Karl ran out of the room, down the hall and out the door into the Chancellery Garden. He saw Dr. Goebbels and Frau Goebbels standing four feet apart. Dr. Goebbels raised a gun and shot his wife. Then, he pointed the gun at his temple and shot himself.
It was over.
✽✽✽
1950 — Paris
Karl stopped speaking.
“How did he get out of Berlin?” Slim asked.
Emil asked Karl, then said. “Axmann took him to be reunited with Heinze in Bavaria,” Emil said as he stood up. He turned to Lena and said something in Polish. Lena flinched as if she had been hit. He turned to Slim. “They’re all yours.”
Lena dropped to her knees in front of Emil and began to beg.
“You are going to leave them here?” Slim asked.
“Look at him. I can’t take a member of the Hitler Youth back with me to Chicago,” Emil said. He turned to Karl and then said something with disdain.
Karl put his hands on his ears and began to rock. Tears spilled down his face. He began to shake. Lena tried to put her arms around Karl, but the boy pushed her off.
“What did you say to him?” Slim asked as she blocked the door.
“I told him, he’s a disgrace to the Jewish race,” Emil said.
Slim suppressed the urge to slap Emil. “I want you to ask him why he did what he did. Ask him.” Slim said. “Ask him!”
Emil asked the question. Karl replied through his choking sobs.
For a moment no one said anything. Slim looked at Emil’s face. He looked shattered.
“What did the boy say?” Slim asked.
“He said when he was in the square with my brother and sister-in-law, my sister-in-law made him promise he would do anything to survive. She said if he survived, one day his Uncle Emil would come to take him to America.” Emil’s voice broke. He cleared his throat and continued. “And, wherever he was, Karl would say to himself, keep your promise to Mama. Uncle Emil is coming. He’s been waiting for me all this time.”
“You cannot blame a child for becoming lost, but you can blame an adult after they’re found.” Slim reached out, touching Emil on the shoulder. “Go to him. Hold him. He kept his promise to his mother, and now, you must keep her promise to him.”
“But how can he forgive me after what I said?” Emil asked.
“The wonderful thing about children is that they forgive their parents over and over again until they become of age and they see what their parents have done to them.” Slim paused. “I think it is time you told him who you are. He needs to know that you two are his parents.”
With that, Slim got up and she left. The lost boy had been found. Now it was time to meet his birth parents and start again.
Let me say goodbye to Lena.” Slim went over to Lena who immediately embraced her. She was crying and speaking Polish.
“Lena says…” Emil started.
“I know what she is saying, I‘m a mother too.” Slim smiled as she turned to leave. Karl rushed over, took her hand and placed something in it.
“Thank you,” the boy said in hesitant English. He ran back to Lena and Emil, who were leaving. Slim waved goodbye and then opened her hand. Inside was the toy soldier. The boy had given her the only thing he owned. She would keep it on her desk for the rest of her life.
✽✽✽
1950 — London
Slim showed up unannounced. Surprised, Barnaby let her into Gran’s house. Before he could say anything, she went bounding up the stairs to the nursery two steps at a time. She opened the door to find Josie toweling off Tiny from her bath and Gran deciding between two outfits.
“Heavens! You frightened me, Slim,” Gran said.
“Sorry, but may I have my daughter back?” Slim said to Josie jovially.
“Yes, Madame Cohen, here you are,” Josie said as she handed Tiny to Slim. “She’s grown since you left.”
“And she is smiling. Look at how happy she is to see you,” Gran said.
“Would you mind if I spent the afternoon alone with her?” Slim asked.
“Of course not. Josie has not had a day off since you left. She can go and see her mother, and I will go out and see some friends,” Gran said.
They left Slim with Tiny and she spent the afternoon, holding her, playing with her on a blanket, feeding her and changing her. At the end of the afternoon, she looked at the baby. “I think it is time to give you a name.”
✽✽✽
The next day, she met Felice Scott at Brown’s Hotel for tea. The ever-present Cartwright led her over to a table.
“May I inquire about Lady Johnson?” Cartwright asked.
