"I huddled in my seat. When Georg jammed on the brakes to avoid an unlighted cart, I let myself fall forward. 'Coward,' Georg snapped at me. 'This is no time to play sick.'
" 'I feel faint,' I said, slowly picking myself up.
" 'Weakling!'
"I had ripped open the threads in my cuff. The second time he had to brake I located the razor blade; the third time, I bumped my head against the windshield. When I settled back in the seat, I had the blade in my hand."
Schwarz looked up. His forehead was bathed in sweat. "He would never have let me go," he said. "Do you believe me?"
"Of course I believe you."
"As we were rounding a curve, I shouted as loud as I could: 'Watch out on the left!'
"The unexpected cry took Georg unawares. His head turned automatically to the left; he braked and gripped the wheel. I lashed out at him. It wasn't a big blade, but it caught him in the side of the neck. I pulled it forward hard across his windpipe. He let go the wheel and clutched his throat. Then he sagged against the door. His arm hit the handle. The car hurtled into a clump of bushes. The door flew open, and Georg fell out. He was wheezing and bleeding heavily.
"I climbed out and listened. All I could hear was the roaring of the motor. I turned it off. The wind seemed to howl in the silence, but it was the blood in my ears. I watched Georg and looked for the blade with the strip of cork. It glinted on the running board. I picked it up and waited. I thought Georg might jump up at any moment. Then a quiver ran through his legs and he was still. I threw the blade away, but picked it up again and stuck it in the ground. I turned off the lights and listened. Not a sound. I hadn't thought about what to do next; now I had to act quickly. Every minute's head start counted.
"I removed Georg's clothes and tied them up in a bundle. Then I dragged the body into the bushes. He wouldn't be found for some time, and then it would take a while to identify him. If I were in luck, they would list him as unknown. I checked the car. It was undamaged. I drove it back on the road. I vomited. In the car I found a flashlight. There was blood on the seat and on the door. Both were leather and easy to clean. There was water in the ditch, and I used Georg's shirt as a rag. I also wiped the running board. I inspected the whole car with the flashlight and kept wiping until it was clean. Then I washed myself and got in. It nauseated me to be sitting in Georg's place; I had the feeling that he would leap at me out of the darkness. I drove off.
"I left the car in a side street a little way from the house. It had begun to rain. I crossed the street, breathing deeply. Gradually I began to feel the aches in my body. I stopped outside a fish store; there was a mirror at the side of the window. I couldn't see much in the dark silver, but as far as I could make out, my face was swollen. I took a deep breath of the damp air. I could hardly believe that I had been there that same afternoon.
"I managed to slip by the concierge unseen. She was already asleep and just mumbled something. It was not unusual for me to come in late. Quickly I mounted the stairs.
"Helen was not there. I stared at the bed and the clothes cupboard. Awakened by the light, the canary began to sing. The cat came to the window with its phosphorescent eyes and peered in like a damned soul. I waited for a time. Then I crept over to Lachmann's door and knocked softly.
"He awoke at once. Fugitives are light sleepers. 'Are you—' he began. Then he took a look at me and fell silent. 'Have you seen my wife?' I asked.
"He shook his head. 'She's been away. She wasn't back an hour ago.'
" Thank God.'
"He looked at me as if I had gone mad. 'Thank God,' I repeated. 'Then she probably hasn't been arrested. She's just gone out.'
" 'Just gone out,' Lachmann repeated. 'What's happened to you?' he asked then.
" 'They questioned me. I got away.'
"The police?'
" The Gestapo. It's all over. Go back to sleep.'
" 'Does the Gestapo know where you are?'
" 'If they did, I wouldn't be here. I'll be gone before morning.'
" 'Wait a second.' Lachmann rummaged about and came back with some rosaries and holy pictures. 'Here, take these with you. Sometimes they do wonders. They got Hirsch across the border. The people in the Pyrenees are very religious. These things have been blessed by the Pope himself.'
" 'Really?'
"His smile was beautiful. 'If they save us,' he said, 'they've been blessed by God himself. Good-by, Schwarz.'
"I went back to the room and packed our things. I felt utterly empty, but tense, like a drum with nothing inside. In Helen's drawer I discovered a packet of letters addressed to her in care of General Delivery, Marseille. I thought nothing and put them in her bag. I also put in her evening dress from Paris. Then I sat down at the washbasin and turned on the water. My burnt nails ached and it hurt me to breathe. I looked out at the wet roofs and thought nothing.
"At last I heard Helen's steps. She stood in the doorway like a beautiful ravaged ghost. 'What are you doing?* She knew nothing. 'What's wrong?'
" 'We've got to get out of Marseille,' I said. 'Right away.'
" 'Georg?'
"I nodded. I had decided to tell her as little as possible. 'What have they done to you?' she asked in a fright, and came closer.
" They arrested me. I escaped. They'll be looking for me.'
" 'Where can we go?'
" 'Spain.'
" 'How?'
" 'As far as possible in a car. Can you make it quick?'
" 'Yes.'
"She winced. 'Are you in pain?' I asked.
