The Paris Architect: A Novel

Misha had already taken a shine to the room by jumping onto the bed and curling up in a ball against the pillow.

“You see, Misha likes his new room,” said Lucien, which made Pierre smile. The boy reached over and rubbed the cat under his chin. Lucien was beginning to like playing the part of father. Even though Pierre was a Jew and could get him (and everyone else in the apartment building) tortured and killed, he was the kind of son Lucien would’ve loved to have—intelligent, polite, and thoughtful.

“So, do you like your room, Pierre?”

“It’s very nice, just as nice as the one in my old home, on the rue Oudinot.”

Lucien had been careful not to ask Pierre any questions about his past, especially in the office, where Alain was always hovering about. He really didn’t want to know. But now in the privacy of his home, he did. At least a little bit.

“So…when did you last see your parents?”

“Just before the roundup in May,” said Pierre in a barely audible voice.

Lucien had to lean toward him to catch what he was saying.

“I hear you had brothers and a sister?” asked Lucien, knowing he was venturing into sensitive territory, but he pressed on.

“They’re gone. I don’t know where, but I guess they’re dead too. It happened when the Germans shot Madame Charpointier.”

“She took care of you after your parents were taken?’

“Yes, that’s when we made up the story about being Christians. My father arranged it even before they took him away. We had to learn prayers like the Hail Mary and the Our Father and even go to mass to understand how it worked. He made us really practice hard because he wanted us to be safe, but it didn’t work.”

“How did the Germans find out?”

“I never found out. I think someone betrayed us.”

“And how did you escape?”

Pierre remained silent, and Lucien now felt foolish for forcing a twelve-year-old to relive such terrible memories. He was about to change the subject when the boy started talking.

“They didn’t find me. I was up in the attic, and they never came up there. I don’t know why, but they didn’t. I was up there when I saw Madame shot.”

“You saw her killed?” exclaimed Lucien.

“I looked out the attic window and saw them shoot her. She was arguing with the Germans as they put Jean-Claude, Philippe, and Isabelle in the car. I was saved because I was smoking.”

“Smoking?”

“I’d sneak up to the attic to smoke. That’s what I was doing when they came to get us and I heard all this…”

To Lucien’s surprise, Pierre suddenly broke down crying. After a few seconds, Lucien hesitantly put his arm around the boy and gently pulled him close.

“I shouldn’t have been up there,” Pierre cried. “I shouldn’t have been up there.”

Lucien ran his hand through Pierre’s hair and patted his back. When Pierre pulled away, Lucien saw that he was ashamed of crying. The boy didn’t need unnecessary shame on top of everything else. Lucien walked over to get a package from the dining room table and handed it to Pierre.

“I thought you should have a homecoming gift, Pierre.”

The boy wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater and eagerly unwrapped the package. He smiled when he found the set of Roman soldiers he’d seen in the store window on the rue du Roi-de-Sicile.





37





“And where are we going so damn early in the morning?” said Lucien, who was annoyed at Herzog for rousting him out of bed at seven in the morning.