"Your codename will be H21. Remember that: You will always sign 'H21.' "
I wasn't sure if it was meant to be funny, dangerous, or stupid. They could have at least chosen a better name, and not an abbreviation that sounded like a seat number on a train.
From the other drawer he took twenty thousand francs in cash, and handed me the stack of notes.
"My subordinates, in the front room, will take care of details like passports and safe-conducts. As you might imagine, it is impossible to cross a border during a war. So the only alternative is to travel first to London and, from there, to the city where, soon, we shall march under the imposing--but foolishly named--Arc de Triomphe."
I left Kramer's office with everything I needed: money, two passports, and safe-conducts. When I crossed the first bridge, I emptied the bottles of invisible ink--it was something for children who like to play war but never imagined they would be taken so seriously by adults. Next I went to the French consulate and asked the charge d'affaires to contact the head of counterespionage. He responded with disbelief.
"And why do you want that?"
I said it was a private matter and I would never speak with subordinates about it. I must have seemed serious, since soon I was on the telephone with his superior, who answered without revealing his name. I said I had just been recruited by German intelligence, gave him all the details, and asked for a meeting with him as soon as I got to Paris, my next destination. He asked my name, and said he was a fan of my work and that they would be sure to contact me as soon as I reached the City of Light. I explained that I did not yet know in which hotel I would be staying.
"Don't worry; it is precisely our job to find out these sorts of things."
Life had become interesting again, though I wouldn't discover how interesting until later on. To my surprise, when I arrived back at the hotel, there was an envelope asking me to contact one of the directors of the Royal Theatre. My proposal was accepted, and I was invited to perform the historical Egyptian dances to the public, provided they involved no nudity. I thought it was too much of a coincidence, but I did not know if it was help from the Germans or the French.
I decided to accept. I divided the Egyptian dances into Virginity, Passion, Chastity, and Fidelity. Local newspapers spun praise, but after eight performances I was once again bored to death and dreaming of the day I would make my big return to Paris.
In Amsterdam, where I had to wait eight hours for a connection that would take me to England, I decided to take a little walk. Again I ran into the beggar who had sung those strange verses about Thea. I was going to continue on my way, but he interrupted his song.
"Why are you being followed?"
"Because I am beautiful, seductive, and famous," I replied.
But he told me it wasn't those kinds of people who were after me, but two men who, as soon as they'd noticed he'd seen them, mysteriously disappeared.
I couldn't remember the last time I talked to a beggar; it was unacceptable for a lady of high society, though those who envied me still considered me an artist or a prostitute.
"It may not seem it, but here you're in paradise. It may be boring, but what paradise isn't? I know you are likely in search of adventure, and I hope you'll forgive my impertinence, but people are usually ungrateful for what they have."
I thanked him for the advice and went on my way. What kind of paradise was this, where nothing, absolutely nothing, inte
resting happened? I was not looking for happiness, but what the French called la vraie vie, a true life, with its moments of inexpressible beauty and deep depression, with its loyalties and betrayals, with its fears and moments of peace. When the beggar told me I was being followed, I imagined I was playing a much more important role than any of the ones I had played before: I was someone who could change the fate of the world, make France win the war while I pretended I was spying for the Germans. Men think God is a mathematician, but He is not. If anything, God would be a chess player, anticipating His opponent's next move and preparing His strategy to defeat him.
And that was me, Mata Hari, for whom every moment of light and every moment of darkness meant the same thing. I had survived my marriage, the loss of custody of my daughter--though I'd heard, through third parties, that she kept one of my photos glued to her lunch box--and at no point did I complain or stand still in one place. As I was throwing stones with Astruc on the coast of Normandy, I realized that I had always been a warrior, facing my battles without any bitterness; they were part of life.
My eight-hour wait at the station passed quickly, and soon I was back on the train that took me to Brighton. When I landed in England I was subjected to a quick interrogation; apparently, I was already a marked woman, perhaps because I was traveling alone, perhaps for being who I was, or, what seemed most likely, the French secret service had seen me enter the German consulate and warned all its allies. No one knew about my telephone call and my devotion to the country where I was headed.
I would make a lot of trips over the next two years: traveling across countries I'd never before visited, returning to Germany to see if I could get my things, and being harshly interrogated by British officials even though everyone, absolutely everyone, knew I was working for France. I continued to meet the most interesting of men while dining in the most famous restaurants, and finally, I crossed glances with my one true love, a Russian who had been blinded by the mustard gas used so indiscriminately in this war and for whom I was willing to do anything.
I risked everything and went to Vittel because of him. My life had taken on new meaning. Every night when we would go to bed, I used to recite a passage from Song of Songs.
At night, in my bed, I looked for the one my soul loves; I looked for him, but could not find him.
So I will rise and go around the city; in the streets and in the squares I will look for the one my soul loves; I looked for him, but could not find him.
The watchmen who go around the city found me; I asked them: have you seen the one my soul loves?
I stood aside and then I found the one my soul loves; I held him close and wouldn't let him go.
And when he writhed in pain, I would stay up all night nursing his eyes and the burns on his body.
The moment I saw him sitting there on the witness stand, saying he would never fall in love with a woman twenty years his senior, the sharpest of swords pierced my heart; his only interest was in having someone to tend his wounds.
And from what you told me later, Mr. Clunet, it was that fateful pursuit of a pass to allow me to go to Vittel that aroused the suspicions of that damned Ladoux.
From here, Mr. Clunet, I have nothing to add to this story. You know exactly what happened, and how it happened.