Louise's Gamble (7 page)

In the kitchen, Henry, with Madeleine’s help, was dishing up stacks of fragrant pancakes.

‘We turned off the radio,’ Ada said. ‘We couldn’t listen any more.’

‘It’s like reading “Revelation”,’ Henry said.

Joe, Ada, Henry and I carried our plates into the dining room. Madeleine ate in the kitchen. None of us wanted to talk about the war any more, even Henry.

‘So,’ Ada said to me, ‘can you tell us where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing?’

‘Of course not. It was clerical and dusty.’

‘Did you get to stay in a hotel? Did they change the sheets and towels every day?’

‘Yes and no. The food was good, though. Orange juice, plenty of coffee, pie for dessert.’

Henry groaned. ‘God, that sounds wonderful,’ he said.

We carried our plates back to the kitchen to find Madeleine had washed hers, left it on the drainboard, and gone down to the basement room she shared with her mother. She’d left the griddle and mixing bowl in the sink.

Henry exploded. ‘That girl!’ he said. ‘Who does she think she is? She should be washing these dishes!’

‘Why?’ I said. ‘Because she’s colored? She’s got a government job like we do. She washed her own dishes, didn’t she? I’ll finish up.’

‘I’ll dry,’ Joe said, grabbing a kitchen towel from the rack.

Henry shook his head. ‘What is going to happen to these Negroes when the war jobs go away, that’s what I want to know? There’s going to be trouble, that’s what I think, putting these people back in their places.’

I expect Henry meant women too. Most of us were hired ‘for the duration’.

I found Joan Adams, my dear friend and one of Director Donovan’s secretaries, at Betty’s typewriter when I arrived at work the next morning.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I said. ‘Is everything OK?’

Joan pulled a sheaf of paper out of the typewriter with a gesture of finality.

‘Betty’s sick, and this one report had to be typed,’ Joan said. ‘It’s not a problem, I had the time.’

‘What’s this about Betty?’ I said to Ruth. Brenda wasn’t in yet.

Ruth spoke without looking up from alphabetizing a stack of files.

‘All I know is, Betty’s room-mate called yesterday and said she was really sick. A high fever.’

‘Not influenza, I hope.’ That would be a disaster. Everyone in the office could come down with it.

‘They didn’t say. But we’re doing OK. Things are pretty quiet for once. And Joan helped.’

‘I’m not busy, Director Donovan’s out of town.’ Joan stood up and stretched her arms above her head. ‘But I do need to get back to my own office.’

‘Of course,’ I said.

‘Lunch?’ Joan said.

‘Absolutely.’

After Joan left, Ruth stopped her work and turned to me. ‘Dr Murray wanted to see you in his office as soon as you came in,’ she said, almost whispering. ‘He said I wasn’t to tell anyone but you.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’m on my way.’

For appearances’ sake I collected my notebook and pencil before walking down the hall to Don’s office. He wasn’t there. Platon Melinsky waited for me. He rose and pulled a chair up to the desk for me.

‘So,’ he said. ‘How did it go at “The Farm”?’

‘Fine, I think.’

‘You passed without reservations. Congratulations, that’s excellent work.’

‘Thank you.’

Melinsky studied the glowing end of his cigarette stub, then ground it out in an ashtray. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

I hesitated.

‘With all honesty, please. I need to know.’

‘Yes, actually, I did.’

‘In what way?’

‘I liked learning to defend myself.’

Melinsky nodded. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I wanted to hear that. Remember, though, you took a very short course.’

‘I understand, Mr . . .’ I paused. What was I supposed to call him? Prince?

‘I’m a Lieutenant Colonel in the US Army paratroopers, so Colonel Melinsky is fine.’ He leaned across the desk. ‘We need to talk about tonight, when you’ll see Alessa again.’

Melinsky pulled a small envelope from his pocket and handed it to me. ‘Give this to Alessa. It confirms that we are following her instructions to the letter. And don’t be surprised if she doesn’t give you anything in return tonight. Her asset will be waiting to see our
bona fides
.’

Melinsky unfolded an Esso tourist map of Washington and spread it out on the desk. Thank God for oil company road maps. For many countries, and parts of our own, they were the only maps available.

‘Show me where you live, where you meet your knitting friends, all the details you can think of.’

