Paris: The Novel

by Edward Rutherfurd

  O dolce Napoli

  O suol beato

  The strains of the Neapolitan song wafted down. He had a pleasing tenor voice. Édith could hear every word. Anna clapped her hands with pleasure. Could the people out on the bridge hear this concert performance emanating from the depths of the huge iron structure? It was possible. His voice was very clear. He came to the chorus.

  Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia

  Anxious that he shouldn’t sing another verse, Édith applauded vigorously. And then, hoping to get him off the tower quickly, she shouted out:

  “Take a bow, Pepe, and come down.”

  Pepe obliged. He made a magnificent, theatrical bow. Then another to the left, and also to the right, and a final, still deeper bow to the center again. And lost his balance.

  It happened so quickly that, apart from a tiny motion with his hand as he reached out for something to hold on to, it was almost as if he had purposely dived. His body fell. How tiny it seemed under the massive iron arch. They heard his voice, a single, fearful “Oh …” And strangely, neither she nor Anna screamed out, but watched, stunned, as the little body plummeted, one, two, three seconds and then, not sixty feet from her, hit the hard ground with a thud so terrible, so final, that she knew instantly that there could not be anything left of the person that, a moment ago, had been Pepe.

  Thomas Gascon never knew he could think so fast. A year ago, on these same girders, he had stood paralyzed in panic. Today, as he clattered down the metal stairs, more than three hundred of them, flight after flight, after flight, taking them almost at a run, he found that he saw everything with a cold clarity that amazed him. By the time he clambered out onto the girders, slid down over the concrete base, and raced across to Édith and Anna, he knew exactly what must be done.

  Anna was crouched on the ground beside Pepe’s body. She was shaking with shock. At least thank God she wasn’t screaming. Édith had her arms around her.

  Thomas quickly inspected poor Pepe. His small body was a crumpled mess. His neck was twisted at a strange angle, a pool of blood already forming in front of his open mouth. He reminded Thomas of a baby bird that has fallen out of a high nest. Wherever the spirit of his cheerful friend had gone, it was already somewhere far, far away.

  “Édith,” he asked, “does Monsieur Ney have a telephone?” He knew there were only a few thousand people in all Paris who had one, but he thought the lawyer might be one of them.

  “I think so.”

  “Go to him as fast as you can. Tell him what happened, and that Monsieur Eiffel must be informed at once. Also the police. He will know what to do. Then you stay with your aunt. I shall wait here with Anna.” He reached into his pocket and gave her money. “If you walk fast you can reach him in less than half an hour. But if you see a cab, take it. And don’t say anything to anyone, even the police, until you get to Ney.”

  “If he’s out?”

  “Your aunt will help you. Try to find him. We have to tell the police, but it’s essential Monsieur Eiffel knows at once.”

  Édith didn’t like to leave Anna, but she agreed to go. As she left, Thomas kissed her and repeated quietly, “Don’t come back.”

  As she left, he wondered if anyone on the bridge had seen Pepe fall. They might have. But they might not. If they had, the police would probably arrive quite soon. That couldn’t be helped. But at least he’d done his best to protect the two people who mattered: Édith and Monsieur Eiffel.

  Then he sat down, put his arm around Anna, and waited.

  He waited an hour and a half. It seemed an eternity. Then a group of people all arrived together. Monsieur Eiffel and Ney and a small man with a neatly trimmed mustache were closely followed by a uniformed policeman, a young man with a camera apparatus and two men with a stretcher.

  While Eiffel moved slightly apart, Ney spoke.

  “As you see, Inspector,” he addressed the man with the mustache, “my client awaits you exactly as I said he would. And this young lady I am sure is the friend of the unfortunate young man.”

  The inspector glanced at Thomas briefly, moved to Pepe’s body, gave it the briefest inspection, glanced up at the tower and nodded to the young man with the camera, who was already setting up a tripod to take photographs.

  Meanwhile Ney had gone to Thomas’s side.

