, according to the Nazis?”
Heinrich pulled back as if surprised by Lily’s random question. He stared at her for a moment, then grinned.
“Hmm! I do not see what is shocking about me reading this book. It’s my job to be interested in everything that revolves around the arts and is also a great pleasure. Anyway, I do not know if this book is degenerate or not. I promise you’ll be the first notified if this is the case.” He paused and smiled. “And isn’t it said that it’s good to have your enemies close to you?”
“Enemies?” Lily retorted. “How can you have enemies in art? You either love or hate it, that’s all. I’d say Hitler is the enemy of art!”
He raised a shaggy eyebrow. “You are a surprising young woman. Are you a communist sympathizer, being as virulent as you are?”
Taken aback, Lily stammered, “No, not at all. I just say what I think.” She paused. “And Hitler will lead you to war!”
He slowly put his hand inside his jacket. Lily pulled back, a crazy thought crossing her mind: He’s going to shoot me dead for that.
“May I?” he said, taking out a metal cigarette case.
“Of course,” she said mechanically, relieved.
He offered her one, but she refused. She watched him open the case and remove a cigarette with his nimble fingers, thin and long, perfectly manicured—a real pianist’s fingers. While he lit the cigarette, she imagined those fingers on her skin. Shuddering, she immediately drove the thought from her mind. He released a puff of smoke and spoke calmly.
“It seems that you misunderstand completely the intentions of the Führer. He does not seek war. He would only like a relationship of peace and trust with our neighbors. He has said multiple times that he is an ardent pacifist.”
Does he buy that? Lily wondered. Either he naively believes what he says or he really knows the purpose of Nazism and spreads its propaganda to quell suspicions. Lily brought up Spain, and Heinrich shrugged.
“To have peace, he must first show his muscles. With this, he gains respect in the eyes of others.” Heinrich grew enthusiastic, waving the cigarette and speaking urgently. “Hitler has restored the German people’s pride and self-confidence after years of chaos and despair. No one else could have done what he has accomplished.”
Lily was incredulous. Couldn’t he imagine that the chaos was not behind them but ahead? Could Heinrich imagine that his idol would bring unfathomable death not only to Europe but to his own precious Germany?
Heinrich chuckled to himself. “I do not know why I tell you all this. Are you English?”
“No, American.”
“American? Ah! We have many famous supporters overseas. One day perhaps I will visit your country,” he said, holding his cigarette aloft while expelling smoke.
Lily tucked his card back in the cardboard box. “I don’t know if there are Nazi sympathizers in the States, but I do know one thing—”
Before she could finish her sentence, a noise on the back stairs interrupted her. Teddy emerged and rushed over to sniff Heinrich, waving his short tail with excitement. Sylvia appeared a moment later.
“What’s this? A customer?”
Lily chimed in. “Mr. Werden came to see you.”
“Bonjour, Miss Beach,” the man said, tipping his head.
Sylvia nodded and smiled, brushing her hair back from her face.
“I learned from
your assistant that you were ill. Are you better, Miss Beach?”
“It’s nothing. Just an insignificant headache. To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Lily couldn’t tell if Sylvia was sincere or not. She welcomed the man—the Nazi?—as she had welcomed any other customer.
“I’m here about the book I mentioned at the reading. I came to get it.”
Sylvia shook her head slightly. “Ah, that book. It is very rare, you know. I am not certain I can bring myself to part with it.”
Lily faded against a bookshelf, pretending to be busy neatening the books. What was so valuable to Sylvia that she resisted selling it?
“I’ll give you a good price,” the man said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk.
Sylvia hesitated. Heinrich pulled a pen from his pocket, and wrote on a piece of paper on the desk. Then he handed it to Sylvia.
“I imagine you have some small financial worries at the moment. What I’m offering may help alleviate some suffering.”
Reading the number on the paper, Sylvia pursed her lips. Finally, she spoke.