“My grandmother is wonderful, thank you. Having a great-granddaughter has done her wonders. She smiles now,” Slim said with a grin.
“I don’t think I have ever seen her Ladyship smile,” Cartwright said, responding with his rare smile. “And how is Miss Cohen?”
“It is kind of you to inquire after the baby. She is wonderful as well,” Slim said. He waved over Felice Scott, who was looking around the tea parlor anxiously.
“Allow me.” Cartwright went to Felice and guided her to Slim’s table. He bowed slightly and said, “Ladies, enjoy your afternoon.”
“So, tell me everything,” Felice said as Slim poured her a cup of Darjeeling tea.
“I found the boy. He has been reunited with his mother and, believe it or not, his father as well. In a couple of days, he will be en route to Chicago where he will begin a new life as an American teenager,” Slim said. She wondered how the boy would adjust from being a member of the Hitler Youth to a high school boy in the United States.
“Amazing. Did my journal help?” Felice asked as she dolloped cream on a scone.
“It did, but I fear some pages were torn out,” Slim said apologetically, handing over the less than perfect book.
Felice grimaced at the book’s condition and then sanguinely shrugged, “You found the boy. That is all that matters. It is good you called me. I am about ready to go back to the States. They are replacing me.” Seeing Slim’s expression, she said, “It’s not because I’m a Negro. It’s because when I was at Temple University, I joined the student Communist Party. It was dumb on my part but, if you have had any affiliation with the Communist Party, they want you out. The Red Scare is apparently very real — to the State Department anyway.”
“Do you want to go back to the United States?” Slim asked.
“No, I would rather stay here. It is easier being a Negro abroad than in the United States right now,” Felice said.
“How would you like to come to work with me at the Pitchipoi Agency? I would pay you a decent salary. You could live in one of the apartments in the building I own and…”
“Yes,” Felice said before Slim could finish.
“But I didn’t even tell you the salary or job description…” Slim said.
“I am helping find people lost in the war. I am being paid to do this. And I am living in Paris. That’s a good enough job description for me. As for the salary, I am sure you will compensate me fairly,” Felice said. “The only question I have is when do I start?”
✽✽✽
1950 — Paris
The first thing Slim did when she was in Paris was find an apartment big enough to accommodate a baby, a nanny and most importantly, herself. She found one across the Seine on the Left Bank in St-Germain-des-Prés. Felice moved into the apartment on the top floor, which Daniel had renovated for Slim and the baby. After getting everyone settled, Slim arranged for Tiny's baptism.
She invited everyone for Slim’s christening including Jack Warner who was in town en route to Switzerland to visit Barbara. He could not come, but he phoned Slim.
“So did you find that Polish maid’s boy?” he asked.
“Yes. It turns out he is half Jewish. His mother had an affair with a Jewish man. The boy wound up being adopted by a high ranking Nazi, and he spent the waning days of the war in Berlin as a courier for Hitler. The boy was awa
rded the Iron Cross by old Adolf himself and is in the final photo ever taken with the madman,” Slim said.
“If that story were not so crazy, I would buy it,” he chuckled. “How much do I owe you?” he asked.
Slim told him, and he sighed, “Like your father, you do not come cheap. So what did you decide to call Tiny?”
After Slim revealed Tiny’s real name, there was a long pause and, finally, Warner said, “That is a beautiful name. Slim, I spoke with J. Edgar Hoover over at the FBI.”
“Yes?” Slim asked hopefully.
“He is looking into it. Hold tight.” Warner said.
The christening took place at the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. As a break from tradition, Tiny did not have a godfather, but three godmothers: Marlene Dietrich, Françoise and Sister Margaret. Marlene dressed in all black with a veil, like she was going to the Vatican. Françoise put on a skirt for the occasion after learning she would not be allowed into the Abbey in slacks. Slim expected Margaret to give her some trouble about choosing three godmothers, but she kept silent. At the Baptism, Slim came up with the baby and when the priest asked for the baby’s name it was pin-drop quiet with everyone straining to hear.
