It was spring, misty night in Paris. The air was damp and the cobblestones under Cesar's feet were slick. However, Cesar didn't notice much of this. He was distracted by the ach in his muscles and he deep set fatigue that clouded his mind and senses. He didn't hear the sound of the silky breeze tossing the newly grown green leaves on the trees that lined the sidewalk. He didn't hear the footsteps of couples that walked down the banks of the Seine, or the clink of dishes as waiters cleared tables of closing cafes. He was focusing his energy on walking, and trying to remain unnoticed. That was had been consuming his life for the past 6 months. He had struggled to find his family relief from the constant threat of Nazis. After fall, they weren't only after Jew's. Although they were the most obvious of victims. The Jewish district was completely ravished. The synagogue's windows were broken, and the building itself was covered in graffiti. This was the tone for the rest of the district including the privet homes, kosher bakeries, and even schools. The artist district, next to the Jewish district was nearly abandoned. Although the artists were not attacked at the Jews were, they were constantly harassed. After all, artists were free thinking, and seen as radicals. Therefore, they were a threat to the Nazis. Cesar was wander on the more residential side of the Seine. This is where most Catholic Parisians had their homes and businesses. He was walking closer to the river, than the heart of this bank, but he tried to keep out of sight He walked down cramped alleys and avoided the open air. Even with his body tired and his mind weary, Cesar managed to remain unnoticed. He had made it a habit to wash his hands and face. For the Parisians never looked like a dirty Gypsy. He had also shaved his face and moustache. Most men in Paris were clean-shaven. He took small, short-term jobs to make some money. He ate what he managed to get. He slept when he could under the bridges of the Seine, and on stoops, in alleyways. He took up a fake identity. He was know as Peter O'Malley an Irish-Spanish man to explain his dark features and bad French He continued walking through Paris, keeping a steady pace although he had no destination. He had managed to send his family away. They loaded into the small open-backed trucks that farmer's made their deliveries with. The farmers would take them to the country, and then they were to head for Spain or Portugal. Portugal would be safest. They were neutral in this ghastly war.
Cesar continued to walk blindly through the streets like a zombie. His fatigue was affecting him severely now. His head was down, and his eyes were barely open. He couldn't think of anything but how tired he was. His senses are dulled. He was def to the heavy footsteps of marching soldiers. To the echoing bark of orders. Even to the running footsteps that were fleeing the soldiers and come closer to him. Cesar turned a corner fallowing whatever way his feet took him, and was truck down hard. There was a shout and a grunt. He knew some one had run into, and immediately his senses returned. His mind was racing. It was dark, the light orange of a streetlamp reflected against the ground and walls of buildings around them. He was on the ground, his hat had been knocked off and he sat up, preparing to flee. But they were two young women, and a young man who had hit him. The young man had dark brown loosely curling hair. He had just stood up and was brushing himself off hastily before he helped Cesar to his feet. There was a mutual sense of urgency between them all. He felt several hands brushing him off before pulling them along with them. The sound of marching came closer. The young man spoke as they walked along down the side street:
"Are you alright?" His accent was heavy, he was native Parisian, "Damn it, I'm sorry. We were rushing, quickly though, come with us. There's no time to talk." Cesar was managing to keep up with their quick pace, though they had slowed after the collision. He didn't take notice of where they were going, he fallowed them without thinking. Trying to escape the heavy footsteps behind them. He was dazed, and his head was swimming a little. He felt the sting of pinpricks coming from his hand there was an ach from his wrist that went up to his elbow. He hadn't realized how hard he was struck by the man. He hadn't even realized that his hat had been placed back on his head. He didn't have time to judge the group. His they were against the Nazis then he may be safe. Suddenly they were walking through a door, a back entrance to a house, the door closed behind him and the secure sound of locks clicking into place echoed through the hall they were in. He could barely make out the people around him in the dark. They were speaking French to each other in hushed voices. A match was struck and the weak little flame allowed enough light for Cesar to make out the three foreign faces and where they were. They must be in a sort of mudroom, a hallway. There was a long table against a white wall. There was coat hanger and they were settling. This must be their home. The people were young has he had seen at their first meeting. They were taking of scarves and light coats and hanging them up. The light increased and illuminated more of the space around Cesar. One of the women, the blonde, had lit a delicate Kerosene lamp. Cesar could smell the smoke that came from the match after it was snuffed out. The brunette woman looked over to him, she was friendly and welcoming. She spoke to him:
"Are you alright? Come here, step into the light and let me look at you." Her accent was more relaxed, she must be from the country. He thought of his family before he did as he was asked. She looked over him. She wasn't as young has he first thought they were. She was maybe twenty-five same as the young man. He stood quietly and let her eyes scan over him.
"He's hurt, look at his hand." The blond girl said calmly, she had a thick accent like the man, but hers was smoother. She was younger than the other two. Cesar raised his hand to look at it himself in the light. It was scraped badly and covered in dirt. He could feel the throbbing, it was more defined now that he had seen his wound. The people around him where shuffling. The blond girl took up the lamp and started to walk away. The rest fallowed
"We'll be able to see better in the kitchen." He fallowed them carefully up a flight of stairs. They must have entered through the basement. The first floor was warmer. The moonlight came in through the large windows, immersing everything in pale blue light. He noticed how pale the blond girl was, it was intensified by the moonlight. She looked like a dove. The house was of comfortable wealth. The rooms were spacious with welcoming furniture although everything seemed mismatched and a little scattered. However, it was clear to Cesar that these people had money, and were classes above him.
