The Paris Architect: A Novel

Lucien turned and walked back to his car. Climbing into the driver’s seat, he gave the German a final wave of the hand. Bette said nothing and looked straight ahead. He started up the engine and drove off.

Herzog lit a cigarette as he watched the red taillights of the car get smaller and smaller until they were just tiny specks of light, disappearing over the horizon. He took a deep drag and looked up into the cold night sky and saw a sea of stars above him. He knew nothing about constellations or astronomy, but he enjoyed the beautiful sight. In Paris, he had never even noticed the night sky, but out in the country it was immense, almost drawing you up into the heavens. One couldn’t help but be awed by the sight. As he smoked, he continued to stare at the sky, marveling at the vast number and configurations of stars. Finally, he threw down the butt, stamped it out, and turned to look down the road. After about a minute, headlights appeared on the horizon. Herzog took one more look up into the sky then walked slowly into the woods, where he had hidden his car. He opened the front passenger door and pulled out a green canvas bag and a machine gun. Behind some bushes at the very edge of the road, he waited as a car raced toward him. When the car was about fifty meters away, he stepped up onto the edge of the road and fired the machine gun. Bullets ripped through the windshield and side windows, and the car careened to the right and ran off the other side of the road. Herzog walked toward a gray-green German staff car, which came to a dead stop almost directly opposite where he was standing. A soldier was slumped over the wheel, and two officers were moving around in the backseat. Setting the machine gun down on the road, Herzog casually reached into the canvas bag he carried on his other shoulder and pulled out a stick hand grenade. He moved a few steps closer and threw the grenade by its long wooden handle. It skidded under the car and exploded, causing it to rise a meter off the ground and burst into a ball of flame. Herzog watched the inferno for a few seconds then walked back to his car and pulled it out from its hiding place. Driving back to Paris, he smiled to himself. He knew Schlegal would never ignore an anonymous tip.

***

As Lucien drove through the night, he realized he wasn’t scared. Despite the danger still ahead of them, they were going to make it. He was certain of it. As he stared at the beams of the headlights piercing the empty road stretching in front of him, he smiled as he imagined what his father would’ve thought of what had happened in the last six months. His son had been a goddamn fool. For a bunch of Jews! What madness. “Didn’t I teach you anything, boy?” Professor Bernard would’ve sighed and said, “A child’s failures are the parent’s failures.” But Lucien knew he hadn’t failed in the least. He thought he didn’t have it in him to help another human being. But to his great surprise, he did. He was proud of it. And he had proved his father wrong.

He was amazed that such good fortune had come to him in such terrible times. They say that nothing good comes of war, but that wasn’t true. Meeting Bette, his friendship with Herzog and Manet, and above all finding Pierre. Their paths would’ve never crossed if it hadn’t been for the war.

“Do you think everything will be all right?” whispered Bette in a scared voice. She had not said a word since they drove off.

“Everything will be fine.”

Bette leaned over and kissed his cheek, then laid her head on his shoulder. Lucien knew she believed him, and that absolute trust gave him a very comforting feeling. He turned the heat up and gently pushed his foot down on the gas pedal so the acceleration wouldn’t wake anyone. The Citro?n, with its quiet purring motor, was like a warm cocoon protecting them as it sped through the cold night.