"She nodded. Who is that in the doorway? I thought. Who is it? She was a stranger to me. 'Are there any ampoules left?' I asked.
" 'Not very many.'
" 'We'll get some more.'
" 'Leave me for a moment,' she said.
"I stood in the hallway. Doors opened a crack. Faces appeared with the eyes of lemurs. One-eyed faces with crooked mouths. Lachmann in long gray underdrawers darted up the stairs like a grasshopper and pressed a half-full bottle of cognac into my hand. 'It will come in handy,' he whispered. 'V.S.O.P.'
"I took a good swig on the spot.
" 'Could you sell me another bottle?' I asked. 'Here. I have plenty of money.'
"My first impulse had been to throw Georg's briefcase away, but I had quickly changed my mind. In it I had found a considerable sum of money—and, better still, his passport, along with Helen's and my own.
"I had weighted down Georg's clothes with a stone and tossed them in the harbor. Then after carefully examining Georg's passport under the flashlight, I went to Gregorius's room and woke him up. Would he fix up Georg's passport for me with my photo? At first he was horrified and flatly refused.
His business was 'rectifying' the passports of refugees and in the performance of it he felt more righteous than God, whom he held responsible for the whole mess—but he had never before laid eyes on the passport of a high Gestapo official. I told him that he wouldn't have to sign his work like a painting, that the responsibility was all mine, and that no one would know he had anything to do with it.
" 'What if they torture you?'
"I showed him my hand and face. 'I'll be gone in an hour,' I said. 'As a refugee, I wouldn't get ten miles with my face in this state. And I've got to get out of France. This is my only chance. Here's my passport. Photograph the picture and put the copy on the Gestapo passport. What's the charge? I have money.' Gregorius finally consented.
"Lachmann brought the second bottle of cognac. I paid him and went back to my room. Helen was standing by the bedside table. The drawer where the letters had been was open. She banged it shut and came over to me. 'Did Georg do that?' she asked.
" 'It was a committee,' I said.
" 'Damn his soul!' She went to the window. The cat fled. She opened the shutters. 'Damn his soul!' she repeated with the deep passionate conviction of a medicine man cursing the enemies of his tribe. 'Damn his soul in this world and the next. . . .'
"I took hold of her clenched fists
and drew her away from the window. 'We've got to be going.'
"We went down the stairs. Eyes followed us from every door. A gray arm motioned. 'Schwarz! Don't take a knapsack. The police are on the lookout for knapsacks. I have an artificial leather suitcase. Cheap and very chic . . .'
" 'Thank you,' I said. 'I don't need a suitcase. I need luck.'
" 'We'll keep our fingers crossed.'
"Helen had gone ahead. I could hear a dripping streetwalker who had taken refuge in the doorway advising her to stay home, you couldn't do any business in this rain. Good, I thought; as far as I was concerned, the streets couldn't be too deserted. 'Where did that come from?' asked Helen when she saw the car. 'Stolen,' I said. 'It ought to take us part of the way. Get in.'
"It was still dark. The rain streamed down the windshield. If there was still any blood on the running board, it would be washed away now. I stopped a little way from the house where Gregorius lived. 'Stand under there,' I said to Helen, pointing to the glass overhang protecting the entrance of a store dealing in fishing equipment.
" 'Can't I stay in the car?*
" 'No. If someone turns up, act as if you were waiting for customers. I'll be right back.'
"Gregorius had finished. His fear had given way to artist's pride. 'The only difficulty was the uniform,' he explained. 'Your picture has civilian clothes. So I cut off his head.'
"He had detached Georg's picture, cut out the head and neck, laid the uniform over my photo, and photographed the montage. 'Obersturmbannführer Schwarz,' he said proudly. He had already dried and attached the copy. 'The stamp came out pretty well. If they look at it carefully, I have to admit, you're done for—you would be even if it were authentic. Here's your old passport—unharmed.'
"He gave me both passports and what was left of Georg's photo. I tore up the photograph into small pieces on my way down the stairs and threw the fragments into the water that was racing down the gutter.
"Helen was waiting. I had checked the gas; the tank was full. With luck that would take us across the border. In the glove compartment I found a cornet, the document required for taking a car across borders—it had been used twice. I decided not to cross where the car had already been seen. I also found a Michelin map, a pair of gloves, and a motorist's atlas of Europe.
"We drove through the rain. We still had a few hours before daylight, and we headed for Perpignan. I decided to stay on the main road until it was light. 'Would you like me to drive?' Helen asked after a time. 'Your hands.'
" 'Can you? You haven't slept.'
" 'Neither have you.'
"I looked at her. She seemed fresh and calm, though I don't see how she managed it. 'Like some cognac?'
" 'No. I'll drive until we can get some coffee.'
" 'Lachmann gave me another bottle of cognac'
"I took it out of my coat pocket. Helen shook her head. She had her injection.
" 'Later,' she said to me very gently. 'Try to sleep. We'll take turns driving.'
"Helen was a better driver than I. After a while she began to sing; monotonous, childish songs. I had been all keyed up; now the humming of the car and her soft singsong began to lull me. I knew that I ought to sleep, but I kept waking up. The gray countryside flew by, and we used the bright lights, ignoring the blackout regulations.
