Forever Fleeting

by Bret Kissinger

  “I know this could not have been easy,” Hannah said.

  “We must all do our part,” Josephine said, taking a hefty puff from the cigarette in her trembling hand. It was clear to Hannah that Josephine would have to make peace with it alone.

  “What do we do with him?” Hannah asked.

  One quick knock on the door made it look like they had been silently waiting for their cue. Josephine hurried to the door and looked through the peephole before opening it. Durand stepped in with three other men. Hannah had seen them before. They were often the same men who escorted her and Josephine home. The tallest of them was Franco. His eyes were hidden by his gray ivy hat. The second and third were twins and had recently turned seventeen. The only thing that helped distinguish Glen and Greg was a small black mole on Glen’s chin.

  “You are going to have him killed?” Hannah asked.

  Dozens of witnesses had seen how much Heiden and Josephine had danced and drunk together. They had even been spotted leaving together. When Heiden would be reported missing, Josephine would be the number one suspect.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Durand said.

  “They will bring him back to one of the clubs. It is not uncommon for people to pass out in the alleys,” Josephine explained.

  “I want to go,” Hannah said.

  She clearly had not learned her lesson the first time about near misses. But it was as safe with Durand and his men as it was in the apartment. It also seemed impossible for her to rid herself of the feeling of uselessness for having spent most of the night hiding in Josephine’s bedroom.

  “You are either very brave or very stupid. Durand, you keep her safe. I am going to bed,” Josephine said, handing Durand her tube of lipstick. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts and wanted some time alone. She disappeared down the hallway.

  Greg and Glen lifted Heiden from the couch and struggled under his weight. “It may be quicker if we drop him out of the window,” Durand suggested, winking at Hannah. It was a risky mission, for a firefight would ensue if they were seen by other German soldiers. The danger clouded the muggy spring air. Hannah stepped down from the apartment’s stoop. Every shadow or figure moving in the dark caused her heart to beat faster and her breath to shorten.

  “Relax, Hannah, they are with us,” Durand said.

  The entire walk had been scouted, and if they happened to be approaching German soldiers, one of Durand’s men came and silently pointed for them to turn either left or right. A woman approached them, moving with earnest haste. “You’re late,” she said. The woman brushed away her shiny, pumpkin-colored hair from her blue eyes. She was beautiful, and her busty figure was brazenly displayed. Durand handed the woman the tube of lipstick Josephine had given him.

  “Who is this?” the woman asked as she puckered her lips and applied the lipstick.

  “Hannah. She is part of the team. Hannah, this is Clauvette,” Durand said.

  The woman had no time for introductions, so Hannah only inclined her head toward her.

  “My team has the soldiers inside dancing. But they will be back out shortly,” Clauvette said.

  Glen and Greg dropped Heiden into the alleyway. Clauvette bent down and kissed his neck and lips. She unbuttoned her shirt and allowed her breasts to spill out. “If you have to be in the play, you may as well be the star,” Clauvette said as she took Heiden’s hand and put it up her skirt. Hannah was taken aback at Clauvette’s indiscretion. “Do you boys want to stay for the show?” Clauvette asked, turning to look at them.

  “I think so,” Franco said.

  “It will end with us getting shot,” Clauvette said.

  “Hannah does have a camera,” Durand joked. Hannah lightly hit his arm. Franco and the twins thought it had been a genuine suggestion and tried to hide their disappointment after realizing it had been a joke. “Okay, come on, boys. Time to go,” Durand said, waving his hand like an air traffic controller. They sulked but hurried away, Hannah and Durand behind them.

  “So, the plan is he wakes up next to Clauvette and doesn’t second-guess anything?” Hannah asked.

  “When Clauvette is done with him, he won’t be able to think of another woman for a month,” Durand said. Hannah could not question that. It appeared he would be dreaming of her based on what she had done while he was unconscious. “She is a prostitute,” Durand added. There was no judgment in his voice, but he could tell Hannah had been wondering how someone could be so comfortable with their body and sexuality. “She is well skilled at getting information. While she brings the German to her bed, his belongings are searched,” Durand continued.

