The Arcades Project - Operi

continued, "told me how to find you. He said you would take me across the border into
Spain." He said what? Oh well, yes, "rnein Herr Gemahl"-my husband-would say that.
He would assume that I could do it, whatever "ie' might be.
Benjamin was still standing in the open door because there was no room for a second
person between the bed and the wall. Q}lickly I told him to wait for me in the bistro on
the village square.
From the bistro, we went for a walk so that we could talk without being overheard. My
husband had no way of knowing, I explained, but since my arrival here at the border
region last week I had found a safe way to cross the frontier. I had started by going down
to the port and chatting with some of the longshoremen. One of them led me to the union
steward, who in tum directed me to Monsieur Azema, the mayor of the next village,
Banyuls-sur-Mer: the man, I had been told back in Marseilles, who would help me find a
safe road for those of our family and friends who were ready to cross over. An old
socialist, he was among those who had aided the Spanish republic by passing desperately
needed doctors, nurses, and medicine across the border during the Spanish civil war.
"'What a great person, this Mayor Azema, I went on to tell Benjamin. He had spent
hours 'With me working out every detail. Unfortunately, the famous road along the
cemetery walls of Cerberes was closed. It had been quite easy, and a good number of
refugees had used it for a few months, but now it was heavily guarded by the GaI·des
Mobiles. On orders of the German Commission, no doubt. The only truly safe crossing
that was left, according to the mayor, was (?a route Lister. JJ* "That meant that we had to
cross the Pyrenees farther west, at a greater altitude; it meant more climbing.
"That 'Will be all right," Belamin said, "as long as it is safe. I do have a heaI·t condi­
tion," he continued, " and I will have to walk slowly. Also, there are two more persons who
joined me on my trip from Marseilles and who also need to cross the border, a Mrs.
Gurland and her teenage son. Would you take them along?"
Sure, sure. "But Mr. Benjamin, do you realize that I am not a competent guide in this
region? I don't really know that road, I have never been up that way myself. I have a piece
of paper on which the mayor penciled a map of the route from his memory, and then he
described to me some details of tums to be taken, a hut on the left, a plateau with seven
pine trees which has to remain to our right or we will end up too faI' north; the vineyard
that leads to the ridge at the right point. You want to take the risk?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "The real risk would be not to go."
GlaIlCing at him, I remembered that this was not Benjamin's first attempt to get out of the
trap. Impossible for anyone who knew about his former try to forget it. TIle apocalyptic
atmosphere in Marseilles in 1940 produced its daily absurd story of attempted escape:
plans around fantasy boats and fable captains, visas for countries unknown to Atlas, and
passports from countries that had ceased to exist. One had become accustomed to learn­
ing through the Daily Grapevine which foolproof plan had suffered today the fate of a
House of Cards, We still were able to laugh-we had to laugh-at the comic side of some
of these tragedies. The laughter was irresistible when Dr. Fritz Fraenkel, 'With frail body
and gray mane, and his friend Wa lter Benjamin, with his sensitive scholar's head and
pensive eyes behind thick glasses, were, tlU'ough bribery, smuggled on a freighter, dressed
up as French sailors. They didn't get very faI
Luckily, they did get away, though, due to the generalized state of confusion.
We agreed that we would try to see Mayor Azema once more, this time together, so dIat
we could both memorize every detail. I notified my sister-in-Iaw-she, the baby, and I
* General Lister of the Spanish Republican Army had led his troops along that route.