“Your aunt is quite correct, Miss,” Oberführer Köning commented.
Hannah smiled nervously before walking to the kitchen. She tore the order from the glue spine pad and hung it on the line of orders with a clothespin. When Hannah returned, Josephine still commanded the German officer’s attention.
“Hannah, would you please bring these gentlemen some coffee? I am sure the onslaught of meetings will need to be combatted with a strong cup,” Josephine said.
Hannah paused and waited for further direction. The word strong was not applicable for the coffee they had served Durand. She was also unsure if it was wise to speak English in the company of Germans. Her mouth opened slightly, but she decided against it and moved through the kitchen swing door.
“My innocent niece. I offered to have her in France every summer, but where does she want to go? England,” Josephine said in French.
The German officers laughed, apparently fluent in French.
“She does speak German. There will be more need for that than French,” Untersturmführer Engel said.
He smiled politely. It did not suit him. His teeth were stained yellow from decades of cigarettes and coffee.
“German is not going to woo us French girls, Untersturmführer Engel,” Josephine said as she blew a kiss goodbye.
In the kitchen, Hannah looked around for legitimate coffee.
“Need something?” the chef asked.
He spoke in English but had a thick French accent. He was also too busy applying a perfect scoop of ice cream to a slice of apple pie to look at Hannah.
“Coffee for the Germans,” Hannah said.
The chef turned to look. “Josephine tell you?” he asked.
Hannah nodded.
“Follow me.”
He rang the bell to alert the other waitresses an order was ready and led Hannah through the kitchen. Waves of heat washed upon her, causing her eyes to burn. The other chefs and bakers appeared to be unaffected by it. The chef led Hannah into a small office where a single pot of coffee was brewing.
“I thought this was illegal,” Hannah said.
“Germans like good coffee. The shit is for us French,” the chef explained.
“Merci,” Hannah said.
She had planned to call him by his name, but she did not know it.
“Frank,” he said.
“Merci, Frank.”
“You want to thank me, make the next brew from toilet water,” he said with a smile.
“Don’t tempt me,” Hannah joked.
She grabbed the pot of coffee and moved back into the kitchen and through the swing door and to the table.
“Are you going to talk about upping our ratio of butter and cream in this meeting? Otherwise, I’m going to have to change the name to the Strudel and drop the Frosted,” Josephine teased.
“I am afraid not today,” Oberführer Köning answered.
“Tell me, Oberführer Köning, why are these meetings not in my café? Or is it a law they must take place in some abandoned warehouse and beneath ground?” Josephine asked.
Hannah filled their cups with true black coffee.
“Fill it to the top, girl,” Hauptscharführer Voigt ordered.
Hannah suppressed the urge to dump the entire scolding hot pot onto his head.
“Well, I will have to make sure those of higher rank are satisfied before accommodating a grunt,” Hannah said.
The entire café fell silent. Josephine cast a nervous eye toward Hannah. The entire table stared at her. Hauptscharführer Voigt steamed like a kettle of tea. His superiors, solemn-faced. Their eyes had the maniacal glare the most terrifying of Nazis had. But the glare changed into a gleam, and laughter erupted from the officers at Hauptscharführer Voigt’s expense.
“She has your wit, Josephine,” Oberführer Köning said.
Hannah finished pouring the coffee and headed back into the kitchen. She steadied her breathing and her shaking hands.
“Food for the German officers,” Frank announced.
Hannah had picked up several words and Frank, knowing she was new to the French language, spoke much slower. She grabbed the tray of food and pushed through the swing door. Remembering things had always come naturally to Hannah, but her skills had become so much keener and developed during her time at Auschwitz. Forgetting something, anything, meant death.
“Well, gentlemen, I am afraid if I have failed to convince you to come out of your basements and use my café at your convenience, I must try to bribe my fellow countrymen. Until tomorrow, I bid you adieu,” Josephine said.
She strutted away and waited on a recently occupied table. It did not take long for the German officers to scarf down their food. Hauptscharführer Voigt’s stares were as powerful as the heat waves in the kitchen. It took a week for him to forget the remark. The officers came in each day without exception and without exception, their orders remained consistent. Josephine always struck up a conversation that lasted anywhere from a quick greet to thirty minutes.
Another day had flown by, and Hannah flipped the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED.” A pounding on the door came before the sign had even stopped swinging. She took a step back, and her stomach leaped into her mouth. A man, his face concealed by his top hat, stared through the glass door at Hannah.
Radley Durand
The man at the glass door of the “Givre Strudel” removed his hat and smiled apologetically for scaring Hannah.
“Josephine, Mr. Durand is here,” Hannah yelled.
“Let him in,” Josephine yelled back.
Hannah unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“Good evening, Hannah,” he said.
“Hello, Mr. Durand.”
“Please, please, I am no mister. My name is Radley.”
Though he was undoubtedly French, the way he thoroughly studied her was Nazi-like. Hannah could only smile uncomfortably as a response to his examining gaze.
“Would you like something to eat?” Josephine asked.
“No, not tonight. Are we ready?” Durand asked.
