by Alex Amit
“Do you need help?” Marie asks.
“No thanks, I’m fine.” My fingers get mixed up tying the apron as I turn my back to her, I don’t want her to ask about my eyes.
The soldiers keep coming, running from the rainy street into the warm space, filling it with German language and the strong cigarette smoke of poor-quality tobacco. They laugh at each other while the doorbell rings again and again as it opens and closes, making me tense. Many of them pay in silence and walk away, just glancing at me, but there are the more daring ones who try to start a conversation, practicing their poor French while I keep quiet and lower my head, not answering them.
Ranks, I need to look at their ranks, memorize them. Also unit tags, I should learn to recognize their tags. What about the red stripes sewn on some of the soldiers’ pants? What does it mean? Should I start up a conversation with them? That’s what Phillip expects me to do.
Occasionally, when there are fewer soldiers in the boulangerie, I go to the back room, looking for excuses to watch Marie, but mostly looking for a quiet moment to myself away from the doorbell noises and the German words in my ears.
Soon the end of the day will come, and I’ll visit her and buy her a flower instead of a loving man. But on my way to the metro, when I pass the newsstand, I see the boy standing with his back to me.
“Metro Palais Royal.” I hear his whisper before he disappears, not stopping to provide me some explanation about what happened last time, and I’m standing and watching him walk away. I must hurry, Philip will tell me what happened, he will calm me down.
Philip’s silhouette looks to me like a dark shadow waiting for me in the dim light of the basement lamp, but I know he is just protecting the entrance, making it safe for me.
“How are you?” He is still leaning against the damp wall, and I go down one more step, getting closer.
“I’m good. How are you? How is your hand?” My fingers caress his hand, examining the wound in his palm, refusing to let go.
“I’ll be fine, shall we sit down?” He gets away from me.
“Let’s sit down.”
“Everything is okay?”
My hands grip his body as my head searches for a place to rest for a moment under his enfolding arms, and tears begin to flow from my eyes. I know he is disappointed with me, but I can’t hold back anymore; I need to tell him all about her.
“What happened?” I feel the warmth of his arms around me.
“It’s Claudine.” I start sobbing and hug his body more tightly. His fingers gently caress my hair, smelling of gun oil mixed with printing colors and his pleasant scent.
“She is dead.” The tears flow with all the words that have been waiting for so long. Without stopping I tell him about the accident and all the people gathering around; I even tell him about the coat under her head and her shoe, which remained on the street after the ambulance left.
“I wanted to pick up the shoe, out of some illogical thought that she might need it, but I just couldn’t and kept going. And the next morning, as I passed and looked from a distance at the street corner, the shoe was gone.” I can’t stop crying under his caressing fingers.
“The rain washed the blood off the street, and passersby kept walking down the street, not stopping and thinking about the woman who lay there yesterday.” I’m sobbing.
“Shhh…” He gently strokes my hair.
“And I was in church, and I apologized to all the angels who are guarding her from now on, and they forgave me, and Simone brought Marie to replace me with the dishwashing, and now I’m behind the counter instead of Claudine, having a hard time with all the German soldiers.”
“Shhh… everything’s fine.” He continues to caress my hair while I hug him, trying to relax in the warmth of his pleasant body and hands that encircle me.
“And now you’ll be happier with me.” The tears do not stop.
“Shhh… it doesn’t matter… what about the driver, did they catch him?”
“No, a policeman came to the boulangerie, saying they don’t know who it was. What happened to the boy? Why did he disappear that day?”
“He had to get away, so he disappeared.”
And I keep telling him about the soldiers coming in, entering the boulangerie and ordering their pastries, asking for his guidance on ranks and tags, because now I’m exposed to a lot more.
But suddenly, while I’m talking about my new place behind the counter, I have a terrible thought about that day, and even though I keep reporting everything I heard to him, that thought doesn’t leave me. Like an ambulance siren, it rings in my mind, and slowly my speech slows until I fall silent.
“Shhhh… everything’s fine.” He continues stroking me, but I push his body away and look into his eyes, examining him through my tears.
“Why wasn’t the boy there?”
“Because he had to go.”
“The boy’s disappearance is related to Claudine?”
“The boy’s appearance is related to you; the boy is not related to Claudine.”
“But I left her, and someone ran her over.”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“How did you know the police haven’t found the driver? I did not tell you about that.” I try to get up off the floor and stand.
“It’s not your business how I knew.” He also gets up and walks away from me, watching me with his brown eyes.
“Did you run Claudine over?” I raise my voice.
“No, we did not run Claudine over.”
“Did you kill Claudine because she exposed me? Please tell me you didn’t kill her.” I shout as I grab the wooden chair, supporting myself.
“No, we didn’t.” It takes him a while to answer me.
“What do you mean, you didn’t? Who killed her?” The noise of the chair falling to the floor sounded like it was shattering on the concrete.
