One drew his pistol again and pointed it at her. The other returned his gaze to Luki.
Friday, November 29, 1940
THE AMERICAN CONSULATE, MARSEILLE
You’re not a Communist, I hope, and never have been?” Vice Consul Bingham asked Edouard. He had a file open on his desk.
“Never,” Edouard confirmed.
“And the French Republic interned you in Camp des Milles, then Vichy let you go?”
Edouard hesitated.
“If you escaped, that’s better,” Bingham offered. “We don’t have to wonder if your release means you’re a Nazi sympathizer or even a spy.”
“I did escape,” he said, a truth, if a partial one. He’d both escaped and been released, if Nanée was to be believed.
Bingham examined one document, then another. “You have good friends among the American press.”
Those must be the affidavits in support of his application.
“Married?” Bingham asked.
“Widowed.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Edouard nodded. “My Lucca—”
“Lucca Moss?” Harry Bingham smiled troublingly, and set his pen down. “Ah, now, that is interesting. I recently issued a passport for a girl in Paris named Lucca Moss. An American girl. What an odd coincidence.”
Edouard sat silently.
“Such an unusual name,” Bingham said.
Edouard wasn’t sure whether to agree or not.
“An adorable child, if a photograph doesn’t lie.” Bingham smiled, his cheeks becoming even rounder.
He set aside another document then, to reveal a visa with Edouard’s photograph attached on the bottom left. The top left corner was blank, to mark the details of Edouard’s arrival in the United States, but the top right side was filled in: American Consulate at Marseille, France. Date November 29, 1940. Seen: This bearer, Edouard Moss, who is without nationality . . . The validity of this Immigration Visa expires on March 29, 1941.
At the bottom right, listed as other travel documents: This Affidavit in Lieu of Passport issued to Edouard Moss by the American Consulate at Marseille, France, dated November 29 and valid indefinitely.
Luki had an American passport. Edouard now had a visa. If Nanée could get Luki to Marseille and they could get out of France and to Lisbon, they could get to America, and they could stay.
Friday, November 29, 1940
MADAME DUPIN’S TOMB
The man pointing the gun spoke the words of Mutti and Papa. Tante Nanée didn’t understand him. She said she had come to visit the tomb.
“Das M?dchen soll auch stehen,” he said. The girl should also stand.
“The tomb,” Tante Nanée repeated. She took a step toward the man.
The German cocked the gun. “Das M?dchen!”
Luki stood slowly.
“Was machst ihr hier?” the soldier demanded. What are you doing here?
Tante Nanée hid Luki behind her. “The tomb,” she repeated. “We came to pay respects.”
Das Grab, Luki thought. Like Mutti. Mutti went to a tomb, which was the way she got to the angels. Papa had told her that, or Reverend Mother had.
“Das M?dchen!” the man repeated. Did he want Luki to answer? Did he know she understood his words?
“Sie ist deine Mutter?” the man demanded.
Luki looked up at Tante Nanée. “Maman is with the angels,” she said.
Both the soldiers’ faces softened.
Tante Nanée squeezed her hand. This was like when they walked to the castle. She was supposed to pretend she didn’t talk.
“Das ist das Grab deiner Mutter?” the one with the gun asked.
It wasn’t. It wasn’t her mother’s tomb, but Luki didn’t say that. She wished Pemmy were here to help her be brave.
He approached them. Tante Nanée tried to keep between Luki and him, but he knelt down to her level. He looked right at her.
“Ich habe eine Tochter in deinem Alter.” He had a daughter who was her age.
He put his gun away. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a hard candy. It smelled of lemons, even over the forest and mossy tomb smells.
Luki looked up at Tante Nanée, who nodded.
The man unwrapped the candy, and Luki took it and set it on her tongue.
Danke, she thought, but she said, “Thank you.”
“Danke?” the soldier asked, and he nodded as if he knew he was right.
Tante Nanée’s hand tightened over hers again.
Luki nodded too, but she didn’t say another word.
Friday, November 29, 1940
VICHY