Michael Wallner - April in Paris

This book has been optimized for viewing

at a monitor setting of 1024 x 768 pixels.

April

in

Paris

April

in

Paris

Michael Wallner

Translated from the German

by John Cullen

a n c h o r b o o k s

A Division of Random House, Inc.

New York

FIRST ANCHOR BOOKS EDITION, MARCH 2008

Copyright 2006 by Luchterhand Literaturverlag, a division of Verlagsgruppe Random House GmbH. International Rights Management: Susanna Lea Associates, Paris.

English translation copyright 2007 by John Cullen Allrightsreserved.PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyAnchorBooks,adivisionof RandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork,andinCanadabyRandomHouseofCanada Limited,Toronto.OriginallypublishedinhardcoverintheUnitedStates byDoubleday,adivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork,in2006.

www.anchorbooks.com

Anchor Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

April in Paris by Michael Wallner was first published in 2006 under the title April in Paris by Luchterhand Literaturverlag, an imprint of Verlagsgruppe Random House GmbH.

Book design by Caroline Cunningham

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Wallner, Michael, 1958

[April in Paris. English]

April in Paris / Michael Wallner ; translated from the German by John Cullen. 1st ed.

p. cm.

1. Paris (France)History19401944Fiction. 2. World War, 19391945France

ParisFiction. 3. World War, 19391945Underground movementsFranceParis

Fiction. I. Cullen, John. II. Title.

PT2685.A4742A66713 2006

833.92dc22

2006020284

eISBN: 978-0-307-38952-7

v1.0

For John and Martha Wallner

Pont

Royal,

1943

1

Ilearned about the transfer before noon. The small stripes of light had reached the windowsill. My major came in and kept one hand on the doorknob while gesturing to me with the other to keep my seat. He wanted to know if the hogwash from Marseille was ready yet. I pointed to the half-written sheet still in the typewriter. I could go when I reached the end of the page, he said.

And the dispatch from Lagny-sur-Marne? I asked, surprised.

Someone else will have to do it. Youre needed elsewhere.

I pressed my knees together under the table. In those days, many people were being sent to the front.

Im being reassigned?

Rue des Saussaies has lost a translator. The major ran his hand down the left side of his uniform coat. German Horsemans Badge, War Merit Cross. He said hed do all he could to get me 4 . M I C H A E L W A L L N E R

back. I shouldnt worry, he said; my transfer would be only temporary.

What happened to the translator from rue des Saussaies?

He was run over and killed last night.

I flinched. Partisans?

Of course not. The guy was drunk, and he went staggering over a bridge. Because of the blackout, the patrol car saw him too late. Unfortunately, he didnt die right away. Horrible. Anyway, the request for an interpreter wound up on my desk. You seem to have a reputation in rue des Saussaies, the major said with a rare smile. They specifically asked for you.

My back stiffened. I glanced across the room toward the wall map, scale 1:500,000. Arrows, hatching, the plaster rosette over the door, the remains of cloth wallpaper from the time when people still lived here. My desk, the French dictionary, badly chewed pencils. I was going to miss the lovely view out over the line of roofs to the west.

The major looked at me gloomily. Finish the Marseille thing.

Then take the rest of the day off. You start over there tomorrow morning. Youll be back in a few days. Those folks arent particularly fond of strange faces.

I stood up and saluted; the major absentmindedly raised his arm. I remained standing even after he left the room. The sunlight came through the window and cast a shadow like a cross on the wall. All at once, I was cold. I buttoned my top button and grabbed my cap, as though I was about to leave. Then I put it down again, lowered myself onto the chair, read the French original, and began typing the translation with two fingers.

A P R I L I N P A R I S .

5

You could have gone another way, I said to myself. How careless, to walk down rue des Saussaies, of all streets. The black-and-silver uniform appeared quite suddenly, right in front of SS

headquarters. A brief exchange of words. Did he ask for a light?

Youd better be careful. Only translate expressions from the dictionary. Stare at the table. Never look anyone in the face. Forget whatever they let you see. In the evening, youll go to your hotel; in the morning, youll report for duty on time. Until they dont need you anymore. Then youll go back to your major, who doesnt want to do anything but enjoy the city and relish the role of the conqueror and leaves it to you to push arrows and numbers around and adorns your reports with his name. As long as you remain indispensable, hell keep them from sending you into the real war.

The Pont Royal was standing in water up to its shoulders, only half a meter shy of the high-water mark set in 1700 and something. Fishermen leaned over the parapet wall. The stones were already warm, and people were sitting around with half-closed eyes, facing the sun. When they heard the hobnailed boots approaching, some turned away. I plunged into the hubbub of the Latin Quarter. The more people there were, the less conspicuously foreign I was. The waters of the Seine raged in the steel framework of the Pont Solfrino. A stout Oriental woman at a produce stand picked up three miserable apples and felt them, one after another.

Not far away, a private first class and his comrade stood gawking at her. A silver half-moon glistened on her forehead.

6 . M I C H A E L WA L L N E R

Great-looking women theyve got here, said the private first class.

The other nodded. Id be willing to sully the Aryan race with a bit of that.

Despite her corpulence, she was elegant, but she behaved as though she had no right to be on the street. When the owner of the shop came out and glared at her suspiciously, she put the apples back. After a few uncertain steps, she noticed the soldiers, who were standing in her way with grins fixed on their faces.

I stepped behind the field gray uniforms and ducked into a narrow side street. I was walking uncomfortably fast, setting a blistering pace, in fact, when what I actually wanted to do was stroll. I counted the hotel signs as they glided past overhead. Go into one, I thought, ask for a room on the top floor. Take off your bootseasy does itopen the floor-to-ceiling window, and let time slip motionlessly by.

I slowed my pace. The shop across the street was several rooms deep. Back in the farthest room, a lightbulb was burning. I crossed the street. In front of the entrance, there was a stack of chairs with pink coverings. I bent down and touched the splitting silk. Someone in the rear of the shop raised his head. The light made his face stand out sharply against the shadowy background. When he looked at me, I straightened up quickly, as if Id been caught doing something forbidden.

I looked for wider streets, more people, more of a crush. Most of the shops were already closed, empty behind reddish brown metal bars, offering nothing to the hurrying passersby. A bakery was still open, though the line was long. I joined it, avoiding peoples eyes. They kept their distance from the uniform. I bought a A P R I L I N P A R I S .