‘My rooming house is on I Street, here. The knitting circle meets here, at the Union Methodist Church, two blocks east and around the corner on Twentieth. We start about seven o’clock and work until around nine o’clock, and then we all go home. That’s about it.’

Melinsky traced my route on the map with a finger. ‘This is what I want you to do. After the circle breaks up, take your usual route home. But when you get to Twenty-First and I, cross the street to the filling station. Go inside and get a Coke from the freezer. There’s a side door on the north side of the building. Our friend Jack will be waiting there to bring you to me. He’ll be driving a different car tonight.’

‘All right.’

Melinsky stood and extended his hand. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

I shook his hand. His grip was firm, almost painful from the pressure of his heavy gold signet ring.

The OSS cafeteria was packed, mostly with men in uniform. Not only American uniforms, either. I saw two Scottish Highland Regiment officers in Black Watch kilts and a clutch of Brits in peaked caps and Sam Browne belts.

Joan and I fought our way through the crowd to the cafeteria line, where we selected macaroni and cheese, canned peas, milk, and Waldorf salad with a cherry on top, all for sixty cents. We scraped the debris off an abandoned table and sat down.

‘So,’ Joan said. ‘How was it?’

‘What? Sorting postcards?’

‘Please,’ she said. ‘“The Farm”. I know you went there.’

‘I’m not supposed to talk about it.’

‘For heaven’s sake, we’re on campus. And no one can hear us over this din.’

‘It was OK.’

‘When I was there I passed all the physical exercise tests. You know I’m taller than most men, and tennis has kept me fit. The lectures made me sleepy, though. And I never did learn how to steam open an envelope and reseal it. I passed with reservations.’

‘Really.’ I dug into my salad as if it were chocolate cake.

‘Why did Don decide to send you to “The Farm” now?’

‘He said because we had a lull in our workload.’

‘He doesn’t have a special assignment for you?’

‘Like what? I’m a file clerk.’

‘Want to come to my place tonight? We could have a couple of Martinis and dinner.’

‘I would love to, but I can’t. Knitting socks for our boys tonight.’

‘Surely, you can skip it once.’

‘I’d rather not.’ I ran out of food to keep my mouth full and limit my responses.

‘How about Saturday?’

‘I’m going shopping with a friend.’ Alessa might want me to meet her on Saturday again.

‘OK, be a party-pooper.’

‘Sorry.’

Back in my office I went behind the partition that separated my desk from the others to recover my poise. My closest friend had tested my ability to keep my mouth shut, and I’d passed. Melinsky must have recruited her. Thank God I’d realized she was pumping me. If I’d gone over to her apartment for Martinis she would have kept trying to break my resolve. I understood now that spies had no friends. I was glad I wasn’t going to be one for long.

NINE

A
lessa collected her knitting bag and coat while her mother-in-law frowned at her disapprovingly.

‘Knitting is such an inappropriate occupation for you, dear,’ she said. ‘Surely, you can find something more appropriate to do.’

‘I love to knit,
Madre
,
you know that. And I can practice my English at the same time.’

‘But the people you are associating with! Who are they?’

‘Regular American women. I like them.’

Sebastian looked up from the stacks of paperwork and accounts he and Orazio were studying on the breakfast table.

‘Leave her be, Mamma,’ Sebastian said. ‘Alessa can do as she pleases. Have fun,
cara
,’
he said to her
.

Alessa couldn’t resist running over to Sebastian and kissing his mop of curly brown hair before leaving the apartment. Her husband, with his thick spectacles and poetic nature, was no warrior, but he was the kindest man she’d ever known. He must have inherited it from his father, because his mother was
una stronza
. Being married to Sebastian was worth living in the same apartment as her mother-in-law, Alessa reminded herself, and it wouldn’t be forever.

At her locker in the sub-basement Alessa changed into her refugee disguise.

Sebastian couldn’t fight in the war. The British, the Canadians, and the Americans had all rejected him because of his poor vision. But Turi had asked Alessa to do more than knit socks, and she intended to do it, no matter how dangerous it was.

TEN

I
t seemed even colder in the basement of the Union Methodist Church women’s club room than it was outside. The church turned off its central heating during the week, so the six of us crowded our chairs around an old-fashioned tubby coal furnace. The sexton was kind enough to leave us a scuttle of coal every week. It was still chilly enough for us to keep our coats on though.

