Luki was twenty paces ahead of him, with Nanée, both of them safer without him. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do but act as if he were alone and these men of no concern to him.
If they arrested him, Nanée would take Luki to the States.
The bowlers too grew silent, attending only to their little metal balls, pretending innocence and indifference, but their quiet was telling. Edouard’s instinct was to photograph them, the watchers pretending not to watch, but he didn’t dare draw attention to himself.
The Gestapo took a tour around the square, intimidating merely by their presence. One fell into step with Nanée, who held tightly to Luki’s hand. It was all Edouard could do to keep his distance as the man asked her in German if she would like to join them for the evening. She appeared to understand his intent, if not his words.
She set her suitcase down and, with her free hand, smoothed her blue pin-striped lapel above the top button of her coat as if drawing power from the fabric. “I understand that when I wear a short skirt, the party will come to me,” she responded in English, “but if you could see beneath my coat, you’d realize my skirt is rather long.”
The man tried to puzzle out what she was saying. “Amerikanerin?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so,” she said. “Not the master race.”
He said, “Ich hei?e Robert.”
Nanée hesitated, then scooped up Luki and settled her on her hip. What the devil was she doing? She took Gussie’s book in her left hand.
“Robert,” she repeated, pronouncing the name in the French way rather than the German. “Of course you are.” She seemed to gather herself somehow, then said, “Are you an honorable man, Robert?” Repeating his name again as if it were French.
She said to Luki, “Sweetheart, I wonder if this man has a chocolate for you?”
Luki fixed a shockingly steady gaze on the man.
“Schokolade?” the German repeated. “Nein ich . . .”
He called ahead to his Gestapo friends who were circling the bowlers on the square. “Hat jemand Schokolade für das Kind?”
Not a single bowler looked up. They continued studying the little silver balls intently, no one making a sound. But the German’s friends laughed at him and told him to come along.
Nanée put Gussie’s book in Luki’s left hand, took up her suitcase, and walked on, still with Luki on her hip. A mother and daughter headed home from the train station, perhaps.
The Gestapo toured the square and returned to their cars. They pulled forward only a short way, to the nicest hotel in town.
Sunday, December 8, 1940
BANYULS-SUR-MER
Edouard knocked on the door of a well-kept three-story house directly on the beach just across from the public toilets, not far enough away from the hotel the Germans had stopped at for comfort. The place looked even more deserted than the train station, but Varian had warned them that this might be the case. Maurice came every couple weeks to let the Fittkos know who would be coming and when, but matters had been complicated by the change of mayors. In the event that Hans and Lisa weren’t there, Varian had told Edouard and Nanée to take Luki down to the beach and watch for their return.
They left their suitcases and Gussie’s book tucked up against a wall by the door, enough out of sight, and carried on along to the beach, away from town; they didn’t want to be visible to a Nazi looking out his hotel window. They found a suitable bench and settled in to wait. Just a family on an evening stroll, stopping at a bench to watch the sea. In wintertime. In the dark. In a cold wind. But at least they now didn’t have the suitcases to give them away.
“I love you, Father,” Luki said, practicing that line of English Nanée had taught her.
“I think you can call me ‘Papa’ even in English,” he said.
“I don’t want to say it wrong,” Luki said. “Reverend Mother told me I mustn’t use any of Mutti’s words. I mustn’t even call Mutti Mutti. I must use the Lady Mary’s language. I must call her Maman.”
Edouard looked around. There seemed no better option than this for waiting. He pulled Luki into his lap and stroked her hair.
He said to Nanée, “The Virgin Mary speaks French?”
Nanée laughed a little, and Edouard laughed with her. It felt good to laugh off the tension.
“My understanding is the Lady Mary speaks to us in whatever language we prefer,” Nanée said.
Luki said, “When the bad men use Mutti’s words, does the Lady Mary understand what they’re saying like I do?”