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

by Alex Amit

  “It’s only fair that this palace belongs to us. It fills me with pride.” He looks around at the Louvre’s enormous wings surrounding us, while I wait patiently by his side.

  This time, he does not try to kiss me or even give me a hand. Herr Ernest keeps walking towards the exit from the garden, as if stating that from now on, I belong to him, and I will continue to follow in his footsteps. The marble sculptures of the garden peek at me from the corner by the wall, they were taken out and moved, gathered together and wrapped in sandbags, probably for protection from air bombs, I wonder if they too would like to be somewhere else.

  The small gravel is trampled under my shoes at the gate’s exit and the sign: “Jews are not allowed.”

  “Let me invite you for cake on the avenue,” he tells me, and I obediently follow.

  “Do you like the cake?”

  “The cake is delicious; thank you.”

  I look down at the plate in front of me, filled with a slice of sweet cake made of real sugar, careful not to raise my eyes to the avenue and the people passing us. Oberst Ernest leans back as he watches me, savoring a glass of champagne from a chilled bottle which stands in special silverware beside the table. Why has no one taught me how to behave with a man who invites me to champagne?

  “You need to wear bright dresses; it will suit you.”

  “Thank you; I’ll try.”

  “Since when do you draw flowers? Like then, on our trip?” He mentions that day for the first time, and I tense up.

  “Ever since I was little.”

  “In Paris?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you grew up in Strasbourg.”

  “I grew up in Strasbourg, but I received my first drawing notebook from Paris, Dad bought it for me in Paris, on one of his work trips.” I carefully bite the cake, trying to stay calm. I must not make such a stupid mistake again, ever.

  “To your flower drawings.” He raises the glass in my honor, and I smile, tapping my glass against his, hoping he has not noticed my trembling fingers.

  “Halt.” Herr Ernest shout-whispers as he leaps from his chair, and I freeze in my seat. All the people in the café stop talking and look at us. Only the sound of a fork falling on the sidewalk breaks the silence, disturbed by the sound of Ernest’s spiked boots.

  “Halt!” He walks and places his hand on the back of a man who is walking down the street. The man stops and looks at him with a surprised look.

  “What did you do?” Oberst Ernest stands above him, getting closer to the man’s face.

  “I didn’t do anything,” the man answers him in a weeping voice.

  “Apologize to the lady.” He leads him with his head lowered, slapping him on the floor at my feet.

  “Apologize to the lady for spitting on the sidewalk.”

  “I apologize.” He cries at my feet, and I look down but close my eyes so as not to see him and burst into tears.

  “Do you accept the apology?”

  Yes, I nod to Herr Ernest.

  “Get out of here, filthy Frenchman.” He picks him up by the back of his head and pushes him from the table area back into the street. The man walks away quickly, not looking back, and my gaze follows him until he disappears among the passersby, becoming a blur.

  Only then do I let my eyes wander around, seeing all the people who have been watching us start talking again. The waiters are running once more between the tables, and the noise of conversation fills the air. Even the small crowd that gathered on the street disappears as if it never happened.

  “I apologize for what happened.” Oberst Ernest sits back in his chair, picking his officers’ hat up off the floor and placing it back on the table, where it was before everything started.

  “Nothing happened,” I manage to say something, looking at the sugar cake on my plate.

  “They should be taught the meaning of respect.” He looks around, and all the people of the café stop their stolen glances in our direction, returning to their small talk.

  “I forgave him; he did not mean to.”

  “Do you like the cake?”

  “Yes, very much, thank you.” How can he think of the cake now?

  “We didn’t propose a toast properly.” Herr Ernest again raises his glass in the air, and we tap our glasses again, before I bring the glass to my lips, drinking it all and ignoring the bitter taste of champagne.

  Towards the evening he accompanies me down the avenue as I stare at the sidewalk, strolling beside him.

  “I live in a hotel. Unfortunately, it is not appropriate for me to invite a companion to visit my room.” I nod in silence and breathe a sigh of relief.

  “But I would love to meet you again.” He holds my neck and brings me closer to a kiss. His lips touch mine again, and his tongue penetrates my mouth before he says goodbye to me and I turn back home, hating myself a little more, the smell of eau de cologne staying in my nose.

  The key’s sound is the only noise I hear when I enter the dark apartment, passing through the dim living room and climbing into my attic. Lizette told me she would be out, and I am left with my private darkness within the four walls and the simple iron bed.

  “Dear God,” the words of prayer are carried as I lie in bed and look at the black ceiling, “please turn everything back; please turn all that has happened into a bad dream. Please return me to my house; I promise I will not quarrel with Mom anymore when she asks me to keep an eye on Jacob, please. I promise to be the best I can be.”

  But the next morning, I wake up in the same attic, without Mom’s voice hurrying me to go stand in line for bread, and Lizette asks me if I’ll drink coffee with her after I’m done tidying up the house. And I do not hear the sounds of Jacob’s laughter and Dad reading the newspaper, explaining to Mom that even though the situation is tense, no war will break out.

