Bernadette began unlacing her bustier, but Jörg calmly stopped her.
“Wait. There’s something I want to ask you first.”
“Oh?”
“You were at the Eiffel Tower in the middle of the night, weren’t you? Talking with German and Ukrainian girls. One of them was a young girl named Lila.”
Bernadette’s fingers stopped moving behind her back. She stared at Jörg in disbelief. “Who are you?”
“I’m the man who was there as Lila’s bodyguard.”
“Really? You’re Mr. Huber?”
“I am.”
“You don’t look German at all. You look like a born and bred Frenchman.”
Jörg told her the lie he had prepared. “My mother was French, and my father was German. His work took us between the two countries when I was young. In France, I go by Pierre Arche, so you can call me that here.”
“Which side do support in the war?”
“Neither. I’m frustrated because I’m not strong enough to help either side—I guess is how I’d explain it. I was hired by my master to protect Lila.”
“So you don’t hold allegiance to any country?”
“No.”
Bernadette sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at Jörg. She looked less like she believed him and more as if she was staring at something inexplicable.
Jörg pulled a chair out from the table and turned it around so the back faced forward. He straddled it like a horse, placing his hands on top of the chair back and hunching over. “Let’s pick up where we left off at the Eiffel Tower.”
“So you didn’t come here for sex?”
“No.”
“You’re quite the motivated man.”
“Thank you. Now then, what is it you want most?”
“Freedom. I wanted to meet someone who would make that possible. You called that man who was with you the Count, so obviously he has money. I thought a man like that might take me away from this brothel.”
“You want to leave here?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“The way brothels operate, working girls like us can’t leave. We trade worrying over food and shelter for a debt to the madame that we can never repay, no matter how long we work. All the clothes and jewelry we wear for our customers we buy from her, not from a store, which she sells to us for several times more than anybody else would. She makes up all sorts of excuses to make us buy them from her.”
“If you know all that, then why would you tell Diana she should work in a brothel?”
“There are exceptions with every job. If a prostitute is going to become wealthy, it’ll be because a rich man takes a liking to her. Then she can become his mistress, which is like being a high-class escort. But chances like that don’t come by very often. To be an escort, you have to be more than just pretty; you have to be educated, too. You need to be able to talk with men about academics, art, and society. That said, a lot of men like the new girls when they just start out. Some old men are happy simply lying down next to them. All I told Diana was that she should try to aim for something like that.”
“But it’s incredibly rare for that to happen, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“So it’s a gamble. A really dangerous one.”
Bernadette laughed. “We women at the Eiffel Tower are friends, but we’re not close enough to bear responsibility for each other’s lives. That girl’s German, and I’m Belgian.”
Jörg’s breath caught in his throat.
“What, you thought I was born in France because I speak French and work in a French brothel?” Bernadette asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m from southern Belgium. We speak French there.”
“So you must still hate Germans…”
“I don’t think Diana deserves to be unhappy, but it annoys me when she acts like a victim. The German economy collapsed because of the war. If the citizens stood up to the government and put an end to the fighting, they could start importing food again. If people want food, they need to exercise their civic rights and set their government straight. By saying she would go so far as to become a prostitute to support her family, she’s implicitly allowing the war to continue. I have nothing to say to someone like that.”
Jörg could feel Bernadette’s anger and sympathy for Diana seeping out from the edges of her words. Just like Lila, whose homeland had been stolen in the partition, someone from Belgium would always resent a German. Yet Bernadette still retained a degree of sympathy for the other woman as a member of the same generation. It could even be said that it was because she understood Diana’s feelings and the position she was in that her tone was so harsh. Jörg could tell that Bernadette’s heart swayed back and forth between sympathy for commoners like Diana and animosity toward those who had trampled her homeland and massacred her people.
“You both have your own situations to deal with,” Jörg said. “I understand what you mean about responsibilities on the home front. It’s like how America is profiting by exporting weapons and supplies; we’re all sucking the lifeblood from one another. Still, don’t you think it’s wrong to impose that on the next generation? The children of today could very well grow up to be wiser than us and find a way to avoid war. Yet they’ll be first to die from the food shortages.”
“I really don’t think the next generation is going to be any wiser than we are.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Fools raise fools.”
“Not all adults are fools, and some children raised by fools might resent their parents and strive to be better.”
“That’s something I’ve never seen before. The way I see it, you’re plenty foolish yourself.”
“I just don’t want to look back once the war is over and make excuses about not being able to do anything.”
“That’s your pride talking. Though I understand the part about wanting to do something to ease your conscience.”
“I’m fine with that,” Jörg said. “I have the freedom to run away when things get difficult. No one would blame me if I did.”
Bernadette shrugged, her gaze wandering around the ground at her feet for a little while.
“For example,” he continued, “how about this? If I promise to buy your freedom, will you help me with something?”
“Be serious. It would cost a fortune to get me out of here. I told you how this place works, didn’t I?”
“You did, but I have no intention of making you my mistress. After I pay the madame for your freedom, you can go anywhere, do anything you want. Live a free life. All I want in return is the information you have on procuring food. You said there’s someone in Kleinerbrunn running an underground food trade. I want you to introduce me to them.”
“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“I am. As long as you have proof. What do you know?”
Bernadette lowered her gaze again. “I have some relatives like you. They’re part German and live over there now. We kept in regular contact before the war, but I can’t get through to them anymore.”
“If we used a carrier pigeon, we could even reach them from Paris.”
“Why a carrier pigeon?”
“Camille talked about them, remember? She said there are a lot in France. You’ll be able to use them to communicate with your relatives in Germany. Birds can only carry simple messages, though, and if anyone finds out, they’ll think you’re a spy.”
“I’m no spy. Tell anyone that, and I’ll kill you.”
“I know. I’m not interested in your secrets, your thoughts, or your beliefs. I just want to know how to get food.”
“And you’re going to pay all that money to buy my freedom just for information? Sorry, but that’s hard to believe.”
“It’s because it’s so much money that you’ll want to do whatever you can to help me, right? You won’t be doing it for Diana, but for your own sake, to secure a patron and finally get out of this place. I’m telling you I can create that path for you. How about it?”
“…In that case, I’m in,” answered Bernadette. “I’ll tell you what I know, but that’s it. Okay?”
“Sure.”
A languid smile spread across Bernadette’s face as she rested her chin on the back of her hand. “Once I leave the brothel, I won’t dream of the Eiffel Tower anymore. I’ll be able to get the peace of mind I need without venting my frustrations there.”
“I guess so. I’ll tell Diana what happened.”
“No, don’t mention any of this to her. I don’t want her to feel like she owes me anything.”
“But she’ll miss you if you suddenly stop showing up at the tower.”
“That’s fine. The things we see there are just dreams. They don’t actually exist. You really surprised me when you showed up here, even if I did tell you the address.”
“I promised you I would. Back there.”
“It’s like you’re some sort of monster.”
A faint smirk crossed Jörg’s lips, and he stood up from his chair.
“You’re leaving?” Bernadette asked. “Without doing anything?”
“Would you prefer I did?”
Bernadette looked over at the bottle on the table. “There’s still champagne left.”
“Do you want to take a bath?”
“Yes.”
“Go ahead, then. I’ll rest the night here. I want to learn more about Kleinerbrunn.”
“You’ll be charged extra.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll pay, however much it is.”