Sins of the Flesh Page 11

  “And Bebe?” Daniel asked.

  Mickey swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I must leave the telling of…he will…Reuben will have to explain things. Hopefully, Reuben will tell him I…I kept him safe for a little while. He’ll know what to say.”

  Daniel wasn’t so sure. The shock alone was going to rock Reuben back on his heels. Explanations were going to be difficult. He told her then of Philippe’s actions in the library.

  Tears spilled from Mickey’s eyes. “I lost count of the times he’s taken that picture down. He gets so angry. All those wonderful stories he made up about his father. They broke my heart, Daniel. Right now he’s stewing and fretting because you’re here instead of his father. He is so angry. My…my sins of omission are catching up with me.”

  Daniel felt Mickey’s pain. “If you think it will do any good, I can try to talk to him. You and I both know that if Reuben had known, he would have moved heaven and earth to get here.”

  “No, Daniel, it is I who will have to explain, and I will. Philippe thinks of you and Reuben as his enemies. Somehow things got turned around, and it was too much effort to stop his hatred. He simply would not listen. He made up his mind when he was twelve or so, and he has not changed it one little bit. That painting is the last thing holding him back. He wants to destroy it, but he can’t. He knows that if he does, there will be nothing left of his father to either love or hate.”

  “He did a damn good job a short while ago,” Daniel snorted. “He tried to put his knee through the canvas. It didn’t tear, but he’d hoped it would, Mickey, I saw his eyes.”

  “All the more reason for him to leave. It’s time for him to meet his father,” Mickey said in an agonized voice.

  “When do we leave here?” Daniel asked anxiously.

  “Tonight after dark. The curé will come for his bicycle and tell me where you will be met. Probably the rise above the village, but I can’t be sure. After your bath you will rest. Going back will be no easier, possibly worse than coming here. The Germans are closer now. If you put your ear to the ground, you can hear the rumble of their trucks and tanks.”

  “And you and Yvette?”

  “We’ll try to get to Spain. Yvette is…she saw the Germans gun Henri down in Paris. It was so unbelievable, Daniel, I still cannot cope with it. We’ll be fine, you mustn’t worry about us.”

  But he was worried, and the fact that Mickey wouldn’t meet his eyes told him she had no intention of going to Spain. In his gut he knew she was going to join the Resistance. And how in the hell was he going to tell that to Reuben?

  “Is that what you’re going to tell Philippe?” Daniel asked uneasily.

  “Yes, but he won’t believe me. Still, he can’t very well call his mother a liar, now, can he?”

  “Your bath is ready, Daniel, and your bed is turned down,” Yvette said in an emotionless voice. “Leave your clothes and shoes outside the door, and we’ll bury them out by the barn.”

  “This is for you, Mickey,” Daniel said, handing over the sack of diamonds Jerry had given him.

  Tears welled in Mickey’s eyes. She wiped at them with the back of her hand. “It seems all I do is cry; what must you think of me? Daniel, this is too much. There must be a fortune here,” she said, sprinkling the diamonds on the tablecloth. “How can I ever repay…they…those hateful bastards confiscated everything. Just last year I transferred the major part of my holdings to America. They’re held in trust for Philippe. I have a packet for you when you’re ready to leave. There is a letter for you, too, one for Reuben, and please, don’t read or study any of the…don’t…wait till you are home safe. Promise me, Daniel.”

  “Of course, Mickey, whatever you want. As for the diamonds, fortune or not, you will need them before this is all over. Now, m’lady, I think I’ll have that bath,” Daniel said, striving for a light tone.

  “Like old times, eh?” Mickey said, smiling. “Oh, Daniel, I prayed you would come. I almost wore out my rosary. Seeing you like this has wiped the years away. If only the circumstances were…Daniel, I…”

  “Shhh.” Daniel took her in his arms. “Everything is going to be fine.” On this end, anyway, he thought. As he cradled her dark head, he crooned softly, rocking sideways on his heels. “When we first got back to America I would play a game with myself if I couldn’t fall asleep. I’d picture this château and try to imagine where everything was. I had it down so pat, I knew every nook and cranny. It was so wonderful walking in here and seeing that memory come alive again. We were all so happy here. I never wanted it to end. I’ve never felt that same kind of happiness since then.”

