“I spoke with my contact in London, Hannah. I told him of your desire to receive refuge there,” Durand said.
A smile spread over Hannah’s face. She had grown to call Paris a home of sorts, yet it was a home with no locked doors, so to speak. She could never feel safe with Nazis roaming the streets.
“What did he say?” Hannah asked.
“He has agreed to help you,” Durand said.
Hannah impulsively hugged him, but as she pulled away, she could tell from his face there was much more to it than a free trip to London.
“They want her help,” Josephine said, her voice full of disappointment.
“They do,” Durand said.
“How could you do this, Durand? You know she wants no part of this. She has been through enough,” Josephine said.
“I did not say that she would. I would not do that. But I would leave the decision to Hannah. It is her life, her opportunity, her choice,” Durand said.
“What do they want?” Hannah asked.
“The German officer that comes into the café is reportedly involved with the defenses orchestrated by Rommel…” Durand said.
“Oberführer Köning?” Hannah asked.
“Yes. He is a man who likes to put pencil to paper. He keeps a journal, a calendar, on him at all times,” Durand continued.
Hannah had seen it sticking out of his jacket pocket every time he had eaten at the “Givre Strudel.” But that was his winter coat. He would not be wearing the long, black leather trench coat with May approaching.
“The war is a game of codes, Durand. Surely, an Oberführer does not reach that rank by being so blatantly stupid as to write things in a notebook?” Josephine snapped.
“It is in code. We, however, believe we can decipher it,” Durand said.
“What are you hoping to find?” Hannah asked.
“What rail stations the soldiers and supplies will be arriving in Normandy,” Durand answered.
“Why not just destroy them all?” Hannah asked.
“Some are vital for Paris’ survival,” Durand said.
“If one is destroyed, they will simply use a different one,” Josephine said, struggling to stay calm.
“We wait until the train is on the tracks. We destroy the tracks ahead of the train and behind it,” Durand said.
“He will notice the notebook is gone when he leaves,” Hannah said.
It would be impossible not to.
“We are doing all we can to focus the attention elsewhere to draw the Germans away,” Durand said.
“Is Normandy where it is going to happen?” Josephine asked.
“We do not know,” Durand said.
Rumors of several possible landing spots had circulated, but it was far too dangerous to send out a for-sure location, and if there had been, Durand would not have known about it.
“They will arrest her if they catch her. She will be interrogated. They will see her tattoo, and she will be killed,” Josephine tried reasoning with him.
“I am not telling her what to do, Josephine,” Durand said politely.
Hannah’s tattoo had become difficult to hide. It would look suspicious if she wore long sleeves during the spring. She had made a habit of keeping a towel draped over it or keeping it covered by the food tray.
“Why me?” Hannah asked.
It seemed like a job Josephine could have done though she seemed adamant about wanting no part in it, and Hannah could not blame her. Oberführer Köning did not strike one as a cruel man, but he certainly was not an idiot.
“You have gotten closer to him and the other officers than any French man or woman could. It is because you are German, Hannah. They let their guard down around you more than they can with Josephine,” Durand explained.
It was true. Josephine had gotten as close as she was able to with her wit, and her sexual charisma had teased Köning, but unless she was willing to sleep with him, it could do no more. Even then, afterward, the power her body held over him would be over. But he gained a feeling of comfort speaking in his native tongue, and Hannah had learned the art of lying. She constantly made remarks that pleased the Oberführer—talks that included how lazy the French were and how barbaric the eastern people of Europe were. Each comment that elevated the German race had made her his preferred waitress—even ahead of Josephine.
“Can I think about it?” Hannah asked.
“Of course, Hannah,” Durand said.
There was no pressure in his voice, and she knew he had only told her to give her an option. She respected him for not forcing her one way or another but valuing her own opinion.
“Hannah, we have to get going or I will be late,” Josephine said.
“Josephine, there are other ways to get information,” Durand said.
