On Thursday night, Josephine was in an awful mood. Durand had been on the receiving end of a dozen scowls and three verbal bashings. He went outside for his end-of-the-night cigarette and hoped Josephine would cool down. But it seemed unlikely. The dishes Hannah had washed from their supper and Josephine had dried were nearly broken when she slammed them into the cupboard.
“You are mad at me,” Hannah said, keeping her eyes on the plate she was scrubbing.
Josephine stopped drying the dishes and took a deep breath. “No, I am worried,” she said.
“You did well with the Germans. The way your eyes teared up…” Hannah said.
“What did I tell you about lying? Put some truth in it,” Josephine cut in.
Hannah wrapped her arms around Josephine, soap spuds falling off her hands.
“Thank you,” Hannah said.
“You brought life back to this place,” Josephine said.
“Come with me.”
“Your future is elsewhere. Mine is here. Paris is my home—my family’s home.”
Durand opened the door and peeked in to test whether a plate would be thrown at his face. When he saw Hannah and Josephine hugging, he decided it was safe for him to step inside. Franco was behind him, no doubt because Durand had said there was extra strawberry pie.
“Franco, please take a photo,” Hannah asked.
She grabbed her camera from the nightstand next to the couch and handed it to Franco. She kept her hand around Josephine’s waist to prevent her from sneaking out of frame. Durand stood on Hannah’s other side, and Franco snapped the photograph.
“I promised Franco pie,” Durand said.
Josephine grabbed a plate she had dried less than thirty seconds earlier and carefully lifted a piece of strawberry pie with a fork and set in on the small plate. Franco thanked her after stuffing a large piece into his mouth.
Hannah looked at the clock. It was nearly ten. “You should be going. Madeleina will be worried,” she said to Durand.
“No worries. I told her I would be staying here tonight. I will make sure I am here if needed,” Durand said.
Hannah smiled. It would comfort her even that night when she tried to fall asleep. She often had visions of the door being broken down and SS officers sprinting in to snatch her.
“I hope you like the chair,” Josephine said.
“It looks quite lovely, but I was under the illusion that hospitality dictates I sleep in your bed and you sleep in the chair,” Durand said, casting a subtle wink in Hannah’s direction.
“Give me your fork, Franco,” Josephine said, extending an open hand.
“What for?” Franco asked.
He still had roughly one-and-a-half forkfuls left, and the idea of abandoning his eating utensil so close to finishing caused a feeling of melancholy to sweep over him.
“I am going to stab him with it,” Josephine said.
Franco’s true allegiance would have to become clear … and it did. He scooped up the last bites and handed over the fork.
“Traitor,” Durand said.
Franco shrugged as he rose from his seat and walked toward the door, his shoulders dipping and swaying.
“You will do fine, Hannah,” Franco said.
“Thanks, Franco,” she said before he left the apartment.
Josephine walked down the hallway and grabbed another pillow and blanket for Durand.
“Do you need anything else?” Josephine asked.
“No, I am fine. Thank you,” Durand said.
“Good night,” Josephine said.
“Good night,” both Hannah and Durand answered.
Hannah went into the bathroom to change into her pajamas and brush her teeth. When she stepped back out, the hallway and living room were pitch black apart from the small bit of moonlight shining through the closed blinds. Durand tried to get comfortable, shifting his body and trying to cover his feet with his blanket. Hannah was as quiet as she could be but bumped into nearly everything in the dark. She finally found the couch and laid down.
“I’m scared,” Hannah said, her words cutting through the muggy silence.
Her thoughts were on what tomorrow would bring.
“Good. It means you have something left to fight for,” Durand said.
He often said there are two types of people—people who had something to fight for and people who had nothing left to lose. Durand had something left to fight for. Josephine had nothing left to lose. Which group did she belong to? Had she lost everything? Or, did she too have something left to fight for? But she quickly realized she did have something left to fight for—her life and a fresh start.
“I won’t let them take me alive,” Hannah said.
“It won’t come to that,” Durand assured her.
Hannah was old enough, mature enough, to know that though he meant his words, there was nothing he could do to ensure they would come to fruition. She did not expect to sleep much that night but, oddly, she did. It seemed her mind had grown too exhausted to filter through the millions of thoughts—both consequential and insignificant. She wondered how long she would have slept if Durand had not roughly woken her.
“Sorry. I have been calling your name for damn near a minute,” Durand said.
Apparently, Durand had started with a soft shake and a whisper, but only after shaking her and nearly screaming did she wake. The answer to how long? All day. Josephine was dressed and sitting at her kitchen table. Two plates full of eggs and hash browns were placed in front of the empty seats. Hannah was too nervous to eat and slid her plate over to Durand. As he finished his second helping, Josephine picked out a dress for Hannah. A small suitcase sat at the foot of the neatly made bed.
“What is this?” Hannah asked.
“It’s some things I threw together. I will have you looking like a true Parisian when you go to London,” Josephine said.
“I will send word. I will see you again,” Hannah said.
“I hope so,” Josephine said, stroking Hannah’s blonde hair.
