The Paris Architect: A Novel

“Maybe I should’ve bumped up the arches in the center section? The roof line would’ve looked more dynamic,” said Lucien.

“An architect should never rationalize a change in purely aesthetic terms, you know that. He should give the client a pragmatic reason for doing it.”

Lucien nodded when he heard Herzog’s advice, then thought for a moment.

“If we raise the center section two meters, then the plant can accommodate a taller crane.”

“Excellent suggestion, Monsieur Bernard,” exclaimed Herzog. “Labrune, come over here, there’s a change I need you to make.” Herzog and Lucien met at the construction site in Tremblay almost daily to discuss the progress of the job. The meetings always involved Labrune, the elderly cantankerous contractor who was in charge of the whole project. He had been called out of retirement by the Wehrmacht to work for them, which he resented greatly. A veteran of the first war, he still hadn’t forgiven the Boche for using poison gas on him in 1916. Labrune walked slowly over to Colonel Herzog, cursing under his breath. He glared at Lucien and spit on the ground as he always did when he saw the architect. Lucien was well aware that the old goat hated him, but then all contractors hated architects because they made changes all the time. Labrune had had a fifty-year career of hating architects.

“Labrune, you move like an old man, get the hell over here,” yelled Herzog. Labrune proceeded at the same speed.

“I am an old man, Colonel. Or haven’t you noticed? What’s your all-important change?”

“Raise the center four arches two meters. It won’t take that much lumber, and it won’t put us behind schedule,” said Herzog.

“It’s no big deal, Labrune, you can easily handle this,” added Lucien, which drew the evil eye from Labrune, who snorted like a horse and looked down at the ground as he spoke.

“It’s not that easy, Monsieur Bernard. I have to thicken the arches in order to raise them, add more reinforcing. I need a structural sketch.”

“Mangin, our engineer, will get you one by tomorrow morning. No problem.”

Labrune glanced at Herzog, who nodded, and the old man stomped away in disgust.

“Motherfucker,” muttered Labrune.

“What did you say, Labrune?” shouted Herzog.

“I said I’ll be glad to make your change,” answered Labrune. “What the hell choice do I have? I either make the change or get shot on the spot, eh Mein Fuehrer?”

“I like your reasoning, Labrune,” said Herzog, who then turned to Lucien. “This will be your best building, Lucien. The way the arches spring from the ground is beautiful.”

Lucien agreed. The formwork for the first three arches was up, and even in wood they looked great. He loved seeing his buildings get built. That was the most wonderful thing about being an architect—to see your drawings become real, three-dimensional objects that you could walk around and touch. All architects were impatient to see their buildings completed. Normally, it took forever for a building to be finished, but the Germans got things done incredibly quickly. What would have taken months under French control took only weeks for the Germans. He had always heard about the legendary German efficiency and scoffed at the notion. Now he witnessed it firsthand and was quite impressed. Working three shifts seven days a week definitely sped up the process. Threatening the workers with beatings and death also helped.