You want me to do what?” Achim Fleischer’s commander demanded, staring up at the newest recruit in his department from a desk piled with the never-ending paperwork. “As short as we are of personnel and as busy as I am, you want me to investigate a mural going up on the courtyard wall of the Sisters of Charity? What the hell for?”
“There’s something suspicious about it. It’s a gut feeling I have. The drawing’s being done by a fashion designer new to the neighborhood. She could pass for a teenage girl, but she possesses the eyes of a woman, no matter her attempt to seduce me to believe otherwise.”
Seduce you, you little weasel, you with a penis the size of a shrimp! his chief thought uncharitably, his temper short-fused from his having to work on Sunday, his day off. The commander, head of a unit in a police force now as ostracized as the Jews, was already so weary of this meddling prick’s suspicions against neighbors and friends based on nothing but gut feelings.
“And that’s all? What is its subject?”
Undeterred, Achim Fleischer answered, “The subject quite escapes me, but there’s a dragonfly in it and some…seaweed, I think, and various other water plants, I believe they would be called.”
“Are they objectionable to look at?”
“Uh, no.”
“Then what do you find suspicious about them?”
“I don’t know. It’s…just this feeling I have that they have a clandestine purpose.”
“Ah, yes, that talking gut of yours again.” The commander continued writing. “Check with the mother superior of the convent. I’m sure she’s not unaware of somebody splashing paint on her courtyard wall. Find out where the girl came from, if she has her permission to do…whatever she’s doing.”
“I already have,” Achim Fleischer said.
The pen arrested, the commander glanced up. “And?”
“She…sees it as a painting of beauty to enliven the mood of the street.”
“Well, then, Achim, how can we disagree with Sister Mary Frances? Do you wish to spend eternity in hell?”
“Of course not, but I am sure the drawing is more than it appears and bears investigating. There’s the paint, for one thing. Where did she get it? My sister is an artist, and she can’t find the acrylic medium the woman is using. It’s a new artist compound just developed and is scarce even in peacetime. I think it’s smuggled contraband.”
“May the Almighty save us from such danger.”
“Nonetheless, I request that you take a look at it. I’m sure your superiors would agree.”
The commander glared at the lowest-ranked member of his squad. You sheep shit, he thought. He was now sure that this twat was an informant to the higher-ups who were in bed with the Gestapo and Vichy government. Now that America had entered the war, an Allied invasion was coming that would liberate France and all of Europe from under the Nazi boot heel. Who knew where and when, but it was whispered about on every corner, in every household by those not deaf to reality. Come that blessed day, he would see that Achim Fleischer got his just due.
It was late in the day and unusually cold for the eleventh day of October. As commander he would soon be able to go home to his meager supper and skimpy fire that would at least be shared in the warm lap of family. He had no desire to go traipsing off in the falling night and cold to view a harmless painting on a wall, much less with a flic on the eager lookout for curfew offenders that would mean an arrest and a trip back to the station for an interrogation. He swallowed his chagrin, sour as cheap wine, and growled, “All right, Fleischer. Let’s go see what has got a stick up your rump.”
His mouth dropped open the moment he saw the object of his intern’s suspicions. Awe flashed across Achim’s face as well. Neither man paid attention to the small knot of people who had dared to risk breaking curfew to admire the unfinished aquatic scene developing on the convent wall. They scattered before they could be noticed, but the policemen paid them no mind as they approached the wall. The artist was nowhere in sight this close to curfew.
“It’s…beautiful,” the commander said softly, face filled with admiration. “And you have a problem with this, Fleischer?” he asked incredulously.
“The artist has…added more to the drawing since I was here Friday,” his intern defended his report. “She must have worked on it this weekend. It…gives a larger picture.”
The painting was far from finished, but there were enough details and background for the street viewer to feel as if he had only to step forward to enter a magical garden where lily pads floated over clear blue water, and dragonflies darted among bright tropical flowers and flora under fluffy clouds and serene skies. Though partially formed, a golden Labrador with yearning eyes dominated the scene, its gaze on a wading bird oblivious to the dog’s presence.
The commander said, “Well, I’ve seen enough. There is not a single stroke on this mural to raise doubt that it is anything but what it clearly is to the rest of us—a peaceful scene on a convent wall to suggest that somewhere in the world there is calm and order and people aren’t shooting at one another. You’re to do nothing to get in the way of its completion. As a matter of fact, I order you to stand guard to make sure nobody does. This street is your beat from now on. Understood!”
Achim opened his mouth to protest, but then the awareness of this unexpected gift hit him. His commander’s order gave him the excuse to keep a constant eye on the artist. She wasn’t working alone, although he believed he could rule out Sister Mary Frances as a fellow conspirator. The old harridan had her nuns to think of. Sooner or later, the artist would betray herself and the others working with her, then he’d have her. Give him an hour with her in an interrogation room, and she’d spill her guts like a split sack of peas, and then they’d round up her accomplices. That coup ought to get him a place in the French Milice, the new paramilitary police organization that the Vichy government was organizing. Then his commander would see what was what and who was boss.
“Oh, but I—” he started to argue to make it look good.
“No buts, Fleischer. Do as you’re told, and don’t you dare take your suspicions to my superiors, as you say! Do you want to cause a riot on this street? Run afoul of Sister Mary Frances, who has obviously sanctioned this painting? This neighborhood will revolt and blame you if this mural is destroyed and the artist arrested. Parisians may knuckle down before the Boche, but they’ll stand up against anyone who challenges the Catholic Church. Got that?” The commander jabbed a finger into Achim’s chest.
“Oui, Commander,” Achim said, sighing and feigning a face of disappointment. “I will follow your orders to the utmost of my ability.”