The Other Side of Midnight

After that night Noelle became aware that at almost every party she and Armand Gautier attended, General Scheider was there. He always remained in the background watching her. It happened too often to be a coincidence. Noelle realized that he must be going to a great deal of trouble to keep track of her movements and to get himself invitations to places where she would be.

She wondered why he was so interested, but it was an idle speculation and it did not really bother her. Occasionally Noelle would amuse herself by accepting an invitation and not showing up, then checking with the hostess the next day to see if General Scheider had been there. The answer was always "Yes."

Despite the swift and lethal punishment meted out by the Nazis to anyone who opposed them, sabotage continued to flourish in Paris. In addition to the Maquis there were dozens of small groups of freedom-loving French who risked their lives to fight the enemy with whatever weapons were at hand. They murdered German soldiers when they could catch them off guard, blew up supply trucks and mined bridges and trains. Their activities were denounced in the controlled daily press as deeds of infamy, but to the loyal French the deeds of infamy were glorious exploits. The name of one man kept cropping up in the newspapers--he was nicknamed Le Cafard, the cockroach, because he seemed to scurry around everywhere, and the Gestapo was unable to catch him. No one knew who he was. Some believed that he was an Englishman living in Paris; another theory held that he was an agent of General De Gaulle, the leader of the Free French Forces; and some even said that he was a disaffected German. Whoever he was, drawings of cockroaches were beginning to spring up all over Paris, on buildings, sidewalks, and even inside German Army headquarters. The Gestapo was concentrating its efforts on catching him. Of one fact there was no doubt. Le Cafard had become an instant folk hero.

On a rainy afternoon in December, Noelle attended the opening of an art exhibition of a young artist whom she and Armand knew. The exhibit was held in a gallery on the rue du Faubourg-St.-Honore. The room was crowded. Many celebrities were in attendance and photographers were everywhere. As Noelle walked around, moving from painting to painting, she felt someone touch her arm. She turned and found herself looking into the face of Madame Rose. It took Noelle a moment to recognize her. The familiar, ugly face was the same, and yet it seemed twenty years older, as though through some alchemy in time she had become her own mother. She wore a big black cape, and somewhere in the back of Noelle's consciousness was the fleeting thought that she was not wearing the prescribed yellow JUDEN star.

Noelle started to speak, but the older woman stopped her by squeezing her arm.

"Could you meet me?" she asked in a barely audible voice. "Les Deux Magots."

Before Noelle could reply, Madame Rose melted into the crowd, and Noelle was surrounded by photographers. As she posed and smiled for them, Noelle was remembering Madame Rose and her nephew, Israel Katz. They had both been kind to her in a time of need. Israel had saved her life twice. Noelle wondered what Madame Rose wanted. Money, probably.

Twenty minutes later Noelle slipped away and took a taxi to the place St. Germain des Pres. It had been raining on and off all day, and now the rain had started to turn into a cold, driving sleet. As her taxi pulled up in front of Les Deux Magots and Noelle stepped out into the biting cold, a man in a raincoat and wide-brimmed hat appeared at her side out of nowhere. It took Noelle a moment to recognize him. Like his aunt, he looked older, but the change went deeper than that. There was an authority, a strength that had not been there before. Israel Katz was thinner than when she had last seen him, and his eyes were hollowed, as though he had not slept in days. Noelle noticed that he was not wearing the yellow six-pointed Jewish star.

"Let's get out of the rain," Israel Katz said.

He took Noelle's arm and led her inside. There were half a dozen customers in the cafe, all French. Israel led Noelle to a table in a back corner.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

"No, thank you."

He took off his rain-soaked hat, and Noelle studied his face. She knew instantly that he had not called her here to ask for money. He was watching her.

"You're still beautiful, Noelle," he said quietly. "I've seen all of your movies and plays. You're a great actress."

"Why didn't you ever come backstage?"

Israel hesitated, then grinned shyly. "I didn't want to embarrass you."

Noelle stared at him a moment before she realized what he meant. To her, "Juden" was just a word that appeared in newspapers from time to time, and it meant nothing in her life; but what must it be like to live that word, to be a Jew in a country sworn to wipe you out, exterminate you, particularly when it was your own motherland.

"I choose my own friends," Noelle replied. "No one tells me whom to see."

Israel smiled wryly. "Don't waste your courage," he advised. "Use it where it can help."

"Tell me about you," she said.

He shrugged. "I live a very unglamorous life. I became a surgeon. I studied under Dr. Angibouste. Have you heard of him?"

"No."

"He's a great heart surgeon. He made me his protege. Then the Nazis took away my license to practice medicine." He held up his beautifully sculptured hands and examined them as though they belonged to someone else. "So I became a carpenter."

She looked at him for a long moment. "Is that all?" she asked.

Israel studied her in surprise. "Of course," he said. "Why?"

Noelle dismissed the thought at the back of h

er mind.

"Nothing. Why did you want to see me?"

He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. "I need a favor. A friend--"

At that moment, the door opened and four German soldiers in gray-green uniforms walked into the bistro, led by a corporal. The corporal called out in a loud voice: "Achtung! We wish to see your identity papers."