I Looked for the One My Heart Loves (5 page)

7

On June 6, 1944,
the Allies landed on the beaches of Normandy. No one had expected it, including the Germans, who woke that morning to a sea covered with ships. The fighting was intense, but the British, American, and Canadian troops managed to break the German defenses. As soon as the news was announced by Radio Paris, a wave of excitement fell over the French capital.

“It's only a start,” Yves said. “Now they have to liberate France. That means things are going to be even more dangerous. We're going to be stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

Anne sighed. Her father was probably right, but she didn't want to let him stifle her joy. She would deal with all the hardships in good time.

After a brief respite, the Allied bombing raids started again in and around Paris. The Nazi war effort had to be disrupted as much as possible. Factories, train tracks, ammunition depots were blown up constantly, paralyzing the country. Trains didn't run anymore. The postal service was interrupted. People could no longer travel, and food was more and more difficult to get. Endless lines of people formed in front of bakeries that had nothing to sell. In July, Anne no longer had the strength to come and go she was so hungry. And on top of everything, there were constant power outages, which made traveling in the metro particularly treacherous!

In such an environment, going to the Touraine region was out of the question. Once again, she was forced to spend the summer in Montmartre. Agnès's company helped her make it through the difficult times. In spite of their different personalities, they got along very well. She shared the same enthusiasm for film and theatre actors, cutting out their photos from magazines. They liked the same songs, and both dreamed of being grown-ups.

“I'll be different from my mother,” Anne said. “I'm going to get an education and a good job. …”

“Oh yeah?” Agnes said. She saw herself as a housewife.

In spite of their friendship, Anne had never revealed to her that she was in love with Alexis. “It'll be our secret,” he'd said. In order not to weaken the intensity of the promise, she had told no one about it.

By mid-August, daily life was at its worst yet. Members of the militia and the Résistance were fighting to the death in the streets of Paris. Some climbed onto roofs to gun down their enemies.

“You are not allowed to leave this building!” Monique kept telling her daughter.

On Sunday, August 20, a storm cooled the air after days of stifling heat, strikes, and shootouts. Suddenly, news traveled from one window to the other: the Allies were arriving in Paris! Yves and Monique looked at each other, and then decided to take their children to Avenue de Clichy. Once there, the crowd was so large Anne was under the impression that all the houses had emptied out. She spotted a red-white-and-blue badge that someone had dropped on the pavement, and she decided to pick it up before it got trampled.

Along with the celebrations came a lot of score settling. Collaborators were arrested, and stores and restaurants that had participated in the black market were looted. Some set out to find “the bitches who had slept with the Boches.” Anne thought about her neighbor. If she hadn't been arrested by the Gestapo, would she have been punished, even though she had secretly worked for the Résistance? The horrible years she had just suffered through had taught her to be suspicious of appearances.

The next day, the Allies still hadn't reached the capital. People reported swastikas still flying over some public buildings in the city. In the streets, there were still gunfights between the patriots, who erected barricades, and their enemies. In the overall mayhem, no one was able to fall asleep. Lying in her bed, Anne wondered what was going to happen. Would the British and Americans pound Paris before trying to enter it? Maybe the Germans, in an act of desperation, would decide to blow up the city! It was what her father feared. And she kept thinking about Alexis. For many days now, she had seen fifteen-year-old boys handling guns. Was Alexis doing the same thing, running the risk of getting killed? Trying to set her mind at ease, she convinced herself that he wasn't back in Paris yet.

On the evening of August 24, Anne was watching the darkening sky when the sirens began to blare. In the dining room, her mother was leaning out the window, talking to a neighbor.

She turned to Anne and said, “The suburbs are in flames, but apparently General Leclerc's troops are in Paris!” She dabbed her eyes with a hanky and added, “I have a hard time believing it.”

There was fighting on the roofs of Paris and bombs fell everywhere during the night. The Chastels ran to the shelter on Rue Girardon. With each explosion, Anne shivered. They couldn't die just as the enemy was about to leave for good! Some nearby parts of town were hit by the bombs, including around the Sacré-Coeur. There were victims, but the nightmare was coming to an end.

