by Soren Petrek
Madeleine loved the walks in the wilds of Provence, baking in the sun as she moved, collecting herbs or simply staring out to sea, breathing in the fine salt air as she walked along the Callonques, the narrow cliffs that surrounded small inlets from the sea. She felt that Provence was for the Provencal, the people of the region. They were happy to share their beauty and abundance, but on their own terms. The marriage of the land and the sea was the true secret to the magic of her home. The Germans had brutally violated that trust and had to be repelled. News came from other areas concerning resistance efforts. Madeleine knew that women were fighting alongside the men. She spoke quietly among her friends and acquaintances, those she felt she could trust. A strengthening desire grew in her as her patience with her own inaction became increasingly unbearable.
CHAPTER FIVE
On market day, Madeleine was returning from the bakery with a pushcart that she often took to accommodate larger orders. It was easy to maneuver it down the narrow streets and alleys behind the various establishments she frequented on restaurant business. She passed a few soldiers idly enjoying some time off. They touched their hats as they passed, taking the opportunity to look at her fully. Madeleine was used to men looking at her and was neither distracted nor upset by the attention. She took care with her appearance as the women of France do. The attention of men was simply a reassurance that she was both desirable and beautiful. It was a small measure of condolence in a world of uncertainty.
As she continued down the street an officer coming from the opposite direction glared at her like a piece of meat to be taken. He was the picture of Aryan arrogance. He was large and blond, with cruel blue eyes. His uniform carried the twin lightning bolts of the SS on his collar. Madeleine had heard rumors that some of the SS had been criminals or at least political zealots prior to the war. They preached an unwavering message of intolerance for any group deemed to be inferior. They believed that their destiny was to rule the world.
Madeleine felt dirty as she quickened her pace to distance herself from him. There was something threatening in his demeanor that suggested dangerous intentions. She looked away so as not to encourage any kind of encounter. She could feel his eyes following her, heavy with contempt and lust. He did nothing to disguise his feelings. Her skin crawled as they passed and she made a mental note to stay out of his way. She had come to learn that all the Germans were not alike. The Schutzstaffel or Waffen-SS were the feared military wing of the Nazi party. They were known for being both extraordinary soldiers and ruthless champions of the twisted racist beliefs of their party. They considered all non-Aryans inferior, a belief reinforced in their minds since childhood and strengthened by their group’s formation in 1925 as Hitler’s personal guard. How could a country allow such monsters to come to power? Their brutal treatment of the Jews, or anyone who opposed them, was legendary. The SS and the Gestapo rarely came to La Ciotat except when they were on leave, or so Madeleine suspected. War didn’t lessen the draw of the south of France for those seeking to relax in the sun on her beaches.
Some days passed and Madeleine found herself walking the same route back from the baker. The family had an older car but only used it for longer trips or to transport larger items. Petrol was rationed and rarely available. Madeleine didn’t mind the walk; it gave her some time to herself and her thoughts. She glanced down the narrow street and didn’t see any other pedestrians. From time to time that happened and she thought little of it.
As Madeleine passed an old warehouse she suddenly felt a man strike from the shadows behind her. She was roughly grabbed, a hand clamping down over her mouth as she was lifted off her feet.
“Struggle and I will kill you,” her assailant hissed in heavily accented French.
Madeleine felt the muzzle of a gun in the small of her back and smelled the heavy reek of drink on the man’s breath. Faster than she thought possible, Madeleine was pulled inside a darkened room. She immediately recognized the man as the German officer she had encountered in the street. The look on his face gave away his intentions as he pushed her to the ground and towered over her. He seemed to enjoy the surprise and terror that flashed on her face as she made the connection.
He raised the gun to her head. “Oh yes, you remember me. Now stand up and take off your clothes,” he said, lifting the back of her shirt with the barrel of his pistol.
Madeleine slowly complied. She knew that if she resisted he would either kill or severely injure her. He had the gun. As she undressed his eyes riveted on each part of her body as it was revealed. His excitement was obvious. She sensed it was his control over her and the violence of his actions that gave him the most pleasure.
“Turn around,” he said, roughly grabbing her shoulder.
Madeleine closed her eyes as he pushed her roughly onto a table. She felt the gun pressed to the back of her head as the rapist thrust himself into her as violently as possible. She bit into her lip and was motionless as he rammed into her. Blood ran down the inside of her legs. He increased the force of his thrusting, excited more by the violence of his act than the sensation of it. He laughed and grunted when she tried to stifle her cries of pain.
Madeleine’s mind left her body momentarily, disassociating herself from the cruelty of the man’s violation. Her concentration shifted from pain and humiliation to survival. She watched dispassionately as if the assault was happening to someone else. She saw the savage zeal on his face in his reflection in a broken window leaning against a wall in front of the table. Spit and drool ran from his mouth as he grunted with the violence of each thrust. He finished and pushed her down into the dirt. He holstered his sidearm and straightened his clothing.
