The Other Side of Midnight (14 page)

Fascinated by her attitude, Armand Gautier often tried to draw her out on the subject.

“Don’t you care that the Nazis have conquered France?” he would ask her.

“Would it matter if I cared?”

“That’s not the point. If everyone felt as you do, we would be damned.”

“We are damned anyway, are we not?”

“Not if we believe in free will. Do you think our life is ordained from the time we are born?”

“To some degree. We are given bodies, our birthplace and our station in life, but that does not mean that we cannot change. We can become anything we want to be.”

“My point exactly. That is why we must fight the Nazis.”

She looked at him. “Because God is on our side?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“If there is a God,” Noelle answered reasonably, “and He created them, then He must be on their side, also.”

In October, the first anniversary of Noelle’s play, the backers gave a party for the cast at Tour d’Argent. There was a mixture of actors, bankers and influential businessmen. The guests were mostly French, but there were a dozen Germans at the party, a few of them in uniform, all of them except one with French girls. The exception was a German officer in his forties, with a long, lean intelligent face, deep green eyes and a trim, athletic body. A narrow scar ran from his cheekbone to his chin. Noelle was aware that he had been watching her all evening although he had not come near her.

“Who is that man?” she casually asked one of the hosts.

He glanced over at the officer who was sitting alone at a table sipping champagne, then turned to Noelle in surprise. “It is strange you should ask. I thought he was a friend of yours. That is General Hans Scheider. He is on the General Staff.” Noelle remembered the roses and the card. “Why did you think he was a friend of mine?” she asked.

The man appeared flustered. “I naturally assumed…I mean, every play and motion picture produced in France must be approved by the Germans. When the censor tried to stop your new movie from being made, the General personally stepped in and gave his approval.”

At that moment Armand Gautier brought someone to meet Noelle and the conversation changed.

Noelle paid no further attention to General Scheider.

The next evening when she arrived at her dressing room, there was one rose in a small vase with a little card that said: “Perhaps we should start smaller. May I see you? Hans Scheider.”

Noelle tore up the note and threw the flower into the wastebasket.

After that night Noelle became aware that at almost every party she and Armand Gautier attended, General Scheider was there. He always remained in the background watching her. It happened too often to be a coincidence. Noelle realized that he must be going to a great deal of trouble to keep track of her movements and to get himself invitations to places where she would be.

She wondered why he was so interested, but it was an idle speculation and it did not really bother her. Occasionally Noelle would amuse herself by accepting an invitation and not showing up, then checking with the hostess the next day to see if General Scheider had been there. The answer was always “Yes.”

Despite the swift and lethal punishment meted out by the Nazis to anyone who opposed them, sabotage continued to flourish in Paris. In addition to the Maquis there were dozens of small groups of freedom-loving French who risked their lives to fight the enemy with whatever weapons were at hand. They murdered German soldiers when they could catch them off guard, blew up supply trucks and mined bridges and trains. Their activities were denounced in the controlled daily press as deeds of infamy, but to the loyal French the deeds of infamy were glorious exploits. The name of one man kept cropping up in the newspapers—he was nicknamed
Le Cafard
, the cockroach, because he seemed to scurry around everywhere, and the Gestapo was unable to catch him. No one knew who he was.
Some believed that he was an Englishman living in Paris; another theory held that he was an agent of General De Gaulle, the leader of the Free French Forces; and some even said that he was a disaffected German. Whoever he was, drawings of cockroaches were beginning to spring up all over Paris, on buildings, sidewalks, and even inside German Army headquarters. The Gestapo was concentrating its efforts on catching him. Of one fact there was no doubt.
Le Cafard
had become an instant folk hero.

On a rainy afternoon in December, Noelle attended the opening of an art exhibition of a young artist whom she and Armand knew. The exhibit was held in a gallery on the rue du Faubourg-St.-Honoré. The room was crowded. Many celebrities were in attendance and photographers were everywhere. As Noelle walked around, moving from painting to painting, she felt someone touch her arm. She turned and found herself looking into the face of Madame Rose. It took Noelle a moment to recognize her. The familiar, ugly face was the same, and yet it seemed twenty years older, as though through some alchemy in time she had become her own mother. She wore a big black cape, and somewhere in the back of Noelle’s consciousness was the fleeting thought that she was not wearing the prescribed yellow JUDEN star.