“Verity for my mother,” Slim responded. “Nora for my father’s mother and Adrienne for my husband’s seven-year-old sister who perished at Auschwitz.”
The priest took a brief pause and then waved for the godmothers to come forth. Slim took her place in between Lady Johnson and Felice.
“It was nice of you to honor your mother, Slim,” Lady Johnson said, clearing her throat.
“I am still calling her Tiny,” Slim said defiantly.
“That is a ridiculous name,” Lady Johnson’s bark was drowned out by Marlene shouting.
“Of course! Of course, we reject Satan!” when asked if she and the other godmothers rejected Satan. The priest looked a bit startled, but continued.
Life settled into a routine. Every morning, Slim rose early, tended to Tiny, then handed her over to Josie. She would then head over to her office in the Marais. Felice had been a wonderful addition to the Pitchipoi Agency; she seemed to get on with everyone, especially Françoise.
A month after the baptism, Slim asked,“Françoise, are you smoking less?”
“Felice does not like it,” she said, ignoring Slim’s smirk. The phone rang. Françoise went over to answer it with Zorro in her arms. Slim’s opposition to the tiny black Chihuahua had dissipated when the tiny dog curled into her lap for the first time Slim went back to her café au lait. She opened her notebook to review the day’s work. She heard Françoise shout, “Mon Dieu!”
“Slim!” Françoise said, “It’s Daniel.”
“What about Daniel?” Slim asked, jumping from her chair. Zorro yelped as he landed on the floor.
“He has been found,” Françoise said as she held out the phone.
epilogue
Slim looked at Françoise and made her way to the bar. She grabbed the receiver, took a deep breath and said, “Hello?”
“Slim, it’s Pasha.”
“Pasha? I do not understand, where is Daniel?” Slim gripped the chair for support.
Concerned, Françoise came over and put her arm around her.
“Is Françoise there with you?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Let me speak with her, Slim,” Pasha said patiently.
“Is Daniel alive?” Slim felt like screaming.
“He is alive. Let me speak with Françoise, please.” Pasha pleaded. Slim wordlessly handed the phone to Françoise. Daniel was alive. That is all that mattered. He would be able to meet Tiny. Their lives would resume some level of normalcy.
“Yes, I know it. Yes, I will tell her.” Françoise hung up. Felice walked in with a ready smile, which fell into a look of concern as soon as she saw the two women.
“What is it?” Felice asked, going over to Françoise.
“What’s the matter with Daniel? Why won’t Pasha tell me what is going on?” Slim could hear her own voice. She sounded hysterical. She was hysterical. Everything was a nightmare.
“Slim, I need to you to calm down and listen to me. Daniel is alive. He is alive, but…” Françoise paused, then choked up. “He is not…”
“What? He is not what?” Slim shouted.
“He has been badly hurt,” Françoise said.
“I figured on that. I told you, Felice, didn’t I, just today, that if Daniel was found, there would probably be something,” Slim said, looking for assurance from both women.
“Yes, Slim, you did, just this morning,” Felice said reassuringly.
“There is one other thing,” Françoise said.
“What? What is the other thing?” Slim could not stand it. Why didn’t Françoise just come out and say what was the matter with Daniel?
“He does not know who he is. He has amnesia. They’re not sure if it is from the torture…”
At the word, ‘torture’ Slim passed out.
When Slim regained consciousness, she was sitting in a chair being fanned by Remy.
“Slim, listen to me. I will take you to Daniel. Felice will run the bar tonight with Remy,” Françoise helped Slim to her feet.
“Now we go. Where are my Galouises?” Françoise asked as she grabbed the keys to her Citroen.
“You are not allowed to smoke any more cigarettes today,” Felice said sternly. She shyly kissed Françoise, confirming what Slim already suspected. The two women were sleeping together.
Cramped in the impossibly tiny two-seater, Slim lurched forward as Françoise shifted gears, “So what did Pasha say, exactly? — And where are we going?”
“Just what I told you. And we are going to the l'Hôpital Américain de Paris.” While shifting gears again, Françoise pulled down a packet of cigarettes from the visor above and flicked open her lighter.