A week later, Anne and Agnès went to the Champs-Elysées­, where the American army had settled. Their trucks were parked near the Arc de Triomphe. Swamped by requests, some soldiers in khaki uniforms agreed to pose for a picture beside a group of female admirers. Children kept asking them for chocolate bars and gum. In an odd mix of French and English, conversations began. Sometimes, spontaneous­ applause broke out. A woman tried to climb onto a tank to wave a French flag. A soldier gave her a hand. She thanked him with a sultry kiss.

The same scenes played out repeatedly in the following weeks. The liberators drove up and down the streets in their jeeps. In Montmartre, they settled in Place du Tertre and next to the Moulin de la Galette. Slowly, the neighborhood was getting back on its feet. With sadness, people spoke of the ones who were gone: those who died during the bombings, those who were arrested and then deported, the prisoners of war who were now expected back. Shopkeepers began to put out on their shelves the few things they had for sale. Anne had to relearn how to leave her apartment building without fearing a stray bullet, to sleep without waking up with a start at the sound of the sirens, not to worry when her parents or Bernard were late. Still, too many memories haunted her, of refugees squeezing into basements and tunnels waiting for a place to live, of the countless orphans being cared for at the neighborhood's adoption centers. One morning, she felt like she was going to break down. Face buried in her pillow, she silently cried over all the tragedy surrounding her, that and man's injustice and cruelty. Her own anguish was overwhelming, as she felt she had no control over any aspect of her life.

The school year began. After all the excitement following the liberation of Paris, students had difficulty concentrating in class. Some felt that the war was over, but Anne disagreed.

Then winter came, so terribly cold! Once again, Parisians had to struggle to make up for shortages of coal and gas. Exhausted by the hardships, Monique grew sick, bronchitis that turned into pneumonia. She had to be hospitalized. At the sight of her father's troubled expression, Anne got scared.

“Is Mama going to be okay?”

“Of course she is! The doctors are going to make her feel all better again.”

In the Church of Saint-Pierre de Montmartre, Anne lit a candle, which she added to the dozens of others. No prayer came to her lips as she gazed at the flames illuminating the statue of the Virgin Mary. All she needed was a tangible light, a symbol …

During her mother's absence, Anne took care of the housework, which made her even more determined not to devote herself to such an existence. The world was too vast a place to confine yourself to a monotonous life. She had struck a deal with Agnès: if her friend lent her some of her parents' books, Anne would help Agnès with her Latin lessons.

In the back of her closet, under piles of old sweaters and socks, Anne hid Colette's novels, as well as Margaret Mitchell's
Gone with the Wind
. In those stories, female characters' preoccupations had nothing to do with peeling vegetables, doing the dishes, ironing sheets, or dusting furniture. It was through their adventures that Anne discovered the complexities of love. Nothing to do with the serene front that her parents put up! Winning over a man and keeping him required strategy and cleverness.

Monique left the hospital. But in spite of her efforts to get back to her normal routine, Anne's mother still had not fully recovered. Her father wasn't doing so well, either. The fighting was now taking place away from Paris, and the adults began showing signs of the deprivation and exhaustion they had suffered for five years.

Finally, Germany capitulated! “The War Is Over!” the newspaper headlines read. On May 8, Monique hung a French flag from the balcony. At three in the afternoon, General de Gaulle gave a speech on the radio. Parisians poured into the streets to celebrate. Until late evening, Anne, Bernard, and Agnès walked all over the city. Two searchlights created a giant V in the night sky. There were fireworks. People kissed and hugged in the streets. Were these the same people who'd fought so bitterly over their diverging political opinions?

Life returned to normal. In and around Place du Tertre, artists set up their easels. The accordion player went back to playing his usual tunes. Slowly, POWs came home. Couples with children returned to their old houses. Women wore their colorful summer dresses. Nothing was new, but everything seemed spruced up. Anne caught herself dreaming that Alexis would surprise her by waiting for her on a street corner. Taking advantage of the fact that everyone was looking for acquaintances who had disappeared, she asked around. Monsieur and Madame Messager? People remembered the Messagers, but no one had seen them since the exodus. Nobody knew what had become of them. …

1956

8

Anne came out of
the basement,
where the paintings were stored. Before closing the gallery for the night, she needed to write a bio for the artist whose work would be exhibited next. She slid a sheet of paper into the typewriter and began writing. Concentrating on her work, she didn't notice the man watching her through the storefront window. He finally pushed the door open and went inside.

