by Alex Amit
Alex Amit
The Girl Under the Flag
First published by Alex Amit 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Alex Amit
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
I. MONIQUE
Telegram I
Paris, Fourth arrondissement, July 16, 1942, 6 am
Paris, at night
Les Halles, Paris center food market, four days later
Latin Quarter
Philip
II. A NEW LIFE
Telegram II
Paris, May 1943
Lizette
Claudine 1922-1943
III. THE DAUGHTER OF KRONOS
Telegram III
Violette and Anaïs
Oberst Ernest
Violette
Marne River, Northeast of Paris
The First Kiss
Invitation
Normandy
IV. A PUPPET
Telegram IV
The eighth arrondissement, the mistress on the fourth floor
The basement
Pompeii
V. TO LIVE
Telegram V
The Sewing box
The Stranger
Fissures
VI. NEMESIS
Telegram VI
The grey helmets will fight till the end
Just a Few More Days
The telegram
Paris, Eighth arrondissement, August 18, 1944 evening
Paris, Eighth arrondissement, August 19, 1944, early morning
Paris, Eighth arrondissement, 20 August 1944 10:30 AM
Paris, Barricade near Pont Des Arts, August 20, 1944, 12:30 PM
Epilogue
VII. AUTHOR’S NOTE
Author’s note: Pieces of History
About the Author
I
Monique
July 1942
Telegram I
Top Secret
7/2/1942
From: Western Front Wehrmacht Command
To: Gestapo Headquarters, Paris
Operation Spring Breeze
Purpose: Purge of Jews from Paris.
Method: Arrest all Jews of Paris and concentrate them in the Vélodrome d’Hiver winter sports stadium, in order to cleanse the Paris area of Jews and send them to resettlement in eastern Poland.
Forces and missions: For the benefit of the operation, cooperation will be coordinated with the Paris police headquarters, which will allocate police forces to the operation. Supervision of the Paris Police is the responsibility of SS Regiment 1455.
Division 381 will serve all logistical needs during the operation.
Locomotives and train carriages for transport to eastern Poland are the responsibility of Western Front Railway Command.
Schedules:
Operation start time: – 7/16/1942 at H - 04:00
SS. Telegram 344
Paris, Fourth arrondissement, July 16, 1942, 6 am
“According to our records, there is a missing person here. A girl, Monique, seventeen years old.”
I cling as close as I can to the wall, feeling the roughness of the bricks through my thin nightgown. It seems to me that the cracks in the wall are slitting and injuring my back, but I keep myself quiet. My palms cover my mouth so I do not cry out in fear, and my eyes are wide open in panic, but it does not matter, I cannot see anything in the dark.
“I sent her early to go stand in line for flour and oil at the grocery store on Capone street,” I hear my mother’s voice answering the stranger through the small wooden door that hides me.
Only a few minutes, or maybe more, have passed since the loud knocks on our apartment door and the shouting: “Police, open the door!” I ran barefoot down the hall, watching Dad come out of their bedroom walking slowly, wearing his brown robe, and giving me a soothing look.
“Quick, take Jacob,” Mom shook me from my standing in the hall, holding my hand tightly and whispering for me to take him and hide.
“What about the boy, Jacob, eight years old?” There is another foreign voice, as if passing by and reading from a pre-made list, and I cling even more to the small place.
“He’s in the other room with his Dad, they are packing the suitcase, tell them to speed up.”
He wouldn’t come with me. I rub my arm where mom held me and feel a tear running down my cheek. He’d clung to her tightly, refusing to leave her, and began crying as the knock on the door got stronger, until I had no choice but to run down the hall, leaving him hugging her leg while she tried to calm him down.
The noise of the opened door and the voices of the men at the entrance echoed in my ears as I entered the pantry, bending down and crawling into the corner of my childhood hiding place, carefully closing the wooden board behind me and resting my head on my knees in the dark. My fingers are constantly rubbing my nightgown, I mustn’t make any noise.
“When will she return?”
“After she’s finished, I asked her to go to my sister in the second arrondissement, so she will only be back in the afternoon.”
“Do you believe her?”
Why us? Get out of here, go get another family, not us, you can go to the Jacques family, they live in the building next door, number 41, third floor, why did you choose to take us? For a moment I’m afraid I’ll start screaming and I shove my palm back into my mouth, turn it into a fist and bite it until I bleed. Go to them, we have not done you any harm.
“You can ask the neighbor next door. Go knock on her door and ask if she saw the girl coming out.” The stranger continues with his horrible words.
She will protect me, she must protect me, she always allows her son to study with me, even though we are Jews and I no longer go to school. She even says that it is terrible, and that this war has been going on for too long.
I breathe quietly, another breath and another breath.
