Last Twilight in Paris

10. Helaine

10

Helaine

Paris, 1942

Gabriel was gone. Helaine’s heart screamed.

Alone, Helaine’s days became long and empty. The space they had shared and filled with laughter and love felt small and drab without him, a shell of what it had once been. Helaine had not minded being alone in their apartment during the days when she knew Gabriel would come home to her. But now the emptiness was interminable. The world they had created together was gone, as though it had never existed at all. Sometimes Helaine feared she had imagined it.

Being in the apartment was unbearable, so Helaine started walking through the neighborhood once more. She strolled aimlessly for hours. But she was mindful of German soldiers and military vehicles that lined the streets, and stayed on high alert, careful to avoid checkpoints or other places where she might face scrutiny. As the occupation dragged on, there were new orders barring Jews from the cafés and markets and the Metro. They had to affix crude yellow stars to their clothing. Because Helaine was a Jew, she was unable to visit the stores and markets she once had. But it did not matter. There was no need to go to the market because there was no one to cook for. And what was the point in shopping for inexpensive treasures across the city if she could not show them to Gabriel when she brought them home?

Nights were the worst. Helaine lay awake hour after hour, staring restlessly out of the window at the city with its now blacked-out skyline, thinking about Gabriel, missing his touch. Looking up at the stars above their tiny apartment in Montmartre, she could feel his presence. But where was he? She worried about whether he was safe, when he would come home. If he would come home. Though he had not gone off to fight, he was touring through war-torn Germany, subject to all of the same dangers as the ordinary people there. She could not bear the thought that something might happen to him. When Helaine did sleep, she heard Gabriel’s music in her dreams.

In her loneliness, she thought not only about Gabriel, but also her family. Would they all have cast one another aside so heedlessly if they had known what was to come? They should be together in trying times like this. Maman, or possibly both of her parents if Papa was not abroad, was here in the city, just a few kilometers away. Helaine considered reaching out, extending an olive branch. After all, it was her father, not her mother, who had rejected her marriage to Gabriel so wholeheartedly. But Maman had chosen to remain by his side, rather than stand up for Helaine. And reaching out to her mother would mean repudiating Gabriel and all they shared because, even now, her parents would never accept him. Helaine could not do that. Maman might have found and checked on her as well, given everything that had happened in the city, to see if she was all right. She had not. No, even now in war, they were unable to put their personal differences aside. Helaine could not return home. This was the life she had chosen.

Months after Gabriel had gone on tour, Helaine set out for the market one morning with her ration coupons to try to buy some flour, if there was any to be had. Though she took no joy in cooking for herself, she still had to eat. Shortages were everywhere and she did not have the money to buy things on the black market. She was not permitted at the local bakery she loved but had to go to one of the distant markets in Le Marais that allowed Jews.

She returned to find a letter from him waiting in the entranceway to their building. She tore it open, drinking in Gabriel’s familiar script. But inside, there were just a few lines.

Performing close to the front, but doing well. I miss you. Be safe, my love. G.

The censors, she decided, were the reason he had not written more. However, she could already sense the distance beginning to pull them apart. Helaine touched the paper, feeling for him. She wanted to write back, but there was no return address. She searched the envelope in vain for some indication of its origin, something about the stamp or the way it had been canceled that might give a clue from where it came. Gabriel was simply beyond reach.

And then there was nothing.

After that first letter, Helaine did not hear from Gabriel again. Months passed. She was confused by the lack of communication. He would not have forgotten her, Helaine told herself. Something must have happened to him. Pushing the very worst thoughts from her mind, Helaine prayed for his safety and that he would return to her soon. But with every day, her apprehension for his well-being grew.

Not that things in Paris were so much safer. German soldiers were everywhere on the streets, patrolling and watching. During her walks, Helaine saw terrible things, innocent civilians harassed, people arrested. She froze every time a siren wailed. Helaine learned of the first raid of a Jewish neighborhood in Le Marais and another in the Jewish section of the 11th arrondissement, people arrested in their homes in the middle of the night with only the clothes on their back and imprisoned God-knows-where. Hearing the news of Jews being arrested, Helaine considered leaving the city. But where would she go? Gabriel would not be able to find her if she fled.