“François!” Anne said.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said, walking over to Anne to kiss her.

“I won't be long … if you don't distract me.”

Fifteen minutes later, Anne slipped the pages into the proper folder. She turned off the lights, put on her coat.

“Get out, quick, before I turn on the alarm!”

Every night for the past two years, Anne had been setting that same alarm. Then she would lock the door to the gallery that had hired her just after she had received her diploma. A fellow student, who had moved to Milan, had talked to Anne about Amanda Kircher, one of his parents' friends.

“She wanted me to become her assistant, but I'd rather live in Italy. I'll talk to her about you.”

A week later, Anne met with Madame Kircher. They liked each other immediately, and Anne was hired on a trial basis. Under the guidance of this woman whose father had lived through Montparnasse's heyday, Anne expanded the formal education she had received at the École du Louvre. Though she remained devoted to the great Spanish and Flemish masters, she learned to love some of the surreal artists as well. Giorgio de Chirico, René Magritte, Paul Delvaux …

“Let's go have a drink,” François said.

They walked toward the Opéra Garnier. On this particular night in November of 1956, there weren't many people on the sidewalks. It was cold out, and most took the metro or stamped their feet while waiting for the bus. Newspaper boys wearing caps shouted the headlines of the two papers they waved in the air: “Bombing of Suez Canal by British and French Planes!” and “Soviet Tanks Enter Budapest!”

François stopped in front of the Café de la Paix's revolving door.

“Let's try to find a table,” he said.

They made their way through the front room, where waiters performed balancing acts with trays covered with glasses. They spotted a free booth, next to a golden palm tree. They each ordered a martini. Before raising the glass to her lips, Anne gave François a smile.

“This was a nice surprise,” she said.

“I'm beginning to learn what you like,” he said, looking her in the eyes.

“Is that so?”

“You like hot chocolate, good wine, tweed skirt suits, hats with a veil, peonies, American movies …”

“Romantic comedies, to be exact,” Anne said.

“Rock and roll …”

“When I have a good dancing partner!”

“I'm not too bad. …”

They'd met the winter before at Agnès's son's baptism. François was late getting to the church. Holding her godson in her arms, Anne had watched him hurry over to the baptismal font. He was a friend of Agnès's husband. Having just received his degree in aeronautical engineering, he was working on designing and building new planes. With The war had facilitated the development of the piston engine, the jet engine, and the radar, so the airline companies were determined to overtake the nautical industry as the premier method of travel. François had chosen a profession with a great future. During the reception following the baptism, they had chatted. Anne had talked about her studies at the École du Louvre and working at a gallery on Rue Saint-Honoré. When he'd asked her about the gallery's next exhibition, she'd invited him to the opening.

“Let's see if you're as perceptive as I am,” he said with a smile. “Can you tell me what I like?”

She thought for a second, and then said, “Tennis, playing the guitar,
babas au rhum
. . .”

“Not too bad. But you forgot the most important thing!”

“Ties?”

“Something much more substantial.”

“Your career?”

François took Anne's hands in his.

“Think harder. …”

And without giving her time to do so, he said, “You.”

As she remained silent, he added.

“It's not like I've kept my feelings hidden.”

Nodding, Anne wondered if she wanted to take her relationship with François to the next level. For the past year, they had seen each other regularly, sometimes just the two of them, other times with friends. She enjoyed his company, his thoughtfulness, his energy. He had a sense of humor and didn't take himself too seriously. But being in love was another matter! Anne only knew that she was more attracted to François than she had been to her previous boyfriends. Early on, she had realized that men were attracted to her, a revelation that both pleased and dismayed her. She liked being courted, but her heart already belonged to someone. In spite of the long absence, she still felt connected to Alexis. Every time something important happened to Anne, her thoughts were with him.

“I even thought that …”

“François, what's with the questions?”

“I need to know where we stand, you and I.”

He paused for a second, and then added, “I'd like for us to get married.”

“Married …”

“You're available and so am I. And I'm in love with you. …”

Things were going much too fast for Anne. She wanted to run away from this place. Detecting Anne's discomfort, François slid over on the velour seat and put an arm around her waist.

“Very much in love,” he whispered in her ear. “I've been trying to tell you that for a long time, but I was afraid of your reaction. Tonight, I worked up the courage.”

