“She is not as bad as she seems,” was all he said.
When they were finished they went back and sat at the dining table in the kitchen. There was no conversation as they ate and his wife was not the least curious as to anything about Renard. But Renard had to admit; it was one of the finest beef stews he had ever eaten.
When the meal was finished they went outside to the porch and smoked cigarettes. Renard sat down on a patio chair.
“I am meeting a woman at the hotel. Would your wife mind if I slept here tonight?”
“No.”
Renard finished his cigarette and headed to the hotel. The evening air was cool and the streets seemed alive. He saw Germans everywhere he went: in the cafés, the art galleries and the pubs. These Nazis infest like cockroaches, he thought.
He arrived at the hotel and stood outside. Evening soon turned to night and the street lamps went on. Renard heard people speaking in hushed tones that the Germans were considering imposing a curfew. He waited two hours and finished the last cigarette he had before walking back to Luke’s apartment.
*****
Renard awoke in the morning with a stiff neck and spasming lower back. He had slept on the floor next to Luke’s bed. He and his wife did not sleep in the same room and Luke’s room was messy and smelled of sweat and old clothes.
“Luke! Wake up.”
“What is it, Simon?”
“I can’t move.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I can’t move. My back has frozen.”
Luke sat up in bed and glanced down at his friend. “You look like a helpless turtle on your back.”
“You have to help me you ape.”
“How do you want me to help you?”
“I don’t know. Get some wine.”
“Do you really think that will help?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stay here,” Luke said, “let me ask my wife.”
Luke left the room for what seemed like a long time and then returned with a glass of water and a few pills. He put the pills in Renard’s mouth and brought the water to his lips.
“What were those pills?” Renard asked.
“They are to help you relax. You mustn’t move until your back is better.” Luke rose and looked out the window. “I must go look for work today. You will have to stay here until you can walk.”
“What will I do?”
“I don’t know. My wife will be here if you need anything. Perhaps you could read a book?”
Luke dressed and left the tenement without another word. Renard lay staring up at the ceiling. He could hear the tenement below and they were arguing again.
One day on his back turned to two and two to three. Before long, he had spent six days on Luke’s floor. His wife would come and help him to the bathroom once per day and fed him breakfast and dinner. There wasn’t much to do, as he had read through Luke’s library in two days. It was mostly children’s books that had collected dust. Renard asked Luke’s wife about them and she paused momentarily, gazing out the window, and then resumed what she was doing as if the question hadn’t been asked.
Renard grew more and more fascinated with his thoughts as they were all he had. He wondered if everybody would be comfortable just thinking and decided they would not. Too much thought, he believed, would pollute the soul. He decided it was time to stop thinking for awhile. He picked himself up.
Though his back made him curve, it felt better and he could get around. He went to the front room and sat on the couch and listened to the radio.
Luke came home and Renard could see excitement on his face.
“I’ve found work for us.”
“Where?”
“A restaurant next to the Canal St. Martin. It is for the rich. They have duck and squid and venison.”
“What will we be doing?”
“Cleaning tables, washing dishes, mopping floors…it is still better than unloading trucks.”
“Yes, it is. When do we start?”
“Tomorrow. It pays twenty francs a day and with tips it could be as much as fifty!”
Renard lie down on the couch as Luke ran into the kitchen to tell his wife. “Finally,” was all she managed to say.
The next day came and Luke and Renard made their way down to the Canal St. Martin and watched the people eating at the cafés and strolling down the streets. It had been more than a week since the Germans came to Paris and people seemed to be adjusting well.
The restaurant was crowded. It was white linen with expensive drapes and soothing rugs over freshly waxed floors. The staff wore vests and white shirts and were attractive, even the men.
At a table in the corner Renard saw four German soldiers in full uniform. The tables around them were empty and every so often the other diners would glance at them and then quickly away. One of the Germans, a tall, bald man with a hideous scar on his neck was yelling at the waitress.
“May I help you?” a man said to Luke.
“Yes, I am Luke Pedin. I had spoken to Advent here yesterday and he said that there would be work for the both of us.”
“Oh yes, you’re the new janitors. Go see Advent in the back and get your uniforms.”
They went to the back. The kitchen was crowded and people were running around and yelling. Plates of food were shoveled from a grill and oven onto plates and into the hands of waiters. A fat man in a business suit stood by the oven carefully watching the cook. He noticed the two men and walked over.
“Your uniforms are in the supply closet,” he said by way of greeting. “The one thing I will not tolerate are missed days or tardiness. If you are tardy, do not come in at all. Understood?”
“Oui,” Luke said.
“Oui,” Renard said.
“Okay. Get your uniforms on. What are your names?”
“I am Luke and this is Simon.”
“Luke, go and clean the bathrooms. You’ll find all the supplies you need over there. Simon, my waitresses need help today. We were not expecting a large crowd. Go and help them with whatever they need.”
