The Last Library Paris Kept Open

Chapter 3 Frances

Frances

Paris

There were soldiers by the Metro station again. Just young guys standing, laughing in a group. If it weren’t for their uniforms, you’d think they were just high school students, joking about girls or a football game.

As I cycled past them, though, I felt my shoulders tighten, braced for them to stop me and ask questions. But they didn’t even notice me. I sailed on by, bumping over the cobbles – my greying hair, my basket of books and my cardigan all making me invisible. I rather liked it.

It was still early, but the sun was already up, which raised my spirits somewhat as I crossed Rue de Lisbonne or as the sign now read, Lisabonner Stra?e.

As it did every day, the street name made me think of Bea, whom I’d met during the last war and who now ran a bookshop in Lisbon.

I wondered how she was or if she was even still there.

And I felt a familiar shiver of envy that Portugal was neutral.

It was said Lisbon was the only city in Europe where the lights had stayed on, as the rest of the continent was plunged into darkness by the Nazis’ relentless advance.

Averting my eyes from the swastikas hanging from the building opposite, I looked proudly at the Stars and Stripes flying from our flagpole.

We were the American Library of Paris. The last library still open in the city.

And though the Nazis had removed all the Tricolores from Paris, they hadn’t taken my US flag.

I thought it was just a matter of time before someone tore it down, but for now, there it stayed, flapping gently in the morning breeze.

I turned the handlebars and rattled through the archway entrance to the library.

The sun was warm on my back as I dismounted, in a slightly ungainly fashion, and took the books from the basket. It was going to be another hot day. I thought about the German soldiers in their thick uniforms and heavy hats and allowed myself a small smile at how uncomfortable they would be.

Inside the library was quiet and cool. My footsteps echoed through the building as I walked through the back entrance and into the main lobby where my colleague Sylvie was sitting at the desk.

She raised an eyebrow at me, in an especially Gallic way, and said: ‘You’re late.’

‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘You’re early.’

‘My neighbour was cooking fish, and the whole building was smelly,’ she said with a scowl. ‘Who eats fish for …’ She flailed her hand, losing the English word.

‘Breakfast,’ I said. ‘Le petit-déjeuner.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not right.’

‘In fancy country houses in England they eat kedgeree for breakfast,’ I told her, putting my pile of books onto the counter. ‘It’s rice and smoked haddock, with spices.’ I frowned, trying to remember. ‘And a boiled egg.’

Sylvie looked appalled.

‘Oh, it’s awful,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Like a whole load of foods that shouldn’t be eaten together all at once. If you have so much as one mouthful, you can taste it for days.’

‘The Brits are rotten,’ Sylvie said.

‘They’re our only hope,’ I reminded her. ‘God help us.’

With another roll of her eyes, Sylvie stood up and reached for the books. ‘What are these?’

‘Another donation. From Delphine Blum? Remember her? She ran that little bookshop near the Tuileries. Lovely woman, says she couldn’t give much, but she wanted to do her bit.’

Sylvie’s expression softened. ‘Delphine,’ she said. ‘I know her. She’s still in Paris?’

‘She was packing her bags when I went yesterday.’

I closed my eyes briefly as I remembered the fear in Delphine’s eyes.

‘Where will she go?’

I shrugged. ‘She says she has family down south, but it’s risky for her to travel.’

‘She should have gone before the Nazis came.’

‘Easy to say that now.’

Sylvie nodded. ‘I suppose.’

‘Is Guy here already?’

‘Upstairs. Should we open up?’

I glanced at the big clock over her head and nodded. It was important to me that we kept opening the library every day, at the same time as we’d always opened, even when no one came.

Sylvie came round from behind the desk and together we walked to the large wooden doors at the front of the library.

I turned the key and with some effort – especially on Sylvie’s part because she was tiny, though her arms were lean and muscled – we each pulled one door, letting the morning sunshine stream in.

‘Nous sommes prêts,’ Sylvie said.

‘Ready for anything,’ I added. ‘Ah, bonjour, Patrice.’

‘Bonjour, Frances,’ the man waiting outside said. I smiled at him, grateful that some of our readers – the ones who were still allowed to visit the library – kept coming. ‘Bonjour, Sylvie.’

‘Entre.’ Sylvie stood back to let him in, and then walked with him towards the shelves, telling him about a book she’d put by for him that she thought he’d like.

I looked out of the open door into the quiet Paris street that had once been so bustling, reflecting on how quickly things changed. Then I went to find Guy upstairs.