  The autumn rain does not stop on my way to work, wetting the fallen leaves on the street. And the Nazi flag on Rivoli Street, at the German headquarters, drips a trickle of cold water on my head as I cross the grey street below.

  He is no different from the others when he enters the boulangerie in his grey-green uniform. He closes the door behind him and shakes his coat from the raindrops that have been falling since the morning, looking for me with his eyes, like many others.

  “Mademoiselle Monique?” He turns to me, ignoring Simone and her disapproving looks.

  “Yes, that’s me.” My eyes look at him in surprise; how does he know my name?

  “This is a present from Herr Oberst Ernest.” He places a package wrapped in purple tissue paper on the counter, clicking his boots as if preparing to salute me, and turns and leaves the store, gently closing the door behind him.

  “Who is it from?” Simone asks and approaches me, as if to make it clear that she is in charge here and that I have to get her approval before taking the package from the courier, even though she was standing next to me and heard what the soldier said.

  “From him.” I’m trying to calm myself.

  “And what’s in the package?”

  “I don’t know.” I hold it tightly in my hands, afraid she will snatch it and tear away the paper, determined to find out what present I’ve received from a German officer.

  “Then open it.”

  My hands begin to unravel the white ribbon that envelops the package; my smile makes me feel guilty.

  “Are you opening it?”

  What has he sent me? And what if it’s an intimate item, as I saw that time in the window of the shop with Violette? I hurry to the back room, sitting in the corner on a wooden crate where no one can see. What if he expects something from me? With a trembling hand, I remove the purple tissue paper, feeling its delicacy between my fingers.

  “Marie, please call Monique, decent French women should not receive a foreign man’s gift.” But I ignore her.

  My hands grip the fancy notebook, wrapped in a hardcover of black leather with the curved letter ‘E’ engraved, and I can feel it as I run my fi
nger over the smooth leather.

  “Monique, there’s a customer.”

  I open the notebook and hold the white note, written in rounded handwriting.

  “To Monique,

  Have a diary to draw as many flowers as you wish.

  I would be happy if you would join me on a two-day trip to Normandy two weeks from today, keeping me company, including an overnight stay at a hotel.

  Herr Oberst Ernest.”

  “Monique, the customer is waiting.”

  I look at the note for another moment before I return it between the diary pages, shove it into my bag that hangs on the hanger behind the door, and hurry back to my place by the counter.

  On the way home I stroll, wanting to get wet in the rain, feeling I deserve to suffer. Why did I smile more than I did on my birthday two years ago? When I received a box of chocolate from Mom?

  Again Lizette is not there, and the house is empty, and I step into the cold attic. What does Oberst Ernest expect me to do? Is it that thing I’m so afraid of?

  “What do you expect me to do?” I yell at Philip a few days later.

  “I expect you to do your best,” he answers me angrily as he gets up from the chair, moving it rudely.

  “I promise to do my best,” I answer him, and look at the simple cardboard notebook that lies between us on the wooden table, wondering why we started fighting at all.

  I did not plan to hug him as I went down the stairs to the basement, I promised myself I’d get over him, but my hands couldn’t stop themselves. I embraced his body, holding on so tightly and smelling his body odor, mixed with the smell of gun oil, unable to release him.

  “Just one moment,” I whispered to him, “I know we must not.” And he hugs me in silence, enfolding my back with his hands, and stroking me gently.

  “I brought you something,” he whispers to me, and I hug him even harder.

  “One more moment.”

  “Just to let you know, they liked the information you gave us the previous time.” He keeps stroking me, and I can’t stop clinging to his warm body, feeling my whole body like electricity; what are these feelings?

  “Who wants me to know?” I’m thinking about his fingers caressing my back.

  “The ones who got the information. We must stop; we said it never happened.” And I release my hands and back up; it never happened again.

  “Can I start my report now?” He doesn’t even want to hug me from time to time.

  “I brought you something.” He pulls out a simple cardboard notebook, placing it on the table.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a regular notebook. You can write down secret information there. I’ll teach you how to hide it between ordinary words so that whoever reads it will not understand that there is information hidden in it.” Why is he moving away from me?

  The notebook is on the table between us, wrapped in a rough cardboard cover, and rubbed in the corners as if used by someone else before me. Still, I dare not ask, although when I open it, I can see that several pages have been torn from it, and no greeting note is written on the first page.

  “Thanks.” Shall I tell him about the gift I received from Oberst Ernest?

  “He wants to take me with him to Normandy.”

  “Who, your officer?” And I nod in silence and try to get closer to him, but Phillip walks away from me, sitting down in the wooden chair, looking at me.

  “It’s a good sign that he trusts you.” That’s all he says, why isn’t he telling me something else?

  “What should I do? Tell me what to do.”

  “You have to go with him,” he answers me in a distant voice.

  “I’ll go with him. I have no choice.”

  “Maybe I really need to get you a camera so that you can take some pictures.”

  “Then bring me a camera.” I stand up and get ready to go; please stop me from going.

  “I apologize; I didn’t mean what I said.” Philip also stands up and looks at me, but I look aside and panic.

