But the fate of many others, including those taken in the first Red deportations, was unclear. They were simply gone. Monika’s father might have died in the cattle cars, or made it to Siberia or the Komi Republic and died there, or survived and be working in a labour camp with no chance of communication. Thus all losses that were indefinite provided seeds of hope. Or of despair, the result of hope that could not be sustained.
“And how did you get to Paris?” asked Lukas.
“My uncle was the military attaché in Paris before the war and he stayed there. He took us in quite early, at the beginning of 1944. We were lucky to be there to see the Liberation. Since then, my mother gives piano lessons and my sister and I have given up our restaurant jobs, but we’re looking for something better now.”
“How is life in Paris?”
“Most people would prefer to go to America. Except for the artists and philosophers—they would prefer to stay in Paris.”
“What would you prefer?”
“My situation is very particular. I can’t leave my mother alone and I don’t know what other country will want to take a middle-aged widow, if she is a widow. And she doesn’t want to go anywhere in case my father does show up somehow. I won’t leave her alone to live on bread and marmalade in some freezing seventh-storey room. I think I’ll have to make my life in France, unless some other opportunity opens up. I’d rather go home, but I’m beginning to think that will never happen.”
They had walked back into the town now. It was late afternoon and the shadows covered the narrow street entirely. It was pleasant walking with Monika. Being with her was like being on a vacation from himself. They were still some distance from the DP camp gates when a young man in eyeglasses, a functionary with the exile government, rushed up to them. Monika let go of his arm, which she had been holding all this time, and stood a little apart from him.
“There is a man who needs to see you at the camp director’s office.”
Lukas turned to Monika. “Thank you for coming out to look for me.”
“Do you think you could make it to Paris to speak to the refugees there?” she asked.
“Who doesn’t want to see Paris? And besides, I’d do it for you.”
“How will we get in touch?”
“The meeting is very important,” the functionary said, pushing his eyeglasses up by the crossbar and peering through them like a fish through a glass bowl.
“Wait for me by the steps to the office,” Lukas said to him. “I’ll meet you there.”
The functionary seemed disappointed in Lukas, but he did as he was told. Lukas turned back to Monika and took her hands in his.
“You’ve lifted my spirits in a way I haven’t had them lifted for a long time. How much longer are you in the camp?”
“We leave by train this evening. Our papers were only for a short visit, to hear you speak. But I can write down my address if you like.”
She took a piece of paper from her handbag and wrote out the address. Lukas looked at it carefully and made sure he understood it before folding the paper and putting it in his wallet beside his passport. He had barely finished doing that when she stood up on her toes and kissed him quickly, once on each cheek, in the French manner. He did not quite know how to respond, so he squeezed her hands and turned to go to the director’s office.
Zoly was waiting for him, smoking a cigarette while sitting alone at a table. He smiled warmly, set the cigarette in the ashtray and rose to shake Lukas’s hand.
“Congratulations,” said Zoly. “Everyone loves what you’re doing and the money to the émigré associations has been pouring in since you started these talks. And the spring seems right upon you here. Back in Stockholm, it’s still the dead of winter.”
“When did you get in?”
“Just now.”
“Staying long?”
“Not really. A very short time, actually. It all depends on you. Do you feel like going for a walk?”
“I just got back from one. I’ve been on the road for a couple of hours.”
“It makes me a bit nervous to talk here. Maybe we could walk in the street.”
Lukas went out with him, back into the town he had just passed through. He looked around for Monika but saw no sign of her.
“So what’s this all about?” he asked.
“Lozorius is going back into Lithuania and he wants to know if you’ll go with him.”
“When?”
“In two weeks. You’d need to come back with me in the car right now. There’s a little training you’ll need first.”
“This is all so sudden.”
“Yes, it is, but you’ve done everything you were supposed to, haven’t you? The letter to the Pope will do its work, or not, who knows, but you can’t speed that sort of thing along. Actually, the Vatican is still wondering what to do about Martin Luther, so I don’t think there’s any chance an answer will come soon.”
“What kind of support does Lozorius have?”
“What do you mean by support? Technical support? He’ll get transportation and radios and ciphers and all that sort of thing.”
“I meant long-term support. What are the British promising to give the partisans?”
“They make no promises, Lukas. They ask for the partisans to do a few things for them. Oh, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Lozorius would be in charge of the operation. He wanted me to tell you that unless you agreed to that, he would need to withdraw the offer to bring you along.”
“He can be in charge until we get into the country, but I have a certain position there. I report to my superior officer, Flint.”
“What’s his real name?”
“That’s an odd question, Zoly. Why would you want to know that?”
“Because Lozorius or some of the others might know him.”
“Others? What others?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“This is beginning to sound stranger and stranger. How soon would I have to go?”
“Immediately.”
“Then I think my answer will have to be no.”
They spoke briefly of other things as they walked. Lukas waited for Zoly to insist, but he did not do that. They returned to the camp so Lukas could write a letter to Flint to be taken in by Lozorius.
Zoly was pacing out in the hall, and Lukas found it hard to concentrate on the letter he was writing. There was so much to say in a very short time. Also, he needed to provide a general picture of the situation in the West without giving away any secrets. He needed to warn Flint that Lozorius was acting on his own, without the support of the émigré government and in the pocket of the British. He had to write everything in a manner that would take into account the danger of Lozorius’s being killed or the letter falling into the wrong hands.
And all of this he needed to do while wondering why Zoly had framed the offer in a way that forced Lukas to turn it down.
FIFTEEN
PARIS
MAY 1948
OUTSIDE THE WINDOW, the plane trees along the Seine had just burst into full leaf, their green still fresh and vivid because the dust of the city had not yet descended on them. On a quiet Sunday such as this, Lukas felt as if he might be in the countryside rather than the city. Flashes of light came through the leaves, reflections from the barges that sailed silently by on the river.
Having paused in the delivery of his speech to a school auditorium full of émigrés, Lukas now looked back at the men and women before him. He had spoken in public often enough and he knew he held the audience in thrall with his stories of the resistance against murderous odds back home.