  “Everyone does their part,” Hannah said.

  “Not all. There are some who prefer the Nazis. They continue to rat us out,” Durand said.

  Even if one was not willing to openly rebel against the Germans, how could any French-loving or liberty-loving person, for that matter, prefer Nazi rule over what had once been a free society?

  “No news on the invasion?” Hannah asked.

  “None,” Durand answered.

  “I have been thinking of the offer a lot,” Hannah said. Durand chose to remain quiet. He would not force Hannah in any way, nor would he let anything he had to say impact her decision. “I still don’t know. It terrifies me,” Hannah said.

  “It is a decision not to be made lightly,” Durand said.

  Hannah fell quiet again. The decision, although always her own, must be made by her and her alone. She respected Durand for not trying to lean her one way or the other. Yet, she also respected Josephine for trying to keep her from doing it. It meant she had her best interest at heart. The two had become surrogate parents of sorts. But they could never replace her true parents and neither tried. Josephine was more of an aunt and, often, Hannah was on the receiving end of Josephine’s irritation.

  “Tonight was not easy on Josephine,” Hannah said.

  “I can imagine not. It was not asked of her. She volunteered,” Durand said.

  “Did you know her husband?” Hannah asked.

  “No. But he must have been quite the man to win over a woman like her,” Durand said.

  “I feel so terrible for her,” Hannah said. Durand laughed. It was hardly the reaction she had been expecting and horribly inappropriate. “Why are you laughing?” she asked.

  “Hannah, you really are too kind,” Durand said.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Your heart breaks for Josephine. Yet, you have lost equally. That is what we are fighting for. For every horrible thing the Nazis do, there is someone doing an equally great selfless act,” Durand explained.

  A list of names and faces came to Hannah—Lena Hauser, Eleanor Cole, Rafel Trugnowski, the farmer and his wife, Josephine Moreau, and Radley Durand.

  Durand bid Hannah goodnight, and when she entered the apartment, she quietly opened Josephine’s bedroom door to ensure Josephine was sleeping and not crying. But it appeared she had done her share of crying before sleep had granted its mercy. Sometimes, sleep did not offer an escape. Dreams were torturous. They allowed one to see, to feel, and to hear those who were no longer alive. With such a huge decision to make, it was likely Hannah would not have to worry about dreams.

  The Decision

  Hannah tried to find comfort, switching from sleeping on her back to her stomach and on her side. She awoke, unsure whether she had slept for hours or minutes. But it didn’t matter. She had received all the rest she would require. She checked the pocket watch the farmer had given her. It was only quarter to five. It was Sunday, and the café was closed. Josephine had had much to drink at “Les Sauvages” and even more after Heiden had passed out. An empty bottle of wine was on the table along with the photograph of her, her husband, and her three boys. Hannah cleared the table and gently put the photograph back on the mantel. Josephine’s tears had smeared the glass frame. Hannah wiped it clean with her sleeve.

  She quietly dressed and left the apartment. Hannah strolled across the city, th
e sun barely peeking over the horizon. The nocturnal had gone to bed a few short hours ago, and only the most ambitious moved about the streets. Hannah dashed toward the warehouse Durand had taken her to when he had suspected her to be a spy.

  “What are you doing here?” Franco asked.

  “Franco, I need to borrow a car,” Hannah said.

  “For what?” Franco asked.

  “I need to see Radley,” Hannah answered.

  All of Durand’s men had been told Hannah and Josephine were extensions of himself. If they should require anything, it was to be done. Franco worked the nights, and his shift was almost over. Gas was at a premium, and he would have preferred if Hannah would have come eleven minutes later. The problem would have been someone else’s. Even still, he led Hannah to a faded and rusted black truck.

  “You know how to drive?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Hannah said, taking the keys from his hands.

