The Librarian Spy(22)
A dark apartment greeted her; a rare phenomenon she hadn’t experienced with her roommates in DC who always managed to make it home before her. She clicked on the lights, tucked the book she’d purchased alongside her small collection from home, and collapsed into bed.
She wasn’t sure how long she slept when an insistent pounding jarred her from her sleep. Dazed and bewildered, she shoved from her bed and stumbled into the living room, her steps visible by the glow of light lining her door.
Outside in the hall, Portuguese was spoken in aggressive tones, followed by a hollow thump and a man exhaling in an agonized grunt. Someone had been struck.
She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out herself and tiptoed to the peephole. Breath held, she silently slid the metal cover from the hole and leaned closer to peer through.
Men in black suits exited through the door at 102. They did not bother to look around to ensure they weren’t seen; they weren’t careful to be quiet. They didn’t care who knew of their presence.
Between two men, hanging by his arms with his bare feet dragging behind was the neighbor who had asked Ava for the copy of Time magazine. His hair was mussed and his head lolled toward his left shoulder.
The men slammed his door closed behind them and carried him down the stairs, beyond the scope of her vantage point. Shaking, she released the metal disk to return over the peephole as she backed away from the door, her bare feet silent. Her knees trembled, and she leaned against the wall for its support, her hands clasped over her frantically thudding heart.
Suddenly a vague memory of her own words rushed back to her.
You should have seen how happy my neighbor was with a copy of Time.
What a fool indeed. That statement had been said without thought, without the realization of what kind of repercussions it might have. She hadn’t thought Lukas was a Nazi, or that the Portuguese secret police might follow her, or that they might be in league with Lukas. But then, she hadn’t thought it such an issue to give away a copy of an American magazine.
There were only two apartments on their floor of the narrow building—hers and his. The PVDE would have no difficulty discerning which belonged to the man she’d given the magazine to.
And now her foolish words meant to fill in a gap of awkward conversation had caused her neighbor to be arrested in the middle of the night. Perhaps she might be next.
The thought was enough to jolt her from her fear-induced paralysis. She slid down the wall to the floor and hugged her legs to her chest, staring at the door.
If they came for her next, she did not want to be caught unaware.
SIX
Elaine
The following day, Elaine found herself in the company of Josette, Nicole, and Denise once more—this time to deliver the clandestine newsprint. They had already stuffed the papers into benign-looking envelopes with recipients’ addresses on them—without the names, of course. While it was generally best to memorize details, some bulk deliveries such as newspapers required at least the location.
Elaine took her sorted stack from the pile on the table and slipped them into the false bottom of her shopping basket, just as she had been shown.
“Josette and Nicole will go together. You come with me,” Denise said.
The noonday bells chimed, their cue to leave. Elaine followed the ladies down the stairs. Josette and Nicole melted into the myriad other Frenchwomen strolling the streets of Lyon with their shopping baskets on their arms. Then it was Elaine and Denise’s turn, going in the opposite direction. No one would question their baskets, as they were a common sight these days as women remained desperately hopeful they might come across a store with a new shipment of food.
Despite the distribution of ration cards, there was no guarantee those items would be available for sale. More often than not, their allotted rations were impossible to find on any given day, particularly meat. And of the goods that could be found, the prices were exorbitant by comparison to the prewar years, some even soaring as high as four times what it cost previously. The recipes Elaine had been forced to learn were dismal, ones centered around Jerusalem artichokes and rutabagas or trying to stretch a tin of sardines or a single egg as far as possible.
Meager though they may be, the very thought of those meals tugged at the empty place within her that was never filled, and her stomach gave a snarl of complaint.
With the force of her will and regular practice through the duration of the Nazi occupation, Elaine now was able to push aside her hunger. She was even able to set aside her unease at her new task and focus wholly and completely on what needed to be done.
Denise and Elaine worked carefully through Bellecour, a dangerous neighborhood in the heart of Lyon where the Nazis congregated. The Germans lingered in the streets with a comfortable leisure the French themselves could no longer enjoy, sitting in cafés and sipping from porcelain cups filled with precious coffee, milk, and sugar. They marched into the finest hotels, which they draped in swastikas, and they sullied what had once been fine food with the foulness of their gluttony and hatred. Even the beauty of the art in the museums was made ugly by their constant presence.
However, Bellecour was also the area where Elaine had lived in her time before joining the Resistance.
While curiosity and a longing for the normal lured her toward the familiar street, she refrained from temptation and let Denise deliver the newspapers instead.
Elaine had bid farewell to the little apartment over two weeks ago after having spent so many months there resenting the home. It remained locked up, her key nestled behind a loose brick in Etienne’s building. Now, after sleeping in various locations and safe houses, she found herself yearning for the simple life she once shared with Joseph.