  “You have shown intelligence by your actions, young man,” he said in a low voice. “Now listen carefully. Answer the questions that the inspector puts to you, and answer them very briefly. That is the only information he wishes to know. Add nothing. You understand? Nothing.”

  Thomas saw the inspector look at Ney inquiringly. The lawyer gave him a slight nod.

  “My client is ready to help you, Inspector.”

  The inspector came across. Apart from his mustache, his face was clean shaven. His hair was thin over a broad brow. His eyes reminded Thomas of oysters. They were watchful and somewhat sad. He took out a notebook.

  The preliminaries were brief: his name, the address where he lived—Thomas gave his lodgings in the rue de la Pompe. The time of the incident. The name and occupation of the deceased. He had been with the deceased before the incident? Where? The Irish bar.

  “Had the deceased drunk anything at the Irish bar?”

  “Yes, monsieur. Both Guinness and wine.”

  “Was he inebriated?”

  “Not drunk. He had control of himself …”

  “But he had consumed both beer and wine.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then he climbed up the tower.”

  “Yes, Inspector.”

  “How?”

  “Up the girders at first, since the staircase is closed. Then into the staircase and up to the first platform, then out onto the girders.”

  “You saw him do this?”

  “Yes.” He was about to explain that he had gone up with him, but remembering what Ney had said, and since the inspector had not yet asked where he was himself, he did not offer this information.

  “What did he do up there?”

  “He sang an Italian song.”

  “Then what?”

  “He fell.”

  “How?”

  “He took a bow, quite a big one. Three times. Center, then left, then right. Then he took a final bow, deeper than the others, and lost his balance. Then … it was very sudden.”

  “This girl is his friend?”

  “Yes. She is very shocked.”

  “Naturally.” The inspector turned to Anna. “I understand you are distressed, mademoiselle, but I must ask you a few questions.”

  Her name and address. Pepe’s name and address. Was he of Italian family? Was she? How long had she known him? Had she drunk Guinness and wine with him at the Irish bar? Did he climb the tower and sing an Italian song? Was she standing below? Did he take a bow three times, then a final bow and lose his balance? Did she see this, and was this what happened?”

  “Yes. Yes it was.” She burst into tears.

  The inspector closed his notebook, and turned to Ney and Eiffel.

  “It is very clear. I am satisfied. There will be some formalities later, of course, but unless Monsieur Eiffel wishes it, I personally see no need to take matters further.”

  Eiffel indicated that he also was satisfied. At a nod from the inspector, the two assistants put Pepe on the stretcher and started to carry him away.

  “I think I should take Anna to her home,” said Thomas.

  Ney glanced at Eiffel, who said he was going to remain at the site for a while. Then Ney told Thomas that he and Anna should come with him, and he would convey them home. Thomas wondered if he should say something to Monsieur Eiffel, but the engineer had already turned his back.

  By the bridge, the lawyer had a small fiacre waiting. The two men put Anna between them, the cab driver whipped up his single horse and they set off.

  Anna lived with her parents in a small tenement near the southern Porte d’Italie. It took them nearly half an hour to reach it. When they got there, Ney
went in with Anna to speak to the girl’s parents. When he emerged he told Thomas that he would return him to his lodgings.

  “You must not try to see Édith today,” he told him. “She is resting.”

  They had gone a short distance when Thomas ventured to speak something that had been on his mind.

  “You were good enough to say to the police that I was your client, monsieur, but you know I haven’t much money.”

  “You need not concern yourself with that,” the lawyer replied. “Monsieur Eiffel wishes it.”

  “I am amazed he would do such a thing for me. Does he know that this is partly my fault?”

  “Do not deceive yourself, young man. Monsieur Eiffel is not pleased with you at all. But there is more at stake here. The tower is the center of the Universal Exposition, the World’s Fair that is about to open. The honor of France as well as that of Monsieur Eiffel are at stake. Having heard the details from Édith, I was able to point out to him, and also to the inspector, that tragic though the business is, it is somewhat fortunate, to put it bluntly, that the deceased young man was Italian. No one wants a Frenchman to be involved with such an embarrassment. It is in nobody’s interest that your part in this should receive publicity. I was therefore able to protect both Édith and yourself.”