“Yes, we are,” Josephine said.
Hannah was unsure as to whom Josephine was referring to as “we.” Durand and Josephine? Or, was she included in it?
“Hannah, Radley is going to escort us home. There has been some trouble on the streets the last few nights,” Josephine said.
Radley was a man who appreciated the way a good suit made him feel, and he appeared to have a favorite. He wore the same one he had on when Hannah had first seen him. But his limp was much worse than Hannah had originally noticed. In all, Durand did not seem like the fighting type.
“After you,” he said, swinging his arm open to let Hannah and Josephine pass.
The wind had picked up, but Hannah was dressed for it, unlike during those frigid nights at Auschwitz. Shadows moved, but they scurried way too much to be German soldiers.
“Who are they?” Hannah asked.
“Homeless,” Josephine answered.
Yet, it only seemed to be the partial truth—a partial truth that was confirmed when they walked past the street on which they should have turned.
“Where are we going?” Hannah asked.
Both Durand and Josephine were as silent as the night.
“Please answer me, Josephine,” Hannah said.
She spoke in French, so there was nothing lost in translation. But no answer came. Hannah considered all her options: she could continue to follow the woman who had befriended her and the suave stranger or she could take off running. But, if she did, she would be caught by the Germans and would most likely be sent back to a concentration camp.
Durand walked toward a dented metal door. He slid it open and stood aside. The streetlights around the corner cast no light on what was inside.
“If you please,” he said.
“Josephine?” Hannah asked.
She pleaded with her eyes. Surely, if Josephine could read lies, she could read the sheer terror in them now.
“Do what h
e says, Hannah,” Josephine said.
Hannah stepped inside the black warehouse. What little light there was vanished when the door slid and slammed shut. To Hannah, she was back in Auschwitz and stepping into the gas chamber. Lights powered on. Hannah shielded her eyes. The warehouse had not been in use since France had surrendered. But it wasn’t the wooden pallets or machines that caught her attention. It was the dozen men who surrounded her. Josephine stood next to the door and Durand, in front of Hannah. She had nowhere to escape.
“Who are you?” Durand asked.
“Hannah Smith,” she said.
“Are you a spy, Hannah Smith?” Durand asked.
He pulled a pistol from behind his waistline.
“Please, don’t,” Hannah pleaded.
The barrel of the gun was inches from her forehead and so close that she could smell the gunpowder.
“Answer the question,” Durand commanded, his voice echoing across the desolate factory.
“Josephine, please, I told you,” Hannah pleaded.
“Don’t look at her. Answer the question,” Durand said.
“No, I am not a spy. Why do you keep asking me?”
“Do you know how many cafés there are in Paris?”
“No.”
What a bullshit question!
“Hundreds. Yet, you come to Josephine Moreau’s ‘Givre Strudel.’”
“What do you want?”
She had found her strength. She did not want to die—far from it. But she would embrace it in the way Trugnowski had. Durand would have to use that gun.
“Are you a German spy?” Durand asked.
“I have answered your question,” Hannah said.
“Why did you flee Germany?”
Only the truth could help her now.
“I will not answer in front of all these people,” Hannah said.
“You are not in a position to make demands,” Durand said.
“Only you and Josephine. Otherwise, you can shoot me,” Hannah said.
The power had shifted. Durand now looked to Josephine. But her piercing eyes peered at and through Hannah. “Everyone else, leave,” Josephine commanded.
She walked toward Hannah and Durand. The other men hurried toward the three exits in an attempt to not have twelve mysterious men pile out of an abandoned warehouse at once.
“Hannah, I have been kind to you, have I not?” Josephine asked.
“You have,” Hannah answered.
She would not argue that.
“It is time you tell me the truth. You say you are not a German spy, but you are filled with secrets. Why did you flee Germany?” Josephine asked.
Hannah paused. Could words give justice to what she had seen, smelt, and heard? And, if she could find the words, would she have the strength to speak them?
“What do you know of what is happening to the Jews?” Hannah asked.
“We have heard rumors they are being sent east to an all-Jewish city,” Josephine replied.
She gave Durand another look. No doubt thinking Hannah was deliberately trying to change the topic.
“There is no city. Jews are being sent to camps and killed,” Hannah said.
Durand lowered the gun slightly as he processed the significance of what he had heard.
“What are you saying, Hannah?” Josephine asked.
Hannah pulled her left sleeve up and rotated her wrist so that her palm faced up. The number 19653 in black ink was perfectly visible and made her vulnerable in the same way as the day it had been carved into her.
“What is this?” Durand asked.
He lowered the gun and gently grabbed her arm to examine it.
“When we arrive, we are tattooed with a registration number,” Hannah explained.
“Arrive where?” Josephine asked.
“Auschwitz—the killing camp,” Hannah said.
“Hannah, what are you talking about?” Josephine asked.
“They take all Jews, Gypsies, homosexuals, enemies of the state. The elderly and young children are killed as soon as they step off the trains. Those who can work are forced to do so. They starve us. They shave our heads and take all our possessions,” Hannah said.
