Flower of Heaven Read online

  By 1939, the Germans’ stronghold on Europe became so obvious that the Parisian government became unsettled. Hitler had invaded and conquered Denmark and Norway and was moving toward France. People in Paris panicked, and the Parisians began to evacuate the city as quickly as they could in a rush to move south to avoid the Germans. The occupation of Paris by the Germans happened so fast that Parisians were left stunned. By June 1940, Paris was an occupied city. The Germans requisitioned the big luxury hotels, splattered swastika flags across famous sights such as the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triumphe and major government buildings.

  Louis Dupont was still at the Hotel Colbert when the occupation began, but not for long. General Gunther Hausmann, on direct orders from Germany, had taken over the hotel exclusively for the use of German officers and their guests.

  “You will not be needed any longer, Dupont,” Hausmann said abruptly and without the least bit of concern for this man with a family of seven to feed.

  “Louis, what’s wrong, what are you doing here?” Jacqueline asked when Louis came home that evening at a few minutes after midnight. Jacqueline had been busy mending and ironing clothes when Louis quietly entered the kitchen.

  “The Germans have taken over the hotel and they don’t need me anymore. Security reasons. They said that one of their own soldiers would be handling the desk duties from now on. I knew this would happen. We should have left the city when we had a chance to. Now, I don’t know what to do,” Louis nervously said as he hugged Jacqueline, not wanting her to see the tears building in his eyes.

  He composed himself quickly and, as if gaining new strength from within, simply said, “I’ll go see Monsieur Cardin at the café tomorrow morning, maybe he can give me more hours at the restaurant.”

  Unaccustomed to being home in the evening during the week, Louis lay awake most of the night rehearsing his approach with Cardin and his options if there were no more hours for him to work at the café.

  The Café Royal was not extending anyone’s hours, Cardin had told Louis; in fact, business had dropped so much that he was considering going with less waiters and serving on tables himself. With many Parisians having left the city and few travelers visiting the city, the restaurant business wasn’t flourishing. Cardin, a compassionate man with a wife and child himself, knew of Louis’ large family and offered to keep Louis on his regular shift. He even was willing to give Louis first coverage when another waiter either left or could not work because of illness. Surely, that would give him some additional hours from time to time. This would mean that Louis had to be available to work at a moment’s notice, including Saturdays and Sundays. For Louis, all he could think of was the need to keep his family alive and nourished with a roof over their heads.

  The next four years for Françoise were very sad years. She missed her weekend journeys throughout Paris with her father and, because of the resistance movement, stayed close to home at the insistence of her parents. With no sightseeing and no new buildings with a story to be told by her father, Françoise ached at the dull thought of doing housework or helping with her mother’s laundry.

  In June 1944, Françoise turned twelve years old. Paris had recently avoided being bombed. A Swedish neutral had convinced General von Choltitz of the German army that bombing Paris would serve no purpose. The Allied army was fast approaching and the Germans would soon be forced to surrender the city to the French.

  In August of that year, skirmishes broke out between resistance fighters and German troops throughout the city. Choltitz, under orders by Hitler, was to detonate explosives carefully placed under all the monuments of Paris. Realizing the centuries of culture present in these monuments, Choltitz sent a message to the Allied army urging them to move quickly on Paris before other German officers took action he could not be responsible for. General Charles DeGaulle proceeded toward Paris along with General Jacques-Philippe LeClerc, commander of the Second French Armored Division. French troops, not Americans, were to enter the capital first.

  On August 25, as the French troops began entering Paris, more fighting broke out with the Germans resulting in serious damage to the Hotel Continental, a short distance away from the Hotel-de-Ville on Rue de Rivoli. Shortly thereafter, the Germans instructed a cease-fire. A surrender had been signed and General DeGaulle was presented to the French people in a victory celebration that evening at the Hotel-de-Ville.

  There were tears streaming down Louis Dupont’s face as he stood in the crowd below the window of the hotel as the general appeared. Louis beamed. He had once worked at this place. Few people knew the room General DeGaulle appeared in more than Louis. He could describe the furniture, the paintings on the wall, even the design of the curtains in that particular suite. He envisioned himself standing at DeGaulle’s side at the window, sharing in the glory that surely was in bloom in the streets below.

  The Café Royal was booming with customers now with the return of French and Allied troops to the city and Monsieur Cardin begged Louis to stay at the restaurant. Cardin tried to convince Louis that he would be better off with more hours at the restaurant than at the hotel because it would allow him to be home with his family each night and on weekends as well. Louis was loyal; he had been loyal for all the years he had been at the hotel, and he had no intention of leaving Cardin when he needed him. After all, wasn’t this the man who kept Louis’ family with food during the war years by offering him work, even when business was poor? How could he turn his back on him now? Indeed, Louis would stay at the Café Royal and, in appreciation, Cardin made Louis his maître d’ and headwaiter.

  Françoise, most of all, was elated at the news that her father was now going to be home on weekends, those glorious weekends of exploring the attractions of Paris with her giant of a father. “This Saturday, Papa, can we just walk through the city again,” pleaded Françoise, “it’s been so long since I’ve seen any buildings outside this street that I don’t know if I’ll remember them.”