He was sitting on the floor in the staff room, sorting books into piles.

‘Good morning,’ he said as I came in.

‘Are these requests?’ I asked. ‘Goodness, there are a lot of them.’

A little awkwardly Guy twisted so he could put his left hand on the pile on his other side.

‘And there are all these, too.’

Guy’s right arm was small and thin, the hand on that side useless. He said it hadn’t grown properly inside his mother. He was self-conscious about it and tucked his hand into his pocket. But he was dextrous and quick with the other hand, and he never let it slow him down.

With his good hand on the pile, he nodded. ‘Word has definitely spread around the Jewish book lovers of Paris,’ he said with a small smile. ‘Almost everyone I visit says they’ve got a friend who’d like a book delivery.’

‘The Nazis have done many terrible things but stopping people visiting the library just because they’re Jewish, is definitely one of the most ridiculous,’ I said.

‘They’re frightened of books,’ Guy said. ‘Books are powerful.’

‘You’re right. Which is why we need to keep our delivery service going.’ I frowned. ‘If we can. Though I’m not sure how we’ll be able to deliver all these between the two of us.’

‘We might need to get some help.’

I screwed my nose up. ‘All three of us can’t do deliveries, because we always need someone to keep the library open. But finding another person we trust could be tricky.’

‘I might know someone,’ Guy said. His cheeks flushed slightly. ‘Leave it with me.’

Eyeing him curiously, I simply nodded. Guy wasn’t very chatty when it came to his personal life, so I was interested, but I didn’t push it.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Let’s divide these up.’

‘Already done.’ Guy showed me a list. ‘I’ve arranged it according to areas, and then I put Maurice Levy last.’

‘Is he still sick?’

‘He was when I saw him a few days ago. I thought perhaps we could visit him together. See what else we can do?’

‘Good idea.’ We’d been delivering books to our Jewish readers since a few days after the Nazi tanks rolled up the Champs-élysée. They were library users once, but now they were friends. I wanted to check Maurice was doing all right.

I took the list from Guy and studied it, reading the names and addresses over and over and committing them to memory. It was too risky to go out with names written anywhere, so we memorised our deliveries.

‘Got it?’ Guy asked.

‘Got it.’

I handed him the list, and he lit a match then held the flame to the edge of the paper, watching it curl and smoke before he dropped it into the ashtray that was on the desk for this sole purpose. It vanished into a little pile of embers.

Then I took my bundle of books, and Guy took his, and we both went downstairs to say goodbye to Sylvie.

We didn’t do deliveries every day – just Monday and Thursday – so we didn’t leave Sylvie on her own very often.

Which was good news because though she was efficient, and I enjoyed her company, she was surprisingly defiant for someone as young, petite and pretty as she was.

I’d seen men approach her and slink off, with their tails between their legs.

She loathed the Nazis – as we all did of course – but she found it very hard to disguise her disdain.

‘That attitude will get you shot one day,’ Guy always warned her. But Sylvie didn’t care.

‘I will not pretend to like them.’

That was why I preferred her to be in the library, rather than out delivering books, and why I preferred being with her. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, as the saying went. Today, she was in charge and Guy and I were out and about.

We left the library on our bicycles and cycled a short way together, then Guy went left and I went right.

I loved Paris. Or at least, I had loved it before the war. Now everything was different. Even the road signs were all in German now.

I pedalled past the mairie – the town hall – for the district, where of course the flagpoles were now hung with Nazi flags.

The French Tricolores were long gone. Outside the building a queue of people stood in silence, waiting for the ration tickets that would provide the meagre allowances the Germans let us have.

I was fortunate that I only had to think of myself; I couldn’t imagine how it would feel for mothers and fathers to watch their children going hungry.

My legs worked faster as I passed the sorry sight. I didn’t want to linger there with the feeling of desperation in the air. Plus, there were more soldiers keeping an eye on the queue, and I didn’t want to attract their attention, either.

I turned the corner and with my head down and my eyes firmly fixed on the road, I headed for my first stop.

The deliveries always took longer than I expected them to. Always. Everyone liked to chat about the book they’d just read, and how life was treating them – not well, of course, but their stoicism astonished and impressed me.

At one stop, I found fresh vegetables in the kitchen and looked at the couple – Manon and Fred – in amazement.

‘There’s a man,’ Manon said to me in a low voice. ‘Well, a group of men. They’re getting the train each week to farms outside Paris and getting fruit and vegetables to sell.’

‘Black market,’ I said with a disapproving curl of my lip. There was always someone getting rich in times of crisis.

