The Forests of the Night

*****

Bernadette showed up at the bar in the first week of March.

I was having a smoke upstairs. Boggsy was finishing his breakfast coffee and Pernod. It was the usual shitty weather, with cold drizzle that is characteristic of Paris in late winter. I hadn't seen any of the three girls since New Year's Eve. I wondered what she wanted.

The jovial atmosphere at Harry's had soured considerably. We knew from the BBC that Goering's boys had gotten a bloody nose from the RAF, and the anticipated invasion of England had been put on hold. Now, the Army seemed to be funneling troops back east toward Russia. The eastward movement made the mood a lot less carefree. The Russians were even more ruthless and brutal than the Germans.

Plus, the clientele had changed. At first, the patrons were Wehrmacht. Now, every form of National Socialist scum hung out at Harry's; Himmler's pet psychos, and suchlike homicidal ilk, showed up nightly.

Bernadette stood in the doorway, shaking off her umbrella and looking around. She wore a stylish rain coat with yellow rubber boots, as protection against the puddles, and she radiated the sensuality of all Parisian women.

I was starting to rise when she spotted me. She came bustling over. Boggsy, ever the gentleman, and opportunist, stood and helped her into a chair next to HIM. He said in his deep Georgia drawl, "Have a seat little lady. Is there something that King can get you from the bar?"

I had to smile. My absence would put my friend in the catbird seat, when it came to romance. Boggsy never missed a chance. She dimpled at him prettily and said, "Non, Monsieur, I came to see if Monsieur King would be willing to help me."

That was good news. I had not gotten a chance to evaluate Bernadette. Now that she was sitting across from me; I could see that she was one tasty little morsel indeed.

The first time we met, I had estimated her age as late-teens, or early-twenties. I think that was because she was so slim. Looking at her in a grey Paris morning I could tell that estimate was off by at least a decade.

The person sitting opposite me was a well-put-together and dynamic young woman, with a fresh beauty that didn't require cosmetic help. I knew the young Dorothy Parker, and Bernadette could have been her twin.

She was short, perhaps five two; with thick curly brown hair framing a winsome heart-shaped face. But her eyes and mouth were her glory. Her eyes were absolutely stunning. They reflected her feelings and her passion, and they were mesmerizing. They were shades of blue, depending on her mood. At times, I've seen them range from bright blue to almost violet

Her wide sensual mouth had full sculptured lips. Those lips conveyed merriment, heart stopping eroticism and the au-fait view of a true Belle-du-Monde.

I also noted the last remains of a faded yellowish bruise on the left side of her jaw. She saw me looking at it and said dismissively, "It is nothing. But it reminds me how strong and clever you are. Perhaps you can help me again."

I gazed into those highly intelligent, blue eyes. They were looking at me from under her thick mop of curly brown hair, and I would have done just about anything for her. I said, "What's the problem doll?"

She got the pleased look that every attractive woman gets when she knows that she's enticed some poor helpless male into doing her bidding and said, "Aurore and her entire family have disappeared."

What??!! That made no sense. I said, "I don't understand. Walk me through this from the beginning?"

Both Boggsy and I leaned forward conspiratorially, as Bernadette told us about her two friends.

Aurore was the short voluptuous one. She and Mirabel, who was the blond, were Bernadette's best pals. They had grown up together in the 16th Arrondissement, near the Bois de Boulogne. That area of the City has broad avenues and stately buildings. Obviously, the girls all came from big money.

The three of them were inseparable. Mirabel was the cool beauty, the one the boys chased. Aurore was the sex pot, who could get any man she wanted. Bernadette was the charismatic, witty one, the center of attention in any group.

They went through school and university together and cut a swath through the male population of Paris. All three women were twenty-nine-years-old and scions of French aristocracy. But, the only thing they really wanted was to have some fun, attract a loving husband and raise kids.

That is, until the Germans showed up.

The girls' world transformed overnight; just like it did for the rest of us. The most devastating change was the Vichy regime's "Statut des Juifs." That law eliminated the civil rights of every Jew in occupied France. Aurore's family was Jewish. Her father, who was a professor at the Sorbonne, was immediately removed from his position.

Money wasn't the issue. There was plenty of family wealth. But the implications of that Statute were so chilling that Aurore's parents decided to find a less overtly hostile place to live.