  “Do you know how to get there?” Franco asked.

  Hannah was generally bad with directions but had been to Durand’s enough to have memorized the way. She never remembered things by street names but, instead, looked at the landscape around her, the buildings, the homes, and the trees. When the truck coughed to life, Hannah doubted if it would even take her to the end of the road.

  “She’ll make it. Don’t worry,” Franco reassured her. He had worn the same worried look on his face the first dozen times he had driven the car too.

  “I hope so, or I will be calling you,” Hannah said with a smile.

  “Drive safe,” Franco said, waving a salute as Hannah pulled away.

  The truck found its legs and steadied its breathing. Hannah had missed driving. It was not the same without Wilhelm, but the solitude brought upon by the open road allowed for some of the best contemplation. It was peaceful, and it was the first time Hannah had truly been alone since Wilhelm had left. Sure, there had been moments of isolation when in the bathroom, but during the last few years, she had been without it. She had felt lonely almost always, even amidst the company of others. Yet, now, truly alone, she felt oddly less so. The drive granted her nearly an hour—an hour in which she went over the decision she must make. She had expected to go back and forth on her decision the entire way. She hated making decisions. Yet, there had been one thing that she had never had to second-guess or question—Wilhelm.

  Durand was out in his field, a garden hoe in his hands, while his horse enjoyed a moment’s pause. Durand stood tall as the truck approached. He looked uneasy at first until he recognized the truck. He dropped the hoe and limped toward the truck when Hannah stepped out. He looked so different in his dirt and sweat-stained white t-shirt, denim pants, and suspenders than he did in his suit and top hat.

  “Hannah, is everything alright?” Durand asked, checking her for injuries like a paranoid parent.

  “Can I ride your horse?” Hannah asked.

  The horse in the field looked bored, and there were four more in the stable, eating an early breakfast of hay.

  “Sure,” Durand said, holding the middle part of the word longer than normal.

  He had no problem with Hannah going horseback riding, yet he hoped she had come for something more important. They walked toward the horse, and Durand grabbed its reins and led it to the stable. Hannah was silent as Durand prepared two horses for riding. He helped Hannah get up onto the saddle and sit. He was much more adept and was able to pull himself up without much difficulty despite his bad leg. He had ridden on horseback during the Great War and had learned how to mount and dismount quickly. Yet, with his bad leg, he was rarely able to ride for long periods of time. The horses trotted along, enjoying the warmth of the rising sun. The blue sky was full of white, wispy clouds with a flashing layer of blinding hues of orange and yellow over the horizon. They stared in silence for several moments before Hannah spoke.

  “I thought about my choice,” she said.

  She had almost gotten lost in the sunrise. A trance had set upon her, which was almost impossible to break.

  “What have you decided?” Durand asked.

  “I want to do my part. I want to get to London.”

  Josephine and Durand had made her feel welcome, but she could never truly feel safe in a city or country under Nazi rule.

  Durand’s face was a mix of contradictory emotions—both worried and proud. “I will make the arrangements,” he said.

  “Thank you for not trying to dissuade me one way or the other,” Hannah said.

  “I told you I would work to gain your trust. I can’t do that by telling you what you should do. I trust you will make the right decision for you,” Durand said.

  Hannah was invited in for breakfast and spent the day helping Durand with farm work. It was familiar in so many ways and, yet, strangely new. Water breaks were something she had not been blessed with at Auschwitz, nor did she feel like a gazelle whose weakness was being observed by a lion. At that exact moment, there were thousands of people working past the point of exhaustion and starvation. Hannah would not allow herself to live in fear. She would not allow herself to live half a life. She would not sit idly by while others tried to stop the evil tyranny. Evil prevails when good men and women do nothing. As Hannah watched the sunset from atop the wooden fence, Durand surprised her by bringing two blank old canvases and a paint set for the two of them to paint.

  “It has been quite some time,” Durand said, trying to find his first stroke of the brush.

  “Just start,” Hannah said.

