April in Paris Read Online Free Page B

collaborators and informers were everywhere. The French didn’t even trust one another. Monsieur Antoine couldn’t speak to Chantal, neither in the shop nor on the street. For a German, on the other hand, meeting women was easy in those days. Women in German 28 . M I C H A E L WA L L N E R
    company were exempt from curfew rules, and the bars were full.
    Parisian women fed their families by going out with German officers. I opened my eyes and watched Chantal in the mirror.
    The barber finished his job, and I stood up. She brushed me off. While I was paying, she didn’t deign to look at me. No one held the door open for me. Both of them were silent until I left the shop. Through the window, I could see them start talking as soon as I was outside.
    My freshly cut hair made me itch. I put my hat on, thinking about taking a seat in the café on the other side of the square and waiting for Chantal to get off work. A ridiculous idea. I sauntered up rue Bonaparte to the quay. The river still looked swollen and angry. A Wehrmacht staff sergeant leaned over the parapet and told his companion that the water level was falling. The fishermen had gone home. Not for the first time, I spotted one of the little V ’s.
    The Parisians made the V for Victory sign everywhere. Folded sub-way tickets, broken matches. Someone had made a V-shaped tear in a newspaper; a gust of wind blew the page in front of me.
    I was already past the Eiffel Tower when I heard the ringing. It made me jump. Which church? What time was it? A second bell joined in. I started counting the strokes; at six, I turned around.
    When the bell struck a seventh time, I began to run along the quai d’Orsay, but not unreasonably fast. When field gray uniforms appeared, I slowed my pace. A patrol passed. I stopped under a plane tree and waited for my breathing to calm down. Then I crossed the Pont Royal, reached the neighborhood where my hotel was, and turned into the narrow alley I thought I’d made a mental note of. The streets were starting to empty out around me. Women with string shopping bags hurried by. Some sauntering young A P R I L I N PA R I S . 29
    men pretended to be taking a leisurely stroll, but they knew they didn’t dare get caught outside after eight o’clock.
    Hard as I tried, I couldn’t find the ruined building with the passageway again! Now I was running, looking up at the roofs of the buildings, hoping to spot a landmark. When, after yet another vain search, I found myself in front of a tailor shop for the third time, I saw in there the only possibility of getting back to my hotel.
    “Are you coming with us to Turachevsky’s later?” A group of air force officers stood chatting by the door to the shop. A few meters away, I stopped and tried to get my bearings.
    “I have no idea who’s performing tonight, but there’s always something going on there.”
    The lieutenant noticed me. I hid my face by politely touching my hat brim and moved on. How different everything looked with the daylight gone! The dark button shop, the fence with the black V, painted over white by the Wehrmacht. Mine were the only footsteps. I hurried across the square. There were still lights in some windows, but the blackout was about to start. I found the sign for the horse butcher’s and laughed with relief. One more right—and at last I was standing in front of the damaged building. I hurried inside, felt under the stairs in the dark, grabbed the handle of my bag. With nervous hands, I changed my clothes.
    My wet socks didn’t want to fit inside my boots. I jumped and stamped, buttoning my uniform coat at the same time.
    My hobnailed heels resounded on the pavement; without haste, the corporal made his way back to his hotel. I crossed paths with the Luftwaffe group again and saluted.
    Back in my room, I fell on the bed and folded my arms be-30 . M I C H A E L WA L L N E R
    hind my head. Everything inside me was racing so fast, I couldn’t think. A few centimeters away,