The Predators (30 page)

By this time we were at the barracks door. I opened and called out in an official sergeant voice, “Attention!”

22

It was not until the end of June that I finished the work on the jeeps that I had hidden in Paul’s friend’s garage. Without Felder and some of the other men, I had to find a few French mechanics who could work for me. Paul knew them all. They were older men whom the French had not drafted into the army. But there was one good thing about them. They knew their work and I found out that they had spent their lives working on automobiles. They were like artists.

There were times during the day that I couldn’t explain to them what I needed them to do because of the language. My French was pitiful and they didn’t understand a word of English. Finally Giselle came to the garage with me for a few hours each day and translated what I needed. With her help we managed to finish.

Then I had to pay them for their work. That took nine thousand dollars of my savings, which left me with seventeen grand. But it was worth it. The cars looked better than the day they were delivered new. Now, although the war was over and the French automobile companies were in production, it would be some time before they had cars to deliver. But a lot of our customers were willing to wait for their French autos.

Fortunately, Paul was on my side. There were still enough hustlers who would buy the jeeps. But the money was not as good as before. On July 25 I sold the last jeep. I wound up with twenty thousand of my own and a really perfect jeep, with an all-canvas top and Plexiglas clear windows on the side.

That summer in Paris was hell. It was hot and humid. But everybody was glad to go back to work. And as soon as everybody was back to work in a normal routine, then came vacation time. I never knew that in France vacation time was like religion. Everyone in Paris leaves town. When I would walk around I would see more American uniforms and Englishmen than French.

I sat at the table in the club with Paul. “What goes on with this? It doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t anyone want to get back to normal and stay normal?”

He laughed. “This is normal. Even during the war the French took their vacations.”

The fat man who covered the stage door and acted as bouncer came over to Paul and started speaking excitedly. “The radio in your office!” he exclaimed.

Paul gestured for me to follow him. We walked into the office. The announcer was also speaking excitedly. He spoke so fast that I couldn’t understand a word that he was saying.

After a moment, Paul turned to me. He was so excited that he scrambled his English with his French. From what I could understand, it was something about the Americans having dropped an atomic bomb in Japan, and that thousands of people had been killed.

He looked at me. I had never seen an expression of shock like his. “That’s terrible. So many people dead. Just innocent people who had nothing to do with the war. What is this kind of bomb that could do such horrible things?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I never heard of anything like that before. Turn to the Voice of America; maybe they will tell us.”

He spun the dial quickly and picked up BBC. The British newscaster was as frantic as the others. “The Americans dropped an atomic bomb over Hiroshima in Japan. President Harry S. Truman while speaking to the American Congress said that this bomb will end the war in the Pacific and save many of the Americans who have had to fight from island to island to reach Japan.”

Paul turned off the radio before I could hear any more. “An atomic bomb? What kind of bomb is that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But if it stops the war, I guess it is a good thing.”

“Politics!” he spat out. “The Socialists are trying to push de Gaulle out of power now that the war is over and they have no more use for him. The British kicked Churchill out the minute the war was over. French Socialists, the British Labor are all Communists. In the end, Russia will control all of Europe.”

Later that night when Giselle and I were at home, I talked to her about what Paul had said and thought, and whether all the French felt like that.

She smiled. “I don’t think so. Paul is a Corsican and very excitable and emotional. After all, it’s on the other side of the world. It can’t bother us here.”

I took a beer and sat down at the table until she came out from the bathroom. She laughed. “Why don’t you come to bed. The war is really over now.”

23

It was the middle of August, two-thirty in the morning, and Giselle and I were sleeping when Paul woke us up. This was the first time I had ever seen him nervous. He slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. I quickly gave him a cognac while Giselle made coffee.

He drained his glass in one big swig and filled his glass again. He looked at us. “We’re in trouble,” he said.

“Tell me why?” I asked.