“Now, bitch, you have been with a real man. The next time I come to your restaurant you will personally serve me. If you tell anyone about this, I will carve your parents up in front of you after I have taken you and your mother in front of your father. You will be nice to me. You are a peasant, but a beautiful one. Once you understand that we Germans are your masters, you will come to seek out my affections. For now, I will take them until I tire of you.”
Madeleine felt the blow of each word as physically as the man’s assault. She hugged herself and prayed that he would leave her. She knew nothing she could say would do anything but feed his sadistic pleasure. A distant voice in her head said “patience” over and over again, like a tiny whisper from the bottom of a well. She knew it came from within herself and she clung to it with every shattered fragment of her will. Then suddenly he was gone, walking back into the street without the slightest hesitation or concern that his crime would be discovered.
Madeleine sat in the dirt for a long while, neither crying nor drifting into shock. She felt a growing anger seep into her. She saw her brother’s shattered face and the horrible, psychopathic rapture on the face of her rapist flashing back and forth in her mind. The anger was sweet and seductive in its promise of revenge. At first, her own visions of the violence she would do to the rapist frightened her as vivid images of his mangled corpse came into focus in her mind. That fear gave way to rage. She allowed it to wash over her in a hot, cleansing torrent. She stood and began to arrange her clothes. The rawness of the ancient animal emotion gave her strength. She felt it course throughout her body, shimmering like molten metal. Her thoughts focused and the pure venom of it glowed in her mind. In the dirt and grime of her rape, she knelt down into the mixture of her own blood and the filth of the floor, and swore a quiet oath.
“I know what to do, Yves. Yes, I know what to do.”
Madeleine walked back outside and picked up her cart of bread and headed back home. She held her head up. She would never walk around like a sheep again unless it helped her against these monsters. They would pay in blood and the German officer would be the first.
Madeleine walked her cart of groceries to the kitchen entrance in the alley behind the restaurant. She paused and collected herself, brushing dirt from her clothing and straightening her hair. She walked into the kitch
en where her father was slicing vegetables into a large soup kettle.
“How were the prices today?” he asked without looking up from his cutting board. Madeleine pulled up a chair and sat down. When she didn’t answer, Jean-Pierre paused and looked over at her. She was sitting very quietly and concentrating on her hands folded in her lap.
“Madeleine, what’s happened?” he asked, setting down his paring knife and sliding into a seat next to her.”
“I have something to tell you Papa, but you must promise to listen before you react.”
“I promise,” he answered with some hesitation.
Madeleine told him what the officer had done. She saw the rage in him build with each word.
“I will kill him, Madeleine. You point him out to me and he will die for his crime.”
“No Papa, It must be me. He violated me. He and his kind killed Yves. I cannot stand it any longer. I must fight. The look on his face told the future of what lies ahead for France if we do not fight.”
“No Madeleine, I cannot lose another child. You will be caught and killed. I have killed many men. One more won’t make any difference when I go before God.”
“Papa, if France is to be free then there will be a lot more killing to do. So I had better learn. The armies are defeated. It will be young men and women like myself who do the killing now. Besides, when you went to war against the Germans you were no older than I am now.”
Madeleine held his eyes so completely that he felt the rage and courage charging through her. She had changed. The core of strength that he had always seen in her was now unclouded by her other emotions. He closed his eyes and slowly lowered his head as the truth took hold of him. There could be no other alternative. She would follow this path, the same path he remembered following as he went to the trenches full of youthful expectation and vigor, except she would go to her trenches filled with hate, determination and a calculating resourceful manner that he knew would serve her above all else.
“Then you need to know what it truly is you are running towards, Madeleine Toche. I will tell you what war is,” he said, a hard edge entering his voice as he made up his mind. He was determined that she understand the extent of the horror of war.
“The first time you look into a person’s eyes when you kill them will terrify you. After you have killed dozens or hundreds you will see their faces in your waking dreams because they will never leave you. You will walk on the edge of madness at times and it will only be your will to live that keeps you killing, listening to their screams as they beg for life and an end to their pain. You may make decisions that get innocent people killed, and still you must go on killing, because finally that is all you have left. And then one glorious day, the killing stops.”
Madeleine slowly nodded her head. “Then tell me what I need to know, what I must know.”
The two of them spoke late into the night, planning her revenge. It was then that he told her the stories that he had told no other. Stories of nights of despair and terror as the enemy shelling continued, pulverizing everything in its path. He told her how time and time again he and his friends had gone “over the top” and out of the trench when the commander’s whistle blew. He told her how he knew that each time that whistle blew he would kill boys like himself and that some of his friends would not live to fight another day, and that he could receive a fatal wound and his terror would be over. He told her how he had felt the first time he had thrust his bayonet into a man, the look on the other’s face as the man gargled and choked on his own blood. He spoke of how life began to mean nothing and how he and others used the bodies of dead soldiers to fortify their trenches for shelter from bombardment. He spoke of how the reasons for war became blurred and how it eventually broke down into a simple daily struggle for survival. He described the rats and the unspeakable food they were forced to eat to stave off starvation, and the vast number of men that died from the virulent diseases that took as many as the bullets and bombs of the enemy. He spoke quietly as he explained how each morning was spent collecting the dead, many killed by their own hand when they simply could not go on. Every day started by counting the living. Madeleine listened without interruption. He had lived such a long part of his young life in terror and misery, only to be rewarded with the loss of a leg and the death of so many of his comrades. He spoke to her as an equal and with great confidence, often times looking away as he saw things again that had been buried and covered by heavy mental scars that were best left undisturbed.
