The Book of Lost Names(39)

“Who would I tell? I’m a Jew in an unfamiliar place, traveling on false papers.” When he merely raised an eyebrow, she cleared her throat and mumbled, “What I mean to say is that of course you can trust me.”

He nodded. “You see, Eva, as you may have guessed, the church is part of an escape line that helps people reach Switzerland safely. We work closely with resistance groups in the occupied zone, and in the past several months, as arrests have been stepped up, they have been funneling refugees here, and to other towns like ours throughout the free zone.” He took a deep breath. “In Paris last week, as you know, there were raids and arrests. Our networks helped get some children out before they could be taken with their parents, and now many of them are here, hiding in private homes, all without papers, all without their parents.”

“All Jews,” Eva said softly, her heart aching.

“All Jews,” Père Clément echoed. “All in danger that grows each day.”

“How do you get them out?” It would be too conspicuous to take a group this large across the Swiss border.

“That’s where you come in. The children will be moved into Switzerland, three or four or five at a time, passed off as siblings traveling with a mother or father, but to execute that, we need convincing documents. And we need them quickly.” He hesitated. “You see, there’s been some word that the Germans plan to take over the free zone, too.”

Eva could feel her eyes widen. “The free zone? But they made a deal with Pétain.”

“And you think they will keep their word? Their promises mean nothing. And once they make their move, it will be much more difficult to leave France.”

His eyes bore into hers, and she had the feeling he could read exactly what she was thinking. If the border was about to close more tightly, she needed to get her mother out, too.

“There’s still time,” he said, answering the question she hadn’t asked. “I must beg you to stay here, Eva. The volume of refugees is only increasing.”

She swallowed hard. “Very well.”

“You said you had an idea for how to produce documents more quickly?”

“Yes, though I’m not sure it will work. It’s an idea I had last night. Are you familiar with the hand-printing presses they use in schools? The ones that make copies of worksheets for students?”

“I believe I know the ones you mean. There’s a felt roller with a sort of gel around it, yes? And then the teachers can write on the gel? How would this work? The documents need to appear handwritten.”

“They will be, but the stamps won’t. The stamps are the hardest part to reproduce, and the most time-consuming by far. If I can trace them onto the felt roller, and we can use the correct color ink, we can print fifty at a time. I can work on that while Rémy fills the documents in by hand.”

Père Clément stared at her. “You think you can trace the seals accurately enough to be convincing?”

Eva nodded slowly. “I think so. I hope so.”

“Eva, it’s brilliant. Would you like to accompany me to the store to buy the press?”

She hesitated. “Won’t we look suspicious?”

“Not if the shopkeeper is one of us.” His eyes twinkled. “Madame Noirot had quite good things to say about you.”

“Madame Noirot?”

“At the bookstore. You didn’t think I approached you without checking around town first, did you?”

“The woman who gave me the copy of Bel Ami?” Eva was puzzled. “But how could she vouch for me? We only talked for a moment.”

“Yes, but she saw in you a kindred spirit, and she guessed—accurately—at what you needed those art pens for. When she came to see me, she said that anyone who saw the magic in books had to be good.”

“So is everyone in this town in on your forgery scheme?”

He smiled. “No. But we are a town of decent people. There are plenty of us working for the cause, and plenty more who are happy to turn a blind eye. So while you are mostly safe here, Eva, never make the mistake of letting down your guard. Now, shall we go see Madame Noirot?”

She nodded, but as she followed him out the door, a feeling of unease settled over her.



* * *



Ten minutes later, after making their way through a twisting series of deserted alleyways flanked with wooden balconies and elaborately swirled corbels, Eva trailed behind Père Clément as they entered the bookstore. The shop was empty but for Madame Noirot, who was neatening a display of notebooks near the front. She looked up and smiled as the door chimed.

“Ah, Père Clément. I was hoping you would return. And I see you’ve brought a friend.” She smiled at Eva. “Have you had a chance to start Bel Ami yet, dear?”

“I’m afraid not, madame.” It was, Eva realized suddenly, the longest she’d ever gone without reading, a thought that made her terribly sad. It was just another thing the Germans had succeeded in taking from her. “I’ve been… busy.”

“Ah yes, so I’ve heard.”

Eva looked at Père Clément, but he seemed to be deliberately ignoring her.

“So what brings you in today?” Madame Noirot asked. “Another book, perhaps?”