Secrets of Paris_ A Novel - Luanne Rice [98]
Everyone in her family and Lydie had told her not to mention her brother or the Philippine ambassador. “I crossed the German border,” she said.
“How?”
“On a bus.”
“That seems unlikely. They check passports on buses.”
“They didn’t check mine. It was nighttime, very late … all the passengers were asleep.” She said exactly what Paul Anka had told her to say.
“On most buses the passengers give their passports to the driver upon boarding, and he gives them to the border guards,” Mr. Wright said, watching her carefully.
“It was a local bus, from Fribourg to Colmar,” Kelly said, willing herself to not avert her gaze. She felt the bones in her jaw would crack. “I think perhaps the driver knew the guards.”
“Hmmm,” Mr. Wright said, making more notations. He wrote silently. Then, “Why Colmar? What was there to see in Colmar?”
The trick question! And Kelly was ready! “Oh, the museum, of course. It is so very beautiful, with the medieval altarpiece depicting scenes of heaven and hell. Have you seen it, Mr. Wright?”
“No, I haven’t,” he said wryly. He gazed at her for a long time. At that moment, Kelly had hope. Lydie had told her the decision would be made later, after Kelly left the embassy, but just then Kelly could imagine him telling her on the spot: “Welcome to the United States.”
But he just looked down, wrote a few more words. “Do you realize that you are in violation of French law, Miss Merida?” he asked.
“Yes,” Kelly said, her pulse quickening. She listened carefully for approaching guards.
“In most cases, I would have to report you directly to the French authorities. But someone has intervened on your behalf. Mr. Morrison, of this office, has okayed your release pending consideration of this petition.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” Kelly sputtered. Her body let loose one great shiver, and she felt a tiny trickle of urine escape. There were tears just behind her eyes. She was all fluid, ready to flood.
“You may go,” Mr. Wright said.
Kelly bowed her head, rose, backed out of the room as if she were taking leave of a bishop.
In the waiting room she looked around for Lydie and Patrice. Not seeing them, she walked outside and there they were, coming toward her through the park. All of a sudden she thought of leaving Patrice and felt a pang. Kelly understood it. In her province, people accepted the great emptiness that accompanied loving someone, because ultimately you would separate in the search for a better life. Even when it meant leaving family, loved ones behind. This was accepted as destiny. When the chance came to get to the States, you were propelled forward by a nameless force. You didn’t stop to think, or to worry, about whom you would miss. In this life, missing people you loved was inevitable. Nothing could be simpler, Kelly thought, watching Patrice come toward her with an expectant look in her eyes. Kelly would pack her bags when the time came.
All the Meridas in Paris came to the apartment behind Clichy to honor Kelly. Colorful streamers hung from the ceiling and music played on the radio. Delicious smells of ham, chicken, and milkfish filled the air. Everyone had questions about the interview. “What was the trick question?” Paul Anka asked. “Something about the German border?”
“Right as usual,” Kelly said, happy to flatter him. He had lived in Paris longer than anyone, without ever finding someone to help him get to the States, and he was growing discouraged.
“You’ll get rich in the States,” Sophia said, and everyone agreed. But while everyone cheered and talked about what Kelly should do with the money she would make, Kelly grew silent. Her head spun with memories of the Philippines. Even unhappy memories made her heart ache! She remembered when the family, eleven altogether, had slept on one coconut mat covered with a mosquito net. The net was the largest in the neighborhood and all the neighbors were impressed.
With the money they earned from Pan Am they bought a fish pond between a public cemetery and