Aurore's family's decision to emigrate nearly killed the other two women. Aurore was like a sister to both. They loved their friend. But they could all see that it was not wise for a Jew to remain in France.

Boggsy gave her a sympathetic smile. He was really very sweet underneath the bebopping Harlem jazz-man front. He said, "Not so good for a black man either. I'm a U.S. citizen. So, I'm safe, for the time being. But I would be in deep shit if we ever went to war with the Germans."

Bernadette told us that Aurore's father had heard about a shadow network. Those people would smuggle Jewish families out of France, to England; for a price of course.

The word of mouth was that England was the only place a Jew could be truly safe. The trip cost twenty-thousand francs, which was an unimaginable fortune. But then again, the Bloch family could afford it.

Bernadette said, "Mirabel and I were with Aurore at the time of departure. It was in the darkness before dawn. We wept but we promised to see each other again. Her family, took only their finest possessions, whatever they could pack in a small truck. It was pitiful."

I said, "A truck? Where did they get the ration tickets for gasoline?" The Germans strictly rationed gas.

Bernadette looked puzzled, like she hadn't thought of that before, and said, "I don't know. Until last year a truck would have been nothing unusual. I was so emotional that it didn't cross my mind."

I said, "Okay, so why do you think anything has happened to your friend?"

She said, "We agreed to correspond, and I have heard nothing from her."

I gave her a skeptical look and said, "If you haven't noticed, there's a war going on and the mail isn't exactly reliable."

She looked exasperated and said, "Aurore would never leave us wondering about her. She loves us both. She would have sent dozens of letters by now. But, we also sent telegrams to every Jewish community along the proposed route, all the way to Normandy."

I looked puzzled and she quickly added, "That was their destination. It was where they were going to meet the boat that was going to take them across the channel."

Then she got a worried look on her face and said, "Nobody even knew they were coming."

Bernadette sighed and slumped back in her chair, displaying a dandy set of tits. Okay, I'm a hound. She said in a despairing voice, "They just dropped off the face of the earth and I'm beside-myself with worry."

She turned a hopeful face toward me and said, "So can you PLEASE help me. Our families have money. We can afford to pay you."

It wasn't a matter of money. I had dealt with this beautiful little thing twice, and I admired her spirit. But, it was her lovely face and shapely little body that actually made up my mind. She was gorgeous and I'm a sucker for good-looking woman. So, I said, "When do we start?"

*****

We had several obvious barriers. Not the least of which, was the fact that I was supposed to be managing Harry's. I knew that it might be hazardous to my health; if the Germans discovered that I had gone off on a knight-errant quest, just because a gorgeous little doll had waggled her ass at me.

Boggsy solved that for us. He did his patented deep chuckle, the one that makes all the girls swoon, and said, "Sheeeit man, I can watch this place and still play the hottest piano in Paris. It'll get to meet more ladies, without you hoggin' things. I never thought you did much around here anyhow." Then he sat there grinning like a big teddy bear. Boggsy was really a very kind and generous man.

Okay – one down and an infinite number of problems to go.

The most pressing concern was that neither Bernadette, nor I had any official standing. So, we couldn't investigate this like the police. Worse, as Vichy began to get a grip on the Country, the French Police were starting to look a lot like the Gestapo.

There was nothing wrong with poking around in dark corners. I had friends in low-places. That is one of the advantages of being a bartender. But the biggest challenge was the fact that there was a war going on. So, freedom of movement was restricted.

You couldn't just hop a train to Honfleur. The Germans had appropriated most of them for their own use, anyhow. And since the British knew the Germans were on those trains, it was equal odds that you would get shot up by a guy in a Spitfire.

Finally, and perhaps most important, was the fact that we had no place to begin the investigation. Smuggling anybody out of the Country, let alone Jews, would get you sent to one of the German's new "camps." So, the stakes were high, and secrecy was paramount.

The obvious place to start was with the person who had arranged things for the Blochs. Thus, the next day Bernadette and I went to visit the parents of the other beauty, Mirabel. Their place was off the Boulevard Montmorency with stunning views of the Bois de Boulogne.

