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| Silent Yearning |
Chapter 12: Guided
�Was it him?�
�Yes.�
�No doubt possible?�
�No doubt possible!�
�Did he see you?�
�Yes.�
�So your plan worked out?�
�As I expected. Did your friend follow them?�
�Yes, he did everything you asked him to.�
�Did they see him?�
�No, he knows the city better than they do. If he does not want to be seen, you don�t see him. Their destination will spark your interest.�
�Did he find out where I can find him?�
�Yes.�
�Can I get to him unnoticed?�
�He is being watched constantly. It is impossible for him to leave unperceivedly, but with his help you can go to him unseen.�
�That is all I want. Thank you.�
A little later they went down the shaky stairs together, the former soldier and his commander, to her very own battle. Oscar wore her usual men�s clothing, hidden under a dark coat.
Only few hours had passed since her mother had died in her arms and the relatedness to her father had broken. Her soul and her body wanted to mourn peacefully and say goodbye to everything that once was her home and family, but she forbade herself to do either. Now was not the right time to rest. Alain could lead her to Andr�. She came one step closer to him again.
The sun had set. It was dark in the stairway. Over Paris a light drizzle began, which soon turned into a heavy shower. Powered by strong squalls, the rain streamed towards them. Oscar pulled her coat tighter and climbed over dirt and litter which the rain flushed across the lane. The shabby houses along the narrow lane silently attested to the hunger and poverty. Here, children went to bed on an empty stomach. Somewhere a cat meowed tormentedly. The threatening hunger put them on the menu card of some beggars. Even cats were goods in short supply in Paris.
Target-oriented, Alain headed for the end of the road. The moon had hidden behind the clouds. The absence of street lighting could turn any entrance, any branch-off, into a death-trap. The darkness concealed all assassins. In silence Oscar followed him through the winding alleyways. Sporadic revellers crossed their paths. Wetness and darkness dispelled the alcohol haze from their heads and with drawn-in shoulders they hurried home, if they had one.
Alain accelerated and he went closer to Oscar in order to be more protective. The hand protectively in her back, he adjusted to her pace.
They were on their way for over half an hour. Their clothes were soaked. Even the thick leather of the boots did not provide protection from the rain. Their coats cleaved through refuse and puddles.
At last Alain slackened his pace and peered. The street scene hardly differed from the area around Alain�s apartment. Densely packed houses lined up.
The rain was lashing against shutters and doors. Decrepit rooftops could not withstand the rain anymore and let water into the interior of the houses. Gutters bent under the body of water. The excessive water ran into everyone�s hair and neck.
A man, only one image of a dark shadow, came from one of the entrances and beckoned both of them over.
With an effort he leaned against the wind and closed the door behind them, then he greeted Alain with the reserved joy that was usual among men. A short slap against the shoulder was sufficient to express their solidarity.
Under the wrong assumption that Alain�s companion was a man, Oscar got the same amicable slap against her shoulder.
Alain�s friend introduced himself as Marius Forquet, and without further ado led them far into the interior of the building. He was the one who had followed Andr� and knew his whereabouts. According to Alain, no one in Paris knew his way better around than his friend Marius Forquet. The route that he chose could not be taken by any outsider. Mutedly they scaled walls, walked through back-doors, dark hallways and narrow stairways, crept through empty apartments.
This time they were on the way for a quarter of an hour. Oscar wordlessly followed their leader, although she assumed that they were taking many detours, just to stoke Monsieur Forquet�s vanity. That particular fellow walked ahead with his chest thrust out in pride. He really did know the most secret ways through Paris.
He stopped at last and asked them to stop with a abrupt movement of the hand.
The hallway was dark. Behind the door there was laughter to hear. Deep male laughter was accompanied by high female voices. He carefully opened the door and looked around. Grinning, he signalled them to follow him.
In view of the amply velvet curtains in dark-red satin and the golden decoration it was immediately clear in what kind of establishment they were.
Had someone doubted the nature of their location, Marius�s broad grin would have been inference enough.
Scarcely clothed girls lolled lasciviously on sofas and pillows.
Oscar glided deeper into her coat and hoped that the hood would conceal her face.
Not out of uncomfortableness to be in a whorehouse, but out of fear her presence here had something to do with Andr�. She had trouble breathing, she almost wished not to see Andr�. Not at such a place..
A buxom woman with opulent ginger curls and a deep cleavage came up to them.
Her laughter clinked artificially, like the clinking together of two crystal glasses.
�My dear Marius, how can I serve you and your friends?� she asked with a honey-sweet voice as she linked arms with him.
�Madeleine, my dear, where is our friend?� Madeleine let her laughter clink again and led them through the saloon. With a graceful nod she pointed to the right.
�Monique attended to him.� Behind another dark-red velvet curtain, unequivocal sounds could be heard. She lifted the curtain. Andr�s blond companion was tensely rotating. His bare buttock faced the viewers while he took care of the squeaking Monique. Against her better judgment, Oscar looked at it, endlessly relieved that it was not Andr� who was the visitor of that establishment.
It had something hypnotic to look at the steady up and down of the white male buttock. With a diabolic grin Oscar wished him eternal impotence.
Marius laughed quietly. �Alain, you wanted a way to speak to your friend without his blond companion being around him all the time! I was very surprised when I found out that Monsieur Jean-Luc and I have a common friend. He appreciates the arts of Madame Madeleine�s girls as much as I do. And he happened to be in the mood to enjoy those today.� At this, he pinched Madeleine�s powdered cheek playfully.
�Can you keep him busy until the morning hours, my dear?�
Madeleine cocked her head pensively. In her eyes stood greed for an adequate payment. Marius looked at Alain and Alain looked at Oscar. She nodded and let last piece of gold fall in the hand of the brothel owner. Madeleine bit on it, nodded agreeingly and left.
Marius looked after her regretfully.
�Your friend is not far from here. The exits are watched constantly,� he explained to Oscar. �I will lead you to him!�
They left the whorehouse through the rear exit again and kept walking through the gloomy stairway. From the distance the approach of a thunderstorm was rumbling. Outside wind and rain whipped loudly through Paris.
As promised their destination was located in one of the adjacent houses. It did not take long and they stood at the foot of a shaky staircase.
Again it thundered, louder and longer this time.
�Your friend is in the apartment in the middle, on the second floor,� Marius turned to Alain and Oscar. Both nodded. �How much time will you need?� he asked.
�I don�t know,� Oscar answered. Astonished, Marius raised an eyebrow as the high voice sounded from the shallows of the hood.
�Shall we wait nearby in case you need help?� Alain asked. Oscar laughed shortly and mutedly. �No. I won�t need help. Make sure that Andr�s blond friend does not come back unexpectedly!�
�Don�t worry, commander. I will hold him at bay,� he grinned. �Are you going to find the way back to Madeleine alone?� Oscar nodded.
�We are going to wait there for you. No matter how long it takes.� Alain�s smirk reached Marius. And how they would wait�
�Good luck.�
�Thank you.� With those words she took her leave and climbed up into the darkness. A lightning shortly lit up the two left behind men.
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