Alessa wore her thrift shop greatcoat, as usual, and I had on my serviceable wool. I longed for a new coat with a real fur collar, but seeing Alessa in her threadbare clothes made me feel ashamed.

Four other women joined us tonight. Two of them stayed warm in full-length furs. The others were ordinary housewives bundled up in cloth coats like mine. But we were all here, in this freezing church basement, to do something, anything, to help win the war. In my case I did it badly, I’m afraid.

‘Ladies,’ one of the housewives, Laura, said, ‘I found this great pattern in
Ladies’ Home Journal
, for fingerless gloves. I wrote a copy out for each of us.’

‘This is wonderful,’ one of the mink clad women, Pearl, said. ‘The soldiers love these. Keeps their hands warm but their fingers free to do their work. Thanks.’

I inspected the glove pattern. No way would I ever be able to knit it. When I looked up I saw Alessa grinning at me.

‘Go ahead, laugh,’ I said.

‘As I mentioned the last time we talked, I’m sure you have other abilities.’

The other women giggled. When I looked hurt, Pearl put her hand on my arm. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘you’re working at a real government job, so you don’t have much time to practice.’

We dutifully pulled our projects out of our knitting bags and got to work. I took advantage of the moment to give Alessa an envelope containing the OSS’s answer to Turi’s note agreeing with all his, and Alessa’s, instructions.

‘Here are directions to that consignment shop you wanted to visit,’ I said to Alessa. When our hands touched she squeezed my fingers and our eyes met. For a second we saw deep into each other’s soul. She was a fine person, and I regretted we’d need to break off our friendship when our mutual foray into espionage was over.

So we knitted. And knitted. The fingers of some of these women – including Alessa’s – flew. I labored along, but had to ask Alessa for help with a dropped stitch only once.

No one asked Alessa why she wore a man’s used coat, or what the other women’s husbands did for a living. We worked and talked about how coffee would be rationed at the end of November and the rumors that new ration books for even more foodstuffs would be issued after Christmas.

‘Frankly, I’m glad they’re going to ration coffee,’ I said. ‘Then everyone will have their fair share without needing to queue up at the grocery stores.’ Dellaphine queued once a week to buy groceries in short supply, but some people simply didn’t have the time.

‘I bought some margarine this week,’ Laura said.

‘Really?’ Pearl said. ‘Was it awful?’

‘Not if you’re out of butter.’

‘But it’s such an ugly white color,’ I said.

‘It came with yellow food coloring,’ Laura said. ‘My children got a kick out of mixing it in.’

‘I’ve had margarine too,’ Alessa said. ‘It tastes best when you spread it on something hot.’

At the end of our two hours we packed up our knitting bags, wrapped scarves around our heads, and pulled on our gloves.

Alessa hung back, and I stayed behind with her.

‘I almost forgot,’ she said. ‘I found a new pattern for you too. Don’t make that face, it’s easy. It’s a sock pattern without a heel.’

‘No heel?’

‘It’s like a tube. So you don’t have to turn a heel. And it fits all sizes.’

She handed me a folded paper, and I could feel the small envelope hidden inside it. I was surprised; Melinsky had told me to expect nothing from her tonight.

‘Thanks,’ I said, stuffing it into my coat pocket. ‘Listen, would you like to have lunch again tomorrow? Maybe we can go to a movie?’

She shook her head. ‘Can’t,’ she said. ‘My cousin has loaded me up with chores. Some other time. But I’ll see you here next week.’

‘OK,’ I said. I had a sudden urge to throw my arms around her and hold her close, which I managed to suppress. I was beginning to think of this woman as a friend, someone I cared about, and I shouldn’t do that.

I did exactly as Platon instructed me, walking across the street to the filling station instead of going straight home. I leaned over the bright-red chest freezer and pulled out a freezing cold Coca Cola. After popping the cap on the bottle opener on the side of the freezer, I took a long, sweet swallow. The Coca Cola Company had convinced the government not to restrict their sugar allotment, as their product was essential to the morale of the war effort. I agreed.

I strolled out the side door of the filling station, and sure enough, there was Jack waiting for me behind the wheel of an old Ford woody with a rusted out running-board. He didn’t speak to me, but tipped his fedora. We drove north a block, then turned on K and headed east. I didn’t ask him where we were going. Some café or other, I guessed.