“It seems silly that I trusted her so quickly; after all, she spoke German and could have been in collusion with them. Wouldn’t that be like a fairy tale: the beautiful woman who bewitches the children and takes them away? But that is not what happened. We had so few things of value, only a few changes of clothes and a toy or two, photographs. I ran back out to the big black car, threw our cases in the back and sat on the seat beside her while she drove us out of town. Not toward the chateau, which is where I now know Madame lives, but in the other direction, south toward the next village. The boys had fallen asleep, and Madame had me cover them with a blanket from head to toe.
“In the village I waited with them while she inquired at the market about eggs, but I think that was not all she was doing, for when she returned she told me that there was a family who would take the boys. They were in Vichy and it would be safer. She said that it was my decision. Can you imagine what I thought? She was so confident and had taken everything into her own hands and now she asked for my decision. I told her I couldn’t let them go, and she smiled and called me a fool. I had misunderstood. She was asking if I wanted to go with them, or send them on and stay with her. I started to explain that they were not really my nephews, and that Anthony’s parents were missing and I had been brought here to safety with my brother, in hopes that together we would escape whatever was coming. She laughed again, a short brittle laugh and said ‘Who do you think arranged for you to come? You and your brother and the little Schawinskie who is now called Rieux?’ and I nearly choked, for that was Anthony’s true name and suddenly I felt that she had had her eye on us from a distance the entire time, and that was why she had arrived at just the moment when we were to be discovered.”
The next pages were stuck together, damaged by water long ago. Agnes turned to the next legible section. “This is later,” she said. “Maybe months later? I don’t see a date.
“Last night after I was in bed I heard soft noises and I listened carefully, but couldn’t hear more and so I crept quietly into the kitchen. I had not heard a car or even footsteps and les Boches always arrived with lots of noise, but I was curious and worried. Creeping out of the hall what did I find? A man! When I walked into the kitchen, he turned so fast I thought he was going to strike me. Madame stopped his arm and laughed at the expressions on our faces. I don’t think I have ever heard her laugh before, and my heart rose. She introduced us very formally, and he scowled and said to her: I thought you said she wasn’t a nuisance. And what did Madame say? That, far from a nuisance, I am a protector. She was right! I had concealed behind my back a long knife, its blade honed to a sharp edge. They talked in low voices, ignoring me, but I didn’t want to go back to bed. I couldn’t with him there. His face was smeared with something to make it black, but his teeth flashed white when he spoke, and once he smiled directly at me I didn’t care what he said, I just wanted to hear him. He was not handsome like movie stars in the magazines, but there was something strong and confident in the way he carried himself, every move seemed controlled … like a panther outside a zoo. I think he has charisma.”
Arsov snorted and Agnes shot him a look.
“He stayed for some time, and when he left he bowed low over Madame’s hand and said something to her, then he walked right up to me and brushed his lips on my hand. I felt him like an electric shock, then he was gone, out the door and into the night. I stood looking at the door after it closed behind him until Madame laughed. I think I must have blushed to the roots of my hair, then I realized that this was the second time that night she had laughed and it felt good. Before I turned for my room she said to me: ‘I think Marcel will return much sooner than usual now.’”
Agnes looked at Arsov. He had his eyes closed and motioned with his hand for her to continue. “She writes,
“It is now the middle of the night but I am unable to sleep. I have said his name into my pillow and I had to bring my book out of hiding—although I am crouched at the hiding place in case the Germans return—to write about this day. He has to return! He kissed my hand and I have to see him again. (I think I must wash my hair and see if Madame has a pair of combs I may borrow. This roll I usually wear is ugly!)”
“I remember those combs,” Arsov whispered. “And her hair, when it was down on her shoulders, was the most beautiful sight in the world.”
“You were called Marcel,” Agnes said.
“Living in France, speaking my perfect French before I took care to forget it, you did not expect me to be called Vladimir? Many people used false names for our work; I used a false name always. Except with Anne-Marie and her brother. They knew my true name. I liked Marcel; to me it rang of France. It made me belong. It is strange to hear these words of hers spoken. I have read them many times in these last years but when you read them … they come to life for me. When you speak I can hear her.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor and Agnes looked up as Petit entered. He gaped in every direction at the objects in the bedroom. She motioned for him to be quiet, rising to meet him at the door.
“The girl, Mimi, she’s still not been found,” he said.