“You win. I cannot refuse this sum. This does not mean I’m happy to let go of this book.”
Heinrich nodded, all gentleman. “I can understand that. I will take great care of it, I promise you.”
Sylvia took a key from the drawer and went to the glass case. Opening the cabinet, she removed a book from the back shelf, then laid it gently on the desk. A large book, the binding appeared old but the gold embellishments on the cover shone. Heinrich leaned over it and smiled. He removed a checkbook from his pocket and wrote Sylvia a check. She quickly put it in the cash box in the drawer but not before checking the amount.
“Lily, can you prepare the book for Mr. Werden?” She held it out to Lily, who took the tome with both hands.
“Of course,” said Lily.
Heinrich and Sylvia continued chatting. At the shipping desk, Lily turned the book to see the cover. She paled. In gold letters on the cover was the title: Yggdrasil: The Secret Power of Nordic Mythology. This was her ticket home, right here. And it was going to slip away, in the worst possible way, into the hands of a German who was likely a Nazi. She glanced at the others, but they were engrossed in conversation about Spender’s poetry. Was this the Nazi who had demanded Sylvia’s copy of Finnegan’s Wake, the Nazi who had prompted the closure of the shop? What could she do? Take the book and run? But where to? She didn’t even know how to contact Louise.
“Lily! Lily, are you asleep? Mr. Werden is waiting!”
Lily shook herself from her daze. “No, I’m not sleeping. I just . . . this is such a beautiful book, I couldn’t help staring.”
She quickly pulled a large piece of brown wrapping paper off the roll, tearing it with a loud shhhhoo! Carefully wrapping the book, surrounding it with string, she fought back tears. She couldn’t let them see her like this. Swallowing, she passed her hand over the package, then turned to give it to Heinrich. He politely thanked her and Sylvia and left. Lily’s only ticket home vanished, accompanied by the tinkling chime above the door. Heaviness settled on her.
“Lily, what is this Stein book doing on the desk?”
Lily came to. “Oh, no! He borrowed it,” she cried.
She grabbed the book and ran to the door. She caught sight of Heinrich entering a limousine on the other side of the street. As she rushed to cross, a loud horn sounded, startling her backwards. A green behemoth of a vehicle shot past, sounding its horn again. In a flash, Lily Heller, born July 10, 1987, imagined being caught under the wheels of the Gare du Nord–Gentilly bus on May 17, 1937. Adrenaline coursed through her, making her tremble. She desperately wished to be somewhere, anywhere but here. But seeing the sedan ready to leave its parking place, Lily came to her senses and ran across the street, checking for traffic first. She tapped several times on the back window. It lowered.
“Miss Lily, what can I do for you?”
“You forgot your book on the degenerates!” She said, handing him Gertrude’s book.
Heinrich laughed. “It’s true. Where is my head? Thank you for your diligence, mademoiselle.” The window started to rise. Then, he lowered it. “Miss Lily,” he started.
“Heller!” she said.
“What?”
“My name is Lily Heller.”
“Very well, Miss Heller. As I see that you are passionate about Germany, I’d be happy to guide you in the German pavilion of the Exposition Internationale to show you firsthand the revival of Germany.”
Seeing her only ticket home on the seat next to him, she made her decision.
“Yes, of course. I would be delighted.”
“Bon! I will be there in the afternoon on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of next week. If you can come one of these days, it would be me who would be delighted.”
Without thinking, Lily said, “Monday. I’ll come Monday.”
“Very well. Until Monday, Miss Heller.”
She stepped back and he tapped the shoulder of the driver, saying, “Los gehts!” The car started and moved down the street. Lily paused before returning to the shop. What was she doing? She did not know. All she knew was that her only chance to get the book back was to become close with Heinrich. She crossed the street and was about to enter the shop when she heard her name. Looking up, she saw Paul hurrying toward her.
“Lily, I was so worried after hearing your argument with my mother this morning. Are you okay?”
