Page 20 of If You Were the Only Girl in the World
He dismissed that with raised brows. “I slept well last night in the hotel across the street. But truly, none of us in government sleeps well at night. I won’t bore you with that. As you said, you don’t want to talk of the war and neither do I. I came to have fun with you.”
She inhaled and loved looking at him. Pale, yes, he was. But still so handsome and debonair. Were it not for his uniform, she’d believe he was here to court her, that it was eight years ago and that there was no hunger or disease or blight on the world.
“What news of Dylan?” She had to change the subject. “I had a letter from him that he’d sent to my old address on the Left Bank, but that was before I moved north. So I think he has not received my own response with my new address. Is he well? Please tell me. I am very concerned about him as I hear rumors about these plane crashes over the eastern French lines.”
Nate frowned. “As far as I know, he is doing well. I heard from him via cable two weeks ago. He’s in a small town, east toward Verdun.”
“The Lafayette Escadrille is stationed in a village with a funny name. Bar Le Duc?” She’d learned that from Samuel Wofford, that former American patient of hers who sat a few tables away.
“They move around to confuse the Germans. The Americans are under direction of the French flyer squadron.”
“Flying is such dangerous work.” It made her wince. The planes were made of wood, covered at the nose with metal. Flimsy with small engines, they were meant to be light weight to take to the air easily. But they were also big targets for German sharpshooters who could pierce an engine with one bullet. Many pilots went down in flames over enemy lines, never to return.
Unnerved suddenly by her knowledge of how difficult it was to care for a burn victim, she began to trace the tines of the fork besides her plate.
But Nate covered her hand and shook his head at her.
She nodded and stopped.
He smiled and took a sip of his wine. “Dylan wrote me a few weeks ago that he was excited not about any mission, not that he could talk about any anyway. But he managed to get one of his former engineers to join him here. He sponsored the man through the American Embassy, asked for him specifically because of his expertise with engines, but it was very difficult to get him approved.”
“Why is that? I would think any man who contributes to the war would be welcomed by the French.”
“Some are more welcome than others.”
“How so?”
“He is an American. He was with Dylan as his engineer in San Antonio, where Dylan learned to fly and he's so good that he wanted him with him here. The Escadrille approved of him long ago, but it was the American Embassy that dragged its feet on approving his passport.”
“Why? I understood the only Americans who have a problem traveling to France are those who cannot pay for their ticket themselves or they’ve got a criminal record.”
“He's a negro.”
“Oh. That would be a problem.” More than half a century had passed since the end of the Civil War and the declaration of freedom of slaves in the United States. Yet black men and women lived in poverty, many without education or the ability to find profitable employment. Katrina had known a few who worked as orderlies in hospitals in the States. She’d met more here in Paris, but they were immigrants from French colonies in Africa, here to find work as house servants, dockworkers or menial day workers. “An unusual occupation for a black American man to be an engineer,” she said. “Where did he learn that? Any idea? That’s an extraordinary skill for an American negro. They don’t have opportunities to learn special trades.”
“I know nothing of his background. But Dylan says he’d invaluable. Now, the rest of the Escadrille know he is, too. Among the French, evidently, his skin color is not as much of a deterrent to his acceptance.”
She nodded. A black man from Philadelphia worked as an orderly in her hospital. Though he had a bachelor’s degree from a small negro college in Massachusetts, he had been treated poorly by Doctor Russell, the director. Calling him names and ordering him to work longer hours for no pay, Russell had made the man’s life a misery. He had told Katrina he would not resign and that he was in France to learn the language. He had come to France to do that five years ago and he would remain.
“I’ve seen how the French have accepted black soldiers into the service,” she said.
“I understand that if any blacks who live in French colonies volunteer, they receive French citizenship.”
“A blessing,” she said. “If indeed the French treat them equally.”
“You cannot fail to commend a man who agrees to fight and die for you,” Nate said. “The color of his skin is immaterial.”
“When a man’s skin is torn and bleeding, he is the same as all others. Human.”She sat back to fold her arms.
Nate leaned forward. “Don’t you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”
“No. No, I do not.” She glanced away, but found a smile for the waitress who approached with their plates. “Please don’t push.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. She was ravenous for the fragrant food that sat before her.
When she did pause to sip her wine and savor it, she sat back and smiled at him. “I am poor company. Forgive me. I will improve. You’ve helped me do that.”
“I hope I can do more. I am here in Paris for four days. I thought if you can take one day of absence from your duties, that we’d catch the train south one morning and spend the day in the country. I can get away Friday. Can you go? For the day?”