  “Until Bebe came,” Mickey said sadly.

  “Until Bebe came,” Daniel agreed. “Come with me and talk while I have my bath, for once I’m asleep I will be dead and then it will be time to leave. I want to hear everything, every little detail of what went on since I left here. Jake, I have to know what happened to Jake. God, so many times…”

  While Daniel soaped himself over and over, Mickey sat on a stool, her eyes averted discreetly. She talked nonstop until she was hoarse, leaving her story of Jake till last. “Our little Jake was a hero, Daniel. He saved Philippe’s life, what do you think of that!”

  “The hell, you say! Everything, don’t leave out one piddle, one paw print,” Daniel cried excitedly.

  “In the beginning he missed you terribly when I sent him to Yvette’s farm. There were many girl dogs that he made happy, and he finally settled into a blissful routine. Philippe was almost a year old when he came down with pneumonia. We sat up around the clock, taking turns, Yvette, Henri, and myself, and, of course, the doctor. The doctor had just about given up hope. It was my turn to sit up with Philippe, and I’d gone almost a week without sleep. Several days before, Yvette had brought Jake over for company. He stayed by the door, never venturing anywhere near my chair or the baby’s bed. I guess I dozed off and Philippe started to choke. I didn’t hear him. Jake jumped all over me, woke me up, and, as they say in America, I got to Philippe in the nick of time. Jake was a hero. He’d sat so long, guarding us both that no one thought to let the poor thing out to do his business. Once he saw the baby was safe, he peed on the rocking chair. We gave him some sugar cookies for his bravery beyond the call of duty. He and Philippe were inseparable after that. He was fourteen when he died and Yvette, Henri, and myself gave him a warrior’s funeral. Henri said a blessing. No human’s passing was more grieved. Philippe wasn’t himself for months afterward, none of us were. He did leave a legacy, however, a pup named Dolly, but she died having her first litter. Philippe wouldn’t take one, though. Even now I cry when I think about it. He…he…Jake, I mean…used to go to your room and…and sniff about, picking up your scent. When he did he would…he would just lay there…his eyes so big and sad…I’d talk to him about you…but I don’t know if he understood, and then one day I was cleaning the room you had while you stayed here and I found a sweater that you left behind. I made a bed for Jake and put it in as a blanket. It…it’s still in the closet….” Mickey howled her grief then, and Daniel joined her.

  Alone in his old room, Daniel shed his towel and dressed in the clothes Yvette had placed on his bed, his eyes centered on the closet door all the while he dressed. Unable to bear it another second, he pulled open the door and stared down at the wicker basket that held his old gray wool sweater. He dropped to his knees. He reached for the sweater, bringing it to his cheeks. His touch was reverent as he plucked several dog hairs from the collar. “Oh, Jake, Jesus…Oh, God, Jake, I didn’t want to leave you…Oh, Jesus,” he blubbered, hunkering down…the sweater a lifeline to his past. He slept then, on the floor, his sweater with Jake’s scent, after all these years, against his cheek.

  “It’s time to wake Daniel,” Yvette said quietly. “It’s almost dark, Mickey. Do you have everything ready?” Mickey nodded. “This is wrong, Michelene,” Yvette continued. She used Mickey’s Christian name only when she wanted to make a point. “You should have told Philipp
e before…. This is…it’s wrong. Now there’s no time for fancy words. You’ll have to blurt it all out and send him away in an eye’s wink. This is not going to be pleasant,” she said ominously.

  “Philippe knows he’s going. He’s pretending he doesn’t know….” Mickey called him then and he came to her, his face cold and frightening. “It’s time to…Do you have everything ready?”

  “I’m not leaving,” the boy said defiantly, tears shimmering in his eyes.

  “We’ve been through this a hundred times. You must leave. I am not giving you a choice; I’m telling you you must go with Daniel. I don’t wish an argument, Philippe, this is hard enough as it is. I don’t want to carry your angry face with me to Spain. I must know you are safe and sound in America with your father.”

  “You seem to forget, Maman, that I am no longer a child. You may ask me to leave, but you cannot order me to do so. I’m an adult now, and I don’t want to see my father. I begged you not to call Daniel Bishop. I’m too big to spank, so what will you do?”