Noelle started to speak, but the older woman stopped her by squeezing her arm.

“Could you meet me?” she asked in a barely audible voice. “Les Deux Magots.”

Before Noelle could reply, Madame Rose melted into the crowd, and Noelle was surrounded by photographers. As she posed and smiled for them, Noelle was remembering Madame Rose and her nephew, Israel Katz. They had both been kind to her in a time of need. Israel had saved her life twice. Noelle wondered what Madame Rose wanted. Money, probably.

Twenty minutes later Noelle slipped away and took
a taxi to the place St. Germain des Prés. It had been raining on and off all day, and now the rain had started to turn into a cold, driving sleet. As her taxi pulled up in front of Les Deux Magots and Noelle stepped out into the biting cold, a man in a raincoat and wide-brimmed hat appeared at her side out of nowhere. It took Noelle a moment to recognize him. Like his aunt, he looked older, but the change went deeper than that. There was an authority, a strength that had not been there before. Israel Katz was thinner than when she had last seen him, and his eyes were hollowed, as though he had not slept in days. Noelle noticed that he was not wearing the yellow six-pointed Jewish star.

“Let’s get out of the rain,” Israel Katz said.

He took Noelle’s arm and led her inside. There were half a dozen customers in the café, all French. Israel led Noelle to a table in a back corner.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“No, thank you.”

He took off his rain-soaked hat, and Noelle studied his face. She knew instantly that he had not called her here to ask for money. He was watching her.

“You’re still beautiful, Noelle,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen all of your movies and plays. You’re a great actress.”

“Why didn’t you ever come backstage?”

Israel hesitated, then grinned shyly. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

Noelle stared at him a moment before she realized what he meant. To her, “Juden” was just a word that appeared in newspapers from time to time, and it meant nothing in her life; but what must it be like to
live
that word, to be a Jew in a country sworn to wipe you out, exterminate you, particularly when it was your own motherland.

“I choose my own friends,” Noelle replied. “No one tells me whom to see.”

Israel smiled wryly. “Don’t waste your courage,” he
advised. “Use it where it can help.”

“Tell me about you,” she said.

He shrugged. “I live a very unglamorous life. I became a surgeon. I studied under Dr. Angibouste. Have you heard of him?”

“No.”

“He’s a great heart surgeon. He made me his protégé. Then the Nazis took away my license to practice medicine.” He held up his beautifully sculptured hands and examined them as though they belonged to someone else. “So I became a carpenter.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Is that all?” she asked.

Israel studied her in surprise. “Of course,” he said. “Why?”

Noelle dismissed the thought at the back of her mind.

“Nothing. Why did you want to see me?”

He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “I need a favor. A friend—”

At that moment, the door opened and four German soldiers in gray-green uniforms walked into the bistro, led by a corporal. The corporal called out in a loud voice: “
Achtung!
We wish to see your identity papers.”

Israel Katz stiffened, and it was as though a mask fell into place. Noelle saw his right hand slide into the pocket of his overcoat. His eyes flickered toward the narrow passageway that led to an exit in the rear, but one of the soldiers was already moving toward it, blocking it. Israel said in a low urgent voice, “Get away from me. Walk out the front door. Now.”

“Why?” Noelle demanded.

The Germans were examining the identification papers of some customers at a table near the entrance.

“Don’t ask questions,” he commanded. “Just go.”

Noelle hesitated a moment, then rose to her feet and started toward the door. The soldiers were moving on to the next table. Israel had pushed his chair back to
give himself more freedom. The movement attracted the attention of two of the soldiers. They walked over to him.

“Identity papers.”

Somehow Noelle knew that it was Israel the soldiers were looking for and that he was going to try to escape and they would kill him. He had no chance.