“The army found the jeeps in Corsica. They tracked them to our friends. Now the general and the inspector in the Sûreté are under house arrest. Our friends won’t talk, but the French army police are not stupid. They are already aware that that number of jeeps could only have come out of Paris.” He finished his cognac and took a sip of his coffee.

“What are you so upset about?” I asked. “You’re not in the army. They can’t touch you.”

“I’m Corsican,” he said. “They know that the police inspector is my brother. And they also know that we have been in touch with your commanding officer, who was in charge of jeep repairs.”

“He’s in the fucking States,” I said. “There’s no way they can reach him. And the whole platoon has returned to the States. They’ve got nothing to grab.”

“Jerry,” he said. “Don’t be a fool. We are still here and they can grab us.”

“They don’t have any evidence, there’s nothing to find. All the cars are gone and I’m an American citizen. They can’t hold me for anything.”

“You still have your own jeep,” he said. “Don’t forget, French and American law are very different. They can hold you without having a reason.” He reached for a cigarette. “My advice to you is to get out of Paris as quickly as you can. I’m on the way to Corsica in the morning.”

“You’re just leaving the clubs”—I snapped my fingers—“just like that!”

For the first time since he had walked in the door he laughed. “I’m Corsican. That means I’m not stupid. I have my own people to run them until I return.”

I took a cup of coffee and sat down next to Giselle. “Where am I supposed to go? I’m American and I stick out like a sore thumb.”

“You get into civilian clothes and you’ll look like everyone else.” He turned to Giselle. “The two of you had better begin packing. I think you should go to Lyons and see your parents. You will give them my affection and tell them I hope to see them soon.” He took out an envelope from his breast pocket and gave it to her. “This note will introduce you to the manager of the club that I own in Nice and he will put you to work immediately.”

He then turned to me. “I am also giving another note to you. You will give it to a close friend of mine who also knows Giselle. He is Monsieur Jean Pierre Martin, a former colonel on de Gaulle’s staff. He is a homosexual as I am, but we became very good friends because I helped him with some problems with the American that he lives with now in the south of France. He is from a very rich French social family and they own Plescassier, one of the two biggest bottled-water companies in France. He likes Americans because he went to school in the States as a boy and a young man. You talk to him. There is a good chance that he will find you a position in his company. He is planning to expand his company to England and the United States.”

“Paul,” I said. “This is wonderful of you to do this for me. And I am very grateful, but why me?”

“You have done for my brother and me more than you realize. Besides, we are friends. And being a good friend is sometimes worth more than being a lover.” He put down his cigarette and finished his coffee. He stood up and embraced Giselle. He kissed her on both cheeks and then turned to me. “You should be lucky that I am gay or you would never have found this girl.”

I laughed. “Paul, please, you have to take care of yourself.”

“I will, my friend.” He embraced me and kissed me on each cheek. “I have to go now.” He went to the door and turned to Giselle. “When you leave the apartment, leave the keys with the concierge, who will know how to take care of everything.”

We watched him leave as he closed the door. Then I looked at Giselle. “Will he be okay?” I asked.

She took my hand. “He will be safe,” she said. “Now we better start packing. Let’s try to have everything packed and in the car before daylight. That way no one will see us leaving.”

“How much time will it take for us to drive to Lyons?” I asked.

“It depends on how bad the roads are from the war. Maybe between seven and ten hours.” She laughed. “It will not be a honeymoon trip.”

24

I don’t know how we did it, but we did! We were packed and on the road a little after 6:00
A.M.
The faint gray light was just beginning to creep up from the east. It was humid and cloudy as we drove out of Paris. The jeep drove smoothly, the engine hummed along easily, and there was no problem. But I had a problem. No road map. Giselle said she knew the way home. It was not easy driving for me. All the road signs were in kilometers and my jeep had an American mileage speedometer dial. But Giselle was not worried. She was happy. She was going home. What was the difference if it was 400 kilometers or 240 miles? It was all the same distance, she said.