But Manon shook her head, a small smile on her face. ‘More a grey market,’ she said. ‘The prices are not too high. The men are helping.’

I raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but she insisted things weren’t as cut and dried as I thought.

‘You do what you have to do,’ she said.

‘Indeed,’ I said. But still I protested when she tried to get me to take a few potatoes and carrots.

‘Take them,’ Manon said. ‘We have plenty.’

Overwhelmed by her kindness, I put the vegetables into my basket and carried on.

I eventually reached Maurice’s little house, near the river, where I saw Guy’s bicycle outside.

‘I thought I’d missed you,’ I said when he answered the door to my knock. ‘Is he still bad?’

‘Worse,’ Guy said. He stood back to allow me to enter. Maurice’s tiny cottage was all on one floor, with the bed in the corner. He lay there, breathing shallow and his face wan.

‘Maurice,’ I said, going over to him. ‘What’s going on there, buddy? I hate to see you this way.’

Maurice’s eyes opened and he tried to speak through dry lips.

‘Here.’ Guy handed me a cup of water and I helped Maurice sit up enough to drink. Then he fixed me with a stern look and said: ‘Stupide femme Americaine.’

‘Hey!’ I laughed mostly out of relief because Maurice and I had always teased one another about our nationalities and if he was still joking that meant he was still with us. ‘You’re a lazy Frenchman.’

He gave me a small smile and rested back against his pillow.

Guy tugged my sleeve and we moved away slightly so we could talk without Maurice overhearing.

‘He’s run out of his medicine,’ he said quietly. ‘He takes pills for his kidney problems.’

‘Can we get more?’

‘I can,’ said Guy. ‘But not legally.’

I looked at him. ‘Where?’

‘I know someone …’

‘Black market?’

‘No.’ He lowered his voice even more. ‘Resistance.’

‘Grey market,’ I said, thinking of Manon.

Guy chuckled. ‘Maybe.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know where they get them from and I don’t ask, but they have medicines and they only charge slightly more than they should.’

I looked from Maurice in the bed to Guy and reluctantly I nodded. ‘Do it.’

‘I can go now,’ Guy said.

‘Will they have the right medicine?’

‘I asked for it already.’

‘Did you?’

He held my stare. ‘Will you wait with Maurice?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But please be careful.’

Guy nodded, then vanished out of the door before I could change my mind.

I sat with Maurice, who was drifting in and out of sleep, but it wasn’t long before Guy was back – and he wasn’t alone. He’d brought another man with him. I stood up, suddenly worried about who this stranger was, but Guy put out his hand to calm me.

‘Frances,’ he said. ‘This is my friend, Alain Travers.’

Alain was taller and broader than Guy, who was quite a slight man, and he seemed to fill the room. He nodded to us all, unsmiling, and from his pocket he pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper. He held it out to me impatiently, gesturing for me to take it, but I didn’t.

‘You wanted the medicine?’ he said in French. ‘Here.’

I reached out and took it.

‘De rien,’ he said, his tone sarcastic. You’re welcome.

‘Merci,’ I said. I had been about to say thank you, if he’d given me a moment. I fought the urge to roll my eyes as Guy took the medicine from my hand and went over to give a dose to Maurice.

‘Anyway, it was kind of you to help …’ I began, hoping Alain would leave. I felt uneasy about a stranger being here when the stakes were so high. I didn’t know anything about this man, though I was grateful for his help.

‘Alain’s with the Resistance,’ said Guy, over his shoulder. ‘He’s a good person to know.’

I looked at Alain, who was leaning against the wall, looking rather pleased with himself.

‘I thought that was meant to be secret?’

Alain shrugged. ‘Depends who’s asking.’

‘Right,’ I said. I didn’t believe him for one minute. There seemed to be a trend among some Parisians – young men mostly – to claim they were with the Resistance, just to make themselves seem braver, or more impressive. I thought they were fools.

I stared at him for a second and he straightened up. ‘I must go.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ I said.

Alain nodded at me. ‘I hope he recovers.’

‘One minute,’ said Guy.

He followed Alain outside and I heard them talking softly and a small burst of laughter. When Guy came back in, his eyes were shining, but he didn’t say anything more about his new friend.

‘I’ll stay with Maurice for a while,’ he said.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘All right then.’ I kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Thank you for getting that medicine.’

‘It was Alain.’

‘It was you.’

Guy nodded in acknowledgement.

‘Make sure you’re home before curfew,’ I warned.

‘I will.’