Underground (27 page)

EIGHTEEN

H
E FELT
oddly vindicated by the sight of Zoly. Lukas's unease, the prickly sensation at the back of his neck, had been warranted. He finished his glass of beer because the waiter would not permit him to take it to a table, where he would be expected to order again at a higher price. He then walked across the short distance and pulled out the chair across from Zoly and sat down.

“Surprised?” Zoly asked.

“I've smelt you around for the last little while, like a piece of dog turd deep within the treads of my boots.”

“Your rough language is true to your country roots, I see,” said Zoly. He called over the waiter and ordered another Calvados and beer for Lukas. He butted one cigarette, took another from the pack, but seemed in no hurry to light it, first studying the street outside.

Lukas could feel the alcohol as he had intended to, to help bring on sleep. He enjoyed the slight intoxication and would have liked to drink the Calvados in front of him, but he didn't touch it, and when Zoly finally did light his next cigarette and proposed a toast, Lukas just sipped at his beer.

“Let's catch up,” said Zoly. “I'm a little insulted that you didn't invite me to your wedding.”

“It wasn't much of a party—just family and a few close friends.”

“Belated congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“And how is the life of the
bourgeois gentilhomme
agreeing with you?”

“The married part of my life is quite wonderful, but I'm underemployed. I'm finishing off a book about the partisans for the government-in-exile, but there isn't much money in that. It's not easy to find work in France.”

“I imagine not, but you always seemed a little above making a living, if I might say so. You brushed us off, and the French as well, I understand, as if you didn't need to earn your way through life. You must have been saving yourself for your wife.”

“For the Americans, actually.”

“But they never came to call.”

“I'm not at liberty to say.” There wasn't much point in being evasive, but Lukas did it out of pride. If Zoly knew he had been with the French and left them, he knew just as well that Lukas was not working for the Americans.

Zoly smiled ruefully. “You're bored to tears, Lukas. This isn't the life for you.”

It was a kind of insult, but a relief as well. Lukas took the shot of Calvados in his hand and finished it. He regretted his weakness when he looked up and saw Zoly's faint smile. “You've travelled to Paris to tell me how I should live?”

“Coming into this place for nightcaps every evening? You may not be an alcoholic yet, but you will be soon enough at this rate. You can't even afford these drinks. You'd be better off drinking at home alone after Monika goes to sleep.”

Her name on his lips sounded a little dirty. “Have you come to make me an offer?”

“I have.”

“What is it?”

“Let's go for a walk. I'm uncomfortable talking in this place.”

“What for? You made a spectacle of yourself in the window. If anyone was looking for you, they could have seen you easily enough.”

“Yes. I wanted the French to see me if they were watching, but I'm not so eager for them to hear me. The Americans either, if they're bothering, which I doubt. Maybe even the Soviets are here. This whole crowd could be made up of spies, for all we know. You can finish your beer before we go out, if you like.”

Lukas stood up to go without touching his glass, but he regretted the beer he was leaving behind and then was embarrassed by the regret. They walked out. It was a cool night but the streets were somewhat full. They walked in the direction of the Bastille.

“Do you have any news?” Lukas asked.

“Odds and ends. More important, we finally have some interested parties. The Russian bomb and the Chinese Communists have excited the Americans to look for traitors among themselves. There are plenty enough of those, but they'll never find them all. The British are better off because of their class system. The upper classes are all playing for the same team and they'll never betray it. We have a very good relationship with the Americans, actually. We do many things together.”

“What about the partisans in Lithuania? Is there a central command structure now? Have the British provided arms and radio contact?”

“You want to know an awful lot for a man who's no longer in the game. I can say some things are very bad, but there's always hope they'll get better.”

Lukas was exasperated. “All right, then, you don't have to tell me anything except for this. Why are you wasting my time? If you want something, tell me what it is.”

“We were just wondering if you'd like to make a return visit for us.”

“To Lithuania?”

“Obviously.”

“What for?”

“There are a couple of pieces of equipment that have broken down. We need someone to bring in replacements.”

“The last time around you wanted me to assist Lozorius. Now you just want a courier.”

“More than a courier. Someone we can trust.”

“There must be others besides me who could do this.”

“There are. We have young volunteers, but no one who is known inside Lithuania. Besides, there's another reason.”

“What's that?”

“Lozorius asked for you by name.”

“He's still in Lithuania?”

“Yes.”

They had come to the end of the rue St-Antoine where it met the vast traffic circle at the Bastille, a major hub that gathered up the cars and redistributed them.

It was oddly heartening to know that Lozorius had asked for him by name, but Lukas fought down the satisfaction of it. Charismatic types were appealing but could not really be trusted. They put you in danger. Unfortunately, knowing this did not diminish their appeal.

“Have you ever seen the column at the centre of this square?” Zoly asked.

“Not up close.”

“Let's take a look.”

Lukas followed Zoly through the thin night traffic out to the column, which did not look like much at all in the dark. Zoly stopped to talk there.

“Well?” he asked. “Do you think you would consider going in again?”

“For Lozorius's sake?”

“For the sakes of your colleagues. Say, Flint?”

“Do you know if he's still alive?”

“I don't know that he's dead.” Zoly was watching the people who were standing around the column, mostly boulevardier types looking for action on the street.

“I do feel a sense of loyalty to them.”

“So you should. You took an oath to follow orders.”

“But I also took an oath before my wife. Who's to say which oath is more important?”

“The one that came first.”

“You're talking like a lawyer. I did what I could. I tried hard to get back on my own terms in the first year. Now my life has moved on.”