  For a moment, it seemed to me that the silhouette of Oberst Ernest was standing in the dark corner of the cellar, watching us, wearing his green-grey uniform with the Iron Cross on his chest.

  “What happened?” Philip turns around quickly, his hand already holding the grip of his firearm, ready to pull it out.

  “For a moment, I got scared by the pile of pipes in the corner.” And Philip looks at me again, his hands releasing his grip on his firearm.

  “I worry about you.” He softens his voice.

  “What do you expect me to do?” I yell at him, still thinking about the basement corner.

  “I expect you to do your best,” Philip yells at me back.

  “I promise to be the best I can be.” My hands grip the simple notebook lying on the table between us, and I toss it towards him. “I already have one notebook, from the one who reads me poetry.”

  “From him?” he asks quietly, and gently grabs the old notebook, stroking it with his fingers.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  And all this time, Oberst Ernest continues to stand in the corner, watching me while his green eyes twinkle under his officers’ hat’s visor.

  “Let’s go back and sit.”

  “I have to go. Get me a camera, that’s how I’ll be the best I can be.”

  He’s trying to catch and hug me, but I cannot feel his touch when I keep imagining Oberst Ernest watching us. I have to get out of here; I hate this basement.

  “Monique, I did not mean it; don’t leave angry,” I hear him say as I climb the stairs, and I regret that I told him about Oberst Ernest’s gift, but I can’t return to pick up the old notebook. I also did not tell him that we were going for two days; what would I do when Oberst Ernest wants me to get into his bed?

  “Monique, I care about you.” He runs up the stairs after me and hugs me tightly, but after a moment, I release his warm hands, continuing on my way out into the alley. He will not be able to understand.

  “You probably can’t help me with that.”

  “Come to me if you ever need help,” she’d told me one of the times the three of us walked together, standing at Pont des Arts and watching the river flow leisurely beneath us.

  “I will,” I’d answered her at that time, not believing it would happen. What was she thinking of me, I thought while looking at her with combined feelings of reluctance and admiration. My gaze followed her as she leaned against the metal railing and blew the cigarette smoke upwards, ignoring the judgmental looks of passersby towards a smoking woman.

  “You might learn something,” she’d added, throwing the cigarette into the green-grey river.

  And even though I feel that she was disrespecting me, I have no other choice, and I leave the boulangerie in the middle of the day, promising Simone I won’t take long. I’m not sure Violette can help me, and I’m ashamed to ask Lizette, so I find myself walking down the main avenue near the Gallery Lafayette store, looking up at the fancy building numbers, searching for her workplace.

  “Please wait here,” the girl at reception orders while checking my simple dress, making me feel like a maid who happened to be here and would soon be expelled in disgrace.

  “Don’t pay attention to her.” Anaïs arrives and grabs my arm, taking me to a room at the back. “Distinguished ladies from Germany came to our fashion house to buy the autumn collection, and she doesn’t want them to feel like they’re in the ordinary world.” And I do not know if she is trying to encourage me or again insult and patronize me.

  The back room is loaded with rolls of colorful fabrics in shades of cream, red and black, and when we are silent, I can hear the conversation in the next room with the German buyer looking for an evening gown for prom.

  “She is the wife of a senior officer,” Anaïs whispers to me in a contemptuous tone, “She came here specially, from Berlin. In a few days, he will take her to a concert at the opera wearing a dress we sewed for her, and she has no idea that her husband brou
ght his mistress here a week ago, buying her several dresses.”

  “I don’t want to disturb you at work.”

  “You are not disturbing me; there are so many seamstresses around her that they will not notice I’ve disappeared for a few minutes. They are hovering around all the time, ‘Frau’ and ‘Frau’ and ‘Frau,’ showing her one dress after another.”

  “Shhhh… they will hear us.”

  “Do not worry, they are full of admiration for the suspenders that are in fashion again this year; soon they will sell her a new morning dress.”

  “Don’t you like them?”

  “I like them a lot. They are providing work to Anaïs and access to fashionable clothes.” She smiles as she takes a pack of cigarettes out of her work apron pocket and lights one for herself, not before offering one to me, but I refuse.

  “So why did you come to visit?” She blows the smoke and looks at me. “You probably did not just come to talk or see a new outfit.” And again, I do not know if she is towering over me.

  “Herr Oberst Ernest.”

  “What about him?”

  “I think he expects something from me.”

  “What?”

  “Well… that thing.” I approach and whisper to her. “I think he wants it.”

  “Getting into your panties?”

  “I think.” I can feel I am blushing.

  “I think you’re too innocent for all these things.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “And why did you come to me?” She blows the smoke again up, enjoying humiliating me a little more.

  “Because I do not know who to ask, and I thought maybe you know.” Why am I blushing?

  “Anaïs will teach you.” She smiles and grabs my hand, taking me with her through the reception down the marble stairs to the street, ignoring the receptionist who asks her where she is going.

  “First of all, you need classy lingerie.” She critically looks at me as she reviews my simple dress, alluding to the underwear I’m wearing, while we both stand outside a fancy store of bras and panties.