The men put on their uniforms which consisted of oversized black pant, white long-sleeve shirt, and gold vest. Luke went right to work but Renard stayed in the supply closet and ruffled through a few items before hearing Advent yell his name.
“What is taking so long?”
“Nothing,” Renard said.
He walked out of the kitchen and saw one waiter and three waitresses attempting to service seventy or eighty people. He casually walked between the tables, looking at all the customers and the food they were eating. Some of the customers were complaining and the waitresses had to stand and absorb the abuse. He decided he would not last long here.
“Damn it!” he heard someone shout. “Can you not make this right? It is a simple dish and I told you last time NO SALT. You French are known for your swill cooking. Pwwhh. My ass could cook better than this.”
Renard looked over and saw the tall German throw the dish on the floor. The waitress was a young girl, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, and she began to tremble.
“I’m sorry, Monsieur. I will—”
“I’m sorry,” the German said mockingly, “I’m sorry. This whole damn place is sorry. Now you take this back to the bastard cook of yours and—”
“Monsieur,” Renard said as he walked to the table. “Perhaps I can help. What seems to be the issue?”
“And who are you? Another French bastard here to shit on a plate and tell me it’s gourmet?”
“Perhaps the problem is not the food, but the palate that tastes it.”
The other three soldiers appeared terrified. They looked to the tall one who was clearly their commander. Others in the restaurant were listening in, but attempting not to appear too obvious.
“You bastard!” the German said. He flipped over the table with a thunderous crash and plates and glass shattered on the wood floors. A small Ruger was withdrawn from its holster. He placed the muzzle firmly against Ren
ard’s throat. He tilted his head slightly as Renard didn’t move. “What’s the matter with you, Frenchman? Do you not know that I could blow a hole in your throat and I wouldn’t blink an eye?”
“Monsieur, do you not know that you could blow a hole in my throat and I would not blink an eye?”
The German pressed the muzzle harder into his flesh. He seemed puzzled and then burst out laughing. It was a roaring laughter and the other three soldiers relaxed and leaned back in their seats as if they had been holding their breath.
“A Frenchman with the backbone of a Teuton. I like you you filthy bastard. What is your position here?”
“Janitor.”
“Janitor!” This caused another round of laughter. “You are dining with Colonel Hahn today.”
The Colonel glanced at another table with two young couples. One of the men at the table swallowed and mentioned to his friends that perhaps they should sit closer to a window and they immediately moved. The Colonel sat down and motioned for his three men and Renard to sit with him.
“You see,” the Colonel said, “most men are cowards. I simply looked at him and he ran away. What if I had asked to spend a night with his woman? Would he have helped spread her legs for me?”
“Perhaps,” one of the soldiers said, “they simply admire you, Colonel. And they moved out of respect.”
“Ah,” the Colonel said, “a fair point. What do you think janitor? Do they fear me or love me?”
“Neither. They fear death. You are just the instrument.”
“Hmm. You’re a man of precise words for a janitor.”
Renard shrugged. The waitress came back and brought bread and lobster and wine with a pitcher of beer. She placed them slowly on the table, careful not to spill. Advent came out and walked to the table.
“Colonel,” he said, “my deepest apologies. Our chef you see, has been ill and though he has tried to—”
“Shut up pig,” the Colonel said, ripping a claw off the lobster. “Your chef is a pig too. And your establishment needs new blood. This janitor is not the janitor any longer. He is the manager. No, the chef. Have you cooked before, janitor?”
“Some.”
“You are now the chef.”
“But,” Advent said, sweat beginning to form on his forehead, “our customers know that our chef—”
“I believe I gave you a request.”
“But,” Advent said, desperation in his voice, “we were promised there would be no interference. That our governments would work together and that this would be a peaceful transition to a new government. That—”
The Colonel’s laughter interrupted him. “You believe this fool?” he said to Renard as he shoved lobster meat in his mouth. “His country gets conquered and he talks of peace and transitions. Five hundred years ago I would be taking a battleaxe to his head. But as it stands, I will have to due with telling the chef to dismiss this ass.”
Renard looked to Advent and said, “Ass, you are dismissed.”
Advent glared at him, but said nothing as he walked back to the kitchen. The restaurant had gone silent and now people were speaking again. Renard could tell they all wanted to leave but were afraid to seem too conspicuous.
“You weren’t always a janitor, I presume?” the Colonel said.
“No.”
“What did you do before?”
“I’ve had many jobs. I worked for the government a long time ago, as an administrator.”
“Administering what?”
“I would adjudicate disputes between government employees or citizens and government agencies.”
The Colonel nodded and wiped at the butter that dripped down his chin from the lobster. “Tell me something; when I put that gun to your throat, were you frightened of death?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because there is either something in which my existence will continue, or there is nothing in which case I will not know that my existence has ended.”