I figured that at an average of thirty miles an hour, it would take us about eight hours to get to Lyons if we didn’t have to make any stops. But there were stops. Lots of them. Pee stops, lunch stops, gasoline stops, detour stops. And the most important stop of all for Giselle. We had to stop in a city so that I could buy a civilian suit.

She explained to me that her parents were “antiforeigners.” Especially soldiers. Ever since the German soldier had left her sister pregnant and outcast. Therese had to have an abortion and her parents never forgave Therese or her lover.

“The clothes won’t make any difference,” I said. “Your parents had to know that I was an American soldier.”

“I know,” she said. “But it will make them and me more comfortable. If they see you in a suit, at least they will feel that you’re staying in France instead of leaving me alone.”

“There is another difference,” I said. “He was on the other side against France; remember, I was on your side.”

It didn’t matter. I got a new gray light wool suit and a few white shirts. French suits were not like American suits. The French have narrower shoulders, lower asses, and shorter legs. The suit I found that fit was a large French size, but it would have been a medium size in the States.

It was five in the afternoon by the time we arrived at her parents’ house. Her mother opened the door. She called out to her husband. “Giselle is home!” She held her daughter and she was crying. “My baby is home!”

Giselle’s father came to the door. He hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks. “Giselle, why didn’t you let us know that you were coming?”

They were all chattering away in French while we walked into the house, talking so fast I didn’t understand much of what they were saying.

Finally, her father turned and looked at me. “American?” he asked.

“Oui, Papa,” she answered.

I held out my hand. “I am happy to meet you, sir.”

He looked at my hand and ignored it.

“My father doesn’t understand any English,” Giselle said apologetically.

I looked at her. “He also doesn’t have any manners,” I said. “I’ll go outside and wait in the car.”

“Calm down,” she said to me; then she turned to her father and spoke very rapidly. I managed to pick out a few of the French words that I could understand. “A war hero. He is rich. My fiancé. And great love.”

Her mother turned and took my hand. I followed her to the table and sat down. Her father was still dour faced, but finally he held out his hand to me in a polite shake. Then he took out a bottle of wine and poured a small glass for each of us.
“Salut,”
he said. I nodded and replied. We tasted the wine.

A few minutes later Therese showed up. The sisters hugged and kissed each other. I watched their father. He didn’t seem to be as nice to Therese as he was with Giselle. Therese turned and smiled at me. “I feel I know you,” she said in English. “Giselle wrote me several times a month while she was away.”

“She told me about you,” I answered. “It is good to meet you at last.”

“I am sorry about my father,” she apologized. “It’s my fault really. My father didn’t like my lover.”

“It is your choice,” I answered. “Your father has no right to interfere.”

“It is over now.” She shrugged. “Now that the war is over, maybe all of the old hatreds and angers will be over, too.”

“I hope so,” I said.

Giselle smiled at me. “Don’t you think my sister is beautiful?”

“You both are,” I said. “I am sorry that your father is angry about the past.”

“It will take time,” Giselle said. “Meanwhile, Therese, you and I will go to dinner at a restaurant that a very good friend of mine owns. My parents eat very French style. They had their big meal at midday and in the evening they have just cheese, baguette, and a glass of wine.”

“That’s nice,” I said.

“There is one other thing.” Giselle smiled. “My parents are very old-fashioned. They want me to stay with them tonight, but there is only one extra bedroom and you can’t sleep here with me.”

“Okay,” I said. “I can find a hotel room.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “Therese said that she could put you up for the night.”

I looked at Therese. “It wouldn’t be any trouble?”

Therese smiled. “It will be my pleasure.”

I looked at Giselle, and she nodded in agreement.

*   *   *

I never knew that Lyons had a reputation for having the finest cuisine in all of France. And as far as I could tell, the best in the world. The patron was a close friend of the sisters, though I noticed he was a little cool to Therese. Then I saw the ribbon in his boutonniere. It was the war. He had a Légion d’honneur, and Therese had crossed the line. She had slept with the enemy. But he was also a gentleman. He said nothing and welcomed our company in the restaurant.