  For the first time since leaving Paris, Mickey felt the cold prickle of true fear. “So, this is what I raised you for, to defy me to my face. Is this the son I raised? You are not of age, Philippe, and you will do as I say when I say it, and I say you are going with Daniel. Not one more word!” she shrilled.

  “I mean no disrespect,” Philippe blurted out. “But I can’t leave you. Who will look after you and Yvette?”

  “We’ve been looking after ourselves for a very long time, and we can continue to do so. I love you more than life, and I wouldn’t send you away like this if I…It’s for your own good. It’s time I turned you over to your father.”

  “I’m not going, and I hate him. Why isn’t he here instead of that man upstairs?” Philippe said.

  Yvette stepped forward purposefully. “Enough, Michelene, it grows late. Tell him now and be done with it!”

  “Tell me what?” the boy blustered, his eyes fearful.

  “The truth,” Yvette answered for Mickey. “You should have been told years ago, but your mother loved you too much. Too much, eh, Michelene? Now either you tell him or I will. We have no time for this!”

  Philippe sat down. “Somebody better tell me or it will take what’s left of the French Army to move me from this room,” he said belligerently.

  “Why don’t I tell him,” Daniel said quietly from the doorway.

  “No, I will,” Mickey replied. She held her son’s eyes with her own and spoke softly, haltingly. “I’m not your mother, Philippe, your real mother…I…it’s true that I raised you from birth and I…loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. For reasons…”

  “Bah, tell him! He’s a man, he says; he can stand to hear the truth,” Yvette stormed. “Your mother…Bebe Rosen was young when she gave birth to you. She told us to throw you out with the garbage; she wanted no part of you. She gave birth to you and walked away. Mickey took you and raised you. Your real mother is married to your father, and as far as we know, he knows nothing of your existence. That’s the beginning and end of it. There is no place for you here; you’re Jewish and you belong in America with your parents.”

  Mickey looked helplessly from her friend to Philippe and back again. “Yvette, surely there was a better way of…Philippe, I am so sorry; I’ve wanted to tell you so many times. As Yvette says, this is the beginning and the end of it. There’s no place here for you now. You must leave. Your parents will see to you once you reach America.”

  Seeing Philippe struggling for words to lash out at his mother, Yvette stepped into the foray again. “There is no time for recriminations. Daniel must leave in fifteen minutes. They won’t wait for you. Kiss your mother, Philippe, and bite your tongue if you are thinking harsh thoughts.”

  Philippe struggled with his emotions. He’d heard all the words, had watched his mother’s face, felt her pain on top of his own. And it was true: he had no choice; he had to go with the American. A sob caught in his throat when he took his mother in his arms. “I’ll be back,” he whispered. She clung to him, and it was Philippe who gently removed her arms.

  He embraced Yvette and again whispered, “Take care of her. And that tongue of yours is the devil’s own.”

  Then he was at the door, watching as Daniel wrapped both Yvette and Mickey in his arms. Mickey handed him a thick packet, which he stuffed inside his shirt. “How will we know if you are safe?” she asked.

  “Your Red Cross. If we can, we’ll get word to them.”

  “Take care of my son, Daniel, he’s all I have left. Tell Reuben I entrust him to his good care. Au revoir, my friend.”

  “There is no more time, Mr. Bishop,” Philippe called from the doorway.

  When the door closed behind them, Mickey fell into Yvette’s arms. “Why can’t I cry?” she asked brokenly.

  “Because you did the right thing, and Philippe knows it, too. He was never yours to keep, Mickey. You had him…on loan. Come, we must get ready ourselves.”

  “Yvette, I…I will go with you to the…But I’m not going to cross over. I’m staying here. I spoke to the curé yesterday, and there are people waiting for me two kilometers south of here. I’m—”

  “Joining the Resistance. Yes, I know. I said I would join you. What would I do in Spain by myself? I’m too old to fight bulls. They will take us, these Resistance leaders? What can we do? We’re old women.”

  “Chérie, we’re not that old,” Mickey said with a touch of her old sparkle. “We made it here on our own from Paris; that says a lot about our stamina and our will to live. We’ll be an asset to the Resistance. Come, my friend, we must start our new life so that someday we can come back here in peace.”