  Louis smiled and warmly responded, “Little one, as soon as your eyes come upon a sight you have seen but once before, you will remember not only its name but the whole history behind it as I once told you.”

  Paris was alive again and the streets were bustling with soldiers and traffic, as Françoise had never seen before. As they walked on the Rue de Vanves toward Avenue du Maine, Françoise began, “There’s the Institut Pasteur de Montrouge and over there is the Cimetiere du Montparnasse and…” she continued like the rapid fire of a machine gun, spitting out information in succession as if she had seen these landmarks the day before, not four years ago.

  If he had any doubts about her remembering the lessons he had taught her about the city and its sights, Françoise convinced her father in the first hour that, not only did she remember, she craved for more. It was just Françoise and her father, no brothers to tease her, no mother to subject her to the routine of housework, and the freedom to roam on and on in a city that seemed to offer more each time she thought she had seen it all.

  By noon they had meandered through the streets, stopping briefly to talk about the buildings and even going inside a few to see if the bombings had badly damaged any of them. They approached the Café Royal where Louis had planned for them to stop for a quick lunch as the restaurant prepared to open for the day. Monsieur Cardin and the other employees who knew that Louis held a special place of importance at the restaurant greeted him with warmth. Waiters and chefs were immediately attracted to Françoise’s smile and eagerness to learn about everything around her and spoiled Françoise at lunch.

  As time went on, the Saturday lunches at the café were times when each waiter could sit briefly with Françoise to tell her about other parts of Paris she had not seen, or so they thought. Each week became a testing period for her as she anxiously awaited the quizzing from the waiters on the sites of Paris. And every time, the waiters would come away shaking their heads in amazement at Françoise’s phenomenal memory for detail, even when the questions concerned small out-of-the-way
monuments she had not even visited yet.

  The next four years were very prosperous ones for the Dupont family. Louis had been promoted to restaurant manager as Monsieur Cardin worked less and less due to arthritis in his legs forcing him to stay off them more and more. Cardin would sit behind the counter and act as the cashier while Louis would oversee the entire operation of the restaurant.

  At ages fifty-seven and fifty-three, Louis and his wife had finally realized the dream of owning their own home. A small cottage just outside of the city was all they needed now that all the other children were grown and on their own, except Françoise, at seventeen, who was completing her schooling and still living at home. Louis had purchased a car, but the drive to the restaurant was too much bother each day. In 1949, parking on public thoroughfares was tolerated by the police even though it was in violation of public laws prohibiting it. The congestion on the city streets made Louis nervous since he had only recently begun to drive an automobile. It was, for Louis, a status symbol more than a means of transport. Instead, he would take the Metro from just outside the city limits and would leave the car at home if Jacqueline needed it.

  Jacqueline was no longer working, there was no need to, and she proudly spent her days in her new garden where she planted flowers and nurtured them as she had done with her children. Although only fifty-three years old, she looked well into her sixties. The early years of struggle to keep her family alive had taken their toll on her. Her eyesight was failing, her figure became noticeably plump and she had an increasingly difficult time in keeping her weight down due to her more relaxed lifestyle.

  Weekends for Louis were now without Françoise who knew her way around Paris far better than her father. He had taught her well and she had not been content with only what her father had shown her. It wasn’t enough; Françoise was like an engine that required more and more fuel to keep it running. In her case, the fuel was a new site, an old building, and another piece of history about the city.

  Françoise had applied to be a tour guide with Le Bourget, the Paris airport for international travelers. Throughout recent years, she had learned to speak English quite well and was studying to become an interpreter for the French government. Le Bourget was getting so much traffic from people abroad that it needed more guides to explain the sights of Paris on its bus tours that picked up tourists at various hotels in the city.

  At first, the tour director was hesitant at hiring a seventeen-year-old girl for a position requiring an older, more seasoned person. After some preliminary testing by the director, he simply asked, “Do you know where the Place de L’Etoile is located?” Françoise smiled and said, “La Place de L’Etoile was constructed in 1854 in Neuilly and originally was the focal point where five avenues intersected. Hausmann, the engineer, made it a circle in later years where twelve avenues now meet. In 1860, Hottorf, the architect, constructed twelve identical town houses bordering the circle. You would reach the monument by way of Boulevard Hausmann, named after its engineer..” Françoise conducted her first tour that Saturday.

  For the next two years, Françoise would conduct tours on weekends and every day during the summer months. She had completed her formal schooling and was now earning a good salary as Paris underwent major renovations and tourism continued to flourish. Traffic congestion forced improvements to the Metro and train system. Poor water and sewer systems forced the government to speed the development of better housing facilities with improved water treatment facilities. Ever changing, Paris was her life, Françoise reflected, as she proudly pointed out the new and how it blended in nicely with the old during her tours.

