It was rude and, perhaps, the man was only being polite. But in her experience, anything more than two questions was an interrogation. She scribbled their orders down on her pad in English, and Josephine had to translate it to the chef. When one table had everything they needed, a hand shot up and another table was in need of more water or more napkins or wished to pay the bill.
“Until we meet again, Miss,” the German said, holding his field cap out in front of him.
“Thank you for stopping in,” Hannah said.
Somehow, she felt strangely guilty for her rudeness. The man had been overly polite with both his conversation and tip. It was a good reminder for her that not all German soldiers were evil. For every Waltz, Usinger, and every Rottenführer she had met, there were people like Wilhelm, Erich, and Heinrich. A hope rose in her. German soldiers entered the café every hour. The next could be Wilhelm. But each time, she was met with disappointment.
The day flew by with little time to even use the bathroom. Josephine had to remind hopeful customers it was past closing time. The other waitresses said their goodbyes, and Josephine locked the doors behind them.
“You did well today,” Josephine said.
“I served forty-seven people. Twenty-three ordered the frosted strudel,” Hannah said.
“You don’t need to remember that sort of thing,” Josephine said.
She nearly burst out laughing before her eyes narrowed and pierced Hannah with her razor-sharp stare.
“I am sorry,” Hannah said.
The old habit of Auschwitz was hard to break. One miscount and Hannah would have been sent to the gas chambers. But she had always remembered a second number too—the number of men’s coats Eleanor had found.
Josephine’s eyes were a fearsome defense while Hannah’s were a glaring weakness that revealed every feeling and thought.
“Are you alright?” Josephine asked.
“Yes,” Hannah lied.
Josephine stared at Hannah. A lone tear hung on the corner of Hannah’s eye. She hoped if she blinked quick enough, it would not fall. But it did. No more questions could follow, for there was a pounding on the glass door that nearly knocked off the “CLOSED” sign.
Hannah jumped. Josephine did not. She walked to the door and unlocked it. A man took in Josephine’s appearance and charmed her in French. He stepped inside and had not expected to see anyone else. Josephine and the man spoke to each other again.
“I am sorry. I did not realize you still had a customer,” the man said in English.
Josephine must have told him that Hannah could not speak French.
“She works for me. She started today. Hannah, would you please get a piece of strudel for Mr. Durand?” Josephine asked.
“Certainly,” Hannah said.
The man smiled. He was as charismatic as Josephine. He was not one of the men in the photo on her mantel, one of whom Hannah assumed was her husband. Josephine did not have a ring on, but her hands spent a large majority of time in dough, frosting, and cake batter. But it was the sort of late-night meeting sure to cause gossip. The man looked slightly uncomfortable. He was handsome with black hair with a dusting of gray and had a thin mustache. If Josephine was single, Hannah held no fault in her taste.
Hannah went into the kitchen. Only words, not sentences, drifted through the swing door and into the kitchen. But all were in French, and Hannah did not understand a single one. When she opened the kitchen door, the conversation fell silent.
“Merci,” Durand said, flashing a suave smile. It was the sort of smile that was equal to a dozen pick-up lines and had surely entranced many a woman when he was in his twenties. He used his fork to cut a slice of the frosted strudel and took a bite. His eyes rolled back as the flavor hit his taste buds. “Josephine tells me you do not speak French. Excuse my accent,” Durand said in English.
“You will have to excuse mine,” Hannah said.
“German?” Durand asked.
“Yes,” Hannah answered.
He took a sip of the coffee Josephine had poured him and puckered his lips.
“I do what I can with what I get,” Josephine said.
It was imitation coffee. Hannah had had a cup between tables, and if Durand thought this coffee was a poor imitation of real coffee, he should have had the “coffee” at Auschwitz. Durand finished his coffee and used his fork to scrape up the remaining bit of frosting from the plate. He stood and put his top hat back on. It sat on an angle. Durand flashed a smile as he pulled out money for his purchase.