The Colonel pointed at him. “What if I told you I felt the exact same way? Would you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You have earned the right to have Colonel Hahn address you by your name. What is your name?”
“Simon Renard.”
“A fine name, Herr Simon.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I want you to come to my office tomorrow after you’re done with your shift here. We’re staying at the Peninsula Paris Hotel. Do you know it?”
“Yes.”
“Then you will come find me tomorrow and we will talk.”
“Colonel, I mean no disrespect, but what is it exactly we will talk about?”
“I am in need of a guide to Paris. I have never been here, and no offense to you, but I have never liked Parisians.”
“Neither have I.”
The Colonel laughed and nodded. “I like you, Herr Simon. I will see you tomorrow.”
Renard bowed his head and left the table. He went to the kitchen and saw Advent fuming as he ranted to the chef. He turned to Renard and was about to yell at him when the Colonel and his men came in.
“Ah, pig. There you are.” He turned to one of his men. “Stephan, if Herr Simon is not the chef with the pay expected of a chef at this restaurant, please shoot the pig manager in the face.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Very well, pig. Please put your new chef to work. I assume he has a lot to learn.”
The Colonel patted Renard’s back before leaving. Renard turned to Advent and thought the man might have a heart attack. Advent bit his lip so hard it turned white and he said, “You better get on an apron.”
*****
Renard had spent the night learning to cook and he enjoyed it. He had always wanted to learn and there was no better teacher than a chef and restaurant manager whose lives depended on him learning the craft.
He went back to the restaurant the next day and there was a stack of money waiting for him. Pay for his one day of work. He figured Advent was paying him daily in the hopes that he would take the money and leave to spend it and not return.
Instead, Renard threw himself into his cooking and even the former chef at one point was pleased with his progress in a day.
“Have you cooked before?” the former chef asked.
“Yes, a little. In the army.”
“Ah.”
It was a long day and Renard spent most of it cooking up dishes with the former chef on one side and Advent on the other. Customers would complain but as the day progressed the complaints grew fewer.
By evening he was tired and his back hurt but he had an enjoyable day. He walked outside the restaurant and lit a cigarette, and saw a young woman across the street speaking with some people. It was Apollina.
He walked across the street and noted the surprise on her face. She quickly said good-bye to the people she was with and turned to him.
“You never came,” he said.
“I had something to attend to. You never left a way for me to reach you. I came back the next day to the hotel and they said you had left.”
Renard glanced around and saw that the people she had been speaking with were standing on the corner watching them. “I would like to have dinner with you. Would you like to have dinner?”
She smiled and nodded.
They went to a nearby café and Renard ordered the finest wine. As they drank, they spoke of past things. She seems more relaxed, he thought.
After dinner they walked outside in the night for a long time and then Renard remembered that he had agreed to meet Colonel Hahn. He kissed her cheek and headed to the Peninsula Paris.
The hotel was luxurious and the air scented. Renard went to the desk and asked for the Colonel’s room. A German soldier came down and escorted him to the top floor of the hotel and led him to the Colonel’s room.
“Ah, Herr Simon!” the Colonel said. It was late at night yet the Colonel was still in full uniform. Only the top button o
n his overcoat was loosened. “Please, sit down.”
He sat in a chair across from the Colonel and the Colonel pulled out a cigar. He took a few puffs and passed it to Renard.
“So Herr Simon, tell me, what do you think of this little…mess we’ve taken upon ourselves?”
“And what mess is that?”
“Why the domination of France of course. Do you think it was a mistake?”
Renard inhaled the cigar smoke and it slid down like silk. It was the finest cigar he had ever smoked. “In the execution, it was Colonel.”
“Really? Why do you say that? We conquered the nation in a short period of time and the people are docile.”
“Not docile, patient.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you wish to take over a nation, you must do it in steps. First, you place men loyal to yourself in powerful positions, but not the most powerful positions. You would place them as judges and administrators and petty bureaucrats. Then you must pacify the people with narcotics. The narcotics of the French are wine and opium. You should have provided large quantities to be sold at every store and restaurant available. Then, you begin with small reforms. Step by step. Before long the nation would be as you have wished. But, an invasion is too obvious. The people will resent you and present smiles to your face and look for any opportunity to stick a knife in your back.”
The Colonel was lost in thought for a time and then said, “I knew you were not a janitor the moment I saw you.” He puffed furiously at his cigar, staring off in the distance. “You are right. You are right and I had agreed with you long before now. But it is difficult to disagree with my superiors, Herr Simon. Sometimes we must simply do what we are told.”
The Colonel sighed and rose from his seat. He went to a bar and poured two glasses of wine and returned, handing one to Renard.
“But that is not why I have asked you here, Herr Simon. I have a position for you. Better than chef.”
“What is it?”
“Much like your old post really. You will be adjudicating claims on behalf of the new government.”
“What type of claims?”
Existentialism and Death On a Paris Afternoon Page 2