The Girl Under the Flag: Monique - The Story of a Jewish Heroine Who Never Gave Up (WW2 Girls)

by Alex Amit

  And what about the soldier who added to the cheers of laughter: “We can receive it for free, the French girls ask for it.” How much shall I tell her?

  “Are you sure he loves you?”

  “He told me that after the war is over and they win, he will marry me.”

  “And do you believe him?”

  “I don’t want to be hungry. Two years ago, in the winter, I was standing in line at the grocery store, shivering and holding the food ration tickets. I’d prayed for a sturdy man to come save me, and he came. So he is not French, but he is nice to me; I want to be on the winning side, not the hungry side.” She doesn’t stop talking, spilling her guts while we look out at the shop window, at a satin corset with a price tag that ensures the store has a stock of real tights.

  “Wouldn’t you act like me?” She looks at me.

  What can I tell her? That in the winter, two years ago, we almost starved? I was standing last in the endless lines, only to find at the end of the day that there was no food left for the Jews? If Dad had not kept a few pounds of flour and oil hidden in the kitchen, I wouldn’t be standing here beside her. Or maybe I can tell her that I know how to hide? Or that I’m learning about myself that I know how to lie much better than I thought I could?

  “He’s nice, but I’m afraid he just wants to get into your panties.” I choose especially rude words, surprised at myself that I can say them.

  But Violette laughs at my rude words, and she gives me her hand, and we keep walking down the boulevard like a couple of friends; why is she not Claudine? And why did no one tell me what a man does when he gets in your panties, and how does it feel?

  “We have to tell you something.”

  Violette and Anaïs enter the boulangerie the next day while folding their arms and approaching the counter.

  “We have an invitation to a picnic this weekend.” Violette is excited.

  “How are you today?” I try to whisper to her.

  “Come with us? Please come.” There is a pleading look in her eyes.

  “Please come,” Anaïs adds, “It’s less interesting without the new girl.”

  “Sit down; I’ll give you something.” I have to serve a German soldier waiting in line. I want to ask Violette how she is, but she makes sure to stick to Anaïs.

  “Here you go, two croissants, how are you?” I place the metal tray in front of them on the table in the corner. “Everything okay?” I whisper to her again, but she ignores my question.

  “Yes, everything’s okay.” Anaïs bends down and pulls a box of cigarettes out of her leather bag, puts a white cigarette in her mouth, and waits for one of the German soldiers to approach her with a lit lighter.

  “Danke.” She thankfully smiles at him while he proudly returns to his place in line. As she leans back and blows the bluish smoke toward the ceiling, her gaze wanders between Violette and me, as if trying to find a hidden connection.

  “You should come,” Anaïs looks at me. “Ernest will come too.”

  “Does he wants to meet me?”

  “He said he would be happy if you could join us; he is not used to hearing the word ‘no’.”

  I walk back to my place behind the counter, serving the other soldiers. I can do it, I can be nice to everyone, give them what they want, Violette, Oberst Ernest, Philip, even Simone.

  “Monique, the customer is waiting,” I hear Simone’s impatient voice. Probably after Violette and Anaïs leave, she will mention that she does not like them and that only immoral, promiscuous women smoke, especially in public. I’m not like them.

  “Monique, you have your chores to do.”

  “Sorry, I apologize.” I have chores to do; Phillip also said I should do what is needed, even though he is not really interested in me. I smile and apologize to the soldier who is waiting, handing him the pastries and the change. Despite Simone’s examining look, I approach Violette and Anaïs for a moment.

  “Where is the picnic going to take place?”

  “They are taking us to the Marne river, do you like water?”

  I have never been to the Marne river.

  Marne River, Northeast of Paris

  “Come on, Monique, Anaïs, don’t give up, we are beating them!” Violette’s screams are heard over the quiet river, frightening some ducks, and they flee from the serenity of the riverbank, spreading their wings and passing over us in a peaceful flock.