Durand stood short of the door frame and did not take another step forward, for it would be widely inappropriate to step inside another woman’s bedroom.
“It’s time,” he announced.
Hannah took a final look at the place that had been short of home for two years. She would miss it all—the smell of candles and perfume she had once considered too strong but, now, nothing but soothing, a deep breath upon entering the apartment sent a feeling of relaxation through her, much like a deep breath of winter air, the kitchen table where they shared suppers, glasses of wine, and late-night snacks, the couch, and the space that had been her room. Durand put a soothing hand on her shoulder and carried her suitcase in the other. Hannah was grateful the morning sun was strong and the temperature nearly seventy degrees already. There was no value one could put on a sunny day to help lift one’s mood. Durand nodded with encouragement before turning left. Hannah and Josephine continued across the intersection toward the “Givre Strudel.”
It was stifling inside. Josephine had gradually increased the heat inside and passed it off as a broken heater. It was all in hopes of getting Oberführer Köning to allow them to hang up his leather trench coat. Hannah served four tables within the first two hours. She continually glanced at the door, waiting for the Nazi to enter. An hour passed from his normal arrival time. She continued to swap concerned looks with Josephine. But finally, the Nazi officer entered the café. Of course, he was not alone. As usual, he was not alone. Untersturmführer Engel, Standartenführer Ziegler, and Hauptscharführer Voigt accompanied him, and each of them showed different levels of annoyance at the heat inside the café. Hauptscharführer Voigt looked as if he was ready to withdraw his pistol and shoot someone.
“I see the heater is still broken. How wonderful!” Oberführer Köning remarked, his sarcasm as thick as the air.
“My apologies, Oberführer. You know us French. We like to be fashionably late,” Josephine said.
“I would like t
o have a word with the repairman when he does arrive. It is not gentlemanly to keep a woman waiting,” Untersturmführer Engel said.
“And today is young Hannah’s last day in Paris,” Oberführer Köning said.
Hannah walked toward him, taking a deep breath and wearing an artificial smile as she did. She had a part to play—a part that would send her to London.
“I was hoping you would forget. At least on my aunt’s behalf. She has been a wreck all morning,” Hannah said.
“Oh, Josephine, you cannot blame a German for wanting to return to their motherland. It calls to us all,” Oberführer Köning said.
“May I take your coats?” Hannah asked.
Each waited for Oberführer Köning to choose and would follow his decision, but each silently prayed he would decide to take the jacket off. It was nearly ninety degrees, and the heat increased from all the bodies packed into the café like sardines.
“I suppose,” Oberführer Köning said.
Hannah did her best to show no excitement as she collected the leather jackets.
“Hang them on the coat racks,” Josephine said.
Hannah nodded and turned left toward the men’s and women’s bathrooms. Separating the two was a coat rack filled with spring jackets. Hannah marveled at the lengths some women went to to remain fashionable. Even if it was fifteen to twenty degrees cooler outside, it was still far too warm to be wearing a spring jacket for the sake of fashion. But, then again, Köning was wearing a long black trench coat. He was the worst offender. Hannah hung up the jackets and walked back to the table. If she took longer than necessary, it would draw attention to her.
“Can I offer you something to drink? Perhaps, an iced coffee?” Hannah asked.
“Definitely something cold. I will take the iced coffee,” Oberführer Köning said.
The other three once again followed the highest-ranking officer in ordering the same thing.
“I hope you don’t mind, Josephine, but we will be having some guests. New soldiers have just returned from combat. Those with honors have been invited here on our behest,” Untersturmführer Engel said.
He raised his hand to the air, looked toward the door, and waved for whoever was outside to enter. The door opened, and soldiers dressed in black stepped in—two dozen in all. They were SS, but to Hannah, they were Dobermans. Their black leather boots went up to their knees, and they wore the swastika band on their left arm. At their sides was the Luger P08 pistol, and in their arms, they held the Gewehr 43 rifle.
“Is my food so awful that they must wear helmets and carry rifles into my café?” Josephine asked.
She had kept her cool considerably well. Luckily, the sweat that dripped down Hannah’s forehead could be attributed to the heat and not the sudden wave of fear and nerves that had flooded over her. The German officers only smirked at Josephine’s comment. Every open seat in the café was occupied by the SS, and those that had been filled by French patrons were strongly encouraged to be emptied with an unbroken German glare.
“Hannah, would you please fill up some pitchers of water for the soldiers?” Josephine asked.
“Of course. I’ll be back with those iced coffees as well,” Hannah replied.
“Your French has improved greatly. Do you still remember how to speak German? Or have you forgotten?” Hauptscharführer Voigt asked.
“I forget nothing,” Hannah said in flawless German.
How she hoped he had understood the subtext of her words. She would never forget anything the Nazis had done. If it had not been Josephine’s café, she would have been tempted to lock the doors and let the Germans die of heat exhaustion. Hannah walked through the swing door of the kitchen and filled the silver pitcher with ice and water. Josephine came through the swing door seconds later and grabbed Hannah’s arm at the elbow and pulled her inside her office.
“It’s off,” Josephine said.
“No,” Hannah argued.
