soldiers with machine guns, Casson could feel the tension. The Germans weren’t fooling around, but they had no interest in gravel barges that morning. A sergeant waved them through after just a glance.
The quai at Ivry, and far enough. Even there, in the chaos of docks and factory streets, Casson could feel the life beating in the city. The barge was tied up to a wharf, Henri went off to the porte d’Italie, among the thieves and the produce merchants, and returned late that afternoon with a truck-the smell of earth and rotting vegetables almost overpowering when they opened the rear doors. Painted on the side, the name of a wholesaler.
After dark they dug the crates out of the gravel and loaded them in the truck. Jean-Paul went to buy something for dinner and came home with a piece of bright red meat wrapped in newspaper. His wife put it in a pot with salt and wine and cooked it for a long time.
“What is it, do you suppose?” Henri said.
“I didn’t ask,” Jean-Paul said. “It’s fresh. Filet de Longchamp, maybe.” Longchamp was the race track.
“It was an ox,” Jean-Paul’s wife said.
After supper, Casson lay down on his mattress to rest and went out like a light. The next thing he knew, a hand was on his shoulder. “Yes?”
Henri, his coat buttoned up, leaned over and handed him a key. “For the truck,” he said.
Casson sat up.
“So,” Henri said. “From here on…”
“Are you going?”
“Yes.”
They shook hands. “Good luck to you,” Henri said.
Casson wanted to say something, thank you or see you soon, but Henri melted away into the darkness.
At daylight, he nursed the cold engine to life and drove around the neighborhood until he found a garage. The owner helped him back the truck into a wooden stall-the garage had been a stable only a few years earlier-then said a month’s rent would be a thousand francs.
“A thousand francs?”
“You’re paying for peace of mind,” he said. “There’s somebody here at night. And a couple of dogs, big ones.”
Casson paid. He walked for a block or two, then saw a taxi with one of the new wood-burning engines mounted on the back.
“Where to?”
“The Hotel Benoit.” He watched as the city went by. He got out at the hotel, went to his room, and slept for twenty hours.
Call Helene. He was barely awake, still trying to figure out where he was. He’d had powerful dreams; a woman, a boardwalk by the sea. She pulled her dress up, put her foot on a bench and fixed the strap on her sandal. He kicked his way out of bed and struggled to stand up, then he went to the window and moved the curtain aside. Gray winter Paris, nothing more.
“Agence Levaux, bonjour.”
“Bonjour. Mademoiselle Schreiber, s’il vous plait. ”
“Un petit moment, monsieur.”
Casson waited. At the hotel desk, a fiftyish couple was checking in. He looked at his watch, 10:30 A.M.
“Hello?”
“Hello, it’s me.”
“Thank God you’re back.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Merde.” She switched to a professional voice. “I believe it sails the ninth, monsieur, from Copenhagen.”
Casson waited a moment. “All right now?”
“Yes.”
“Will you meet me for lunch?”
“The little bar on Marigny, just off the boulevard. One-fifteen.”
“I’ll see you then. I missed you.”
“I’m sorry, here we go again,” she said. “Certainly-I’ll have it in the mail this evening.”
“One-fifteen,” Casson said.
He stood on the corner of the rue Marigny and watched her coming down the boulevard, walking alongside a short, dark-haired girl and a blond woman with a bright red smile; shoulders braced, head held high. Victorine? Very tightly wound, he thought. A high forehead, blue veins at the temples, they would pulse when she was angry.
“See you later!” Helene called out as she left the other two. They waved and continued down the boulevard.
When she spotted Casson her face lit up. As they embraced she said, “Did you see her?”
“The blonde.”
“Yes. The other one was my friend Natalie.”
They went into the bar and sat at a small table. “There’s been all kinds of trouble,” she said. Casson ordered a carafe of wine and beet soup, the only dish on the blackboard.
“What happened?”
“Well, first of all, Degrave.”
“You know?”
“They told Laurette.”
“How is she?”
Helene shook her head.
“You’re spending time with her?”
“When I can.”
“Not much else you can do.”
“No. You can’t just sit there, so you say things, but…” A waiter brought the carafe, the soup, and a basket with two small pieces of bread. “The bread’s for you,” he said.
“Then, a few days ago, Victorine called me into her office-she’s the supervising agent now.”
“The job you gave up.”
“Yes, and I thought that was the end of it.” From Helene, a rueful smile. “She was quite concerned, she said. About me. I wasn’t doing so well. Letting things go, not keeping up with my correspondence. I would simply have to try harder. Or else. She didn’t say that, but she didn’t have to.”
“And you said?”
“I crawled. Agreed with her, promised to do better.”
Casson nodded. “No choice,” he said.
“A day went by, then another. I kept out of her way and did my work-if she wanted everything perfect, that’s what she’d get. I thought, she’s just letting me know who’s boss. But then she called me in again. This time I was really scared, but she was pleasant enough. She asked me some questions about a client, I told her what she wanted to know, and then we chatted. She went on for a while, something about her mother needing medicine, how life was getting harder, everything so expensive. I was nodding and smiling, wondering when she was going to let me go out of there, and then she said, ‘Helene, I’m afraid I must ask you to lend me a thousand francs.’ ”
About half a month’s salary, Casson guessed. “What did you do?”
Helene shrugged. “What could I do? I gave it to her. Went to the bank at lunchtime and cleaned out my account. And then, a week later, she asked again. I said I couldn’t help her, I didn’t have it. She didn’t say anything right away, but she was angry. I’d seen it before-she doesn’t stop smiling but you can sense some kind of rage inside her. She has it under control, but not for long. After a while she looked at me and said, ‘I’m sure your people can help you, Helene. You’ll just have to swallow your pride and ask.’ ”
“Your people?”
“That’s what she said.”
Casson thought for a moment. “She’s going to turn you in.”
“I know.”
“When I was at Degrave’s house, in Cassis, he gave me a name- a man who can help you get out of the country.”