  “Come on, don’t give up; they are getting tired.” She continues to cheer us with loud shouts, and even though the three of us are panting heavily while holding the paddles, hitting the water in an attempt to maintain a steady pace, we have no chance against them. The officers’ walnut-colored boat is far ahead of us, their paddles hitting the water uniformly as they listen to the sound of Oberst Ernest, giving them a rhythm in his quiet voice.

  Earlier, with the first rays of sunshine, we three girls met at the foot of the Arc de Triomphe, waiting for them and examining each other. They had more beautiful dresses than mine, why didn’t I put lipstick on my lips like them?

  The two bored cops guarding the gate barely addressed us, but I walked away from them, making sure to be closer to Violette, even though since that time we talked she has told me nothing, avoiding me when I ask.

  “Guten morgen,” the officers greet us warmly as the open-roof army vehicle stops next to us with a squeak of the brakes, causing me to freeze for a moment, watching the cops near the Arc step back and look down.

  “Guten morgen, how are we all going to get in here?” Violette asks and laughs.

  “They’ll tie one of us on the car hood like a hunted deer,” Anaïs offers.

  “If anything, then a rabbit or a fox,” Ernest answers her and smiles at me. “Good morning, Mademoiselle Monique.”

  “Good morning, Herr Oberst Ernest.”

  “You girls will sit in the back with us,” Fritz answers her. And they seat me respectfully next to Ernest, who is in the driver’s seat, while everyone else huddles in the back, Fritz next to Fritz and Violette sitting on the knees of the giggling Anaïs, close to Fritz’s knees.

  “I’m glad you chose to join us,” Ernest quietly whispers as he exchanges a hidden smile with me.

  “I’m happy too,” I answer him quietly, returning a small smile while my fingernails scratch my palms, fearing he’s noticed.

  “And now, everyone pay attention, we’ll teach you a German song,” Fritz announces from the back seat, trying to overcome the whistling wind on the ride and Violette’s laugh. And we all follow him, line by line, shouting the chorus as I translate the words into French for the two girls. Even Ernest allows himself to sing quietly while he concentrates on driving, his hands clad in black gloves gripping the steering wheel tightly, and occasionally he glances at me.

  “Ihhhh… this is a dirty song,” Violette announces in a protest of laughter as I translate the last line, hoping Ernest does not notice that it is difficult for me to say these words.

  “That’s how it is; we are rude people,” Fritz informs us with a laugh and chooses a new song to study, while the morning sun lights our way.

  Near a small town, we turn onto a dirt road and park the car on the riverbank near an empty dock, where two walnut-colored wooden rowboats are waiting for us, painted with shiny varnish.

  “Just for us,” Fritz announces while I wait for Ernest to come out and open the door for me, learning to be a woman.

  “You thought of everything,” Violette expresses admiringly.

  “That’s who we are, singing dirty songs and planning everything,” Fritz lifts her in the air while she laughs and blushes.

  “Shall we share equally?” Fritz suggests.

  “I think it’s time for France against Germany,” Anaïs offers.

  “The girls against the boys.” Violette joins her. I have a feeling Ernest is interested in a different division, but he says nothing and gives me a little smile as I join them, waiting for Fritz to stabilize our boat, gripping it to the dock to make it easi
er for us to get into it.

  “France is winning,” Violette announces as we start rowing, not waiting for the men to get into their boat. Still, they easily close the gap, leaving us far behind despite Violette’s shouts of encouragement.

  “We were defeated, we are yours,” Violette dramatically announces as we get out of the boat and climb to the bank, spreading her arms to the sides and lying down on the green grass.

  “Did you enjoy it?” Ernest asks as he serves me a meat sandwich, and I nod my head, wondering if they ever miss anything.

  “Come and join us; it’s not good to sit alone with a German officer.” Anaïs takes me by my arm, leading us behind one of the trees while Ernest follows me with a smiling look.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Changing into a swimsuit.”

  “A swimsuit?”

  “Yes, the river is nice and cool.”