“Hannah, there are close to thirty soldiers in there. More men than Durand can supply right now. If something goes wrong … if you are caught, it is over. You will be killed or sent back to that God-awful place,” Josephine said.
“I can do this,” Hannah assured.
“I know you want to get to London, Hannah…” Josephine began.
She had not finished speaking, but Hannah cut her off.
“It is bigger than me, Josephine. We are doing this so the Nazis cannot stop the Allied invasion. We are doing this for your family, for my family, Durand’s family, and for every other family who has been torn apart by them,” Hannah said.
Josephine stared at Hannah in silence. Hannah had arrived in Paris a beaten, frightened girl. But, now, a strong resilient woman stared at her, and she liked to think she had some small part in that.
“Bring out the coffee. I will take the pitchers. While I engage the Germans, you take the journal and go into the toilet. You have one minute. Chances are one of these bastards will have to take a piss, and I don’t want him rounding the corner as you’re putting the journal back,” Josephine said.
Hannah and Josephine stepped out of her office and grabbed the four pitchers of water Michelle had filled for them. Regina was busy making the four iced coffees for the German officers. They were oblivious to how dangerous the atmosphere had become. Josephine had not involved any of them in her activities in the French resistance.
“Gentlemen, your iced coffees are being prepared right now. It will take just a few more minutes,” Josephine said.
She and Hannah moved past their table. They set the pitchers of water on the tables, and Hannah returned to grab the ice coffees while Josephine started her act. Hannah was tempted to spit into the iced coffees but withheld the urge. What they were going to do would be far worse. She grabbed the four tall iced coffees and pushed open the kitchen swing door with her foot.
“In no particular order, Hauptscharführer Voigt,” Hannah said.
It had been a long-running gag to serve the lowest-ranking officer his food and drinks last. But, because of that, Voigt always had a scowl on his face.
“Are you ready to order?” Hannah asked.
She had her tattoo covered by a white towel she used to wipe condensation off the tables. Hannah jotted down their orders before disappearing through the kitchen swing door. It was another minor annoyance to have the Germans look over the menu only to order the same thing they had ordered almost every day. She handed the order to Frank, and as Regina moved toward the swing door, Hannah crept right along behind her. As Regina went forward to the tables, Hannah diverted right toward the bathrooms. Hannah looked behind her to check if anyone was coming around the corner. The front glass door was within sight, and many German soldiers were outside, waiting for a table. Hannah’s fingers shook slightly as she crept toward the coat rack. Oberführer Köning’s jacket was at the end. She had purposefully placed it there so she could hide behind the coatrack and find it easily without having to sort through the multitude of coats.
She grabbed the journal and turned toward the bathroom. She turned the lock and opened the journal. The black book had a connecting black ribbon used as a bookmark. There were letters that had been written but were yet to be sent out. She flipped through the pages with frantic frenzy. The imaginary clock in her head counted down ten seconds at a time. A page was folded up into eighths near the front of the journal. Hannah unfolded it. On the left-hand side was a column that read DATES. The other columns stated which three of the five rotors were to be used, the exact starting point, and the letter pairing for the plugboard. In her hands were the Enigma code settings.
The date was 21 April, and Hannah only needed to copy the numbers for the remaining days of the month. The Maquis knew German troops and supplies were moving in before May, but they didn’t know exactly when or where. The first letters and numbers she wrote were sloppy because of her trembling hand. She gave it a violent shake, and her penmanship became much bolder than it had been before. Every letter was a bullet
—a bullet that would not strike its target in seconds but days. She flipped through the pages, looking for any mention of troop movement. But everything was in the same fine German writing and nothing stood out. She knew the codes would not appear to be words at all—rather, just an onslaught of letters in a discombobulated order. She found it between two unfinished letters—one addressed to Oberführer Köning’s wife, Elsa, and one to his son, Conrad. She did her best to write the coded letters as fast as she could, but it proved challenging. It was not like reading words and being able to glance and translate. She had to see each letter of the word for it would make all the difference in whether or not the French resistance would be able to translate it.
She finished and pocketed her order book into her apron and closed the journal, making sure the black ribbon was on the same page it had been. She opened the door with her left hand, the book in her right and concealed behind her back. She poked her head out and narrowly missed being seen by a German soldier who had stepped into the men’s room. She had dodged a near miss, but the Germans outside the front door stared at her through the glass. It was impossible to know whether they could see through the glass or only saw their own reflections from the high sun. The longer she waited, her chances of being caught increased. Hannah stepped out, placed the journal back into Köning’s jacket pocket, and rounded the corner. She collided with someone hard enough to be knocked to the ground. The order pad fell out.
“My apologies, young Hannah,” Hauptscharführer Voigt said, standing over her.
His apology lacked any sincerity whatsoever. He bent down and picked up the order form and looked at the ridiculous amount of lettering on it. She had jotted down the Enigma code settings on the front page and the coded messages near the middle.
“So many orders today?” Voigt asked.
“It is a running tab of what has been ordered for all of our customers,” Hannah said, trying to keep a calm façade.
Forever Fleeting Page 38