Originally hesitant, revealing the truth released an immense buildup of pain, hurt, and fear. Durand and Josephine looked at one another—neither knowing how to react. They had expected a lie but not what they had just heard. There was no faking that level of emotion. Because of that, the horror and shock of it all showed on their faces.
“You are Jewish?” Durand asked.
“My parents were killed there. I escaped. I snuck onto the back of a manure truck, and a farmer and his wife took care of me. I boarded a train to Vienna and hid inside a cargo plane flying to Strasbourg. I came to Paris with nothing but the clothes the farmer’s wife had given me. I want to get to London and from there to New York,” Hannah said.
She had put all her secrets on the table. She was at the mercy of Josephine Moreau and Radley Durand.
“They cannot commit mass murder,” Durand said after moments of silence.
“You know nothing of what they are capable of—the propaganda they have been brainwashing the Germans with,” Hannah said.
“Hannah, thank you for sharing this with us. I am sure that was not easy for you. I will repay your honesty with some candor of my own,” Josephine said. She put her hand on the gun Durand still held by his side. He understood and concealed the gun back in his waistline. “Hannah, Radley and I are part of the Maquis—the French resistance,” Josephine said.
“I thought France was defeated,” Hannah said.
“France was defeated. The French still fight,” Durand said with a hint of pride in his voice.
“The reason I asked if you were a spy is because it is my duty to gather information for the resistance,” Josephine explained.
“The information Josephine gathers she gives to me and we plan action,” Durand added.
“What do you mean?” Hannah asked.
“We find out where meetings are taking place, where shipments of supplies are coming in, which alleys the drunk Germans like to piss in,” Durand explained.
Every short and long conversation Josephine had had with the German officers had been initiated for the purpose of gathering information, and anything useful was given to Durand and the Maquis.
“We could use you, Hannah. I do what I can, but I am French. You are German. You look like them. You talk like them. They will open up to you in a way they never will with me,” Josephine said.
“I can barely stop myself from shaking when I serve them coffee. I am not good at lying,” Hannah said.
“And I want to pour hot coffee on their head. You learn to deal with it,” Josephine said.
“France has Jewish families too, Hannah. Just think about it. I will not let you get hurt. I swear it,” Durand reassured.
It was hard for Hannah to take that as an unbreakable vow as, moments earlier, he was ready to shoot her.
“That’s enough for one night, Durand,” Josephine said.
She was aware of the toll the last twenty minutes had taken on Hannah.
“Yes, but, if you please, I would like one final moment with Hannah—in private,” Durand said.
Josephine looked at Hannah and studied her face. Hannah gave an uncommitted nod.
“Make it quick,” Josephine said.
She walked to the sliding door, opened it, and stepped outside but left it open.
“I apologize for frightening you. But we cannot be too careful. The Germans are like dogs. They are cunning and smart and sometimes lick their own ass,” Durand said and smiled.
It was genuine and, somehow, the fear in Hannah lessened.
“Josephine is a strong woman. You will be safe with her,” he said.
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
“Do you smoke?” he asked.
“No,” Hannah answered.
“Good. Me neither.”
He took a puf
f and nodded for Hannah to leave first.
“I have men on every block. You will get home without incident,” Durand said.
His words proved to be true. The shadows in the alleyways scampered about like rats. Josephine was quiet on the walk back to her apartment and even after they were back inside.
“I am sorry, Hannah. I had to know what you were hiding,” Josephine said.
“I understand,” Hannah said.
Josephine hid a dangerous secret herself, and self-preservation was near the top of her list. She and Wilhelm had kept the fact she was Jewish from their closest friends. The fewer people that knew, the safer it was.
“Please don’t hate Durand too much. It was my idea,” Josephine said.
“When he first came to the café, I thought…” Hannah started, but Josephine interjected.
“We were intimate? Radley is a handsome man. But my heart still belongs to my husband and my boys. Radley, to his wife and children,” Josephine said.
“Aren’t you scared?” Hannah asked.
“No, Hannah. I have lost everything in my life,” Josephine said.
For the first time, Josephine acknowledged her sons, Noah and Leo, were most likely dead. She had repaid Hannah’s vulnerability with her own. Hannah compared her own life to Josephine’s. She had lost her parents. She had lost Eleanor and Trugnowski. She had lost her friendship with Lena. Heinrich and Erich may be dead too. It was only Wilhelm who filled her veins with a tenacity to survive.
“And Radley? Has he not lost everything?” Hannah asked.
“His story is his to tell. I would not feel right in telling it,” Josephine said.
“If I choose to not help?” Hannah asked.
“That means you are choosing, and that is exactly what we are fighting for.”
The next morning came without further discussion, and Josephine acted in a way that made Hannah question if last night had even happened. Once they arrived at the “Givre Strudel,” Josephine put on her charming façade.
“Gentlemen, may I take your coats?” she asked Oberführer Köning and the other officers.
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you,” Oberführer Köning said.
“Are we interested in trying something new today, gentlemen?” Josephine asked.
“You are persistent,” Oberführer Köning said.
Forever Fleeting Page 32