The Metro ran sporadically. But, now that gasoline was rationed it was the only way to get around the City. There were very few autos on the streets and nothing, but horse drawn taxis. So, the Metro cars were packed so tight that it was hard to breath.

Bernadette and I were shoved in like cattle. We were standing so intimately, front-to-front, that I thought I was going to have to propose marriage. I was far too aware of her hard, little body with its pair of perky tits. I looked down at her, just to gauge how uncomfortable our proximity was making her, and she gave me a secret smile.

Mirabel's dad was some sort of Director at Peugeot. Be that as it may, he obviously also had a lot of inherited wealth. The parents greeted Bernadette like somebody who had been the daughter's best friend since infant school. They were obviously birds-of-a-feather. At least, when it came to social class.

Me? Not so much.

I didn't blame them. My sad bloodhound face, my permanent five o'clock shadow and my thick, slicked-back black hair doesn't inspire trust. They probably thought I was there to rob the place.

I haven't hurt anybody since my days in the Army. But, Mirabel's parents didn't know that. They just looked at me and thought "Gorilla!!"

I tried my most disarming smile, which I think the Bienville family read as menacing; because the parents both took a step back. Mirabel had seen me in action at Harry's, and she knew that I didn't bite. She graciously introduced me to her parents.

Pierre was tall and aesthetic. Milane was still a beauty at age fifty-seven. I could see where Mirabel got her looks. Her parents were examples of the aristocratic inter-breeding that afflicts the French. There must have been legions of Comtes and Ducs hanging off both their family trees.

Mirabel's folks rather warily offered us seats in the alcove of one of the sunny eighteen-foot high windows, which overlooked the park. You almost wouldn't guess a war was going on. The chairs were exquisite Louis Quinze and I wasn't sure they would hold me. I sat very gingerly. I could feel the legs quiver, but nothing embarrassing happened.

I hunched forward, to appear less intimidating, and said, "As you all know, Aurore Bloch and her entire family have gone missing. I have offered to help Bernadette find them. I don't suspect anything worse than a breakdown in communications. But I promised her I would get to the bottom of this."

Pierre and Milane were looking friendlier, like they had decided that I wouldn't run off with the family silverware. While, Mirabel gave me a look that was pure sex. I was thinking to myself, "I wonder if she likes bad boys?"

I looked at Bernadette and she was glaring at her friend like she wanted to burn her at the stake.

Pierre said, "We are grateful for your assistance. But, how can we help you?"

I said, "We need a place to start, the beginning of a thread; so-to-speak. Do you have any idea who runs this shadow network; the ones who arranged the Bloch family's escape? A name would be very helpful."

Pierre looked at Milane and they both gave a Gallic shrug. It was so eloquent I began to wonder why we had wasted our time. Then Pierre said, "Perhaps you should try Amos Weisfeld at the university. He is a friend of ours and he is acquainted with every Jewish person in the City. Maybe he can help. His office is in the Pantheon-Sorbonne.

I had the same up-close-and-personal experience with Bernadette on the short ride back to the Sorbonne in the 5th. Except this time her hard, little buns were shoved against my difficult to disguise interest. Was she occasionally pushing back against me? Or, was that just the swaying of the car?

We got off at the Cluny-La Sorbonne stop and walked up the Rue Saint-Jacques to the main university building. The Bienvilles had said that Weisfeld was still allowed an office there, even though he was no longer a member of the faculty. He was THAT distinguished.

We asked for directions from the people sitting around the Pantheon courtyard. I let Bernadette do the talking. She was prettier and a whole lot less scary.

Bernadette was beginning to work her way under my skin. She was a flawless example of the ideal French beauty; immaculate, slim figure with long shapely legs and a little round bum. But it was her face that was so spellbinding.

Her features were exquisitely proportioned; with huge, widely spaced, riveting eyes, a classic rounded French nose, wide mouth and erotic, expressive lips; set over a neat, little, pointed chin.

Her facial features were exceptional. However, it was her wealth of hair that set her apart. Her hair was dark brown, so thick that it was impossible to manage, or style. With her diminutive size, it made her look like the cutest, little curly haired moppet on the entire playground.

That impression lasted, until you looked into her eyes. The sheer intelligence and sexuality that radiated from them was daunting. It reflected an intensity of spirit and personal strength of character that made this vibrant little woman seem indomitable.