She turned and called out to him, “François! We are going to be late for the theater. Pay the check and let’s go.”

The soldiers looked at her in surprise. Noelle started back toward the table.

Corporal Schultz moved to face her. He was a blond, apple-cheeked boy in his early twenties. “Are you with this man, Fräulein?” he asked.

“Of course I am! Haven’t you anything better to do than pester honest French citizens?” Noelle demanded, angrily.

“I am sorry, my good Fräulein, but…”

“I am not your good Fräulein!” Noelle snapped. “I am Noelle Page. I am starring at the Variétés Théâtre, and this man is my costar. Tonight, when I am having supper with my dear friend, General Hans Scheider, I shall inform him of your behavior this afternoon and he will be furious with you.”

Noelle saw the look of recognition come into the corporal’s eyes, but whether it was a recognition of her name or General Scheider’s, she could not be sure.

“I—I am sorry, Fräulein,” he stammered. “Of course I recognize you.” He turned to Israel Katz, who sat there silently, his hand in his coat pocket. “I do not recognize this gentleman.”

“You would if you barbarians ever went to the theater,” said Noelle with stinging contempt. “Are we under arrest or may we leave?”

The young corporal was aware of everyone’s eyes on him. He had to make an instant decision. “Of course the Fräulein and her friend are not under arrest,” he
said. “I apologize if I have inconvenienced you. I—”

Israel Katz looked up at the soldier and said coolly, “It’s raining outside, Corporal. I wonder if one of your men could find us a taxi.”

“Of course. At once.”

Israel got into the taxi with Noelle, and the German corporal stood in the rain watching as they drove away. When the taxi stopped for a traffic light three blocks away, Israel opened the door, squeezed Noelle’s hand once and disappeared without a word into the night.

At seven o’clock that evening when Noelle walked into her theater dressing room, there were two men waiting for her. One of them was the young German corporal from the bistro that afternoon. The other was in mufti. He was an albino, completely hairless, with pink eyes, and he somehow reminded Noelle of an unformed baby. He was in his thirties, with a moon face. His voice was high-pitched and almost laughably feminine, but there was an ineffable quality, a deadliness about him that was chilling. “Miss Noelle Page?”

“Yes.”

“I am Colonel Kurt Mueller, Gestapo. I believe you have met Corporal Schultz.”

Noelle turned to the corporal, indifferently, “No, I don’t believe I have.”

“At the
kaffehause
this afternoon,” the corporal said helpfully.

Noelle turned to Mueller. “I meet so many people.”

The colonel nodded. “It must be difficult to remember everyone when you have so many friends, Fräulein.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“For example, this friend you were with this afternoon.” He paused, watching Noelle’s eyes. “You told Corporal Schultz that he is starring in the show with you?”

Noelle looked at the Gestapo man in surprise. “The
corporal must have misunderstood me.”

“Nein, Fräulein,” the corporal replied indignantly, “You said…”

The colonel turned to give him a freezing look, and the corporal’s mouth snapped closed in mid-sentence.

“Perhaps,” said Kurt Mueller amiably. “This kind of thing can happen so easily when one is trying to communicate in a foreign language.”

“That is true,” said Noelle quickly.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the corporal’s face redden with anger, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry to have troubled you over nothing,” Kurt Mueller said.

Noelle felt her shoulders relax and she suddenly realized how tense she had been.

“That’s perfectly all right,” she said. “Perhaps I can give you tickets for the play.”

“I have seen it,” the Gestapo man said, “and Corporal Schultz has already bought his ticket. But thank you.”

He started toward the door, then paused. “When you called Corporal Schultz a barbarian, he decided to buy a ticket this evening to see your performance. When he looked at the actors’ photographs in the lobby, he did not see the picture of your friend from the
kaffehause
. That is when he called me.”

Noelle’s heart began to beat faster.

“Just for the record, Mademoiselle. If he was not your costar, who was he?”

“A—a friend.”

“His name?” The high-pitched voice was still soft, but it had become dangerous.

“What difference does it make?” Noelle asked.