“Lucky you. And what do you intend to do with this glorious freedom of yours? You studied to be a teacher back in Lithuania, and in literature. Lithuanian literature! Don't make me laugh. The only type more useless than you out here is a Lithuanian lawyer. There is no life for you unless you join the army or get a factory job. I can't see you in either one, somehow. Besides, what's more important than your country?”

“I don't need to establish my patriotic credentials with anyone, least of all you. I was in Lithuania during all three occupations and I lived underground in bunkers for months at a time. I've killed more men than most soldiers, and many times I've come close to being killed myself. And meanwhile, what are you? A former diplomat. One of the grey men who takes a paycheque from the British and a pat on the head from the Swedes and tells himself he's doing it for his country.”

A gang of five singing youths with arms over one another's shoulders walked up to the column. Zoly touched Lukas on the elbow. They walked on. He didn't seem to be upset by what Lukas had said. They strolled up the boulevard Beaumarchais.

“I don't suppose money would interest you, would it?” asked Zoly. “Not that there's all that much, but I know Monika isn't working while she's in school. If you went away, she could use something to help pay the bills.”

“If I went away, she certainly could use money. But that's not the point, is it? Since I'm not going away, the question is academic.”

“Anyway, she's a resourceful woman. Did you ever wonder how Monika came to see you speak?”

“You mean back in Germany, the first time we met?”

“Yes, I do. There were no other people there from France. There were no visitors from Italy. There were no people from any country but Germany, hardly anyone from another occupation zone. How do you think she ever got the travel documents to visit the camp in the first place?”

“She said she wanted to hear me speak.”

“And I don't blame her. You were a very big star, the partisan hero. You made Lozorius a little jealous, you know. I think that's why he went back into Lithuania so quickly. He didn't really want you outshining him.”

“And that's why you insisted that I report to him if I went back in then, right? To discourage me?”

“Oh yes. He had a need to be in charge. He must be in trouble if he's asked for you now.”

“What kind of trouble could he be in?”

“I can't really go into much detail until you commit.”

“But it doesn't sound like I'm going to do that, does it?”

The street became seedier as the boulevard Beaumarchais changed to the boulevard du Temple and they drew closer to the Place de la République. Prostitutes called out to them from the other side of the street.

“There is one bit of information that Lozorius passed on that I think you should have, no matter what you choose to do.”

“What's that?”

“It's about your wife.”

“What about her?”

“Your first wife.”

“Yes?”

“Elena is alive.”

It took Lukas a few moments to understand what Zoly had said.

“Alive? Alive where?”

“Not in Siberia. Elena is in Lithuania. She was very badly wounded and put in a prison hospital.”

“Is she in prison, then?”

“Flint broke her out. She's in Lithuania, and she's free, but she's in hiding.”

Lukas stopped and looked at Zoly. They were almost at the Place de la République.

“When did you find out about this?”

“A couple of weeks ago, but I couldn't get here any sooner.”

Lukas slapped Zoly across the face, so hard that his gold-rimmed eyeglasses and the cigarette he was about to raise to his lips went flying. After a moment's shock Zoly tried to say something, but Lukas slapped him again. He was going to do it a third time but Zoly raised his hands to protect himself, and Lukas took him by the lapels and pushed him back against a tree and then pulled him down to the earth.

“Tell me everything you know.”

“That's about all of it.”

“Who told this to you?”

“Lozorius.”

“How did he get word out?”

“It was in his last radio transmission.”

“What else did he say?”

“Just that he needed you and that your wife was still alive. He said the set was damaged by water. It wouldn't work properly.”

“Any more transmissions?”

“Two garbled ones.”

“Is it really him?”

“The radio operator on this end says it's him. He can tell. Each person develops his own style on the telegraph key and Lozorius has his. It can't be copied.”

“Has he been captured and turned? Is it a trap?”

“We don't know.”

“So it could be a lie.”

“Anything is possible. We don't know.”

Lukas slapped him again.

“Why are you hitting me now? What was that for?”

“For lying to me.”

“Do you hit everyone who lies to you?” Zoly asked. He rose when Lukas released him and retrieved his eyeglasses, and once they were back on, a little crooked, he looked for the cigarette that had been knocked from his hand. He picked it up from the sidewalk, reached into his breast pocket for a box of matches and lit it. He looked up at Lukas. “It might be time to reconsider the various vows you've taken.”

N INETEEN

T
HEY SAT IN CHAIRS
across from one another, a half-empty bottle of wine between them, but Lukas's glass was untouched. The window to the courtyard was open and he could hear the children murmuring outside in the cobblestoned yard. What did children that age have to talk about so intensely and so quietly?

Secrets, probably, and confidences. From the very beginning one veiled and unveiled truths, and reality changed accordingly.

Lukas wanted the wine in the glass on the table before him, but he was resisting it. Already the luxury of wine seemed to belong to another world, a kind of dream world he had been living in until Zoly reappeared.

Lukas thought about things he had not thought about for a long time. Whether Flint and Lakstingala were still alive. Whether there was any news of his parents. Above all, how it was possible that Elena was still alive when Flint had seen her body lying on the earth outside the bunker.

What the Reds must have done to her after they took her to prison did not bear much thought, but he couldn't help thinking about it. His one consolation was that they would not have tortured her if she was hurt badly. They would have tried to heal her first and only then begun to break her down again. And if they knew her as the killer at the engagement party in Marijampole, she could not have expected much mercy.

But maybe Flint had got her out in time.

One of the courtyard children cried out in pain. She had fallen and was sobbing as her friends tried to soothe her. He would have liked to have children sometime, to live in a time when children were possible.