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Authors: Michael Wallner
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sight, Hirschbiegel,” I said, sitting down on the tiny stool.
“Did the lady you were with yesterday eventually calm down?”
He tilted his head, pressing his fat chin to one side. “What unit is she attached to?”
“She’s only a casual acquaintance,” I said. I wanted to keep Rieleck-Sostmann out of this.
“And how are things with the ladies otherwise?”
“Pickings are rather slim at the moment.”
“Your blonde Valkyrie is anything but slim,” he said, full of admiration.
“Comrade-love,” I said.
Hirschbiegel laughed out loud. “Comradeship is a wonderful thing!” His body rolled over in the tub. “When are you going to take me along on one of your forays?”
“I really don’t like going to the bordellos anymore,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “They rob you of your illusions.”
The red face nodded gravely. “You’re hungry for company, but you can only be a stranger, a foreigner.” Suddenly, he braced himself on the sides of the bathtub. “I made you the offer!” he cried out. “Haven’t I told you more than once that the flat is at your disposal?”
I observed the pattern in the tiles. “Right, you have mentioned that.”
“If you’d only help me a little,” he begged.
A P R I L I N PA R I S . 67
“How is it that your parents bought a place in Paris before the war?”
“My father’s boyhood dream,” Hirschbiegel replied. “Dad always wanted to be a painter. He ignored the fairy tales about our
‘hereditary enemy’ and bought the apartment back in the days of the Weimar Republic. The whole transaction was handled through a Jewish proxy—to this day, everything’s under the name Wasserlof. A Hirschbiegel in Châtelet would be too conspicuous.”
The lieutenant turned off the water tap with his toes. Sudden silence.
“So the apartment’s empty?” I asked mildly.
“Isn’t that a crying shame?” He sat up. “The place isn’t big, but there’s enough room to have a good time. When can I show it to you?”
“Maybe tomorrow?” I said a touch too quickly.
The colossus rose from his bath with a mighty rush of water.
“What’s up?” he asked, standing amid glittering fountains. “First I hear nothing from you for weeks, and now you’re in a hurry?”
He reached for the towel.
“The war can’t go on forever.” I looked out the window.
With one foot still in the tub, he looked at me. “You’re right.
Pluck the rose before it fades. But I can’t tomorrow. There’s a situation review, and then in the evening there’s bridge with the colonel.” Leaving a trail of damp streaks, he left the bathroom.
“Maybe I could”—I stood up slowly—“take a look at it all the same.”
“Without me?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Just to see what we’d need—to make it cozy.” I followed him.
68 . M I C H A E L WA L L N E R
He stepped over to the chest of drawers and took out a small, delicate-looking key, silver-plated and chased. “You can enter the building at any time, but the concierge doesn’t know you. You think she’s going to let an enemy get past her?”
I considered telling him about Monsieur Antonie. “That looks like a key for a display case,” I said instead. “Not for a flat.”
After a little hesitation, he pressed the key into my hand. “Do you already have somebody in mind we could bring there for …”
His face glowed hopefully.
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” I went to the door.
“Wait a minute.” He came after me in his towel. “You don’t know where it is.”
I made a note of the address.
“And one more thing, Hirschbiegel,” I said, pointing to his gramophone. “Please, please, put on another record.”
10
The following evening, for the first time and not without some second thoughts, I left my ID tags in the hotel room.
More carefully than usual, I transformed myself into Monsieur Antoine. Near the bridge, I bought a rose and stuck it into my lapel as I crossed over. I returned the
“Did the lady you were with yesterday eventually calm down?”
He tilted his head, pressing his fat chin to one side. “What unit is she attached to?”
“She’s only a casual acquaintance,” I said. I wanted to keep Rieleck-Sostmann out of this.
“And how are things with the ladies otherwise?”
“Pickings are rather slim at the moment.”
“Your blonde Valkyrie is anything but slim,” he said, full of admiration.
“Comrade-love,” I said.
Hirschbiegel laughed out loud. “Comradeship is a wonderful thing!” His body rolled over in the tub. “When are you going to take me along on one of your forays?”
“I really don’t like going to the bordellos anymore,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “They rob you of your illusions.”
The red face nodded gravely. “You’re hungry for company, but you can only be a stranger, a foreigner.” Suddenly, he braced himself on the sides of the bathtub. “I made you the offer!” he cried out. “Haven’t I told you more than once that the flat is at your disposal?”
I observed the pattern in the tiles. “Right, you have mentioned that.”
“If you’d only help me a little,” he begged.
A P R I L I N PA R I S . 67
“How is it that your parents bought a place in Paris before the war?”
“My father’s boyhood dream,” Hirschbiegel replied. “Dad always wanted to be a painter. He ignored the fairy tales about our
‘hereditary enemy’ and bought the apartment back in the days of the Weimar Republic. The whole transaction was handled through a Jewish proxy—to this day, everything’s under the name Wasserlof. A Hirschbiegel in Châtelet would be too conspicuous.”
The lieutenant turned off the water tap with his toes. Sudden silence.
“So the apartment’s empty?” I asked mildly.
“Isn’t that a crying shame?” He sat up. “The place isn’t big, but there’s enough room to have a good time. When can I show it to you?”
“Maybe tomorrow?” I said a touch too quickly.
The colossus rose from his bath with a mighty rush of water.
“What’s up?” he asked, standing amid glittering fountains. “First I hear nothing from you for weeks, and now you’re in a hurry?”
He reached for the towel.
“The war can’t go on forever.” I looked out the window.
With one foot still in the tub, he looked at me. “You’re right.
Pluck the rose before it fades. But I can’t tomorrow. There’s a situation review, and then in the evening there’s bridge with the colonel.” Leaving a trail of damp streaks, he left the bathroom.
“Maybe I could”—I stood up slowly—“take a look at it all the same.”
“Without me?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Just to see what we’d need—to make it cozy.” I followed him.
68 . M I C H A E L WA L L N E R
He stepped over to the chest of drawers and took out a small, delicate-looking key, silver-plated and chased. “You can enter the building at any time, but the concierge doesn’t know you. You think she’s going to let an enemy get past her?”
I considered telling him about Monsieur Antonie. “That looks like a key for a display case,” I said instead. “Not for a flat.”
After a little hesitation, he pressed the key into my hand. “Do you already have somebody in mind we could bring there for …”
His face glowed hopefully.
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” I went to the door.
“Wait a minute.” He came after me in his towel. “You don’t know where it is.”
I made a note of the address.
“And one more thing, Hirschbiegel,” I said, pointing to his gramophone. “Please, please, put on another record.”
10
The following evening, for the first time and not without some second thoughts, I left my ID tags in the hotel room.
More carefully than usual, I transformed myself into Monsieur Antoine. Near the bridge, I bought a rose and stuck it into my lapel as I crossed over. I returned the
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