Field Gray

18

It was early the next morning when an SS staff car arrived to drive me back to the hotel, to collect my things, and then to the airport. Paris still wasn’t awake, but for any decent Frenchman the city probably looked better with eyes closed. A detachment of soldiers was marching along the Champs-Élysées; German trucks were pouring in and out of the army garage that was located in the Grand Palais; and in case anyone was still in any doubt about it, on the façade of the Palais Bourbon they were erecting a large V for victory and a sign that read “Germany Is Everywhere Victorious.” It was a bright, sunny summer’s day, but Paris looked almost as depressing as Berlin. Still, I was feeling better. At my request, the hospital doctor had shot me full of dope to put some raspberry into my beer. Amphetamines, he said. Whatever it was, I felt like Saint Vitus was holding my hand. It didn’t stop the pain in my chest and throat from all the retching I’d done, but I was ready to go flying. All I had to do was go back to the hotel, get into my uniform, and find a nice tall building for a takeoff.

The hotel manager was pleased to see me standing up. He’d have been glad to see me in a flower vase. It’s bad for business when guests die in their rooms. I was alive and that was all that mattered. My old room was closed up because of the strong smell of chemicals in there, and my clothes had been taken to a suite on another floor. He seemed relieved when I told him I was going south to Biarritz for a few days. I said I was going up to my new room and that I wanted to say thanks to the maid who’d saved my life, and he said he’d arrange this immediately.

Then I went upstairs and took my field gray uniform out of the closet. It carried a strong smell of chemicals or gas and brought on a strong feeling of nausea as I recalled breathing the stuff. I opened the French window, hung my uniform there for a minute, and then rinsed my face with cold water. There was a knock at the door and I went to open it with shaking knees.

The maid was prettier than I remembered. Her nose wrinkled a little when she caught the smell of chemicals on my uniform, although it could just as easily have been the sight of it. But in truth it probably was the smell; in the summer of 1940 it was only Germans, Czechs, and Poles who had good reason to fear the field gray uniform of an SD captain.

“Thank you, mademoiselle. For saving my life.”

“It was nothing.”

“Nothing to you. But quite a bit to me.”

“You don’t look very well,” she observed.

“I feel better than I look, I think. But that’s probably down to what was in the needle I had for breakfast this morning.”

“Which is all very well, but what’s going to happen at dinnertime?”

“If I live that long, I’ll let you know. Like I said, my life means quite a bit to me. So I’m going to do you a favor. Relax. It’s not that kind of favor. Underneath this uniform I’m really not a bad fellow. How would you like to get some real hotel experience? I don’t mean making beds and cleaning toilets. I mean in hotel management. I can fix that for you. In Berlin. At the Adlon. There’s nothing wrong with this place, but it strikes me that Paris is going to be fine if you’re German and not so fine if you’re anything else.”

“You’d do that? For me?”

“All I need from you is a little information.”

She smiled a coy little smile. “You mean about the man who tried to kill you?”

“See what I mean? I knew you were too smart to be cleaning toilets.”

“Smart enough. But a little confused. Why would one German officer want to murder another? After all, Germany is everywhere victorious.”

I smiled. I liked her spirit. “That’s what I mean to find out, mademoiselle…?”

“Matter. Renata Matter.” She nodded. “All right, Major.”

“Captain. Captain Bernhard Gunther.”

“Maybe they’ll promote you. If they don’t kill you first.”

“There’s always that possibility. Unfortunately, I think I’m a lot harder to promote than I am to kill.” I started to cough again and kept it going for the sake of effect; at least that’s what I told myself.

“I can believe that.” Renata fetched me a glass of water. She moved gracefully, like a ballerina. Looked like one, too, being small and slim. Her hair was dark and quite short and a little boyish, but I liked that. What I previously saw as being homeliness now looked more like a very natural, girlish beauty.

I drank the water. Then I said, “So what makes you think someone tried to kill me?”

“Because there shouldn’t have been a fire extinguisher in your room.”

“Do you know where it is now?”

“The manager, Monsieur Schreider, he took it away.”

“Pity.”

“There’s one the same on the wall along the corridor. Would you like me to fetch it for you?”

I nodded, and she went out of my room and returned a moment later carrying a brass extinguisher. Made by the Pyrene Manufacturing Company of Delaware, it had an integrated hand-pump that was used to expel a jet of liquid toward a fire and contained about nine liters of carbon tetrachloride. The container wasn’t pressurized and was designed to be refilled with a fresh supply of chemical after use through a filling plug.

“When I found you, the filler cap had been removed,” she said. “And the extinguisher was lying beside your bed. The chemical had poured onto the carpet beneath your nose. In other words, it looked deliberate.”

“Have you mentioned this to anyone?”

“No one’s asked me. Everyone believes it was an accident.”

“For your own safety, it would be best if they continue to believe that, Renata.”

She nodded.

“Did you see anyone enter or leave my room? Or hanging around in the corridor outside?”

Renata thought for a moment. “I don’t know. To be honest, with everyone in uniform, all Germans look more or less alike.”

“But not all of them are as handsome as me, surely?”

“That’s true. Perhaps that’s why they tried to kill you. Out of jealousy.”

I grinned. “I never thought of that. As a motive, I mean.”

She sighed. “Look, there’s something I haven’t told you. And I want your word that you’ll leave my name out of it whenever you do what it is you’re going to do. I don’t want any trouble.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll look after you.”

“And who looks after you? Maybe you were a champion when you walked into this hotel, but right now you look like you’re in need of a good cornerman.”

“All right. I’ll keep you out of it. You have my word.”

“As a German officer.”

“What’s that worth after Munich?”

“Good point.”

“How about my word as someone who detests Hitler and all that he stands for, including this ridiculous uniform?”

“Better,” she said.

“And who might wish the German army had never crossed the Rhine except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I wouldn’t have met you, Renata.”

She laughed and looked away for a moment. She was wearing a black uniform and a little white pinafore. Hesitantly, she put a hand in the pocket of her pinafore and took out a brass plug about the size of a champagne cork. Handing it to me, she said, “I found this. The missing plug from the fire extinguisher in your room. It was in the wastepaper basket of the man in room fifty-five.”

“Good girl. Can you find out the name of the officer who’s in fifty-five?”

“I already did. His name is Lieutenant Willms. Nikolaus Willms.” She paused. “Do you know him?”

“I met him for the first time on the train from Berlin. He’s a cop specializing in vice. Hates the French. Face like a snake charmer, only without the charm. That’s about all I know about him. I can’t imagine why he would want to kill me. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Perhaps he made a mistake. Got the wrong room.”

“A French farce by Georges Feydeau doesn’t normally include murder.”

“What will you do now?”

“Nothing, for the moment. I have to leave Paris for a few days. Maybe I’ll have thought of something by the time I come back. In the meantime, how would you like to earn some more German money?”

“Doing what?”

“Keep an eye on him?”

“And what am I supposed to look for?”

“You’re a smart girl. You’ll know. You found this top from the extinguisher, didn’t you? Just bear in mind that he’s dangerous and don’t take any risks. I wouldn’t like anything to happen to you.”

I took her hand and, a little to my surprise, she let me kiss it.

“If I didn’t think I’d start coughing, I’d kiss you.”

“Then you’d better let me do it.”

She kissed me, and in my weakened condition, I let her. But after a moment or two, I needed the air. Then I said, “When he gave me that shot this morning, the doc warned me that I might feel like this. A little euphoric. Like I was Napoleon.”

I pressed myself hard against her belly.

“You’re too big for Napoleon.” She kissed me again and added, “And way too tall.”