April in Paris Read Online Free PDF Page B

coat she wore for work. Then I could see whether I’d guessed right. One day, it was the green one with the pale blue stripes. On the next, a particularly warm day, she had chosen a dress with red polka dots; the skirt swung out around her legs as she walked. As soon as she passed the Lubinsky, I’d pay—without haste—wait until she was almost out of sight, and follow her. She didn’t take the most direct route to rue de Gaspard; instead, she’d make a detour past the lycée and linger at newsstands, studying the headlines. She usually bought vegetables and picked up a loaf of bread. I watched her while she daw-dled, drawing out the last minutes before the curfew so she could stay outside as long as possible. Finally—it would already be dark—she’d stop in front of the black gate, take a last look at the busy street, and disappear. I rarely followed her past this point.
    On the occasions when I did go through the entrance, I could hear Chantal’s footsteps echoing up ahead. When she passed the big stone, the light coming from the bookshop provided me with a last glimpse of the color of her dress.
    Once she vanished from sight, my day was over, too. I crossed the Pont Royal, went into the abandoned building, slipped into my uniform and boots, and returned to my hotel. I’d encounter A P R I L I N PA R I S . 37
    fathers rushing to be with their families and mothers pushing their baby carriages home at top speed. Around this time of day, Parisians had an irritated look in their eyes; instead of enjoying the evening, they were fearful of being found on the streets of their own city. I walked into the hotel, entered my name in the sentry’s register, left a message for Hirschbiegel informing him that I was too tired to go out, and threw myself on the bed without removing my boots. Throughout that time, I slept very badly.
    If the telephone man on the other side of the wall didn’t keep me awake, then the warning shots fired by the patrols enforcing the curfew did the job. I often heard screaming, but only in my dreams. The red spots on Chantal’s dress glimmered in the gray hours before dawn.

6

    Her name was Anna Rieleck-Sostmann, and she was unusually tall. She worked for Leibold, ostensibly as a typist, but in reality she was responsible for the organization of his entire department. The lower ranks, not one of whom had graduated from anything resembling high school, were glad to be under the direction of Anna Rieleck-Sostmann. She was the queen bee of Leibold’s staff.
    When I stepped into the courtyard during the break one afternoon, she spoke to me. “I saw you,” she said. She was eating a sandwich on dark bread. Everyone else had to make do with French bread, the insubstantial white stuff we called Luftbrot, “air bread.” What army stores could have supplied her with black bread? And I smelled liverwurst, real German liverwurst.
    “You saw me?” I leaned on the projecting section of the wall.
    “Don’t we see each other every day?”
    A P R I L I N PA R I S . 39
    Although the weather was warm, Rieleck-Sostmann was wearing a calf-length coat of white fur, either rabbit or cat. Her pinned-up hair bobbed up and down as she chewed. I watched her jaw muscles.
    “You go around in civilian clothes after work.” Her gray-green eyes scrutinized me curiously.
    I shifted my weight onto both legs so I wouldn’t fall over. I started feeling sick on the spot. “You must have me confused with someone else,” I replied.
    “Stop it,” she said, cutting me off. “Only senior officers are allowed to go out in civilian clothes, and then only with special permission.”
    I knew the rules. Such offenses were harshly punished, most recently with marching orders for the Eastern Front. “I didn’t know that,” I said, searching Rieleck-Sostmann’s face.
    “You’re not eating anything,” Rieleck-Sostmann said.
    “I don’t eat until after work.”
    “Because of the interrogations?” Her features didn’t