The Paris Library(94)

I followed the pebbled path through the morning mist and was nearly to the Library when he caught up with me. “Can you forgive me?” he asked.

“Professor Cohen was sent to Drancy, you know.”

“I didn’t.”

“No one knows what’s become of her.”

Head bowed, he walked away. I felt my shoulders sag. Seeing him reminded me of how I’d gladly closed my eyes and frolicked in the homes of the departed.



* * *




AT LUNCHTIME EACH day, I hurried to the commissariat, past the belligerent guard, to Papa’s office, where I stuffed letters into my satchel. Back at the Library, I burned them. As weeks went by, I gained confidence. Instead of five, I grabbed a dozen. Hundreds remained, and more arrived each day. Though I longed to destroy them all, I knew that would only bring scrutiny.

Nonetheless, I feared getting caught. On the way back to work, I glanced behind me. At home, I developed a twitch. Before Sunday Mass, I tied my scarf in the foyer. Papa stopped to straighten his tie. Our eyes met in the mirror.

“?a va?” he asked gently.

I nodded.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t…”

“Couldn’t what?” I said tersely.

He looked away.

When he went to get his suit jacket, Maman said, “You haven’t been yourself these last weeks. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re positively… shifty. Why doesn’t Paul come around any longer?”

“If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

She felt my forehead. “You must be coming down with something. Or you’re…” She cast a horrified glance at my belly.

Flustered, I said, “It’s not what you think.”

“Stay home. Rest.”

After they left, I wrote in my journal. Dear Rémy, I’ve been selfish and blind. I’ve let the professor down, but I’m trying to make it right.

The doorbell rang, and I answered, assuming Maman’d forgotten her purse.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Paul said. “But they might find me at home.”

Blood had dribbled and dried, caking around his nostrils.

“What on earth?” I gestured for him to enter.

He didn’t budge. “I don’t want your parents to see me like this.”

“They’re at church. Now, what happened?” I asked as I sat him down.

“One of those Nazi bastards staggered down the street, dead drunk. I grabbed him from behind and started punching. I wanted to make him sorry he set foot here. He fought back, but I broke his nose for sure. Maybe cracked a few ribs. Then I ran for it. I don’t regret what I did, but these days, you never know who’s watching.”

“You’re safe now.” I wiped his face with my handkerchief. I’d missed touching him, missed his touch. I was glad he’d come, though I wished we could go back to that day at the Gare du Nord, to a time I only felt one thing for him—absolute love.

“Before, the biggest arrest I made was for disorderly conduct. When I—Well, I never thought they’d keep an old lady like her.”

“You couldn’t have known.” I remembered the books I should have delivered. “We all have regrets.”

“I love you,” he said. “Say you’ll forgive me.”





CHAPTER 38

Odile




IN THE COUNTESS’S office, I eyed the makeshift mattress where she slept each night in order to keep watch over the Library—she was seventy years old, yet ready to confront Nazi soldiers. A few books rested near her pillow. I leaned forward to see the titles, but Bitsi tugged at my sleeve, urging me toward the others who’d gathered at the desk. Meetings that had once teemed with staff had dwindled to the secretary, the caretaker, Bitsi, Boris, Margaret, me, and Clara de Chambrun.

“Mr. Pryce-Jones was arrested,” the Countess began, “and sent to an internment camp.”

No, not another friend lost, locked up for being an “enemy alien.”

“M. de Nerciat has been fighting for his release,” she continued.

“I’ve read distressing reports,” Boris said. “They’re not sending people to internment camps, but to death camps.”

“Propaganda,” she said dismissively. “Think of the rumors we’ve heard.”

“Was he denounced?” Bitsi asked.

“It’s likely,” Boris said.

This war was taking everyone I held dear. Everything—my country, my city, my friends—had been looted and betrayed, and I would put a stop to it the only way I knew how. I needed to destroy those letters. I no longer cared if I got in trouble. One thing was sure. Something would burn. I ran out of the Library, Boris and Bitsi shouting after me.

“Come back!”

“You’ve had a shock.”

At the commissariat, I sprinted to my father’s office, closing the door behind me. I grabbed a letter and tore it in two, then another, then another. The rustle of paper being ripped had never sounded so satisfying. Realizing Papa could enter at any moment, I stuffed a fistful of letters into my satchel, crumpling them into ugly wads.

The doorknob clicked, and the door swung open. I stepped away from the desk, fumbling as I fastened the flap.