She smiled, trying to look reassuring even as she shook from her encounter with the Nazi. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
“Who was that?”
Lily glanced down the street and saw the car slip into the place in front of the Odéon Theater.
“Just a customer.”
Paul looked at her earnestly. Lily saw how young he was compared to Heinrich Werden. He apologized again for his mother but Lily brushed it off. Paul insisted, more for him than her, it seemed. Seeing him so frustrated made him even more charming to Lily. She smiled and touched his arm.
“Forget it, Paul. It’s no big deal.”
Paul gazed into her eyes. “Seriously, Lily, you can sleep in my room whenever you want when I’m at the reception. You will not have a problem with my mother. I set the record straight with her.”
“Thank you, Paul, but really, I don’t need to bother you anymore.”
“But where will you sleep?”
“Sylvia graciously offered me accommodations. And I really don’t want to create problems with your mother.”
Just then, a toc-toc sound came from the bookstore. It was Sylvia, making signs for Lily to come back in.
“I have to go, Paul. Work’s calling.”
“Yes, I see!” He grinned. Lily took the door handle.
“Wait, Lily,” Paul said. “I’m always there if you need me, you know?”
She smiled, wishing she didn’t have to go in.
“Oh, Paul, you don’t know how much that means to me.” She stepped reluctantly into the shop but he called her name again. She turned.
“Do you want to visit the bird market with me on Sunday afternoon?”
She smiled. “I’d love to. But I have to go now, otherwise, Sylvia will kill me.” With a little wave, she went into the bookstore. At the desk, Sylvia stood smiling over her cigarette.
“You have a French sweetheart now, Lily?”
“Oh, no, he’s a friend . . . just a friend.”
“The way you look at one another says something else, I think,” Sylvia teased. Lily blushed, which made her boss smile. “Come! Joking aside, the day is not over yet. You still have some books to shelve, do you not?”
Lily hustled to work in order to forget the embarrassing moment. After a few minutes, she approached Sylvia, holding a stack of books in he
r arm.
“Sylvia, can I ask a favor?”
Sylvia placed her finger midway down a list of names in a notebook and glanced at Lily. “What is it now?”
“Can I have Monday afternoon off?”
“Monday? A date with the young man?” She smiled at Lily.
Lily wished it were as simple as a date with Paul. But it wasn’t. It was her only chance out, the chance to see Heinrich again. She shook her head.
Sylvia returned to her list, making marks next to names and book titles. “Go ahead,” she said. “There is never anyone on Monday anyway.”
“Thanks!”
Lily plunged back into the shelves. While arranging the books in alphabetical order, she tried to imagine what strategy she would employ with the German to retrieve the book. But the image of Paul looking at her persisted.
SUNDAY AFTERNOON ARRIVED, beautifully sunny. Lily felt a shiver of delight strolling the aisles of the bird market with Paul beside her and the sunlight caressing her face. Families milled about, everyone taking advantage of the warm day. Children marveled at the aviaries, discovering finches, canaries, parakeets, and other birds both common and exotic. Bird owners passed Lily and Paul, new cages in hand. A connoisseur and a merchant argued over the purchase of a rare bird.
Lily was amused, seeing all this fuss over the featured creatures. Never a fan of birds in cages, she preferred pets she could touch and cuddle. Birds as ornaments or baubles in a house seemed wrong to her. She liked to believe that they would be happier in nature among their own kind. Still, they were pretty, and she refused to let these thoughts dampen her afternoon with Paul, which was going so well.
“Look how beautiful that is!” Lily pointed out a tiny cockatoo with pink feathers and a red crest. The bird preened in its cage as if enjoying the attention.
Paul smiled. But mostly he watched and seemed content that Lily was relaxed. A toddler in a frilly yellow dress held the hand of her father. She laughed and jumped with excitement, watching a parrot fluffing its white and yellow crest whenever someone approached too near the cage.
Chasing Sylvia Beach Page 19