Ravic poured a few drops of cognac into his coffee. “One of them is the International. That’s why I live there. I don’t know how the landlady arranges it. But she must have good connections. Either the police really don’t know about it or they are bribed. At any rate I have lived there for quite a long time undisturbed.”
Veber leaned back. “Ravic!” he said. “I didn’t know that. I only thought you weren’t permitted to work here. That’s a hell of a situation!”
“It’s paradise. Compared with a German concentration camp.”
“And the police? If they do come some day?”
“If they catch us we get a few weeks’ imprisonment and are deported across the border. Mostly into Switzerland. In case of a second offense we get six months in prison.”
“What?”
“Six months,” Ravic said.
Veber stared at him. “But that’s impossible! That’s inhuman!”
“That’s what I thought, too. Until I experienced it.”
“How do you mean experienced? Has that ever happened to you?”
“Not once. Three times. Just as to hundreds of others as well.In the beginning, when I knew nothing about it and counted on so-called humaneness. After that I went to Spain—where I didn’t need any passport—and got a second lesson in applied humaneness. From German and Italian fliers. Then later when I returned to France I, of course, knew the ins and outs of it.”
Veber got up. “But for heaven’s sake”—he figured it out—“then you have been imprisoned over a year for nothing.”
“Not as long as that. Only two months.”
“How is that? Didn’t you say in the case of a second offense it was six months?”
Ravic smiled. “There are no second offenses when one is experienced. One is deported under one name and simply returns under another. If possible, at another point on the frontier. That’s how we avoid it. Since we have no papers it can only be proven if someone recognizes us personally. That very rarely happens. Ravic is my third name. I’ve used it for almost two years. Nothing has happened in that time. It seems to have brought me luck. I’m beginning to like it more every day. By now I’ve almost forgotten my real name.”
Veber shook his head. “And all this simply because you are not a Nazi!”
“Naturally. Nazis have first-class papers. And all the visas they want.”
“Nice world we live in! And the government doesn’t do a thing!”
“There are several million men out of work for whom the government has to care first. Besides it’s not only in France. The same thing is happening everywhere.”
Ravic got up. “Adieu, Veber. I’ll look in on the girl again in two hours. And once more at night.”
Veber followed him to the door. “Listen, Ravic,” he said. “Why don’t you come out to our house sometime? For dinner.”
“Certainly.” Ravic knew he would not go. “Sometime soon. Adieu, Veber.”
“Adieu, Ravic. And do come, really.”
Ravic went into the nearest bistro. He sat by a window so that he could look out upon the street. He loved that—to sit without thinking and watch the people passing by. Paris was the city where one could best spend one’s time doing nothing.
The waiter wiped the table and waited. “A Pernod,” Ravic said.
“With water, sir?”
“No.” Ravic deliberated. “Don’t bring me a Pernod.”
There was something he had to wash away. A bitter taste. For that the sweet anise wasn’t sharp enough. “Bring me a calvados,” he said to the waiter. “A double calvados.”
“Very well, sir.”
It was Veber’s invitation. That tinge of pity in it. To grant someone an evening with a family. The French rarely invite foreigners to their homes; they prefer to take them to restaurants. He had not yet been to Veber’s. It was well meant but hard to bear. One could defend oneself against insults; not against pity.
He took a gulp of the apple brandy. Why did he have to explain to Veber his reasons for living in the International? It
Veber leaned back. “Ravic!” he said. “I didn’t know that. I only thought you weren’t permitted to work here. That’s a hell of a situation!”
“It’s paradise. Compared with a German concentration camp.”
“And the police? If they do come some day?”
“If they catch us we get a few weeks’ imprisonment and are deported across the border. Mostly into Switzerland. In case of a second offense we get six months in prison.”
“What?”
“Six months,” Ravic said.
Veber stared at him. “But that’s impossible! That’s inhuman!”
“That’s what I thought, too. Until I experienced it.”
“How do you mean experienced? Has that ever happened to you?”
“Not once. Three times. Just as to hundreds of others as well.In the beginning, when I knew nothing about it and counted on so-called humaneness. After that I went to Spain—where I didn’t need any passport—and got a second lesson in applied humaneness. From German and Italian fliers. Then later when I returned to France I, of course, knew the ins and outs of it.”
Veber got up. “But for heaven’s sake”—he figured it out—“then you have been imprisoned over a year for nothing.”
“Not as long as that. Only two months.”
“How is that? Didn’t you say in the case of a second offense it was six months?”
Ravic smiled. “There are no second offenses when one is experienced. One is deported under one name and simply returns under another. If possible, at another point on the frontier. That’s how we avoid it. Since we have no papers it can only be proven if someone recognizes us personally. That very rarely happens. Ravic is my third name. I’ve used it for almost two years. Nothing has happened in that time. It seems to have brought me luck. I’m beginning to like it more every day. By now I’ve almost forgotten my real name.”
Veber shook his head. “And all this simply because you are not a Nazi!”
“Naturally. Nazis have first-class papers. And all the visas they want.”
“Nice world we live in! And the government doesn’t do a thing!”
“There are several million men out of work for whom the government has to care first. Besides it’s not only in France. The same thing is happening everywhere.”
Ravic got up. “Adieu, Veber. I’ll look in on the girl again in two hours. And once more at night.”
Veber followed him to the door. “Listen, Ravic,” he said. “Why don’t you come out to our house sometime? For dinner.”
“Certainly.” Ravic knew he would not go. “Sometime soon. Adieu, Veber.”
“Adieu, Ravic. And do come, really.”
Ravic went into the nearest bistro. He sat by a window so that he could look out upon the street. He loved that—to sit without thinking and watch the people passing by. Paris was the city where one could best spend one’s time doing nothing.
The waiter wiped the table and waited. “A Pernod,” Ravic said.
“With water, sir?”
“No.” Ravic deliberated. “Don’t bring me a Pernod.”
There was something he had to wash away. A bitter taste. For that the sweet anise wasn’t sharp enough. “Bring me a calvados,” he said to the waiter. “A double calvados.”
“Very well, sir.”
It was Veber’s invitation. That tinge of pity in it. To grant someone an evening with a family. The French rarely invite foreigners to their homes; they prefer to take them to restaurants. He had not yet been to Veber’s. It was well meant but hard to bear. One could defend oneself against insults; not against pity.
He took a gulp of the apple brandy. Why did he have to explain to Veber his reasons for living in the International? It
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