by Alex Amit
“It’s beautiful. You have talent.” He admires the drawings in my diary, speaking in poor German.
“Thanks.”
“Where are you from?”
“Now Paris, before that Berlin, where are you from?” Please let him be from another city.
“Now Normandy, before that Gdańsk.”
“You were not born in Germany?”
“No, I’m Polish, I was recruited by force, they needed soldiers, and Slava needed food and cigarettes. It’s always better to be on the winning side.”
“Always better.”
“Want one?” He offers me a simple cigarette, smiling toothlessly.
“No thanks.” I smile at him; I have to get out of here.
“Wait here, don’t move.” He turns his back to me, disappearing beyond the mound, and my legs are trembling again; what to do? Where can I escape?
“Here, now take a picture.” Slava returns, standing in front of me, trying to tuck his shirt into his pants and arrange his uniform while holding a bunch of wildflowers he just picked.
“Watch out for the barbed wire fences on the cliff; there are mines there.” He salutes me goodbye with his toothless smile, leaving me alone among the hills, holding a bunch of wildflowers in my hand and sweating under my dress, despite the autumn wind.
“Monique, where are you? “ I hear Ernest’s call among the sandy mounds, and I freeze in place; this time, I pushed too hard. The camera is in my hand, and my little bag has been left behind, along with the open diary.
“Monique.” I can hear him getting closer.
“Don’t come here.”
“Monique.”
“Don’t come here.” How do I release the film? What did he explain to me in the basement? Which button to press?
“What are you doing?”
“What every woman should sometimes do in private.” Is that the button? Now turn the knob? I’m not sure anymore, is that what he explained to me? I have to hurry.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine, please don’t come here.” Here, that knob, now take the film out of the camera, where’s the release button? Please don’t slip out of my hands; it’s stuck, by force, release it already.
“I’m waiting for you here.”
“Thanks, I’m already done.” What to do with the film? Where to hide it? And what about the camera?
“Are you okay? You should not have gone so far; there are minefields around here, I started worrying about you.” Herr Ernest approaches me as he holds my bag in his hand, looking politely to the side, as I step out from behind a bush and arrange my dress.
“I looked at your diary; I hope you don’t mind.” He hands me my bag and the open diary. “I enjoy them.”
“Do you like them?”
“Are you okay? Your hands are dirty from the ground.”
“Yeah, I’m fine, I stumbled when I climbed the hill, it’s nothing.” I rub my hands together and take the bag and the diary from his hands while smiling at him, hoping he won’t notice that I’m sweating. The film’s metal box is scratching my thighs, buried inside my panties.
“Have you finished your military things here? Are we going to the car?”
“You shouldn’t have gone so far, it’s dangerous, I’m done here, now we’ll go to the hotel, it’s already getting late.”
On the dirt road back from the beach to the quiet village, Oberst Ernest and the driver are reminded of the rabbit. With shouts of ‘Schnell, Schnell’ the driver accelerates on the white road, chasing an imaginary rabbit. While Oberst Ernest smiles at me, I’m smiling back, thinking of the German camera which remains under a bush on the shores of Normandy, covered in a bit of dirt which I was able to stack with my palms.
“Are you excited about tonight?” he asks me. “I booked us a table for dinner.”
My fingers gently hold the pink napkin as I wipe my lips and place it in the corner of the table.
“Did the meal taste good to you?”
“The meal was delicious, thank you.”
“Shall we go upstairs?”
“Can we take a walk on the promenade by the sea?”
“It’s dark outside and cold, don’t you want us to go up? The room is waiting for us.”
“I’ll be happy to take a walk.”
While we are leaving the dining room of the luxurious hotel, I turn around and look back. All the tables are full of high-ranking German officers, accompanied by women like me; maybe Herr Ernest will see a fellow officer here who will be glad to start a conversation?
“Shall we go?”
The clerk at reception hurries to bring my coat at the sight of Oberst Ernest’s hand, and I give a last look at the warm dining room, heading outside.
The cold wind on the promenade surprises me as we walk side by side silently, and I’m trying to hug myself, keep distant from him.
“Are you cold?”
“No, I like the winter wind.”
We are the only ones along the dark beach, whether because of the winter or the war. Here, too, barbed wire fences stretch along the Black Coast, and only the sound of the waves can be heard in the distance.
“Heil Hitler,” a guard emerges alert from a guard station, but when he notices Ernest’s ranks, he stands still and salutes, ignoring me.
“Heil Hitler,” Ernest answers him and releases him to his concrete shelter, leaving us alone again on the deserted windy boardwalk.
“Shall we go back to the hotel?” Herr Ernest asks after a few minutes. “The bottle of wine I brought is waiting for us in the room.”
“Yes, let’s go back to the hotel.” My time has come.
The silk pantyhose repeatedly slips from my thighs as I try to close the garter buckle on it, getting tangled with my trembling fingers.
“Shall I pour you the wine?” I can hear Oberst Ernest from the bedroom.