  “That is why the inspector never asked me where I was when Pepe fell.”

  “Precisely. He had no wish to know. If there were any doubt that this was a stupid and terrible accident, it would be another matter. But that is not the case.”

  “His fall was exactly as I described it, I assure you.”

  “If the authorities require you to testify again, they will come to me, and I shall tell you what to do. But in the meantime, I must stress to you that nobody must know of your part in this. I have made the parents of Anna quite terrified. She will not speak of it at all. Édith you may be sure has no reason to do so. But you must keep silent, or Monsieur Eiffel will be very angry. Technically, you know, he could prosecute you for entering the tower the way you did.”

  “I shall not speak a word.”

  “Good. I was able to tell Monsieur Eiffel that, as a lawyer, I thought you had acted very wisely after the accident.”

  Clearly Ney had lost no time in making himself useful to Eiffel, thought Thomas. One could only admire him for it.

  But after the lawyer dropped him off in the rue de la Pompe, he suddenly found he was very tired.

  By the time he went to work the next day, Thomas was ready with his story. In the first place, he’d say nothing. If by chance anyone knew he’d met Pepe for a meal on Sunday, he’d simply say that he’d parted from him immediately afterward, and known nothing about the accident.

  If there had been any doubt in his mind about the consequences of saying anything else, they ended as he walked down the rue de la Pompe.

  He was just passing the place where Édith’s family had once had their little farm when Jean Compagnon fell into step beside him.

  “Nice day,” said the foreman.

  “It is,” said Thomas.

  “Keep your mouth shut,” said Compagnon.

  “Don’t know what you mean,” said Thomas. “But I always do.”

  “If anyone finds out, Eiffel will fire you. He’ll have to.”

  Thomas didn’t answer.

  “But that,” continued Jean Compagnon pleasantly, “will be the least of your troubles. Because I’ll be waiting for you, and you’ll join your friend Pepe, wherever he may be.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Thomas, “but I’m sorry if you don’t trust me.”

  “I trust you,” said Jean Compagnon. Then a moment later he turned abruptly into another street, leaving Thomas to go on alone.

  Thomas was strong, and he knew how to fight. But he wasn’t under any illusions. If the burly foreman wanted to kill him, he could do it.

  At the tower, Pepe was replaced without any explanation. They were doing the finishing touches now. Not all the men were needed anymore. No doubt the news of the accident would be out soon, but obviously it had not been released to the newspapers yet. The day passed quietly.

  It did not pass so quietly for Édith. She had slept through the night in her aunt’s quarters, because Aunt Adeline had given her a sleeping draft. She awoke and took a little tea and a croissant.

  But even while she was eating this petit déjeuner, the terrible feeling that had been gnawing at her the day before came back, with just the same awful, insistent coldness, so that she cried out to Aunt Adeline in agony: “It was me that killed him! It was my fault.”

  Her aunt sighed.

  “You’re quite wrong.”

  “I told him to take a bow. If he hadn’t done that …”

  “He would have done it anyway.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “He had the choice. People have to take responsibility for their actions. It was he who decided to go up the tower, anyway, in the first place.”

  There was truth in this. But not enough, Édith felt, to absolve her. She sat with her head bowed over her cup of tea, shaking her head slowly.

  And then something happened.

  At first, when she felt the little gush, she didn’t understand. She went into the bedroom where she slept and used the bed pan. A few minutes later, she called her aunt.

  Aunt Adeline was very calm. She told Édith to stay where she was and that she’d be back in a few minutes. Then she went out to fetch the doctor.

  Later in the morning, the doctor gave her the news. She had lost the child.

  “Thank God,” said Aunt Adeline.

  It was a week later that Thomas was told Monsieur Eiffel wanted to see him in his office.