“Josephine Moreau, a pleasure as always. I thank you. And to you, Miss, I apologize, but I have forgotten your name,” Durand said.
“Hannah. Hannah Smith.”
“A pleasure meeting you.”
Durand inclined his head and walked to the door with a slight limp.
“Tomorrow at ten. Be back here,” Josephine said to Hannah.
“Thank you,” Hannah responded.
Hannah had solved the mystery of getting work. Now, she had to settle the problem of her gurgling stomach and finding a safe place to sleep. She opened the door and had stepped half-way out when Josephine spoke again.
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Hannah said.
She had lied enough.
Josephine sighed. “Give me five minutes to finish up.”
She sorted through the cash register, and knowing silence would be appreciated while she counted, Hannah remained quiet. She took to refilling the salt and pepper shakers, pushing in the white chairs and sweeping under the tables. Josephine announced she was ready and met Hannah at the door. She shut the lights off and locked the doors behind them. What Josephine had said about the city being different at night was evident almost immediately. The number of German soldiers standing guard was double. They looked like stone gargoyles in the darkness, and the whites of their eyes glowed in the dark.
“Do your parents know you have come to Paris or did they wake up to a letter saying you ran away?” Josephine asked.
“My parents were killed.”
It would have put less negative attention on her if she had said they had passed away. But passed away was such a peaceful way to describe death—something that should be reserved for people who died in their sleep at an old age. Hannah would not lie about that. Her parents had been taken from their home and murdered.
“I am sorry,” Josephine said. She was not a bashful woman, nor did she swallow her words often, but she recognized Hannah did not want to speak about it and let it slide—for the moment at least. “The city’s allure during the night has been lost. My husband and I used to sit on our roof and look at the lights. They were so mesmerizing and enticing,” Josephine said.
She paused ever so slightly before she unlocked the front door of the apartment building. She locked it, even though she knew it would do little if the Germans wanted to enter. After stepping inside her apartment, she set her keys on a glass dish beside the door. “I will give you some blankets and a pillow. The couch is much more comfortable than it looks,” Josephine said.
She had no idea the type of bed Hannah had slept in at Auschwitz, and having a fluffy pillow and a firm, comfortable couch made her giddy.
Hannah thanked her as Josephine put the needle onto a record player. Music played softly in the background. No matter how hard she tried not to look, Hannah continually found herself staring at the photograph on the mantel. Hannah had only been in the apartment twice, but there was nothing to indicate that the four men in the picture were still living there. Each conclusion she came to was more negative than the last. If they were her sons, it must have been a delightfully noisy household and, now, the silent apartment must have been strange and unwelcoming for Josephine—an absence she tried to replace with music. Josephine disappeared down the hallway, and Hannah crept to the photo to see if any of the three younger men bore a resemblance to Josephine.
“My husband, Mathis, and my sons, Noah, Adam, and Leo,”
Josephine said.
Hannah had not heard Josephine’s footsteps. Whether it could be classified as snooping, Hannah was unsure.
“Sorry,” Hannah said.
“I wouldn’t have it up if I didn’t want it seen,” Josephine reassured.
“They are handsome. You all look very happy.”
“We were.” The past tense was not missed by Hannah. “Mathis was killed during the Fall of France, Adam during the Dunkirk evacuation. Noah and Leo are missing,” she said.
“I am sorry,” Hannah said again.
She truly was, yet how could Josephine serve the very officers who gave the commands that brought the death of her husband, one son, and possibly two more?
“So am I,” Josephine said.
The loss of her parents would be an eternal struggle for Hannah, and even though she found no comfort in it, her parents would have chosen their deaths over Hannah’s—without question. And the way Josephine’s usually piercing eyes wilted into pools of tears, it was clear she would have too. But unlike Hannah, Josephine’s tears did not trickle down her cheek. Josephine walked into the kitchen and prepared a pot of tea. Hannah studied Josephine as she did. Eleanor had been a woman of a quiet, reserved strength. Josephine too was a strong woman, but it was much blunter. Like some kind of sorcerer, she was able to transform her emotions into an impenetrable and unreadable armor.