“Answer me, please, who ran her over?”
“It’s not us.”
“Please tell me, who did this to her?” My hands are holding the table, keeping me from falling on the floor again.
“Someone else did it.”
“Who is the someone else? Please, you must tell me.”
“The Communist underground did it.”
“But why? Why did they do that to her?” My tears flow down my cheeks as I look at the wall, examining the dark moss stains. I cannot look at him.
“Because we asked them for help.” I hear his tired voice, as though coming from a distant place.
“But why?” I ask, again and again, knowing the answer in my heart but unable to stop, wanting to hear it in his own words.
“Because that’s how it works, they are fighting the Germans, and we are fighting the Germans, and because we have a common enemy, we have common goals.”
“But why kill her?”
“Because she endangered you and us with her big mouth.” He tries to stay calm and get closer to me again, but I walk away, looking at the dirty wall.
“She wouldn’t have spoken.” My fingers scratch the wall, peeling off the plaster.
“If she hadn’t said something yet, it was only a matter of time before she started to talk, and the Germans would find out all about you. Do you want to find yourself in the basement of the house on 84 Avenue Foch?” He tries to control his voice, but he sounds so distant to me.
“And what about me? Will you kill me too? If I’m not good enough?” I’m having a hard time breathing.
“You are one of us, and there is a reason why we accepted you.” He tries to lower his voice and bring his hands close to me again for a hug, but I stop him with my hands, feeling the rough wall at my back.
“Just as long as I bring you what you want?”
“You are one of us; she wasn’t. She was the one who wanted to go out with German soldiers, to lick their boots, do you remember that?” He talks about her with such disdain.
“She was my friend, my only friend.” I must get out of this suffocating place,
but Philip holds my arm, puts his hands around me, not letting me leave. His lips whisper soothing words to me, but all I want is to curl up in a teeny-tiny ball and hide at the same time.
“I’m so sorry, but we are at war; the Germans want to kill us all.”
“She died because of me, if not for me she wouldn’t be dead now, how will I go on?” My hands try to push him away, but he holds me firmly against his body.
“She did not die because of you; she died because of the Germans. You must listen to me; she did not die because of you.” He whispers to me again and again, his lips close to mine.
But I know he’s lying. He’s lying to me that she didn’t die because of me, and he’s lying to me that they wouldn’t throw me to the German dogs if I’m not efficient enough. Or maybe they will ask their Communist friends to do the dirty work for them, when it’s time to kill me, and he’s lying to me with his hands hugging my body.
“I’m not angry at you. I’ll be the best soldier you’ve got, I promise.”
“I’m so sorry, but you must never forget who you are.”
“I’m a French warrior.” And my hands push his hug away as I turn from the wall and run up the stairs. I must get out of this dim basement. For a moment, I stop in the alley and wipe away my tears, noticing that I haven’t said goodbye to him, but I can’t go back into that dark place. Anyway, it doesn’t matter at all; he doesn’t care about me. To them, I’m just a replaceable girl in an occupied city.
I head to Lizette’s house as fast as I can, quietly climbing the stairs into the attic where I live, closing the door behind me without turning on the light. Let the black night surround me.
I wonder what it’s like to fly and hit the sidewalk. The first rays of the sun paint the grey roof panels in yellow, while my feet slowly approach the edge of the building, and I’m carefully looking down at the street, examining the hard-paved stones.
For almost a year, I have been living here on the sixth floor, and in all that time, my attic window stayed closed. Even the spectacular view of the city rooftops, and the Eiffel Tower in the distance, did not convince me to open the window and step carefully onto the grey zinc boards.
It’s too frightening for me, sitting on the edge and looking at the city, in what could be considered a nest of privacy for a reclusive girl or an escape route when needed. But not for me, I’m too scared of the height and the street below.
What is it like to fly in the air? How did she feel? Did she know it was the end? Was landing on the pavement painful to her? I straighten up to stand on the grey roof panel, feeling it shake under my body weight, while I spread my arms to the sides and lift my chin, breathing the cool morning breeze and closing my eyes. Just one more small step.
I can’t feel so guilty anymore, I’m just one girl who wanted to live, and I can’t turn the clock back.
Why did I manage to escape from the police a year ago? Where are Dad and Mom and Jacob? Why did the railway worker knock me down that day, stopping me from running to the barbed wire fences?
“There’s no one there anymore. They took everyone,” he’d shouted at me and pushed me onto the railway, making me scream in pain. Why didn’t I return to that place and try again?
My eyes look at the street below, the man walking on his way to work, looking like a small drop of paint on the grey street, the Eiffel Tower in the distance painted a reddish hue in the first rays of the sun. I can even see the Nazi flag shining in the morning rays.
“I must live.” My legs bend as if on their own, and I sit on the edge, holding the metal plates tightly, and writing Mathilde’s words with my fingers on the morning dew which covers the grey roof panel.
