The Librarian Spy(17)
Elaine studied the typewriter. “How does the fabric stay still when you’re typing?”
Josette held up a needle and thread. “We sew it to the paper.” She took the swatch from Nicole and wove several loose stitches to secure it to the page, then fed the result into the machine without issue.
Looking at the keys as she typed, Josette copied the line of jumbled letters Denise had pieced out of the poem she had been working on. The ink hit the silk, staining the delicate fabric until the entire code was complete.
When Josette was done, she removed the paper, clipped the threads and the silk floated to the table with the message boldly standing out against its smooth surface.
“I’m assuming you know how to type, or Gabriel wouldn’t have sent you here.” Nicole offered the chair to Elaine as Josette eased out.
“I used to be a secretary.” Elaine slid into the seat, still warm from its previous occupant. Though she had been married for over five years, it had not been so long since she’d been in front of a typewriter. Joseph had not insisted she quit her job when they wed, despite the disparaging looks she often received from her coworkers for having kept on with her employment after marriage. He’d even encouraged her to seek a new secretary position when they first moved to Lyon. Though by then, no more jobs were available as refugees from other countries that were attacked before France had already arrived and assumed those roles.
“Mind the keys,” Denise cautioned.
Elaine did as she was told, paying special care to the mismatched letters. It was an odd thing to have the familiarity of the cool, smooth keys under her fingertips, but not be able to fall back on her ability to blindly type. In the end, she removed her hands from the keyboard and pecked out the message as any novice would.
Nicole pulled the page free, and her gaze skimmed over Elaine’s work. “Perfect.”
They worked through the afternoon, her fingers finding the appropriate keys with less difficulty, when a knock at the door resonated through the apartment. Every woman stiffened and glanced at one another, as if confirming no visitors were expected. Of the four of them, it was Denise who approached the foyer, her feet silent as she moved over the old floorboards.
Before she could ask who it was, a voice on the other end said, “Sous le pont Mirabeau...”
Without hesitation, Denise replied, “...coule la Seine.”
Under the Mirabeau Bridge flows the Seine.
Elaine frowned at Nicole with confusion.
“It is a code from Le pont Mirabeau by Guillaume Apollinaire,” the other woman explained as Denise received a stack of papers from a male courier who departed as abruptly as he’d come.
Elaine nodded, remembering the poem about an artist and his love that she first heard while in lycée as a girl.
Denise returned with the pile of what appeared to be newsprint in her arms. “We have deliveries tomorrow.” She set her load on the table, revealing numerous copies of Combat, one of the many clandestine newspapers distributed by the Resistance.
Elaine picked up a copy and read the first article detailing the arrests at Villeurbanne when the men called up for compulsory service did not show at the train station at their assigned times. The Gestapo sealed off that section of Lyon and rounded up over three hundred young men to transport to work camps by force.
“Combat is my preference,” Denise said. “Though I know Josette prefers Cahiers du Témoignage Chrétien, the newspaper for Christian Resistance supporters, and Nicole likes the journal Femmes fran?aises when she can get it. Which publication do you like best?”
Over six months had passed since Elaine last laid eyes on any clandestine newspaper, back when Joseph had suddenly demanded she stop all acts of resistance once the Germans returned to Lyon and stayed. But before then, they used to read through Combat together, the editorial geared toward soldiers and intellectuals; both aspects Joseph could appreciate. As could she, by association of her love for her husband.
“Combat,” Elaine replied. A pang of longing struck her with the recollection of those mornings over chicory coffee, their heads bowed together as they discussed the articles in low voices.
How she missed those days with Joseph, when they worked as a team rather than opposing one another. Before she had known of his efforts with the Resistance instead of being told lies. “I used to read Combat with my husband. We would use what was in the paper to come up with tracts that we made on the Roneo.”
The duplicating machine was a clunky thing, but it worked well enough to copy the pamphlet she and Joseph composed to churn out replicas for distribution.
Denise lifted a dark brow with interest. “You know how to use a Roneo?”
Elaine nodded. “It isn’t all that difficult, so long as it doesn’t jam.”
“Which is often for me.” Nicole laughed. “I think my specialty is in breaking most things mechanical.”
“Which is why she’s usually not allowed near the typewriter.” Josette smothered a giggle. “Lucky for her, she is adept at transcribing messages into code.”
“My husband showed me how to use the duplicating machine,” Elaine confessed. “He has always been so patient with me. In truth, I joined the Resistance in the hopes there might be something I can do to help free him.”
Nicole stopped sifting through the delicate scraps of silk. “Free him?”