  Yvette’s eyes darkened. In her heart she knew she’d never see this château again or the farm where she’d been so happy. “Yes, peace. I’m ready if you are, Michelene.”

  Mickey smiled. Together they walked away from the château into the waiting arms of the Resistance.

  Chapter Eight

  Reuben sat alone in his empty hotel suite, a pot of coffee at his elbow and the morning newspaper, compliments of the hotel, spread out before him. The news from Europe was horrifying, and it wasn’t getting better; if anything, the war was accelerating. Who in the goddamn hell was this paperhanger marching all over Europe? And because of this son of a bitch Mickey’s life was in danger; he could sense it in every pore of his body. Reading the paper first thing in the morning rendered him helpless, and if there was one thing Reuben detested, it was being locked in a situation over which he had no control.

  Angrily he spread the paper across the small round table, searching for the comics. But today even Li’l Abner and Dick Tracy couldn’t make him smile. So he finished the coffee in the pot and chain-smoked until his cigarettes were gone, which meant he had to leave the suite and walk about Washington as he’d been doing for the past three weeks. By now he loathed the city. At one point, when his anger was at its peak, he’d stood outside the White House shaking his fist at the massive white building. That was when he’d decided that the country was being run by a bunch of ineffectual assholes. He’d also made the mental commitment to produce a film depicting Washington politics.

  Now, as he walked along the streets of Washington, Reuben tested the anger he was holding in check by forcing himself to nod or smile at total strangers. Christ, he felt so goddamn useless! Like a tourist, he’d seen everything the city had to offer, some parts of it twice. And he hated it all—the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial with all its stone steps.

  Colonial America, only six miles from Washington on the west bank of the Potomac in Alexandria, had taken up another few hours. He’d had no interest in the town’s history; the trek was simply a way to kill time, as was the tour of the White House.

  It was cool here in the park, but he was too jittery to appreciate it. There should be news of Daniel by now. Abruptly he rose and ran out of the park, rounding the corner onto Kilbourne Place and on up to Mt. Pleasant Avenue, wher
e he hopped on the trolley that would take him downtown to Daniel’s office.

  Rocky’s face showed the same signs of stress as his own. Without a word he shook his head wearily. Reuben turned on his heel and left the office, Irene’s sniffling loud in his ears.

  Ten more days passed before the phone rang in Reuben’s suite of rooms. Daniel, Rocky said, was back safe and sound, and, no, he himself hadn’t seen him, but he was at his house in Georgetown and Reuben was to go there at nine o’clock.

  It was twenty minutes to five when Reuben replaced the phone in its cradle. Daniel was safe and sound. Closing his eyes, he offered up a prayer that Mickey was with him. After all these years…What would she think of him? Would she be as beautiful? Of course she would; hers was a timeless beauty. Daniel, you son of a gun, you made it there and back in the middle of a war. It had to be Mickey. Who else could it be?

  Reuben stepped into the shower, whistling as he soaped himself from top to bottom. Mickey, Mickey, Mickey…The new Brooks Brothers suit he’d purchased several days earlier would be perfect for this first meeting. The crisp white shirt and new tie made him look distinguished. The light suntan he affected complemented the whole of him, as did his favorite after-shave. He was ready.

  Daniel was bone weary and in need of a bath and shave when he escorted Philippe into his Georgetown house. It was cool indoors; the front rooms were shaded by a mighty elm outside the front door.

  It was an unattractive house, long and narrow with thin windows, an impossible house to decorate, but Rajean had wanted it, insisted they buy it because so many of the “right people” lived in the area. There was nothing comfortable about it, but then, that could be Rajean’s fault as well. The drapes, the carpeting, the furniture, all were in various shades of Wedgwood blue, a color he found depressing. Long ago he’d given up hope of finding sun, comfort, and warmth in this house. He’d also given up on his marriage.

  His wife and daughter were back from Fire Island. Always sensitive to sounds and smells, he knew Nellie was outside in the small walled courtyard and he knew Rajean was probably upstairs in their crazy-shaped bedroom. He turned to look at Philippe, who was staring at a painting of Nellie over the mantel. “That’s my stepdaughter, Nellie,” Daniel said in a tired voice. “She was only thirteen when it was done.”