“I asked the neighbor, she says she did not see her go out this morning, and that she never sends her out so early.”
Please do not search for me, please don’t. My entire body cramps as I cover my ears with my palms, trying to keep the horrible sounds away as they penetrate the thin wooden board that separates me from them. For several days now, Mom has been telling Dad that there are rumors the Germans intend to send the Jews to the East, talking in whispers at the family table after dinner, making sure Jacob does not hear and start asking questions. And Dad answers in his authoritative voice that these are just rumors and that it will not happen, that we are French citizens and the Germans would not dare to do such a thing. I don’t want to travel east. My fingernails grip my folded legs tightly, scratching them as I cling to the wall harder, wanting to disappear inside the wall cracks.
“Search for her.”
Do not breathe, they will hear my breaths
, do not move, close your eyes tightly, think about the pre-war summer, how beautiful it is in the sun. Do not scream, put your hand in your mouth again, do not shake, they will hear the tremors.
“Aren’t you going to help him pack the suitcase? Only one suitcase for the family, in the East they will provide you with everything you need.”
“No, I want to look after the family’s silverware.” I hear Mom’s voice and the click of her shoes on the wooden floor in the kitchen, next to my hiding place.
“Did you find her?” The stranger raises his voice.
“She’s not here and the neighbor is wrong. I sent her early in the morning. Ask the doorwoman at the entrance to the building.”
“Go down and bring the doorwoman, but hurry.”
Just not Odette, the doorwoman of the building. I’ve been scared of her since I was a kid, she’s always yelling at Jacob and me. Like a tiger she lurks for us in her little room at the bottom of the stairs, where she lives, leaping towards us as we enter the big door laughing, or playing catch in the courtyard, berating us that we are not educated and making noise. To avoid shaking, I have to think of something else, not about this dark place, please don’t find Odette.
“Aren’t you getting dressed? Go get dressed.” The voice of this terrible stranger does not stop.
“I’m waiting for them to finish packing, one more minute. Please.”
A mix of footstep noises in the house, hitting the wooden floor, approaching and moving away, as though passing between the rooms. With every door slam I cringe a little more, waiting for the creak which will open the little wooden door that protects me.
“Whose shoes are these? Your daughter’s? How did she go without shoes?”
The sound of something hits the floor.
“She took my shoes. Those shoes already squeeze her when she has to stand for hours.”
“It’s because she’s a spoiled Jew.”
Another sound of footsteps and another door slam and I cringe more in the dark.
“Did you see our Monique leave the building early this morning for the grocery store on Chapone Street?”
“Do not ask her, I’m asking her, have you seen the Jew girl going out? We are evacuating them.”
Tears drip down my cheeks, I don’t want them to look for me, I don’t want to be Jewish, I want to be just an anonymous girl, why did they come at all? Why are they taking us? My body is shaking and I’m so cold.
“The rude Jewish girl? Yes, she went out this morning. I was angry with her, the little brat did not want to tell me where she was going.”
Return to breathing, small breaths.
“What should we do, keep searching for her?”
Breathe quietly, do not move.
“No, we have to hurry. We have another whole truckload of Jews for evacuation. Later they will pick her up off the street and load her.”
Mom’s footsteps walk away from the kitchen, becoming weaker and weaker.
“Give the neighbor the key to the apartment. She’ll keep it until we get back.” I hear Dad say to Mom before the door slams shut. And even though I keep listening from my hiding place, I hear no more noise inside the apartment, only Jacob’s cries from the staircase and Mom’s soothing words until they are no longer heard either. I must not come out of my hiding place.
The sound of falling porcelain plates makes me jump and my head hits a hard surface, waking me up in pain. My mouth opens to scream, but I manage to control myself and the bursting cry freezes in my mouth as I hold my breath and my eyes are wide open, looking in the darkness as if trying to penetrate it through the wooden boards that close on me. Where am I?
It takes me a moment to remember where I am, and where all this darkness around me came from. My legs ache from prolonged sitting without movement and the inability to straighten them, and I need to go to the bathroom so badly. How long have I been here? How did I let myself fall asleep after they took Mom and Dad and Jacob out of the house?
“Where did she hide her jewelry?” I recognize the voice of our neighbor Yvette, whose apartment door is across the hall. “Don’t mess around, the stinky Jews will not return.” She keeps talking, maybe to her son.
How can I stop the tremors? My hands hold my legs tightly while I fold into an uncomfortable sitting position with my back against the rough wall.
“And look for food too. They must have left something behind. I know she has stock for hard times.” Her voice moves away along with the footsteps on the hardwood floor, and I guess she’s going to look through the rooms of the house. Why are Mom and Dad not coming home to expel her? Dad would stand in the hallway with his authoritative look, and straight away she would smile and apologize, saying she did not mean to, and that she just wanted to keep things safe for us and not take anything. The creaking sounds of moving furniture on the floor penetrate through the wooden board and I remember my private diary, where is my diary?