“Like stealing a notebook from a high-ranking Nazi officer?” Josephine jeered.
She had not agreed with Durand on telling Hannah the offer. She knew how much Hannah wanted to get to London and knew she was considering it. But, in her mind, it was a suicide mission destined to fail. She stormed away from Durand, and Hannah covered the distance between the two.
“I have to go. I will think about it,” Hannah said.
“You best hurry,” Durand said, nodding toward Josephine who had created thirty feet of distance between Hannah and her.
Hannah rushed after Josephine, but the walk to her apartment was filled with silence. The silence continued inside as Josephine changed into a maroon, low-cut dress that highlighted her voluptuousness.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Hannah asked.
“There are other ways to help the resistance that don’t require stealing or shooting,” Josephine said.
“Be careful.”
“Just be sure you are awake when I get back.”
Hannah nodded, and Josephine gave one last look in the mirror before leaving. The apartment took on an uncomfortable silence. Hannah turned the record player on for background noise before grabbing her sketch pad and drawing a rose. It lacked the fierce blue of the one Wilhelm had given her, but it was the best she could do with what she had.
She found herself looking at the clock as it crept painstakingly slow toward 9 p.m. She rose from the small kitchen table, went into Josephine’s room, and grabbed a matte black dress from the closet. Josephine had been kind enough to adjust many of her own dresses for Hannah to wear. Not only was she curvier and more endowed than Hannah but also taller. She put on a pair of long black gloves that went up to her elbow and covered her tattoo. She looked herself over in the mirror. The person reflected back was so drastically different than the one in the farmer’s bathroom. She had come so far since that day. She was a survivor in all definitions of the word. But “survivor” was only a temporary status while in a Nazi-controlled country.
Hannah knew where Josephine was—“Les Sauvages” dance club in downtown Paris. It was where many a German soldier and officer went to pick up French women. The streets and sidewalks of Paris all led to the club like ants leading to the same ant hill.
When Hannah arrived at the club, German soldiers were kissing French woman outside the entrance, and more passionate and inappropriate acts were being performed in the alleyways. As Hannah opened the door, the powerful music of trombones, saxophones, and a piano caused her eardrums to vibrate. The club was packed with dancing people. The mahogany bar was filled with patrons extending their empty glasses and pints to be filled by the overwhelmed bartenders. The room was thick and muggy, and everyone was glistening with sweat. Conversations were being held in both French and German and the universal language of laughter. Cigarette smoke wafted to the ceiling. It was an intoxicating atmosphere that made it impossible to not want to dance. The place was filled well beyond its recommended limit, and the prospect of finding Josephine seemed dubious at best.
Men, both French and German, offered to buy Hannah a drink, but she waved her hand in refusal. It was way too loud to be heard over the band. Only after a couple left
the dance floor did Hannah spot Josephine. She was dancing with a German officer in a way that mothers would shield their children’s eyes from. Josephine was well aware of how weak her body could make men. She was also quite the dancer. Had Hannah not been surrounded by predators, she would have danced too. As the song finished, applause broke out for both the band and dancers. Josephine followed the German officer to the bar, but her smile vanished when she saw Hannah.
“What are you doing here?” Josephine whispered.
“You were late. I was worried,” Hannah said.
“This must be your niece Hannah?” the German officer asked.
“Yes. Hannah, this is Sturmbannführer Ernst Heiden,” Josephine introduced.
The man turned, and the light hit his face. Hannah had seen him before—several times at Lena’s house. He was one of the many officers Jakob entertained.
“Have we met before?” Sturmbannführer Heiden asked.
He stared long and hard at Hannah’s face, and although he still had a smile on his own, it was a façade. Beneath that friendly mask was a cold calculating machine searching the archives of his memory, trying to find her.
“No, I do not believe so. Perhaps at Josephine’s café?” Hannah asked.
Josephine’s face showed no signs of worry, but her fingers had tensed. It was fortunate it was impossible not to sweat inside the club, for Hannah’s perspiring forehead would have given her secret away.