“Yes, please.”
I also don’t like the white lace underwear, and I blush when I try to arrange it so that I am more comfortable, avoiding looking at myself in the mirror in the dim light of the bathroom lamp.
“Can you please light candles?”
“But this hotel has electricity.”
“Please.”
“The wine is waiting for us.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
I hope he doesn’t notice my hesitant steps, or my unsteady hand holding the wine glass, trying to sip it in one gulp and feeling a drop land on my white lingerie, probably leaving a red stain on it.
“You are so beautiful; I was waiting for you. Come closer to me; it will not hurt.”
Philip, I’ll think of Philip. I have memorized that dozens of times in the last days, but no matter how hard I try, Philip has disappeared from my thoughts into the darkness of the basement of the Latin Quarter. All I can think of now is a woman lying on her back in a fancy hotel room on the big bed, moaning from pain and his body weight.
That’s it; I’m a French prostitute who has slept with a German officer.
IV
A Puppet
End of November 1943
Telegram IV
Secret
11/23/1943
From: Western Front Wehrmacht Command
To: Army Group France
Subject: Preparations for the winter
Background: Russian forces intend to launch a winter offensive in the east.
General: On the Führer’s orders, all forces in occupied countries are to supply food from local resources.
Task:
Collect food and other supplies to maintain an adequate standard of living for the army units throughout the Paris area.
It is the army officers’ responsibility to take care of any shortages that may arise from local sources.
SS. Telegram 641
The eighth arrondissement, the mistress on the fourth floor
“You were perfect this morning, dear, as always,” Herr Ernest tells me after a few minutes, as I’m catching my bre
ath. My eyes are fixed on the chandelier hanging on the bedroom ceiling, waiting for him to kiss me once on my cheek before he gets up and goes to his clothes, to get dressed.
“I enjoyed it too.” My hand pulls the blanket up to cover myself once I am free of his body weight and can breathe freely. Even though he knows my body, I still make sure to hide my nakedness from his eyes whenever I can.
Whenever he arrives at the apartment, he leaves his uniform carefully folded on the chair by the bed before approaching me. But first, he places his army boots next to the dark wooden legs of the seat, leaving them standing as if they were two black Doberman dogs waiting for their master to return, alertly watching me the whole time we are together.
“I brought you some cans of corned meat.”
“Thanks.”
“And next time, I’ll try to get some coffee. I saw you’re out.”
“Yes, I’m out.”
Despite the cold in the bedroom, Herr Ernest dresses slowly, paying attention to every detail as he stands in front of the mirror hanging on the wall, tucking his shirt into his pants, and examining the medals on his chest.
“Aren’t you cold? I’ll make sure someone brings you new firewood.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“I do not want you to catch a cold.”
“Would you like me to make you some coffee?”
“No, I’m in a hurry.” He arranges his belt. “The wine you served last night…”
“What about it?”
“Is it the Château Lafite-Rothschild 1934 bottle I brought last week?”
“Is it okay that I opened the bottle? You did not tell me you wanted to keep it.”
“No, it’s okay, It’s an excellent wine. I’ll take care of a few more bottles.”
“That will be great.”
Herr Ernest bends down to put his boots on, and I hurry out of bed, covering my naked body with the pink silk robe I’d received as a gift, bending at his feet on the parquet floor. The tips of his spiked boots accidentally hit my thigh, hurting me for a moment as I help him force his foot into the neatly polished black boots, but I bite my lip. He never means to.
“Thank you, the robe suits you.”
“Thank you.”
“I booked tickets for the opera in three days. There will be a Wagner concert.”
“I love Wagner, I’ll enjoy walking together. I’ve never been to the opera.”
He always informs me in advance, so I will have time to prepare for our meetings, making sure not to surprise me. Even when he arrives early in the morning for a quick visit, he usually sends the driver or his assistant to the boulangerie the day before, letting me know so I will be ready for him.
“I want you to buy yourself a dress for the evening.” He pulls his black leather wallet out of his military jacket pocket, placing a few banknotes on the mahogany dresser.
“It’s for the dress,” he smiles at me, “I know you cannot afford to buy something fancy.”
“Thanks.” I smile back and walk him to the door.
By the entrance, I hold his grey-green coat while he brings the leather briefcase from the study, the room I am not allowed to enter.
“Thank you for an enjoyable evening. We will meet in three days, I will come to pick you up.”
And with those words, I help him fasten his coat, button after button, arranging the leather bag strap over his shoulder before he heads out into the cold stairwell. When I hear his steps going down, I imagine the neighbor from the third floor peeking through the peephole of the door, examining Oberst Ernest on his way out. I know she’s cursing me.
I keep my ear against the thick wooden door, listening to the sound of his hobnail boots going down the wooden stairs until I hear the noise of the metal door slamming at the entrance to the building. Only then do I allow myself to sit on the cold parquet floor at the entrance and start crying.
Nothing remains as it was after that night in Normandy.