  Shall I tell her I don’t have a swimsuit at all? That my last swimsuit was from childhood, before my breasts had even grown? At home, no one thought of sewing a yellow badge onto a bathing suit; we never thought of going for a swim in the river, too frightened by the German soldiers. In the warm summer, I used to walk through alternate streets, not wanting to see all the people sunbathing along the banks of the Seine.

  “I did not bring a swimsuit with me. I did not think of it.”

  “Too bad,” Violette looks at me sadly. “It can be enjoyable.”

  “You can jump in with your underwear. Ernest will love what he sees,” giggles Anaïs as she arranges the straps of her blue swimsuit, checking that they are in place.

  “Do you want me to give you my swimsuit?” Violette suggests, “I don’t mind going in with underwear.” But I thank her and refuse, preferring to stay on the riverbank, I cannot expose myself like that to the eyes of men.

  “Don’t you want to swim in the river?” Ernest asks me as we emerge from behind the tree. They jump towards the dock and the water, and I turn to sit on the picnic blanket the men have spread out for us.

  “I apologize. I forgot to bring my bathing suit.”

  “I’ve given up swimming. I do not want to get wet.” He informs the Fritzes who have taken off their uniforms and placed them in an orderly manner as if in a parade, and he sits down next to me on the blanket. The Fritzes express only a minor protest before turning to throw the girls into the river and jumping into the cold water after them.

  “Don’t you like to swim?”

  “I’m more a kind of land animal.”

  “I noticed that you also didn’t put on lipstick, like the other girls.”

  What should I answer him?

  “I wanted to be different from them. Do you like a woman to put lipstick on her lips?”

  “I think a woman is more feminine if she behaves like an elegant woman.” My lips feel naked all of a sudden.

  “I’ll try.” I look down at the grass, feeling so simple compared to Anaïs’ and Violette’s dresses.

  “What about poetry? After we talked last time, I was wondering whether you like poetry.”

  “Yes, I enjoy listening to poetry.” When I was a young girl, before it all started, I would lie in bed, unable to sleep. The news reports at the cinema frightened me, showing Hitler’s declarations of war and the vast endless army marching in rows towards the border.

  They are just being threatening, Dad explained to me, the Germans are a cultured people, a nation that has brought poets and philosophers to the world like Heine, Ghetto, and Schiller will not kill just like that. With his hand caressing my hair, he suggested reading me their poems.

  And I would sit in bed, patiently waiting for him to return with a book in his hand. He would then sit next to me on the little chair, and start reading me poems. Dad, where are you now?

  “Do you want me to read poetry to you?” He wakes me from my thoughts.

  “I’d love that.” And he gets up and goes to the car, returning after a moment holding a book and sitting next to me on the blanket.

  “Shall I start to read?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Whoever has succeeded in the great attempt,

  To be a friend’s friend,

  Whoever has won a lovely woman,

  Add his to the jubilation!”

  He reads Schiller’s “Ode to Joy” to me in his quiet voice, and I close my eyes and hum the notes from memory as tears begin to flow from my eyes.

  Tears for Dad’s voice that I already have a hard time remembering, tears for not having time to say goodbye to him when the cops knocked on the door. Tears for the man that stopped my running at Drancey camp, and for what I became. Tears for not being hungry anymore, and for this hot, sunny day and the sounds of laughter coming from the river.

  “I’m sorry if something I read hurt you, I apologize.”

  “No, it’s okay. Thank you for reading to me.”

  He continues to read in his quiet voice, and I find myself listening to him, but I am no longer able to contain the words, letting my thoughts fly to the east, looking at the water sparkling in the midday sun.

  “You missed all the fun,” Violette laughs as she comes running in all wet, looking for a towel and dripping on the blanket, causing Ernest to put the book away.

  “What were you doing while we weren’t watching?” Anaïs joins and lays herself on the spread blanket, panting and dripping as well.

  “We read poetry.” I smile at her as she grimaces.

  “Do you know that great battles took place here in the previous war? That time, we lost to you, the French.” Fritz joins us.