Helaine thought of her parents even more, worried if they were all right. They were scions of Paris society, Helaine tried to reassure herself. Surely no one could hurt them. One night, she dreamed that she had started toward her parents’ house. She reached the end of the block where she had grown up. She could see her mother in the window. But as she started toward home, a black car pulled up at the curb and her father started to get out. Fearful of seeing him again, Helaine ran in the other direction. She awoke from the dream, smelling her mother’s cherry vanilla scent, as if she had actually been there. Helaine rolled over in the empty bed, feeling more alone than ever. Helaine’s heart ached.

After Gabriel left, the garden became a lifeline. She went to work with Isa and the others every day, eager to fill her time while he was gone. However, one morning, there was a new placard on the gate. Jews forbidden.

Helaine stood motionless, stunned. She knew the restrictions against Jews were growing by the day. She was already banned from the stores where she once shopped, from the orchestra where her own husband had played. But now she was being excluded quite literally from the outdoors, from fresh air and nature. How much more could they take from her?

Helaine started away. “The only place for Jews is in the earth,” she heard one of the women remark. The words were a punch to her stomach. Helaine knew anti-Jewish sentiment had existed in Paris, even before the occupation. But to see it unmasked now from the very people she’d worked alongside was sickening.

Isa rushed up to the low fence surrounding the park. “Helaine,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” A tear rolled down her cheek. Helaine waited for Isa to tell her that it did not matter, that they would ignore the German decree so that she could keep working in the garden. “You must understand, I need this garden to feed my family. And if I defy orders and get arrested, they would have no one. Here is your share.” She handed Helaine a small satchel of turnips. It was a fraction of what she should have gotten for her labor if the harvest had been divided equally as was promised. But she was in no position to argue.

Isa was turning her back on Helaine as surely as her family had. Helaine started to race off. “Wait!” Isa called after her, but it was too late. Helaine was already running down the street. She walked blindly, turning this way and that, not realizing quite where she was headed until she arrived at the park in the city center. It, too, had a sign barring Jews. Suddenly, it seemed to Helaine that the Germans were erasing her life, one memory at a time.

That night, there was a knock at the door to the apartment. “Helaine, it’s me, Isa. Can we talk?” Isa could not have her in the garden but was able to come visit her—at least for now. But Helaine was too conflicted and hurt to see her. She remained silent and did not answer her friend. Finally, she heard Isa’s footsteps retreating down the stairs, growing fainter, followed by the click of the front door.

After being banned from the garden, Helaine was lonelier than ever. A few days later, desperate to fill her time, Helaine set out for the distant market where Jews were still permitted to shop. After walking for more than half an hour, Helaine reached the Marché des Enfants Rouges. The once-grand covered market was now a sorry affair, half of the stalls closed and the rest with little on their wooden carts and tables. There was no flour to be had, so Helaine purchased the last remaining stale baguette. She turned to go.

As she neared the exit to the market, Helaine spied a familiar figure at the corner. Maman.

Helaine froze. Her first reaction was relief: Maman had not been arrested but was safe and well. She was surprised, too; she had not expected to see her mother. She looked out of place in her fine clothes in the middle of the dismal market. But her parents’ house was not far from Le Marais, and it made sense that Maman, a Jew, also had to shop here.

Seeing her mother after so long, Helaine’s heart pounded. Helaine started toward her. She wanted to hug her mother, throw her arms around her. Come home , Helaine imagined her saying. She would accept Helaine and her new life, see that it had not been bad or wrong after all. And for a split second, Helaine thought that she might go home, just for a time until Gabriel returned. She would go on her own terms, though, no longer the overprotected prisoner she had once been.

“Maman,” Helaine breathed. Her mother stood before her like a ghost, and for a moment, she was terrified. She wanted to run away. But Maman saw her.

“Laina.” Helaine’s own conflicting emotions, apprehension, joy, uncertainty, were mirrored on her mother’s face. Maman stepped forward, arms half-raised, as though she wanted to embrace Helaine. Helaine stepped back instinctively, then immediately regretted it. She yearned to hug her mother as well.

“Thank God you are well,” her mother said. “I was so worried.”

Not worried enough to come find me , Helaine thought.

“And Papa?”

“He was overseas on one of his trips when the war started. His firm has been expropriated.” It made sense. Jews were no longer allowed to own businesses, even powerful ones like Helaine’s father’s. But now her father was out of the country, unable to get back into France.

“Gabriel, he is well?” Maman was trying to be polite, but she said Gabriel’s name with effort.

“Gabriel is touring abroad.”

“So you are all alone?”

