The Paris Architect: A Novel

“Mendel, it’s safe to come out now.”


Manet, who had been standing in the middle of the apartment, walked over to a sofa covered with plaster dust and sat down.

“Did you hear me, Mendel? You can come down.”

Manet heard a faint movement. There was the sound of a sliding latch bolt, then the bottom of one of the paintings on the upper wall started to lift up, until Mendel Janusky could be seen lying behind it, pushing it forward with his hand. The top of the painting within the gilt molding was hinged along its entire length. The whole thing came up like a flap on a bread box. Janusky had been lying on his side in a narrow cavity, barely forty centimeters deep, which had been hollowed out of the brick wall behind the painting.

“Can you make it, Mendel?”

“Yes, I’m just stiff as a board. Give me a second.”

Slowly, he crawled out from under the bottom of the painting and onto the wide ledge in front of it. Then he swung his body over the edge, his foot searching for the top of the pilaster. When he found it, he extended his other foot to the base, but it slipped off. He lost his grip on the ledge and crashed to the floor. Once he was out from under it, the painting dropped back into place.

Manet ran over to Janusky, helped him up, and, with great difficulty, guided him over to the sofa. Janusky was breathing heavily, and his clothes were soaked with sweat. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it, old friend?” said Manet, patting Janusky’s knee.

“You wouldn’t have anything to drink, Auguste?”

“I most certainly do. I knew you would be thirsty and hungry, so I brought you a bottle of wine and a hunk of bread.”

Janusky pulled the cork out of the bottle and gulped down its contents, then bit off a piece of bread with the ferocity of an animal.

“You must forgive my manners.”

Manet laughed and patted him on his shoulder.

“Innocent people died today because of me, Auguste. I heard it all. I can’t do this anymore. After I finish this wine, I’m walking right across that street and turning myself in. I should’ve done it months ago,” said Janusky in a voice shaking with emotion.

“Because of their sacrifice, you must escape. If you don’t, everything up until now will have been in vain.”

“But I’m responsible for their deaths, Auguste.”

“What’s done is done, Mendel. People are dying every minute in this war; that’s the way it’s going to be for a long time before we win this thing.”

“You actually still believe we can win? I admire your faith. Mine vanished months ago.”

“Good triumphed this afternoon, didn’t it?”

“That, my friend, was a miracle.”

“And a clever bit of design to hide you up there,” said Manet as he gazed up at the painting.

“Even better than at rue de Bassano. Does your architect know what the word mensch means?”

“Yes, I once explained that word to him.”

“Please tell him again for me that he’s a mensch.”

“I’ll never see him again. He’s made arrangements to leave the city. But I think he now knows that.”

“So what’s next, my old friend? Did your architect prepare another hiding place for me?”

“After today, it’s become too dangerous for all that. You’re going to Spain, tonight. It’s extremely risky, but I think we can manage it.”

“After today’s experience, it’ll seem like child’s play.”

“We must leave now; the building could still be under surveillance from across the street. Do you by any chance happen to know the Lord’s Prayer?”

“No, Auguste, they neglected to teach me that in Hebrew school. What, are you going to Christianize me?”

Manet walked over to the side of the door of the apartment and picked up a large bundle wrapped in brown paper and handed it to Janusky.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Please put these on,” said Manet.