The Paris Architect: A Novel

“This is most stylish,” Janusky said, holding up a priest’s cassock. “At least it’s not a nun’s habit.” He pulled out a hat, shoes, socks, trousers, and white shirt and collar.

“You are joining the priesthood for a while. In fact, tonight you’re going on a pilgrimage to Lourdes, which as you know is quite close to the Spanish border.”

“Am I stopping there to pray for a miracle?”

“You’ve already had one miracle today. Don’t press your luck.”

Janusky undressed and put on the new clothes and hat. He twirled around like a fashion model in front of an amused Manet.

“So? I don’t look too Jewish, do I?”

“Yes, you do. We can’t do anything about that nose, so keep your hat pulled down tight. And carry these rosary beads on that belt there. But first things first. Repeat after me…Our Father, who art in heaven…”

“Barukh atah adonai, eloheinu…”

“Stop.”





66





“He’s not coming.”

“He’ll come.”

“Is this the right spot? You didn’t get it mixed up, did you? And what about the time?”

“This is the right spot and the right time to be here. His message was very specific. Please don’t worry,” replied Lucien in a cheerful tone that did a good job of masking his fear.

“I can’t help it,” said Bette as she looked at the backseat of the Citro?n, where Emile and Carole were sleeping next to Pierre, who was wide awake and totally calm. He smiled at her.

“You’ll have plenty of time for worrying. We’ve got a four-hour ride to the Swiss border. Anything can happen between here and there,” replied Lucien, looking straight ahead through the windshield into the cold December night.

“That’s reassuring, my love.”

“That’s the truth. And you always told me to tell you the truth.”

“How do you know you can trust him? He’s a German.”

Lucien smiled at this question. It was only 9:45, and he knew Herzog would show up. An envelope had been delivered to Lucien’s office instructing him to drive to St. Dizier, a town to the west of Paris. When he got there, he was to take a country road heading southeast from the town center and wait behind the ruin of a stone barn. They had been packed and ready to go all day but had to wait until dark to leave Paris. Waiting in Bette’s flat had been unbearable. Any minute they expected Schlegal and his men to crash through the door. The little talk Schlegal had mentioned still hadn’t been scheduled, but Lucien knew he wouldn’t forget about it. He and Pierre sat by the window to keep watch for the Gestapo to pull up in front of the apartment building. If they came, Pierre and the two children would go into the window hiding place, and Monsieur Manet would fetch them later. Lucien and Bette had arranged with Manet, who was not yet under suspicion, to care for the children and get them out of France. Pierre didn’t want to hide, but Lucien, in the only time he ever lost his temper with the boy, ordered him to do what he was told. The hours dragged by and mercifully nothing happened.

“He studied at the Bauhaus, you know.”

“So that makes him trustworthy? Because he’s an architect?”

“A modernist architect.”