April in Paris Read Online Free PDF

me.”
    “There are others.”
    “I can’t afford those.” I looked at him so unexpectedly that he turned his eyes aside.
    “I’ll show you such a bar sometime.” It sounded like an order.
    34 . M I C H A E L WA L L N E R
    He straightened his back. “The doctor should have had enough time to bring the kid around by now.”
    “What will happen to him—afterward?” I ground out the cigarette butt under my shoe.
    “Drancy,” Leibold answered. “But that’s not my decision.”
    The prison camp in Drancy was filled to overflowing; firing squads freed up space for new arrivals. And trains left every day for the armament factories on the Rhine.

    I spent the whole evening sitting in my room and reading. Later, I stared at the darkened windows. The man on the telephone next door declared that Dorine had failed to meet his expectations.
    Hirschbiegel, wallowing in his bath over my head, played “Ma Pomme” on his gramophone eight times in a row.
    The next afternoon, desire and curiosity overcame fear once again. I pulled the checkered suit out of the wardrobe, took a fresh shirt, and picked out a tie. When the sentry saw me with my laundry bag for the second time in two days, he made a joke about cleanliness, hoping to get a laugh out of the toilet attendant. She said, “ Une bonne soirée, ’err Corporal.”
    I stepped out onto the street, walked to the passageway, and did my quick-change routine as smoothly as an actor. I laid out my street shoes, unlaced and ready, so I wouldn’t have to take so much as a step in the dirty corridor in my stocking feet. Finally, I packed the parts of my uniform in the cloth bag in such a way that later I’d be able to take them out and put them on in the correct order.
    A P R I L I N PA R I S . 35
    I was Antoine again! Stepping lightly as I strolled down the street, I bought a flower just so I could hold it in my hand. Without ever getting too far from the river, I walked southeast, passed the two islands, and crossed over to the left bank of the river just before coming to the Gare d’Austerlitz.
    Monsieur Antoine turned into rue Jacob and sat down in the Café Lubinsky, across the square from the barbershop. I ordered un crème. As there was no milk, they served me powdered milk in a little marmalade bowl with my coffee. I pushed my hat back on my head and waited. At the table next to me, a woman was telling a story about a sixteen-year-old girl from the neighborhood who, out of unrequited love, had denounced a schoolmate. The girl wrote an anonymous letter to the German commanding general, the woman said. The military police showed up at three in the morning. The young man was able to make good his escape at the last minute, she explained. He got away over the rooftops.
    I raised my head: Chantal’s silhouette had appeared behind the glass panes of the barbershop. I kept my eyes glued to the entrance. After a few minutes, she stepped outside, shook some clumps of hair into a garbage can, and held the door for a customer. A gray-haired cop approached from the other side. They stood together, he gesticulating with his nightstick, she pushing her ringlets behind her ear. The cop put his hand to the brim of his cap, took his leave, and strolled on. Chantal went into the shop and spoke to the barber. They laughed.
    The following afternoon, I realized she didn’t work at the barbershop every day; I waited for her in vain. The day after that, she chatted with the friendly Jew who had the haberdashery shop 36 . M I C H A E L WA L L N E R
    next door. He was the father of the youngsters who played in the street. Since the SS major’s visit, the barbershop seemed to be popular with the Germans. One afternoon, I counted four men in field gray uniforms waiting for a haircut.
    At 7:05, Chantal would pull down the rolling shutters. A minute later, she’d appear out of the side alley, closing her hand-bag. Until that moment, I’d have to guess what dress she had on under the long white