They reached the kitchen. It seemed modern and a little foreign to him. The counter was polished golden marble. They had a large icebox, and a proper gas stove and oven. There was a small square table in on corner of the kitchen. The blonde girl set down the lamp, another match was struck, and another lamp lit. He could see them all much more clearly. The man and the woman with red-brown hair were in their mid twenties has he had thought before. The young man had dark loosely curled hair. He was pale and had a few dark freckles that scattered on the sides of his cheeks. He was wearing a white undershirt and a green velvet smoking jacket with brown trousers and brown boots. He had brown eyes and a large nose that suited his face. The young woman was red-brown hair was a light tan. She had a heart shaped face and a widow's peak. She had full pink lips and welcoming hazel eyes. She wore a simple red dress that fell over her pear shaped frame casually. The man and the woman left the room and went around the house closing the curtains. He soon understood why. The steady tempo of marching soldiers shook the house. They had enacted a curfew recently. The marching passed them though, and Cesar noticed the blond girl was still in the room with him. She was filling a bowl with water from the sink. She was younger than the other two, maybe twenty-one at most. She was focusing on what she was doing, holding the bowl steadily. Her lips were pursed as she focused solely on the task at hand. Ignoring the dissipating rhythm of soldier's footsteps. Her lips were red with lipstick and she wore blush on her cheeks. Her frame was small, but she had sturdy him and an hourglass figure. Her hair was light blonde, nearly white. It has lazy curls that were piled on the back of her head in a loose bun. She was wearing a white dress with a print of tiny navy blue flowers scattered over. Unlike the other woman she wore jewelry, dramatic chandelier earring that caught the light of the lamps and sent tiny glitters of light against the walls of the kitchen. She had filled the bowl with water, and set it in front of Cesar, before fetching a clean white rag. She dipped the rag in the water and spoke:
"Let me have your hand." Her voice was smoky and trusting. He handed her his hand. She was very gentle. Her fingertips were cool from the water, and she washed his hand and tended to the scratches the cobbles had inflicted on his hand. His hand still stung and throbbed, but less now that it the wounds were free of dirt and pebbles. She gently wrapped a long clean strip of cotton fabric, securing it with a small knot. The other two had returned and he hadn't even noticed. The blonde girl took the bowl of water and emptied it in the skin, hanging the rag to dry. The young man was pouring for glasses of wine, and the scent of stew hit Cesar. Had it been on the stovetop this whole time? The blonde girl spoke as stirred the stew.
"I apologize for my brother's clumsiness. My name is Claudia, that is Mathew and his wife Sophie." Her voice was soft but her eyes rarely met his face. She was always looking at what occupied her. The bowl of water, his hand, the stew. He didn't mind though, for he knew he held the same habit at times. However, she walked back to him and made eye contact. She had mossy green eyes, but her gaze didn't hold long, for she turned her attention back to his hand, pushing up the sleeve of his jacket and shirt, turning over his hand with her nimble fingertip before she was satisfied that he was alright.
"Thank you," It was the first time Cesar had spoken to them. Claudia nodded and turned back to the food she was preparing. He was weighing the situation carefully. They were young and kind. Should he tell him his was Peter O'Malley or Cesar, the gypsy? He put his faith in them.
"My name is Cesar." Mathew handed him a generous glass of red wine. He took it gratefully and sipped it, savoring it. It was very good wine. Mathew spoke after all four of them had a glass of wine.
"They're marching with many men. There are squads all over the city. It would be best if you stay the night here. You'll be safe here." Cesar wasn't expecting such kindness from these young strangers. Perhaps it was the fatigue or the wine on an empty stomach but he accepted.
"Thank you. I appreciate your hospitality." Mathew nodded and smiled.
Cesar's body relaxed in the house with these people. The wine mingled with him and he ate very well with the three strangers. Although they mostly enjoyed their meal quietly Mathew told Cesar about them.
"This is our house, it has always been our house. My father bought it many years ago when he married my mother, she moved here from England. She died when I was sixteen, when Claudia was twelve from tuberculosis. Our father was an architect. He deigned bridges and houses for the French as well as the English. He died a few years ago, or heartache from the loss of my mother. So we've raised ourselves for the most part. I met Sophie when I went to school in Niece. We've been married for two years." It was clear to Cesar that they loved each other passionately. He envied them, but since Suzie left years ago he hadn't thought of love for himself. He shunned it, though he didn't expect Suzie to return. It wasn't safe.
"Claudia here," Mathew gestured towards his sister, who looked up, reached for her glass of wine and sipped it before setting it back down on the table. "She felt her education was better spent outside of school. Isn't that right?" Mathew smiled at his sister, who smirked.
"I would probably be sleeping on a bench in the Louvre right now if it weren't for the occupation," They laughed and Cesar felt himself smile. Claudia looked back at her food, and resumed eating a tender sliced tomato with olive oil and garlic. Cesar ate plentifully at dinner. After he finished his first serving of stew, Mathew refilled. He was filled for the first time in months. He felt a rush of energy from the nutrients he had consumed. He felt full and content. After dinner they went to the living room and drank coffee. Mathew gave Cesar a few hand rolled cigarettes. Cesar smoked them eagerly despite choking on the first few drags, tobacco was hard to find now in Paris. They talked and told stories until their eyes felt heavy and they wanted to sleep.