The next evening after the customers left, Jean-Pierre got up from the table and went down into the basement. “I have something for you,” he said.
When he returned he laid a cloth-wrapped object down in front of Madeleine.
“If you mean what you say Madeleine, pick that up and unwrap it,” he said, gesturing towards the object.
Madeleine’s eyes were focused on the bundle. It was wrapped in a soft oiled cloth. She instinctively knew from her father’s mannerisms what lay inside. She picked it up quickly and carefully pulled the cloth from around a small but wicked looking pistol. For its size it felt heavy in her hand. She did not hesitate and turned it over, snapping open the cylinder, closing it and pointing it evenly and smoothly towards the corner of the room. Jean-Pierre watched her handle the weapon; she had neither fear nor hesitation. He had never seen Madeleine handle any firearm before, and he felt her affinity towards it. The same way some people instinctively sail or play an instrument, some handle weapons as if they were an extension of their person. She was one of them.
Over the next few days they practiced at a deserted farm, far away from town. Jean-Pierre told her where to shoot a man to ensure a quick kill. As they spoke a plan developed between them. It was simple and precise. She would gain entry to the officer’s rooms. Once he was asleep she would exact her revenge: she would wrap the small caliber pistol in a pillow, place it against his temple, and fire a shot into his brain. Madeleine made it very clear to Jean-Pierre that if the plan required allowing the man to violate her again, she would gladly do so with the knowledge that once he had completed the act she would kill him with no remorse.
Madeleine and Jean-Pierre said nothing to her mother. She would not understand and quite likely would try to kill the officer in rage when she learned of the rape of her daughter.
CHAPTER SIX
Madeleine and Jean-Pierre waited patiently. In less than a week the officer returned. He came through the door wearing his full SS uniform, swaggering and leading a small group of junior officers, his arrogance filling the room.
As soon as Madeleine saw him, she walked over to his table and spoke to him.
“Captain, how nice to see you again,” she said convincingly.
He looked at her with some surprise. She made sure there was nothing hostile in her demeanor. Her eyes met his and were soft and compliant. He allowed his arrogance to explain her dismissal of the violence that he had visited upon her and answered cheerfully.
“You are as beautiful as ever tonight, mademoiselle. Please bring my men and me some of your best wine. I feel like celebrating.”
As she turned to leave Madeleine intentionally brushed her hand against his shoulder being careful to make sure the other men at the table saw her do so. It had the intended result as she heard whispers from the men and some subdued laughing. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that the Captain was enjoying the attention. All the better to bring down his guard.
As the evening progressed and numerous large glasses of strong wine were consumed everything fell into place. He treated her like a favorite pet. She felt empowered as her control grew. She whispered into his ear from time to time as she manipulated him into the trap like Hansel and Gretel into the gingerbread house.
At the end of the evening, the restaurant closed and the soldiers rose to leave, staggering and holding onto one another as they stumbled and lurched towards the door. Madeleine placed a small bottle of cognac into the rapist’s hands as he left and whisp
ered to him that it was a gift, and that she would see him later. He drunkenly smiled and squeezed her backside as he veered towards the door. Tonight is the night I send you to hell, she thought as she smiled and walked back into the kitchen.
“They’ve left, Papa.”
“Ready,” he said. It was a statement and not a question. The implication was clear to her.
“Ready,” she answered, retrieving the pistol from a cabinet drawer and securing it to the inside of her thigh, tucking it under an elastic strap.
Jean-Pierre embraced her quickly and led the way out the back door and into the night.
If everything went as planned it would be over quickly. They already knew where the officer’s rooms were located and headed there directly. His night was over and the others would be sleeping off their drunks as well.
Madeleine and Jean-Pierre waited in the shadows and looked up at his rooms. They were located in a small conciergerie not far from the center of town. With a quick pat on her father’s shoulder she walked up to the door and knocked without hesitation. She could hear heavy footsteps on the stairs and then someone fumbling with the latch. The door swung open.
“I knew you would come,” the SS officer slurred, reaching for her as much out of lust as a means to hold himself up. His uniform was in complete disarray. He must have collapsed in it.
“Of course,” she said quickly, kissing him and caressing his cheek as she stepped forward, closing the door behind her. They stumbled up the stairs. Madeleine’s contempt for the man grew as she realized that he was completely defenseless. Well, so was I, she thought as they approached the door to his room.