The diary I received as a gift for my fifteenth birthday, with a brown hardcover on which I gently wrote the initials of my name in rounded letters. Every evening I wrote my hidden thoughts in it. Page after page, I told it everything that happened and sometimes drew flowers from memory. We are no longer allowed to go to the Tuileries Gardens, the sign at the entrance forbids it.
What if she discovers the diary in her search? Reads my secret words? I need it now, close to me in all this darkness and all the noises around.
My hands cover my ears, trying to get me away from this whole horrible day that won’t come to an end. The porcelain plates are wildly placed on the kitchen counter above my head. Suddenly I am surprised by a flash of light that dazzles my eyes as I open my mouth without saying anything.
My eyes blink from the bright light and I want to hide, to be part of the wall, a page in my diary, a small corner in the dark, but it is too late. The light penetrates my hiding place, leaving me no place to hide anymore. My gaze rises slowly, and my eyes notice Theo, the neighbor’s son. He leans on his knees next to my hiding place, holds the wooden board in his hand and looks at me with a serious look, without a smile. My eyes try to get used to the daylight as I stare at him, still sitting folded in my breached hiding place.
A few seconds of silence as we examine each other. I wait for him to do something, depending on desires and what he chooses to do, like I’m the mouse we saw some time ago. We’d played together in the courtyard of the building, and stood and laughed over it, watching it run along the wall and try to escape the grey cat. Slowly the cat approached and caught it in the corner, waiting patiently to strike the deathblow.
“Did you find her jewelry?” Yvette’s voice comes from the other room and her footsteps noisily approach on the parquet, and before I can ask him not to say anything or betray me, I feel his hand resting on my lap for a moment and think he is about to pull me out. But the door slams shut and I’m in the darkness again.
“What did you find? Did you find anything?”
“No, Mom, there’s nothing in the kitchen here. They left nothing except the porcelain plates.”
“Didn’t you find anything they hid? I’m sure she hid her jewelry, it’s so typical of her.”
“No, nothing, some food, that’s all.”
My fingers gently feel the apple he left in my lap, wrapping it slowly as if it were a precious jewel, feeling the hunger as a pain in my stomach. All I want is one bite, but I hold off as long as I can hear Yvette’s footsteps in the kitchen, settling for smelling the apple and sliding it over my cheek. For some reason, its smooth touch soothes me, reminding me of the touch of the wool blanket in my bedroom, the one that covers me every night. I’ll hold back and keep the apple for later.
The front door slams shut, and the noise of footsteps and the dragging of property is no longer heard. The silence has returned to the small shelter I am in, but despite my sore legs, I have no courage to go outside or even change position. How did Theo discover me in this hiding place? I must not fall asleep again.
; What time is it? Earlier, when I pressed my ears to the wooden wall, I could hear the sounds of the street, but now I hear nothing, what does that mean? Is it night already? Maybe Mom and Dad and Jacob will be back? For a moment I think I hear footsteps in the staircase, and I press my ears tightly and listen hopefully, almost tempted to get out of this darkness I’m in. Maybe the police realized there was a mistake in the lists and sent them back home?
They would come through the door and forgive Yvette for robbing them and not guarding our apartment, as she promised, and Mom would fix the dishes in the kitchen and hug me like she used to, and she would not mind at all that we had no food left, until the next time we’d get ration coupons.
The apple? Where is the apple? It must have fallen out of my hand as I nodded off. My hands search the floor of the small space until I feel its smooth touch, and I pick it up again in my lap, promising myself to keep it for later. I’m so hungry.
Is it night already? Where are Mom and Dad? And what about Jacob? Is he still crying? If he was crowded here with me, I could sing him a lullaby and calm him down, as he liked when he was younger, before the Germans came. I used to hum to him quietly until he fell asleep.
Go to sleep my little brother
Go to sleep my little brother
Mom is making you a cake
Daddy will bring you chocolate
I want a cake so much right now; I have not eaten one in so long. Every Friday night we would sit around the table, lighting candles and singing Shabbat songs, and Mom would give us a slice of baked cake. The memory fills my mouth with saliva, and I swallow it in frustration. Since the Germans arrived, we were almost left without food, and on Fridays we no longer sang, fearing that by chance someone from the street would hear us. Only Dad would quietly bless the food we had, and Mom, after making sure the house curtains were closed, would light two small candles she had specially hidden. By that time, we no longer had candlesticks, Mom had sold the family’s silver candlesticks on the black market in exchange for a pound of meat.