“How did they torture him?” Slim asked. “How badly is he hurt?”
“It is not what you think,” Françoise replied as she sped past the Hotel de Ville.
“What do you mean, it’s not what you think? What did they do to him?” Slim felt like shouting.
“It was more to do with the mind. It was more of a psychological nature,” Françoise said, inhaling her cigarette deeply. “That’s all I know. Pasha will be there. So French of you to have your husband and your lover in the same hospital room.”
“You should talk. Glass houses, Françoise,” Slim noted wryly, thinking of all the lovers who had cycled through their bar.
“True, perhaps. Maybe.” Françoise blew a plume of smoke. Slim unrolled the window. They were passing the Louvre. How many hours had she spent there when she first came to Paris after the war? She once spent an afternoon just staring at the statue of Winged Victory of Samothrace. A headless, armless, woman’s body thrusting forward with her wings flung back seemed a metaphor for the war. The Allies’ victory had come at a terrible cost, the price of which she saw every day she worked for the Red Cross.
“I really hope you do not break Felice’s heart. She is my employee and friend,” Slim said, trying to sound measured. The last thing she needed was another one of Françoise’s lovers making a scene at the bar.
“Slim, I am forty years old. I think it is time I settled down. Right now, let us worry about Daniel,” Françoise said as she shifted gears again and roared down Champs-Élysées.
A growing feeling of dread enveloped Slim. What would she find with Daniel? What exactly was psychological torture?
Located in the wealthy residential neighborhood of Neuilly-sur-Seine, the American Hospital took up almost an entire city block. They drove through the arched gates up to reception.
Pasha was waiting by the American and French flags. He embraced Slim and introduced himself to Françoise.
“Please take me to Daniel,” Slim said.
“Slim, he’s not the Daniel you know,” Pasha said.
“I know that, Pasha. I need to see him,” Slim said, trying not to scream.
&
nbsp; “We must go to Wing B, Level 1. That is where the psychiatric unit is.” Pasha took Slim gently by the arm and led the way through the winding hallways. He stopped outside a door.
“Slim, he is in restraints because his behavior is unpredictable.”
Pasha pushed open the door.
Slim looked inside the room. She saw Daniel—except he did not look like the man she knew. The lithe, muscled body had been replaced by a skinny shell of a man. His tousled black curls had been shaved off, accentuating the angles on his gaunt face. It was his eyes that had always sparkled, but now were lifeless and fixated on nothing. Daniel was gone. The question now was how to get back the man she loved.
“May I have a moment alone with him please?” Slim asked. Neither Pasha nor Françoise moved. “I would like to speak to my husband alone.”
Françoise hesitated, then turned to leave. Pasha stayed still.
“Please, Pasha, let me speak to Daniel alone,” Slim said softly.
“I will be right outside the door if you need me,” Pasha said and then left.
Slim walked over to Daniel, who flinched as if he was about to be hit.
“Daniel, it’s me, your wife, Slim.” When she reached over to stroke his unshaven face he flinched. “Darling, we are going to get you better. I need to get you better. After you left, our baby was born. A little girl. I call her Tiny, but I named her Verity after my mother, Nora after my father’s mother and Adrienne after your sister. Here’s a picture that Gran had taken.”
Slim unclasped her pocketbook and pulled out a black and white photo of Tiny and held it in front of Daniel. She saw his eyes narrow. His mouth opened, and he began to whisper hoarsely.
“Darling, I can’t hear you. What are you saying?” Slim bent down to listen to him.
“Adrienne,” he said hoarsely.
“No, darling, it’s your daughter.”
He shook his head and said, “Adrienne! Adrienne! C’est Adrienne!”
“Does your daughter look like Adrienne? Is that what you’re saying?” Slim asked.
“Adrienne! Adrienne!” Daniel shouted, struggling to break free from his restraints. Hearing the commotion, Pasha burst in. Agitated, Daniel pulled against his restraints and started howling. Pasha grabbed her and pushed her out the door into the hallway.
The Lost Boy Page 23