" 'Did you kill him?' Helen asked suddenly.
" 'Yes.'
" 'Did you have to?'
" 'Yes.'
"We drove on. I stared at the road; all sorts of things drifted through my mind, and then I passed out like a stone. When I awoke, the rain had stopped. It was morning, the car was humming, Helen was at the wheel, and I had the feeling that I had dreamt it all. 'What I told you isn't true,' I said.
" 'I know,' she said.
" 'It was somebody else,' I said.
'"I know.'
"She did not look at me.
CHAPTER 18
"I decided to get a Spanish visa for Helen at the last town before the border. The crowd outside the consulate was terrifying. I knew the police might already be on the lookout for the car, but I had to take the chance. There was no other way. Georg's passport already had a visa.
"I drove up slowly. The people began to move only when they saw the German license plates. They made a lane for us. Some of the refugees fled. Through an avenue of hatred we moved toward the entrance. A gendarme, saluted. That hadn't happened to me in a long time. Negligently I returned the salute and went in. The gendarme stepped aside for me. You've got to be a murderer, I thought bitterly, to be treated with respect.
"I was given Helen's visa the moment I showed my passport. The vice-consul looked at my face. He could not see my hands. I had put on the gloves I had found in the car. 'A souvenir of the war,' I said. 'Close combat.' He nodded sympathetically. 'We, too, have had our years of struggle. Heil Hitler! A great man, like our Caudillo.'
"I came out. A void had formed around the car. In the back seat sat a frightened boy of eleven or twelve. He sat huddled in the corner with his hands over his mouth, and all I could see of his face was the eyes. 'We've got to take him with us,' said Helen.
" 'Why?'
" 'He has papers that expire in two days. If they catch him, he'll be sent back to Germany.'
"I felt the sweat on my back under my shirt. Helen looked at me. She was very calm. 'We have taken a life,' she said to me in English. 'It's our duty to save one.'
" 'Let's see your papers,' I said to the boy.
"Without a word he held out a residence permit. I took it and went back into the consulate. It was very hard for me to go back; the car seemed to be shouting its secret from a hundred loud-speakers. Nonchalantly I told the secretary that I had forgotten about needing another visa—in line of duty, for an identification on the other side of the border. He hesitated when he saw the paper; then he smiled with an air of complicity and gave me the visa.
"I got in. The crowd was even more hostile than before. They probably thought I was carrying the boy off to a camp.
"I left the city, hoping that my luck would hold. The wheel felt sizzling hot in my hands. I thought we might have to abandon the car any minute but I had no idea what to do then. Helen could not cross the mountains over mule paths in such weather; she was too weak, and loss of the car would be the end of this weird protection by our enemies. Neither of us had a permit to leave France. And that was more important on foot than in an expensive car.
"We drove on. It was a strange day. Reality seemed to have sunk into an abyss. We drove along a high narrow ridge beneath low-lying clouds, as in the cabin of a funicular. The closest likeness I could think of was one of those old Chinese ink drawings, showing travelers moving along monotonously amid mountain peaks, clouds, and waterfalls. The boy huddled in the back seat and barely moved. All he had learned in the course of his short life was to distrust everybody and everything. He remembered nothing else. When the guardians of National Socialist culture bashed in his grandfather's skull, he had been three years old;' he had been seven when his father was hanged, and nine when his mother was gassed—a true child of the twentieth century. He had somehow escaped from the concentration camp and had crossed the borders by his own resources. If he had been caught, he would have been sent back to the concentration camp and hanged. Now he was trying to get to Lisbon, where he had an uncle, a watchmaker, as his mother had told him the night before she was gassed, when she had given him her blessing and a few last bits of advice.
"Everything went well. No one on the French border asked for an exit visa. I briefly presented my passport and filled out the blanks for the car. The gendarmes saluted, the gate went up, and we left France. A few minutes later the Spanish customs guards were admiring the car and asking how many miles it did on a gallon. I told them something or other, and they began to rave about their Hispano-Suiza. I told them I had had one and described the emblem on the radiator—a crane in flight. They were delighted. I asked where I could fill up on gas. They had a special supply for friends of
Spain. I had no pesetas. They exchanged my francs. We bade each other good-by with effusive formality.
"I leaned back. The mountain ridge and the clouds vanished. A strange country lay before us, a country that no longer looked like Europe. We were not yet safe, but it meant a good deal to be out of France. I saw the streets, the donkeys, the people, the costumes, the stony countryside—we were in Africa. This country beyond the Pyrenees, I felt, was the real Occident. Then I saw that Helen was crying.
" 'Now you're where you wanted to be,' she said.
"I didn't know what she meant. I was still too bowled over by the ease with which we had made it. I thought of the politeness, the greetings, the smiles—this hadn't happened to me in years, and I had had to kill in order to be treated like a human being. 'Why are you crying?' I asked. 'We aren't safe yet. Spain is full of Gestapo agents. We've got to get through as quickly as possible.'