“Are you hungry?” Josephine asked.
Politeness dictated Hannah to refuse. But politeness was trumped by a gurgling stomach.
“Regrettably,” Hannah said with a guilty smile.
“An honest answer at last.”
“Josephine, I am sorry, but…” Hannah started to say, but she had no words to finish it. At least, that wasn’t another lie.
“We all have our secrets, Hannah. I have mine. But you need to work on your lying, or you are going to get hurt.”
It was true. She had tried lying to her parents about Wilhelm, and it ate her up to the point where she had to come clean.
Hannah had expected some intricate French delicacy and was delighted when Josephine set a peanut butter and jam sandwich on a plate beside her. After twelve hours of baking, sautéing, roasting, brewing, and frying, cooking was probably the last thing Josephine wanted to do. But even a sandwich deserved some showmanship. She made a crisp diagonal cut and garnished the sandwich with strawberries and blueberries.
“Thirsty?” Josephine asked.
“Do you have milk?” Hannah asked.
The milk the farmer and his wife had given her was both delicious and filling.
“No. It is rationed for children only,” Josephine explained.
“Tea will be fine. Thank you.”
“Sure.”
Josephine poured the tea from the shrieking kettle pot into two teacups and spooned a cube of sugar into her lemon tea and, after Hannah nodded, added one to hers as well.
“When did France fall?” Hannah asked.
Josephine’s eyes were neither piercing daggers nor pools of tears. They were perplexed and unable to read Hannah. The whole world knew the month and year.
“What happened to you, Hannah?” Josephine asked.
“Nothing. I am fine,” Hannah said.
“Connerie,” Josephine retorted.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means bullshit.”
Hannah covered her face with her sandwich, but her eyes betrayed everything.
“June 1940. How long ago was that, Hannah?” Josephine asked.
Hannah could not even tell her the day’s date.
“Maybe I should leave,” Hannah said.
Josephine would not stand for another lie, and Hannah could not blame her for it. Yet, her secret needed to stay in the dark.
“If you wish it. Be careful. Curfew is over. If you are caught, they will ask for your papers. You do not have any. You are German, yet you fled your own country. I am asking why. The Germans will demand to know why,” Josephine warned.
Hannah was frozen half-way between Josephine and the front door, unsure to stay or leave.
“Did you kill someone?” Josephine asked.
“No,” Hannah said.
If Josephine could detect a lie, hopefully, she could sense the truth too.
“I am going to ask you a question, Hannah. I would appreciate the truth.”
Hannah could only nod. She hated being questioned. She was back in the study in Lena’s house or at her parents’ bare and stripped home being unknowingly interrogated.
“I am letting you stay in my home. I am breaking the law in harboring you. I am willing to do this if you are a victim, but if there is any reason the Germans could be looking for you…” Josephine paused. “I am a mother who hopes to see her two sons alive again. Please do not do anything to stop that from happening.”
“Please don’t make me say it,” Hannah pleaded.
“I am not them, Hannah. I will not force you to do anything,” Josephine promised.
Hannah was paralyzed with indecisiveness. She had learned to trust herself and her instinct. Yet, now, she was unable to decide. She wanted to trust no one. It was the safest not only for her but Josephine too. She had trusted Eleanor and Trugnowski, but they were in the same situation as Hannah with nothing to gain from it. Josephine could turn Hannah into the Nazis. It was the smartest thing the woman could do.
“Are you a spy?” Josephine asked.
It was the last thing Hannah expected to be asked.
“No,” Hannah said.