  Françoise had matured into a very attractive woman of nineteen by the spring of 1951. Her long brown hair radiated from her face and brought out the beauty of her facial features. Blue eyes, a smooth and radiant complexion without a blemish, teeth that emanated a warm smile each time she spoke, and a statuesque body with perfect curves in all the right places. She had grown to feel not only the yearning of the city but also the desires of the heart. More so in recent months than before, it was as if a flower had suddenly blossomed and young males could now see the body beneath the smile. She had reached the time in her life when she began to think of love and romance and what it would be like to be with a man.

  The tour bus was loaded on this August morning. The driver of the bus, Rejean Boiteau, was a quiet man in his early twenties who had recently joined the company. He had just moved to Paris from Dijon where life for a young man was not as exciting or as promising as in Paris. Françoise entered the bus and immediately introduced herself to the passengers, ignoring Rejean as she faced her eager students of the city.

  “We will today cover the main attractions of Paris, stopping at each one to allow time for photographs and to walk inside some of the buildings. Please do not go off on your own since we will not stay long at any one location except for lunch at the Café Royal. If there are any questions I can answer, please ask. I will try to tell you as much about Paris as I can,” she said as she motioned to the driver to begin the tour by heading down Rue du Temple. It was then that she noticed the new driver. “You’re not the normal driver, where’s Maurice?”

  “I am Rejean and I am taking Maurice’s place today. He is not feeling well and the director said you were the best person to start driving with on these tours. I will need some help though, I don’t know my way around the streets yet,” said Rejean.

  Françoise smiled, as she always did, and introduced herself as she pointed out the direction he should proceed. As the bus slowly made its way through the maze of Paris, Françoise could feel Rejean’s eyes gazing at her at each stop. He was a terrible driver and had difficulty shifting the grinding gears of the bus, jerking it forward after every stop, and bouncing over the curbing at nearly every corner he made. This made it difficult for her to concentrate on her presentation to the tourists and Françoise began to get visibly irritated with these distractions.

  “Please be more careful at what you’re doing,” she pointed out to him, “this is intended to be a way to enjoy the sights of the city, not a bumpy ride all over the streets.”

  Rejean could not help himself. He was distracted by her every move and the slender lines of her body as she stood there next to him. The faint aroma from her cologne added to the urges he began to feel building inside of him. By the time the tour had reached the Café Royal, Françoise was so visibly upset with the terrible ride her passengers had just gone through that she apologized to them, explaining that the remainder of the tour after lunch would most definitely improve.

  As the tourists exited the bus and entered the café, Françoise greeted her father and immediately proceeded to the public telephone at the rear of the restaurant.

  “Hello, Françoise, what can I do for you, you didn’t get into an accident did you?” asked the director of the tour company.

  “No, no, Monsieur Pontbriand, I am afraid we will be getting many complaints from the people on this tour,” Françoise explained. “The new driver you gave me is driving badly and the passengers are not able to enjoy the ride. I don’t think it is good for business if they tell other people at their hotels to stay away from our tours.”

  “Where are you now, Françoise,” grumbled Pontbriand. “I will send another man over. The new boy is not experienced enough to drive in the city. I’ll send him instead on the tour that goes outside the city tomorrow. Let me talk to him.”

  Françoise spotted Rejean already sitting at a table in the corner by himself. Françoise wondered if he sat alone because he was shy or because the passengers were furious with him from the morning’s bad ride. She motioned for him to come to the telephone because Monsieur Pontbriand wanted to speak to him and moved on to one of the tables where the tour passengers were seated.

  Louis would always watch his daughter as she mingled with the patrons and he was pleased at how confident she had grown in her work. Monsieur Cardin had on several occasions thanked Françoise for arranging the
tours so that they would stop at his restaurant for lunch each day. The small commission he had agreed to give the tour company for the extra business still brought many tourists to the café, tourists who often returned on other days, and mostly in the company of other friends. Monsieur Cardin had grown as fond of Françoise as everyone else.

  “You pig, you lousy little bitch,” screamed Rejean as he darted straight toward Françoise. “You couldn’t give me a chance, could you? You had to call Monsieur Pontbriand on my very first day. I hope you’re happy now; I’ll probably lose my job and I can’t afford to.”

  “Monsieur Pontbriand assured me you would be used on another bus until you know the city better. It’s for your own good. You were making the passengers nervous and without them you won’t have a job anyway.” Françoise said as she tried to calm him down before he made a scene and added to his already shaky start with the tourists.

  In a fit of contempt, Rejean shoved Françoise aside and stormed out the door. She fell to the floor and her face turned red.

  At a nearby table, a young man swiftly jumped to his feet and extended his hand to Françoise to help her up. As she still had her eyes on the door as the young driver bolted out, the helping hand motioned for Françoise to sit down at that table, occupied also by an elderly couple.

  “Are you hurt, mademoiselle?” the concerned young man asked.

  Françoise motioned to everyone that she was fine and attempted to compose herself with a few sips of wine from a glass placed before her by the young man. “Merci, merci beaucoup, monsieur, I am sorry for this trouble, I have never had this happen before,” she explained. “It is not good for you to have this happen to you, you are only here to enjoy the city, not to be insulted by this behavior.”