“Yes.” Helaine yearned to reach out and embrace her mother. Once, they had been so close, and Helaine wished that it could be so now. But too much had happened between them.

“You know, you can always come stay with me again.” Helaine wanted to say yes.

Helaine might have returned to her parents’ house and they could have been together as they once had been. That was not Helaine’s world anymore, though. The apartment she and Gabriel shared was her home now. She couldn’t abandon that and give away the life she’d fought for. Helaine was filled with distrust. Her mother had turned on her once. Helaine would always be afraid that she would do it again.

“How could you go?” her mother asked suddenly. “How could you leave us like that so easily?”

“It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t.”

“It was not easy for me either,” her mother bristled. “You put me in an impossible position and you forced me to choose between you and your father.”

“But I’m your child,” Helaine said. “You should have chosen me.”

They stood silently, separated by their respective positions. “I should go,” her mother said finally.

“Wait.” Helaine threw her arms around her mother. Maman stiffened with surprise. Then she embraced Helaine as well, and it was as if all of the acrimony evaporated and they were as close as they had once been. Despite their differences, they still loved each other. They clung together, silently understanding that it could be the very last time they saw one another. Helaine leaned her head and nestled in against the warmth of her mother’s neck like a child, inhaling her familiar scent to capture and keep it forever.

Maman pulled back slightly and studied Helaine’s face for several seconds, as though wanting to etch the image deep into her mind. She reached up and stroked Helaine’s cheek lovingly. “Goodbye, Laina.” Then she broke away and started walking. It was as if she could not bear to watch Helaine leave again.

Helaine turned and ran from the market, her eyes burning. A while later, she stopped, trying to get her bearings and decide what to do next. She could not in that moment bear to go back to their Montmartre apartment and deal with all that she had learned alone. Helaine wished Gabriel was there to help her make sense of it all. If only she knew how to reach him.

The Conservatoire de Paris, she remembered then. The music school, which was housed in a corner building on the Avenue Jean Jaurès in the 19th arrondissement, was where Gabriel had practiced and taught. Perhaps they might have information regarding his exact whereabouts on tour. She started in that direction.

Forty-five minutes later, Helaine neared the conservatory. At the sight of the building, memories overwhelmed her. She walked closer, as if being near the building might bring her nearer to Gabriel himself.

Closer to the conservatory, she could hear the sound of string instruments playing. They still made music here, but it was not Gabriel’s.

A man walked out of the conservatory, and Helaine recog nized him as Monsieur Bolois, the director of the symphony. She doubted that he would remember her, but perhaps he had news of where the performers were touring currently, or even about Gabriel.

“Hello…” she started. Monsieur Bolois turned in her direction. “I’m Helaine Lemarque,” she said, using her husband’s surname, though she had not taken it formally.

“Oh, yes, Gabriel’s wife. How is he?”

Helaine was puzzled. “What do you mean? I haven’t seen him in months. He’s on tour.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Tour?”

“He was sent to Germany to play with the symphony,” Helaine insisted. “In fact, I was coming to inquire about the symphony’s exact whereabouts so I can reach him.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. The symphony is not touring. It has been disbanded due to the war.”

“But…” Helaine was stunned. How had she not known? “Are you certain?”

“Quite. I’m the only one still here to take care of the building and forward the mail. Most of the musicians have gone south to Rennes to wait out the war. Alas, Gabriel was not among them.”

Gabriel was not touring as he had told her. Had he been tricked into going to Germany under false pretenses? Or had he lied to her? Helaine realized then how much she had taken at face value. She had no idea whom Gabriel was touring with or where he was going. He had, quite literally, disappeared. And he had left her alone in Paris to fend for herself, despite the fact that she was vulnerable as a Jew. A sense of betrayal rose in her. “Thank you,” she said, retreating.

“You might try the police station,” Monsieur Bolois offered, his voice softer now. “He might be playing with a smaller group of musicians. If Gabriel went abroad, he would have had to file for permission to travel.”

Helaine hesitated. Going to the police station was no small task now, not as a Jew. But she had to find out where Gabriel had gone. She started in the direction of the police headquarters.

The Préfecture de Police was located on the ?le de la Cité in the shadow of Notre-Dame Cathedral, several kilometers and almost an hour walk from the Conservatoire. Jews were banned from the buses, so she had no choice but to walk. As she made her way toward the Seine, she thought of all she had learned about Gabriel. He was not touring in Germany, at least not officially with the orchestra. Where was he and what was he doing?