  “I told them we would have beaten you if only we’d pushed harder,” Violette answers while hugging his shoulders.

  “Last time you won, and you managed to stop our attack on the riverbank, but not this time. This time no one will stop us.” Ernest looks at Fritz appreciatively.

  “You men are so boring with all your war talk,” Violette gets up from the blanket and snatches Fritz’s officer’s hat, which lies on top of the pile of clothes, putting it on her head and standing in front of us with her hands on her hips.

  “Achtung!” She straightens up and salutes, wearing the German officer’s hat and a bathing suit, while everyone laughs. “Wait a minute,” she gets excited by the theatrical moment and also picks up her Fritz’s shirt from the pile, putting it on her body while everyone grins.

  “You’re too small for his size,” Anaïs remarks.

  “Shut up, Heil Hitler.” She salutes with her hand to the sounds of laughter.

  “Raus, all the Jews out, we will kill all the Jews!” She continues to shout in a German accent to the cheers of the small crowd on the blanket. Everyone looks at her and enjoys the sight of her breasts moving from side to side in the open shirt, barely held by the swimsuit fabric as she waves her hands.

  “Juden raus, Juden raus!” She continues to salute with her hand up.

  My hand is stretched outside the car, feeling the pleasantness of the wind in my fingers as we make our way back to Paris.

  “What do you think about Jews?” Ernest asks me, calming his voice while his eyes look ahead to the narrow road.

  Is he examining me? Does he suspect me? What should I answer him?

  My head turns back for a moment. Everyone is sleeping in the back of the car. Fritz and Fritz with their heads back on the seat, and their mouths open to the afternoon wind. Violette and Anaïs are hugging, each curled up on her Fritz.

  “I do not like the Jews, but I don’t think they are so dangerous.”

  “I saw you didn’t laugh before when Violette gave her show.”

  “I used to have a Jewish girlfriend, her name was Sylvie; you couldn’t tell she was Jewish.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “We are no longer friends, and I am no longer in Strasbourg.”

  “I’m not happy about what they’re doing to Jews either, but there’s no other way to treat them,” he continues to speak to me quietly as only the noise
of the wind bothers us. “If you understood the economy, you would know how they try to take over the world; they are like a wise fox who wants to break into a vineyard and plunder the grapes that don’t belong to them.”

  Oberst Ernest is silent for a moment, as if trying to figure out how to explain the Jewish problem to me more appropriately.

  “You see, I do not hate them either, it’s like the hunter does not hate the fox, he appreciates its wisdom, but must hunt it; otherwise, it will harm the crop, destroy the economy. We must stop them; we have no choice.” He looks at me, and all I can hear is the tire’s noise on the road, jarring my ears.

  “Do you understand what I mean?” The wind is drying my lips.

  “I think I do.” I smile at him, the smile of a good woman who appreciates an intelligent explanation but wants to jump out of the car into the hard asphalt, escape this metal box that takes me forward. Even Dad, who understood economics, did not understand enough about the Germans.

  “Goodbye, German hero soldiers,” Anaïs salutes in a sleepy voice. She tries to grab Fritz’s officers’ cap, but he pulls her hand away and does not allow it, while Ernest parks the car at the foot of the Arc de Triomphe, hurries out, and approaches to open the door for me.

  “I enjoyed your company; you were a perfect companion,” he compliments me.

  “I enjoyed it too, thank you, thank you for reading me poetry.”

  “Have we arrived?” Violette asks in a sleepy voice and rises from her Fritz.

  “Yes, we are at the Arc de Triomphe,” Ernest answers her.

  “To our triomphe,” says Anaïs.

  “Did you forget we won?” Fritz answers her, but she fills his mouth with a passionate farewell kiss.

  “This is where we part.” Ernest stands politely next to the vehicle, ignoring the rest. I think he expects me to kiss him. What should I do?

  “Thanks again for a pleasant day.” My hand is outstretched towards him, but I can’t get any closer. I’m a Frenchwoman licking German boots, unable to kiss a German officer. I’ve never kissed a man.