“Of all the cafés in Paris, you stop at mine. You are a German. There is no hiding that. You have a clouded past and an aura of mystique you will not shed no matter how many times I ask you…”
“Spy. Why would I spy on you?” Hannah asked. But now it appeared Josephine had something to hide, and she too was not confident enough in the other to say anything further. They were at a standstill. “I am not a spy. I promise you I mean you no harm,” Hannah said.
Josephine studied Hannah’s face. Hannah did her best to meet her eyes with her own.
“You will need something to wear to bed, I suppose?”
The next morning came in an instant. Leaving the couch seemed like an impossible feat. It had grown in its comfortability as the night had gone on. The blankets had trapped Hannah’s body heat and kept her warm.
Josephine pulled open the blinds, and a bright light flooded the room. Hannah shielded her eyes from it, but Josephine yanked the covers off her, and all the heat that had been trapped inside scattered away.
“If you want to stay here, it will not be free. Make me breakfast,” Josephine said.
“I thought you did not demand,” Hannah said.
She smiled softly, suppressed a yawn, and walked into the kitchen.
“I had a full stomach during that conversation,” Josephine said.
Hannah lit the stove’s top burner and cracked open four eggs over the skillet.
“What is in London?” Josephine asked.
“Nothing,” Hannah said truthfully.
“The war is there too. But they are not under occupation. The Germans tried but failed. They turned their attention elsewhere—the Soviet Union,” Josephine said.
“I thought they were allies.”
“So did Stalin.”
The farmer’s wife with a tap of her finger had told Hannah as much but not why.
“And America?” Hannah asked.
“They stayed out of the war until December ’41. The Japanese bombed them,” Josephine replied.
Hannah was ashamed for being excited about America entering the war in such circumstances, but hopes of America liberating Europe filled her heart and mind.
“The Allies fight in the Pacific and North Africa. No one is fighting Germany on the western front,” Josephine added.
Hannah used the spatula to scrape the scrambled eggs onto two plates. After the small breakfast, Josephine picked out another set of clothes for Hannah to wear. Josephine ap
plied lipstick, a deep merlot in color, and black eyeliner to accentuate her eyes. After, the two walked to the “Givre Strudel.” It was easy to see the city had reclaimed its charm. The head baker, Louis, was already hard at work, making the pastries, and when the doors opened at seven, patrons rushed in.
“Oberführer Köning, gentlemen, were you waiting outside since dawn?” Josephine asked, addressing a group of German officers that had just entered.
The merlot lipstick caught the men’s attention and did not let leave their mind.
“Madam, I may have to order you to open early,” Oberführer Köning said with a smile.
He was a tall, thin man nearing his mid-sixties, and the way his eyes lit up as he looked at Josephine’s busty figure told Hannah the wedding band on his finger was little more than a fashion accessory.
“Gentlemen, may I introduce my beautiful niece, Hannah?” Josephine said.
Hannah tried to smile but came off looking nauseous. “Hello. It is great to meet you,” she said in German.
“A German niece. You never mentioned that before. A pleasure to meet you,” Oberführer Köning said.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” Hannah asked.
“You have your aunt’s hospitality,” Oberführer Köning remarked.
“Let me wager a guess. Oberführer Köning will have the éclair. Standartenführer Ziegler never goes against his superior’s command, yet his pastry choices differ, and he cannot follow him on this. He will have the Pain au chocolat,” Josephine said.
The German officers were completely entranced by Josephine’s charm.
“Untersturmführer Engel is hoping on advancing past Standartenführer Ziegler and, therefore, will also order the éclair. Hauptscharführer Voigt simply wants his croissant, and he wants it now,” Josephine continued.
She finished with a curtsey, and the German officers applauded. Even Hannah was mesmerized by her. Josephine was a snake charmer and the leather-clad Nazis, her snakes. Hannah had always considered herself an introvert and shied away from being the center of attention. But Josephine turned heads when she entered a room and held the attention in her hands like a ball of clay and molded it into whatever she wanted.
Forever Fleeting Page 31