  Uncertain of where to start, Durand had been hovering his brush over the canvas. Hannah had instantly put her brush to hers. It was an hour of silence, and even though the colors of the sky were the same on both canvases, how they perceived the sunset was profoundly different.

  “No wonder why the Nazis destroy art,” Durand said as he examined his own piece.

  “It is fine. You are quite good,” Hannah said, doing her best to encourage him, for he truly was.

  “You have improved at lying, Hannah, but I call connerie,” Durand said with a smile.

  Hannah signed her first name and gave the painting to him.

  “A gift,” Hannah said.

  “To be revered on rainy days,” he said.

  Durand drove Hannah back to Paris, and it did not take long for her to drift off. The lack of sleep the night before and the hard day’s work in the field had worn her out in a way she had not felt since she had left Auschwitz. When Josephine opened her apartment door and saw Durand and Hannah, she knew Hannah had made her choice. Hannah anticipated a lecture, but Josephine was silent as she walked to her cupboard and removed three wine glasses from the shelf. She popped the cork out of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and poured a glass for each of them.

  “If we do this, I want passage for Hannah within twelve hours. Oberführer Köning is not a mindless monkey like some of these Nazis. He is smart. I will not let Hannah be subjected to interrogation. They will discover she is a Jew. We do this in one week,” Josephine said.

  Both Durand and Hannah motioned to interrupt, but it was Durand whose voice carried the loudest.

  “Josephine, the invasion is coming soon. We cannot wait a week. It may be too late,” Durand said.

  “We do this smart, Durand,” Josephine said, “Hannah has been living undercover as my niece for two years. If one day she doesn’t show up, it will raise suspicion. Tomorrow, I will tell the Germans my niece is returning home. We tell them she is leaving on Friday—that she is working the morning shift and catching the one-o’-clock train to Munich.”

  Neither Durand nor Hannah could find fault in her logic. The most important part of a lie was in the details—details truthful to some degree.

  “The notebook will obviously be in German. You will not have enough time to read it all. You must look for dates and locations. There are three railroads the Germans use for resupply. We have given them each a number,” Durand explained. He unfolded a map from his breast pocket. In red pen were hand-drawn rai
lroad ways. “Gare de I’Est, Gare du Nord, Gare de Bercy,” Durand said, pointing to each on the map.

  “They will no doubt have given each a code name,” Josephine said.

  The Germans had used the Enigma coding machine almost exclusively since the war had started. It looked much like a typewriter, and when one letter or key was pressed, a second keyboard letter would light up. Three rotors were used for adjusting and acted like the hands of a clock—Hour. Minute. Second. The front of the machine had a plugboard that paired two letters together using a connecting wire, much like an operating switchboard. There were exactly a mind-boggling 158,962,555,217,826,360,000 possible combinations.

  “He will have the month’s numbers on him,” Durand said.

  “Month’s numbers?” Hannah asked.

  “Each month, the Germans send out the settings for the machine. It is how they are able to adjust the settings to make sense of what was sent,” Durand explained.

  Instructions showed how to adjust the rotors and plugboard to a starting position. The code was typed, and the cryptic message appeared one illuminated letter at a time.

  “If Hannah steals his sheet, he will know,” Josephine said.

  “Agreed. Hannah takes nothing with her,” Durand said.

  “I can write it down. But, instead of numbers, I will write down orders of food. I will use the menu,” Hannah said.

  They went over the details over a dozen times. Josephine would not settle for surprises. She had always thought Durand had not given as much respect to the Germans as he should have and, therefore, underestimated them. The next morning, Josephine told the German officers Hannah would be leaving that Friday. Hannah told them her boyfriend, Wilhelm, was returning home from duty. Josephine had sold it perfectly. Tears filled her eyes when she said she would miss her. They went over and over the plan that night and, again, the following night to the point where Durand had to step in and call it quits. Josephine wanted every detail planned out. She wanted an escape route and plan in place for every possibility.