At last, she reached the river and crossed the Pont Notre-Dame. The police station was an imposing arched building, built nearly a century earlier as barracks for the Garde Républicaine. She took a deep breath and walked inside.

“I’m trying to find some information on my husband’s whereabouts,” she said to the policeman behind the desk. “He’s gone abroad and I’m told he may have filed travel papers.”

The police officer looked down at the yellow star affixed to her coat. “I’m sorry, madam, but police records are confidential,” he said dismissively, then started to turn away.

“I’d like to speak to Chief Gateau,” she said, using her most authoritative voice. Henri Gateau had been one of her father’s closest friends and she hoped the connection might be of use now. She had worried that the police chief might have been replaced, as so many French officials had in the Vichy administration. But his photo still hung above the reception desk, which meant that he was still here—and likely sympathetic to the Germans.

The police officer turned back toward her and looked at her strangely. “You are asking for Chief Gateau?”

Helaine saw how ridiculous she must have sounded. But she did not waver. “Yes. Please tell him that Helaine Weil is here,” she said, using her family name. “He knows me.” Though He laine might have been too proud to return to her parents’ house, she was not above using them to help find her husband.

“Very well.” The police officer stood and walked into a back room. A moment later, he returned, so quickly that Helaine doubted he had checked at all. “I’m sorry, but Chief Gateau is presently unavailable.”

Helaine folded her arms. “I’ll wait.”

“He is not available,” he repeated firmly, making clear that the chief’s unavailability wasn’t a temporary situation. Did it have something to do with the fact that her family was Jewish? There was no one who would help her now.

As she turned to go, she glimpsed a familiar figure through the window of the office behind the reception desk. “Pardon,” she called, waving her hand. She pushed past the policeman at the desk and knocked loudly on the window to get the chief’s attention. “Chief Gateau, I’m Helaine Weil, Otto’s daughter,” she said, loudly so that he could hear her through the glass.

Recognition, then displeasure, crossed his face. He walked out of the office toward her. “Helaine,” he said with familiarity, but the warmth that had once been in his voice was missing. Though she had not seen Chief Gateau during the years of her confinement, she had known him her whole life. He had sent her holiday and birthday presents as a child. Now he was cold and businesslike, a longtime family friend turned stranger. “What brings you here?”

“My husband, the cellist Gabriel Lemarque, went on tour to Germany. But the orchestra had no record of the tour or his whereabouts. I was hoping you could check for travel papers.”

Chief Gateau hesitated. “That would take time and I’m terribly busy.”

“Perhaps your secretary could check,” Helaine pressed. “I’m sure it would only take a few minutes.”

Chief Gateau paused, as if searching for another reason not to help. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll take a quick look.” He walked into the back office.

A few minutes later, he returned. “I’m sorry, but there is no record of your husband applying to go abroad.”

Gabriel had simply disappeared. It was as if he had fallen into the abyss.

“Your parents, they are well?” Chief Gateau asked, his tone more prying than concerned. He had not heard about her estrangement from them. “They are still in their house?”

“Yes, of course.” Uneasiness rose in Helaine. By making inquiries about Gabriel, she might actually be drawing attention to her family and placing them in greater danger. Quickly, she thanked Chief Gateau for his help and hurried from the office.

As Helaine neared the door to the police station, she heard someone call her name. She stopped, thinking it had all been a mistake and that Chief Gateau had found Gabriel’s travel papers after all. But when she turned, a man in a German uniform she had not seen before was walking toward her.

“You are the wife of Gabriel Lemarque?” he asked sternly.

“Y-yes,” Helaine replied, suddenly flustered. “Do you know where he is?”

“That is what we need you to tell us.”

“But I don’t know where he is. I came here to inquire.”

“So your husband is missing?” The officer’s voice was hostile now. “A fugitive from the Reich?”

Helaine was stunned. “That’s ridiculous. He is a cellist with the Orchestre National.” Was , she silently corrected herself. Suddenly, it seemed that while Helaine wasn’t looking, the whole world had changed.

Helaine was seized with the urge to flee the police station. She was a Jew and now the wife of a wanted man—a target twice over. “I’m sorry, I really need to get home.” She gestured to her bag from the market. “My groceries…” She turned to leave.

But the German caught her arm and held on firmly. “Madam, come with me. You are under arrest for conspiring with an enemy of the Reich.”