I watched as she chattered with the students. She was wearing a grey sweater that showcased her round, full, faultlessly shaped tits and a little silk scarf tied around her neck, bandit style. She had on a short, for that era, cream-colored, pleated skirt, knee socks and a pair of brown, saddle-shoes. She has proportionally longer thighs than the average woman, and they looked gorgeous.

She did a final exchange with the group and walked back toward me. She saw that I was watching her, and her stride went from chipper to sensual. She grabbed my arm and said, "Follow me." We walked into the main entrance and then turned up a confusing array of halls. I got the impression that the wing that housed the Faculty of Theology hadn't changed since the place was founded, in the Eleventh Century.

We eventually arrived in front of a door to an out-of-the-way office, Bernadette knocked and a voice from inside said, "Come." Besides being smart, Bernadette has a way with strangers that I totally lack. So, I let her go in on her own. I had no idea what she would find in there. But, I was pretty sure I would scare the bejabbers out of the occupant.

Bernadette was in the office long enough that I got curious. So, I peeked in the door. She was engaged in an intense conversation with a wizened old Jewish man. How did I know he was Jewish? Well, the yarmulke was a start. But the main tip-off was the yellow Star of David that was sewed on the front of his old-fashioned formal cut-away coat.

That was something the Germans had instituted late in the Fall of 1940 and it made no sense to most of us. The Jews had generally been valuable and productive citizens so why single them out?

Well, we all know the answer to that question; now. But it would be four more years before the true meaning of the Holocaust was apparent. Like I said, no normal person could conceive of Nazi bestiality unless they had seen it with their own eyes.

Bernadette excitedly waved me in. I would more-or-less fill the office, so I just leaned in the door and offered my hand to the occupant. Professor Weisfeld was well into his eighties. But, he was an intellectual dynamo. I could see it in his astute brown eyes.

Bernadette said, "The Professor thinks he knows who to contact. It's a gentile named Robert. He lives in the Quartier Pigalle, below Sacre-Coeur." If Robert lived in that rabbit warren he was a seedy character indeed.

I said, "Do you have an address?"

The old man said, "Non, but I understand that he will find you if you ask around the shops."

Pigalle had the, well-deserved, nickname of "Pig Alley." Somebody as beautiful as Bernadette would stand out like a thoroughbred in a herd of donkeys there. But, nobody in their right mind would mess with me. And if they DID; like I said, the Seine keeps a lot of secrets.

So, we hopped back on the Metro and rode it over to the Place Pigalle stop. Because we were headed to an area where the denizens rarely rode the Metro, the car was a little less crowded, and we actually had room to stand separately. It didn't matter. Bernadette was still plastered against me back to front.

I put my hand lightly on her shoulder. She gave a heavy sigh and leaned her head back against my chest. It was an astonishingly intimate gesture. I could smell the fresh lavender of her hair and her hard, little body was surprisingly warm against mine. The implications were unmistakable.

This was an unexpected development. Bernadette was clearly a member of the French aristocracy. It seemed incredible that a woman like her would find a ruffian like me attractive. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that she was interested in me, as more than just hired muscle.

I had no idea where this would lead. But the Beauty and the Beast analogy was blatantly obvious. Except, this time there was no handsome prince underneath and the Beauty was the one who was noble. I was just a beast.

The area where we were headed contained the kind of places that I frequented; cheap bistros and whorehouses. It was an area of petty crime and thievery. The Moulin Rouge was in that neighborhood.

The Germans cracked down with patrols, and serious reprisals when the natives committed crimes against their soldiers. So, it was generally safe to walk around Pig Alley in the daylight. But the rats would come out as soon as the sun set. And it was starting to do just that.

We crossed the Boulevard de Clichy and walked up the Rue Andre Antoine, into the squalid area at the foot of Montmartre. The coquins descended on us in a pack. Bernadette began to swear in very colloquial French. They must have been touching her.

I thought to myself, "Mon Dieu!! What a mouth on that girl!!" At least she didn't slap anybody.

I used one arm, to haul the largest of them up by his throat, and then slam him against the wall behind us. That was difficult, even for me. He was big. But it made my point. He struggled. But, he wasn't getting out of my grip. The rest of them just stood there awestruck.