  The great man had wasted no time installing himself in his office at the top of the tower. Since the elevators were not operating yet, it meant a huge climb; but Eiffel didn’t seem to mind. From the third platform, a small spiral staircase led directly up to his quarters.

  As he knocked on the door and went in, Thomas was struck by how comfortable the office was. The wall had already been papered in a dark, striped wallpaper. There was a patterned carpet on the floor. Eiffel had a table, a desk and a couple of chairs, and a few small ornaments. And one could look out on a breathtaking panorama. Monarchs and presidents might have palaces, but Monsieur Eiffel, without any doubt, now had the finest office in the world.

  There was quite a strong wind blowing that day. As he stood close to the pinnacle of the great tower, Thomas could just feel the faintest motion.

  Eiffel was sitting at his desk. He was looking at some papers. Without looking up, he read Thomas’s thoughts.

  “The maximum sway caused by the wind is about twelve centimeters,” he remarked drily. He finished checking a list, then looked up. “You know why I sent for you?”

  “I think so, monsieur. I apologize.”

  “When the Russian tsar built his city of St. Petersburg, he drove his workers relentlessly. Do you know how many men died working on that great enterprise?”

  “Non, monsieur.”

  “A hundred thousand. St. Petersburg rests on their bones. When we began work on this tower,” Eiffel continued, “it was assumed there would be accidents. There always are on big projects, alas. But I took exemplary care. I put in movable barriers and screens—safety precautions more sophisticated than anything used on a building site before. And we built the tower without the loss of a single life.” He paused. “Until the other day.”

  “It was not your fault, Monsieur Eiffel. It was mine. It was an accident.”

  “Do you think that anyone will remember that? All that will be remembered will be that one of the workers on my tower fell to his death.”

  “I am truly sorry, monsieur.”

  “I made space for you, when you asked me if you could work on the tower. This is how you repay my kindness. You have dishonored me.”

  Thomas bowed his head. The children of the Maquis, like the knights of old, understood honor. Every Frenchman
understood it. And he had dishonored his hero.

  “I have in front of me the list of names of the workers on the tower,” continued Eiffel. “As I promised, they will be painted on a plaque where they may be seen. But I cannot bring myself to add your name to the list. Do you understand? You will receive your bonus of a hundred francs, but no public recognition.”

  Thomas nodded. He did not look up. He could not speak.

  “That is all,” said the builder of the tower.

  Thomas had seen Édith only once since the accident. He had met her as usual outside the lycée. She had been off work for a couple of days, she told him, and she wouldn’t be free that Sunday. He wanted to talk a little about what had happened, but she seemed preoccupied, and he left feeling uncertain about where he stood with her.

  So it was not surprising if, up on Montmartre that Sunday, his family found him rather subdued. Was everything all right at work, his father asked?

  “Not bad,” he replied. “Monsieur Eiffel himself told me I’d be getting my bonus at the end.”

  “And your name written up,” his father said proudly.

  Thomas changed the subject.

  “I’ll be looking for work again, as soon as I’m finished on the tower,” he reminded them.

  In the afternoon, he went for a walk with his brother.

  “How’s Édith?” asked Luc.

  “All right.”

  “That’s good.” It seemed to Thomas that his brother had something he’d been waiting to tell him. But they walked on in silence for a little way before Luc asked him casually: “Have you seen the posters for the Wild West show?”

  One could hardly miss them. They seemed to be sprouting on every billboard in Paris. A huge buffalo, racing across the prairie, took up most of the picture. Inset on his powerful body, however, was an oval portrait of the handsome and unmistakable features of Colonel W. F. Cody, Buffalo Bill himself, with beard, mustache and cowboy hat, and underneath him just two words in French.

  Je Viens: I am coming.

  Everyone had heard of Buffalo Bill’s circus. It had already had a triumphant tour in England. People might not be sure exactly what the spectacle entailed, but it was known to be exotic, and exciting. It would be one of the biggest side attractions of the Universal Exposition.