The night wind blew through the big window facing the coast of the Black Sea. Despite the sound of his quiet breathing beside me, I couldn’t fall asleep in the foreign hotel room that night in Normandy.
I wanted to go out into the cold night and run to the black shore and the frozen waves, to step inside and just disappear, but I couldn’t. The barbed wire or the guards would stop me, bring me back into his arms. Slowly I got out of bed and stepped into the luxurious bathroom, closing the door behind me.
“Everything’s fine. You did it. You were fine.” My lips whispered as I scrubbed my skin as hard as I could, scratching myself painfully with the bath sponge and shivering at the cold of the water. Philip would never forgive me for sleeping with him, but I kept on rubbing myself, unable to stop.
Only when the cold water was too much to suffer did I walk back to his bed, shivering, covering myself with a blanket, trying to fall asleep, and looking out the black windows.
The next morning, the second time was easier. I thought about the flowers I’d drawn in my notebook and concentrated on the rain falling outside, dripping on the window glass, creating small paths of water. I even managed not to hear the sounds he made and to smile at him when it was all over.
Patiently I stayed down until he got up to get dressed, inviting me to breakfast, starting to get organized for the ride back. My gaze followed him as he stood by the window and looked out into the rain, wearing his neat uniform and humming a German song to himself.
“Did you enjoy it?” He was staring at the grey beach outside.
“Yes, very much, thank you.”
“Our breakfast is in a quarter of an hour. I do not want to be late. We have another long drive to Paris.” And I tried to cover myself in the blanket before collecting my clothes and going to the bedroom.
On the way back to Paris, my head rested on the closed window while I looked outside to the yellow trees and the river, feeling his hand touch my thigh.
“You’re quiet.”
“I enjoy looking at the river. So peaceful.”
“Yes, so peaceful and faithful, you can always count on it, that’s the secret of nature’s power.”
“I like to observe nature.”
“I have noticed. Your drawings in the diary I gave you are lovely.”
“When did you see my drawings?” The film box, where is it?
“At the hotel this morning, when you were in the bathroom, I allowed myself to open your bag and look at the diary. Is that okay with you?”
“I thought a woman should have some secrets.” The film, had he found it hidden in the bag? He was playing with me and would soon ask the driver to stop the vehicle. Would I be able to cross the river by swimming in this cold?
“Are you cold?”
“Yes, a little cold.”
“Should I ask the driver to stop for a few minutes?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Let me wrap you in my coat. You will be more comfortable.”
I could feel his hand continuing to caress my thighs through his heavy military coat, wrapping around my body. Please don’t ask the driver to stop.
“I brought us a bottle of wine, especially for the way back.” He instructed the driver to stop on the side, and while the driver arranged the picnic blanket, I walked away from them by the riverbank and looked at the peaceful grey river. How cold was the water?
It was already dark outside as we entered Paris, and the almost-deserted streets were illuminated in dim light. The military vehicle stopped at Place de l’Étoile, at the foot of the silent Arc de Triomphe. I watched the policeman back away into the shadows of the monument, keeping a distance from Herr Ernest.
“It was a pleasant trip,” Herr Ernest pulled my body to his and kissed me slowly, his hands holding my neck. “We’ll meet again soon.”
“I apologize for being so quiet on the way back.” I took a deep breath in the cold evening air and tried to overcome my headache.
“I will want to see you more often.”
“I’ll be glad to.” The film box? Did he find it?
Standing still, I waited and watched the military vehicle until it disappeared down the boulevard, leaving the smell of burnt gasoline in the air.
In the first alley, I stopped and, looking back carefully, making sure no one is following me, I slipped into a dark corner. My trembling fingers found it difficult to open the bag’s metal buckle, slipping again and again as I looked at the entrance to the alley in fear. The diary was in the bag, and my hand dug through the soft fabric of the dirty lingerie, turning it over and over again, my heartbeat calming down only when I felt the metallic touch of the film box.
The pavement stones were hurting my knees as I leaned on the wall and vomited, feeling the sour taste of wine in my mouth.
After a few minutes I could stand again, breathe the cold night air and start walking home. Again I had to lie to Lizette and hide my true identity, I couldn’t tell her that I was the French prostitute of Herr Oberst Ernest.
A few days later, Herr Oberst Ernest takes me to a fancy café in front of the opera and lets me know he has found me an apartment.
“Thank you for your concern, but I’m getting along with the woman I live with.” I look around at all the German officers sitting with their companions. Do they also have their own apartments?
“I want us to have more time together.”
“We can meet as much as you like.” I must not push too far.
“I want my intimate time with you.”
“I would be happy to visit your place.” And be the perfect spouse.
“It’s not appropriate for my companion to walk through hotel corridors.” He ends the conversation.
“Officer’s car special secretaries.” I hear the soldiers at the boulangerie laughing among themselves, not before checking there is no officer around.
“But the senior officers receive special corridor girls,” they sometimes add, smiling at me while waiting for their baguettes, referring to the hotels confiscated by the German army.
