The Book of Lost Names(68)
“Why are you helping me, Geneviève?” Eva couldn’t resist asking. “It might be dangerous.”
“I don’t run from danger, Eva, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“Thank you,” Eva whispered, but Geneviève merely accepted the words with a shrug, and then she was gone, leaving Eva in the silence of an empty library that would never feel right until Rémy was home. But Geneviève was a new ally, too, and there was something to be said for finding people to trust in the dark.
* * *
Unable to close her eyes without thinking of the ways the Nazis might be torturing Rémy, Eva worked all afternoon and all night. By morning, when Geneviève appeared toting a cloth bag, Eva had finished all the identity papers and supporting documents for the next round of escaping children, and she had added them to the Book of Lost Names.
“Have you been here all night?” Geneviève asked, setting the bag down on the table and looking around at the neat stacks.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Well done.” Geneviève pulled a few newspapers from the bag. “I hope you’ll have energy to work on one more set of papers. I found someone perfect for your Rémy—a young man, aged twenty-seven, who was naturalized twenty years ago after arriving from Austria, and who shows up again in a marriage record from August 1942, so you’ll have two things to produce that can be checked against official records. I pored over every issue of the Journal Officiel in Père Clément’s office that is dated after that, and there was no death notice, so I think we could reasonably assume he’s still alive. Here are the two journals in which he appears.”
Eva took the gazettes, one of which was slightly yellowed, and shook her head in astonishment. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“There’s no need, Eva. We’re all in this together. Now, how can I help?”
Quickly, but painstakingly, Eva set about creating false documents identifying Rémy as one Andras Konig, born the twelfth of May, 1915, who had emigrated to France from the first Austrian Republic with his parents and was naturalized in October 1922. He was a farmer, thus explaining why he hadn’t been called to obligatory service, and, in accordance with an issue of the Journal Officiel from August, she had him married in the Ain department to a French girl who’d been born Marie Travers in 1920. She still had several of Rémy’s photographs, tucked away with several photographs of her, in case they needed to make identity documents quickly, so it was easy to affix one to the new identity document and cover it with the requisite stamps. A ticket for bicycling without a light in Servas, and a library card from Bourg-en-Bresse made the cover complete.
By the time Père Clément came to check on them at noon, Eva was nearly done. “How close are you to completing the documents?” he asked as he pulled the heavy door closed behind him.
“I’m almost finished.”
“Excellent. When you’re done, I’ll take them.”
Eva’s smile fell. “Take them where?”
“I plan to go fetch Rémy myself.”
“Père Clément—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I prayed about it all night, Eva. It’s the right thing. I’ll go as myself—a parish priest concerned about one of his congregants—and I’ll be able to persuade them that he’s simply ashamed of his Austrian past, and a bit simple, too. I’ll apologize for his terrible error in judgment in using false papers, and I’ll give them my word it will never happen again.”
“If they’ve already made him confess…” Eva could barely get the words out.
“I agree with what you said earlier, Eva, and I feel certain that hasn’t happened. Is there a risk? Yes. But I’ve spent the war so far safe inside this church while men like Rémy and Faucon are out there risking their lives each day. It’s time I do some of the same.”
“I’ll come with you,” Eva said.
He shook his head firmly. “That would only complicate things and make it all more dangerous. Besides, if something goes wrong, we can’t afford to lose you, too.”
She didn’t like it, but she knew he was right. “I—I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I’m the one in your debt, Eva,” Père Clément said. He wrapped his hands around hers and squeezed once, comfortingly, before letting go.
* * *
Three days later, Eva was working in the library by herself when the door opened. “Rémy?” she cried, jumping to her feet.
But it was only Père Clément, wearing a somber expression, and suddenly, Eva’s heart was in her throat. “Père Clément, is he…?”
“He’s fine,” Père Clément said quickly. “Rémy did a wonderful job of playing along. In fact, by some miracle, he even knew a few words of Austro-Bavarian, apparently enough to fool the gendarmes. Thank God he wasn’t in German custody yet.”
Relief swept over Eva, but it was still tempered by fear. She glanced behind Père Clément again. “Then where is he?”
Père Clément crossed the room and took Eva’s hands. “He’s not coming back right now.”