The morning rays will soon erase the words, and the street downstairs is waiting for me; it’s time to decide. What should I do?
What would Mom do?
Carefully I close the small window to the roof, making sure to lock the latch as hard as I can. Claudine did not die because of me; she died because of the Germans.
“You’re late,” Simone tells me as I close the glass door behind me, gasping from the fast walk, but she hands me the clean apron from the hanger and even smiles at me as I wear it, taking my position behind the counter. Soon the first customer will walk through the door. I am a French warrior, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to live.
III
The Daughter of Kronos
June 1943
Telegram III
Secret
6/18/1943
From: Western Front Wehrmacht Command
To: Army Group France
Subject: Preparations for opening a new western front
Background: Due to the Allied invasion of Sicily, we estimate that the Italian army will surrender to the enemy.
General: By the orders of the Führer Hitler, offensive operations on the eastern front in Russia will cease immediately. We estimate that in the coming year, a naval landing will be executed from the direction of England through the La Manche canal.
Tasks:
Construction of a protective barrier along the western beaches.
Construction of protective bunkers to protect the Führer’s secret weapon of revenge against London.
Method: Army Group France will be reinforced with engineering divisions that will be mobilized from the Eastern Front and the South Italy Front.
The headquarters of the engineering division for the canal section will be located in Paris.
Finding houses for the division’s headquarters officers will be the responsibility of maintenance battalion 411.
SS. Telegram 445
Violette and Anaïs
‘Arletty & Arletty’, I usually call them in my mind when I see them every few days. Usually, I notice them through the boulangerie window. They tend to stand patiently outside the shop, waiting for their spouses to finish buying the morning patisseries for them. Their dresses are glamorous, in the best fashion the summer of 1943 allows women, especially those who tend to enjoy German money. I watch their wavy hairstyles with envy, and they remind me of the famous movie star known for her warm attitude towards high-ranking German officers. With a hug, they greet their spouses as they walk out of the store, biting off the crispy croissants that were baked in robbed French butter.
“Monique, stop staring at the street outside, have you served the gentleman in the black uniform?”
“Yeah, he’s waiting for the fresh pastry tray that will be out in a minute.”
Their spouses are wearing neatly-ironed grey-green officers’ uniforms, and with their cropped blonde hair and perfect smile, they could appear on any German Army recruitment poster.
“Danke.” They thank me as I put the fresh pastries in the paper bag, and my eyes follow them as they rush to serve the fine butter to the girls my age who are waiting for them outside the boulangerie.
“They have money,” says Simone after they disappear down the street.
“They have German army officers,” I answer, and Simone smiles a bit.
‘Arletty & Arletty’ always wait outside for their gentlemen to arrive, but today the pouring rain has driven them in, and they gently close the door behind them. As I examine them, they shake their wavy hair from the raindrops and approach me, the short one with a shy smile and the tall one with a defiant look.
“Good morning, we did not want to wait for them in the rain,” the tall one with the lush brown hair tells me, and I notice that she has a small gap between her front teeth.
“Good morning, is it okay if we order? Can we?” the short one joins in; she’s my height and has a delicate face and big eyes, the kind I always dreamed I would have when I still dared to dream of being a movie star.
“Good morning, what would you like?”
“Can I have a baguette?” the tall one asks; she has thick, beautiful lips.
“Can I have a baguette too?” the little one asks with an embarrassed smile, and I watch her delicate lips.
“Anaïs.” The brown-haired
woman reaches her hand beyond the counter.
“Violette.” The other joins and reaches her hand too.
“Nice to meet you, Monique.” I give them my hand, and for the first time I touch hands that have caressed a German soldier.
What would Mom think of me if she knew? Why couldn’t I have found them a year ago, even though I tried?
“Luckily, the Germans are cleaning the streets of them; there is no food left in France, because of their greediness.” I heard those two women in a grocery store, about a year ago. They were complaining about the butter ration, and my eyes remained lowered to the floor, carefully examining my old shoes.
“It’s time for the Germans to put things in order on this issue,” the other one agreed with her. “My sister told me there were even policemen who warned them to run and hide before the raid.” Why did no policeman come to warn Dad?
For a moment, I looked at them, but I lowered my eyes again; no one else intervened in their conversation, and a few other women standing in line nodded their approval.
“At least they crammed all of them in camp Drancy; from there, they will no longer be able to rule the world.” Another woman joined the conversation.
“Are you giving up your turn?” The older one between them asked me.
“Yes, I forgot my ration stamps at home.” I answered her, and ran out of the grocery store.
My feet carried me towards the massive building and the barbed wire fences surrounding it. As I kept getting closer, passing the metal sign ‘Drancy’, I started to get scared. “They are waiting for me,” I tried to encourage myself, to keep walking on the rails leading to the camp, but a railway worker wearing dirty clothes stood in my way.
“Hey, you, where are you going?”
“I have to find something.”