The last sentence helped his case. If he had been sure of himself, Anne would have been less touched. Why not say yes to this man who wanted to share his life with her? At twenty-six, she had turned her back on all those who had been too eager. Wasn't it time for her to accept someone else's love? Otherwise, she might wind up an old maid.

“Can I at least hope?” François asked.

Anne had the impression that someone else was responding when she said, “Yes.”

He snuggled against her even more.

“That makes me so happy!”

François Saulnier took Anne to meet his parents. They lived on Rue du Général-Foy, in the Eighth Arrondissement. A creaky elevator took them to the third floor of the posh nineteenth-­century building.

“Go in,” François said, once they reached the front door.

They took off their coats, and walked into a stuffy living room. A corpulent woman in her sixties rose to her feet as the couple came into the room.

“Mama, this is Anne.”

“Good afternoon, mademoiselle.”

François hadn't said much to Anne about his family. She only knew that he was the youngest of three children, and that his father had been in the cavalry during the War of 1914–1918. He was as dry as his wife was round. All four sat in chairs with hard backs, and an awkward conversation followed until a butler brought in some tea. The Saulniers weren't so much unpleasant as incredibly conventional. Looking them over, Anne was surprised at how little François was like them. She had a hard time imagining that he had grown up in such a cold environment. For the first time, she felt as though he wasn't comfortable. Was he afraid she wouldn't make a good impression? Though Madame Saulnier was tactful, Anne realized that she was trying to get as much information out of her as possible.

“Do your parents live in Paris?”

“They left Montmartre to settle in Tours. My father bought a pharmacy there.”

“What about you? Did you stay in Montmartre?”

“I live in a home for girls, on Rue des Écoles.”

“I've already told you that, Mama,” François said.

“I forgot!”

As the interrogation continued, Anne recalled the postwar years. After graduating from high school, she had decided to go to the École du Louvre. Her father didn't agree with her choice, arguing that as the country was rebuilding, there were more important matters than art. But Anne's stubbornness prevailed. She was in her first year when her grand­father passed away. With this death, her childhood evaporated. Things would never be the same again! She also then realized that her grandmother wasn't the strong woman she had known. In a few days, Yvonne shriveled up, as though she wanted to die, too, and join her husband, who was waiting for her at the Cormery cemetery. As often as she could, Anne went down to the village where Bernard had taken over his grandfather's carpentry shop. After her parents' departure in 1953, she felt rootless in Paris. Fortunately, Agnès was a link to the past. In spite of their different paths, they had remained close, to the point where they saw each other every weekend.

Politely, but without pretending to be something she wasn't, Anne answered Madame Saulnier's questions. Just from the way the woman looked at her, Anne knew that she wasn't the daughter-in-law she had hoped for. No doubt she should have been from a higher social class! On the other hand, Monsieur Saulnier obviously agreed with his son's choice.

Anne turned to François. Since she had said yes, she was trying to figure out how life would be with him. Images of intimacy, or sharing a bed, frequently came to her mind. Instead of repressing them, she wondered if she would experience the joys described in novels. Each time François kissed or held her tight against himself, she didn't feel like pulling away. If he had ever tried to rush things, would she have gone along with it? As a teen, Anne had heard that there were two categories of girls: easy and virtuous. The former were quickly dropped for the latter, who were the ones men married.

“François told me that you work in an art gallery,” Madame Saulnier said.

“Yes, that's right.”

“And so you rub elbows with artists!”

“The ones whose work is exhibited in Madame Kircher's gallery.”

Madame Saulnier's expression betrayed her worry. How could she accept the fact that her future daughter-in-law was working in a depraved environment?

“Are you planning on keeping that job?”

“Of course she is,” François said as he took a Craven cigarette out of his pack.

Since she had first met him, Anne had admired his polite nonchalance, his ability to keep his cool at all times. François got what he wanted without pressuring others. The proof: she had agreed to marry him. Was it because he had appeared at the right time in her life? Was she really that attached to him? She watched him as he lit his cigarette. Without being handsome, he did have a certain charm, with his high forehead, large jaw, dark and often mocking eyes. Tall, athletic-looking, he personified safety. There was nothing romantic about him. François was pragmatic.

As she left the apartment, Anne had the feeling she had just taken an exam for which she had not studied enough.

“I don't think I wowed your parents,” she said in the elevator.

“Too bad for them!”