“No, I do not think so. You are Lena Hauser’s friend, aren’t you?” Sturmbannführer Heiden asked.
“I think you have me confused for someone else,” Hannah said.
Sturmbannführer Heiden did not break his gaze, and if she flinched, the game would be over and he would have won. She stared back into his dead gray eyes while he tried to stare beyond her brilliant blue. Josephine strutted away from both Hannah and Sturmbannführer Heiden, and for a moment, Hannah thought Josephine had abandoned her—but for only a moment. Josephine often said that once a man has sex on his mind, he will abandon all reasoning and think of only fulfilling his lust. Sturmbannführer Heiden looked to his side. Josephine was no longer there. His face showed he had realized he had spent an inordinate amount of time staring at her attractive and far younger niece.
“Excuse me,” he said and began searching for the top of her head near the bar.
Hannah knew exactly where she was but, to add to the illusion, she let him wander as she crept beside Josephine.
“Are you stupid?” Josephine asked, not looking at Hannah and trying to make sure no one else saw her.
“I am sorry,” Hannah said.
“You could have been caught, Hannah. You should leave,” Josephine said.
She was right. Josephine had told her to stay home, but she was over an hour late, and Hannah would not sit passively by, wondering if her friend was in need of help.
“I had to know you were okay,” Hannah said.
“I found you,” Sturmbannführer Heiden said from behind them.
The invisible hair on Hannah’s arms stood up like a deer in headlights. Hannah and Josephine turned. Sturmbannführer Heiden smiled at them. Both were elated that he had smiled but neither showed it. Hannah had a look of indifference on her face, and Josephine scowled at him in a way that made him question whether he had truly seen war.
“You left,” Sturmbannführer Heiden said.
“I did. I don’t play the opening act. I’m the headliner,” Josephine said.
“I simply thought I recognized your niece. I have had too much to drink and the lighting is poor, I could not tell. I am sorry,” Sturmbannführer Heiden said. He apologized to Hannah, and she looked at him with even greater indifference.
“Are you going to buy me a drink or do I need to find a French man who can properly treat a woman?” Josephine mocked.
“Best not ask a French man to fight for his woman or the fight would be over very quickly,” Sturmbannführer Heiden quipped.
Hannah knew Josephine wanted to lash out and strangle him.
“Soixante Quinze for both myself and my niece. I hope you brought a ladder because you have to climb yourself out of quite a hole,” Josephine said.
The drink looked like bubbling liquid gold. It was a mix of champagne, gin, lemon juice, and sugar and was garnished with a lemon wedge. Josephine finished hers in one long, continuous gulp, whereas Hannah sipped away at hers.
“Dance with me,” Sturmbannführer Heiden said, but his request hovered on the line of a command.
“I will meet you there. I have gossip to spread with my niece,” Josephine said.
Sturmbannführer Heiden nodded and stumbled toward the dance floor. Josephine turned her back to him and removed a small vial of liquid. In length, it was roughly the size of her pinky nail but less than a quarter of an inch wide.
“Take this. In twenty minutes, buy us another round and pour this into his glass,” Josephine instructed.
“What is it?” Hannah asked.
The need to whisper ended when the band began playing again. They could barely hear without shouting into each other’s ears.
“Let’s just say, he’ll wake up and won’t remember he even met me,” Josephine said.
Hannah did her best to give enough of a standoffish look to scare off any brave men from approaching her. The band was exceptional, but it was ironic that a band of Negros was deemed worthy to play music for the Third Reich. Like so many other ethnicities, Negros were viewed as inferior. The clock on the wall was too far away for Hannah to see so, instead, she simply counted each song that played. After four songs, she ordered another round of Soixante Quinzes. The bartender lined them up, and Hannah took out the required francs to pay the bartender. She discretely removed the topper from the vial and poured it into the glass on the far right. After the contents stopped bubbling, she nodded toward Josephine who came with Sturmbannführer Heiden following closely behind her.
