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 News Around the Republic of Mexico | February 2007 
The Last Time I Saw Paris
 MexicoCityCollege.com
Part VII of The Last Time I Saw Paris, as transcribed by MCC historian Joseph M. Quinn from two 1947 issues of Mexico City College's "El Conquistador."
After getting to Aix we waited for our chance. We found quarters in the home of a widow, who immediately asked us for our papers. She said that the police were insisting on identification of all guests.
I invented a long story about how against the wishes of my parents I was running away to get married and that if we gave our names the whole scheme would be upset, since my parents were looking for me.
She was somewhat sentimental and accepted my story and cooperated with us. We were later introduced to the mayor who gave Charlie a new set of papers with an impressive French aristocratic name.
We were safe, but we couldn't work. We lived in a little community outside of Aix in which each of us had a different task to carry out. But neither of us had any money, and it was impossible to have money sent to me from Paris. So I decided it would be necessary to go back.
This was about Christmas time in 1940. Charlie was fortunate in making fiends with a man who was able to give him a job giving him the isolation he needed. The man had a huge estate near Aix and he gave him a job as game watcher on his hunting grounds. The only obstacle was that he had to live with an Italian guide.
The Italian had married an ugly old woman, but nevertheless he became insanely jealous of Charlie's presence and began to drink and get in a terrible temper. Since Italy was at war with France there was no telling what the Italian might do in a moment of rage.
As a game watcher, I don't think Charlie was in a position to do a very good job. When he found persons trespassing on the property, instead of arresting them, he would, to their surprise, give them a polite warning to leave as soon as possible.
Before long Charlie began to feel uneasy over the large amount of visitors to the estate, and also considering the attitude of the Italian, he decided to leave this job. Meanwhile, I was back in Paris. It was terrible for me.
Every day the police would come and ask for Charlie or for my younger brother, Roger, a promising young author, who was working in the underground as a de Gaullist. My father was suffering from heart trouble and died a few months after as a result of the constant mental strain.
(Eventually the Gestapo caught my brother while posting bills at night. They took him as a hostage, and I didn't know until a year ago what had happened to him. From people who had escaped from the same camp I learned that he had been taken to the horrible murder camp at Auschwitz and was executed on July 14, 1942. So now July 14 doesn't mean the same thing to me as it does to most French people.)
I couldn't send any of our money from Paris to Charlie. A friend gave me an idea. I was able to hide a number of 1000 franc notes in a silver hair brush by taking off the top and putting it back again. By putting bills in my powder puffs and other personal articles, I was able to hide 50,000 francs.
So I was ready to leave again for unoccupied France, this time without permission of any kind.
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