Paris: The Novel

spot and set out their little meal of bread, pâté and cheese. Max had provided a bottle of
vin ordinaire
, and as he looked at his father stretched out so comfortably on the grass, he felt a great wave of affection. They ate and drank for a little while before his father broached the subject that was on his mind.
    “You were serious about working in the Resistance?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you want me to tell you something about it?”
    “I do.”
    His father nodded thoughtfully.
    “You know that, as a socialist, I’ve always believed it’s of paramount importance to be organized. Random acts of violence are useless. The thing is to have an organization well prepared so that, when the time comes, one is ready to seize the initiative. It’s the same with any resistance movement. Especially when you are dealing with a ruthless enemy like Hitler.”
    “That makes sense.”
    “Now that there’s an eastern front, we could make enough trouble to tie up troops here. That might cause Hitler some difficulties. One day, perhaps, if America comes into the war, it may even be possible to liberate France. A big Resistance network could be crucial in providing information and sabotage prior to an invasion.”
    “You’ll need good links with de Gaulle in London, then.”
    “Up to a point, yes. But don’t forget the bigger picture. In the event that French and Allied troops can liberate France, we need to be completely organized so that the France they liberate belongs to us. By the time they get to Paris, it will be a Commune.”
    “The old dream.”
    “It’s a hundred and fifty years since the French Revolution and we still haven’t made good its ideals. But maybe this time it can be done.”
    “That’s what you’re fighting for?”
    “Yes. I want the Nazis out, of course. But my ultimate goal is to complete the Revolution, for France to reach her true destiny. And I hope it may be your goal as well.”
    For the next ten minutes he gave Max some details of the networks as they were emerging. It was evident to Max that his father was telling him far less than he knew, but it was clear that, both in Vichy France and in the occupied north, they were extensive.
    “The cells are linked, but also separate. Only a few key individuals know much outside their own cell. That’s for security.”
    “What will your role be?”
    “Propaganda. I’m getting a little old to run around blowing things up. But we need a newspaper. We may revive
Le Populaire
, which was suppressed. Underground of course. I’ll be helping with that.”
    “I want to do something more active. My time in the Spanish Civil War taught me a good deal.”
    “I know. And that’s the point. I’ve gathered together a bunch of boys, and I think I should turn them over to you and your friends. They all want action.” He grinned. “Do you know, I even found the fellow who cut the elevator cables in the Eiffel Tower? He’s about the same age as me, but he’s still going strong. And we have some villains from the Maquis. In fact, I have all sorts of fellows. Are you interested?”
    “Absolutely,” said Max.
    His father drank a little more wine and stared through the trees. He seemed to see something that caused him to nod, but when Max glanced around, he saw nothing.
    A couple of minutes later, a tall, handsome man suddenly came into the little clearing where they were, hesitated, and apologized for disturbing them. To Max’s surprise, his father turned to the stranger and remarked: “You are not disturbing us at all, my friend. This is my son, Max.”
    The stranger, who was in his late twenties and had a decidedly aristocratic air, bowed and said that he was delighted to meet him.
    “Max,” his father continued, “this is my good friend, who is known as Monsieur Bon Ami. Please remember his face so that you will know him when you meet again.”
    The two younger men gazed at each other and smiled. Then Monsieur Bon Ami slipped away through the trees as quietly as he had come.
    “Who the devil was that?” asked Max.

    At first, when Charlie had thought about how to make himself useful to de Gaulle, there had been one great obstacle. Who to talk to, and how to find them? So many of his own contemporaries had been among the million prisoners of war taken into the German work camps. Others might have been amenable to doing something, but they had no idea how to make contact with the Free French across the water.
    Of his father’s generation,