“Another round,” Hannah said, holding out a drink for both. This time, Josephine sipped hers, and Sturmbannführer Heiden drank it in two giant gulps, but a fifth of it ran down his chin.
“Shall we step outside?” he asked. He had intended to whisper, but he was drunk, and whispering was not something a drunk person was capable of doing.
“Please. Do you expect to take me in an alleyway?” Josephine asked. It was entirely his plan, and his face showed it. “We will go to my place,” Josephine said.
Sturmbannführer Heiden rubbed his hands across her back, his lust fully consuming him. The beast in him had seen the full moon.
“I will meet you there,” Josephine said to Hannah.
Hannah looked at the way Sturmbannführer Heiden’s hands were exploring Josephine’s back. It was possible he would stick to his original idea and have his way with her in the alley. But Josephine nodded her assurance, and Hannah accepted it and headed toward the exit. The fresh air was incredible in comparison to the stagnant, muggy cigarette stench of “Les Sauvages.” The sheer number of men and women embracing one another in the alleys was disturbing. Drunk German soldiers stepped outside for fresh air to vomit onto the streets or urinate along the walls. Their stares were stronger than the cool night chill. Hannah was a gazelle standing in tall grass surrounded by lions. Yet, she was no gazelle, and if any German was foolish enough, they would soon find that out. They cried out pathetic attempts to try and seduce her, none of which were gentlemanly. Hannah ignored them but kept glancing over her shoulder to ensure they were not stalking her like lions through the tall grass. She reached Josephine’s apartment building and hurried to unlock the door. A feeling of relief surged through her when she stepped inside and locked the door.
Hannah poured a glass of water and disappeared into Josephine’s bedroom. Josephine had told her to stay in there as she would not bring another man in her bedroom. Instead, they would use the couch—the same couch Hannah slept on every night. There were three beds available for use between the two empty bedrooms, but she could not blame Joseph
ine for wanting them to stay empty. She had been beyond hospitable, and Hannah had zero complaints with the arrangement. She sat on the edge of the bed, but as a deep exhaustion set in, she curled up near the foot of the bed and struggled to fight off the desire to sleep. The front door of Josephine’s apartment was thick and heavy and did not open quietly. Hannah sat up and tried to listen to the whispers coming from the living room. Any hopes the voices had of being quiet were betrayed by their drunken stumbling. They collided with chairs and nightstands. Hannah crept close to the door to try and better hear what was being said. After what felt like the entire night, the door opened, and Josephine nodded for Hannah to step out. What she had thought had been the entire night had only been twenty minutes. Sturmbannführer Heiden had passed out on the couch with his pants undone. His neck was covered in lipstick stains, and Josephine’s dress was undone.
“He passed out before…” Josephine said.
Hannah had not asked, but she had wondered whether they had had sex. Josephine sat at her kitchen table and lit a cigarette in a black cigarette holder and took five quick puffs. It was the first man she had kissed since her husband had died. Even if she had done it for the resistance, it had not made it any easier. She never smoked inside her apartment, and the fact that she was told Hannah it was eating her inside out.
“Did he talk?” Hannah asked.
“Yes. I kept telling him we needed to see the countryside tomorrow. He told me he was scheduled to guard the tracks for a supply train coming in tomorrow morning at ten,” Josephine said.
“That’s wonderful. The supplies are no doubt for defending against the invasion,” Hannah said.
“They are. But it is not the supply train we need,” Josephine said.
The information they needed was in Oberführer Köning’s notebook. The entire night was Josephine’s attempt to remove the burden of choice from Hannah. It was far too dangerous in Josephine’s opinion. Yet, she was doing things just as dangerous if not more so, but Josephine was a French patriot, a widow, a bereaved mother, and a woman scorned. She would die for Mathis, Adam, Noah, and Leo. And she would die for France.
Forever Fleeting Page 36