Revolution Baby (15 page)

 

That evening, roughly two hours after bedtime, we gathered at the edge of the woods. It was harder to walk through the forest when it was dark, but we were very excited, and even when we tripped and fell we didn't get discouraged. We managed to reach the clearing. Stage one: make the fire. Stage two: wait until it is burning nicely.

“I suggest each of us prepare a little pile of fuses and when I give the signal we throw them all in at the same time.”

“No,” said Jacques. “It has to last longer. Let's throw one fuse at a time.”

“Good idea. So, has everyone got his little pile?”

I saw four heads nodding and eight eyes looking at me intensely. I savored these few seconds where time stood still, then I gave Georges the signal . . . and off we went! He threw his first fuse. We waited for a second . . . A whistling sound, a lovely green line soaring into the sky, then it fell again to the ground. Then it was Pierre's turn, and his was a lovely orange, then Roger, for a white one, Jacques, a blue one, and finally my turn, with another blue one. Then we started all over again: Georges, Pierre, Roger and . . . this time, the fuse flew horizontally . . . and it fell thirty meters from there, in the forest. We looked over to where it had fallen, and as nothing was happening, Jacques prepared to throw the next fuse.

Suddenly Georges cried out, “Shit, lads!” and pointed to the place where Roger's fuse had landed. There was thick brown smoke rising from the bushes. Then flames. We all froze, speechless. As head of safety, I forced myself to react: “We have to throw earth onto the fire!” When we approached the bushes, we heard voices. A German officer came out from behind a bush, looking very annoyed. He was buckling his belt. A few seconds later, a young woman came out in turn, looking frightened, her hair disheveled. The officer was shouting in German, pushing the woman to get her away from the fire, and he began stamping furiously on the bush. He was shouting in our direction. We had no choice but to come forward. I tried to dig up some earth, which I tossed onto the fire. It didn't seem to do much good. Pierre and Roger stood next to the fire and pissed on it. Jacques and Georges jumped on the bush, like the German had done. In the end, the German officer took his coat and tossed it onto the flames, and finally managed to smother them.

Once the fire was out, we all stood there looking at each other. The German observed us for what seemed an endless time, then he took his companion by the arm and walked away.

This encounter put an end to our first evening of fireworks. But we gave it another try a few days later, then one more time after that, which turned out to be the last time. One day, the Germans caught us red-handed, stealing ammunition. We expected the worst—to be handcuffed, taken away, and shot—but all we got was a scolding from the officer: “Must not to do that, stealing, not nice. You do again, you go prison. Now, go away!”

Georges apologized profusely and thanked him, in a strange mixture of French, English, and German: “
Désolé, vraiment
, so sorry,
danke, danke schön
, thank you,
vraiment désolé.
” Jacques tugged him by the arm: “Quick, before he changes his mind. Don't insist.” And we ran off without looking back. When we reached our cabins, we collapsed on the ground and burst out laughing.

All good things must come to an end, and that has been truer for me, in my life, than for most. Toward the end of the summer, a lady by the name of Françoise came to see me. She said she was a friend of my mother's and that she had to take me back to Paris. Without a word of explanation. So I packed my bags, said my farewells . . . Even Rolande seemed sad. Imagine how I felt! While I walked away, dragging my suitcase, Roger and Pierre did their monkey imitation. Even when I could no longer see them I could still hear their simian squealing. I wondered if I would ever see them again.

“Are you taking me back to the rue Aubriot?”

“The address I was given is that of a certain Paulette on the boulevard de la Villette, in the 19th arrondissement.”

Paulette was one of my mother's sisters. I remembered having visited her a few times. And I remembered being bored. Really bored. I made up a rhyme: “At Paulette's, it's such a bore, please don't bring me anymore,” or something like that. I never pretended to be a great poet . . . To my complete surprise, it wasn't so bad living with her. She even made me laugh, with her accent that was just like Lena's; it was as if they had taken French at the same school, right in the middle of the Jewish quarter in Warsaw. And she left me a lot of freedom.

We got ration cards which entitled us to a certain number of tickets each month for milk, sugar, meat, butter and bread. We weren't dying of hunger, but we were never quite full either.

One day Lena showed up at her sister's with a mournful face. She had bad news: Geneviève had just been arrested. My mind was racing.

“But how, why?”

“You know why.”

“But who arrested her?”

“French police. She is in prison.”

“I want to go see her. Can I?”

“I don't know . . . If someone follows you, afterwards . . . ”

“So what? I have nothing to feel guilty about, I'm a kid, I could be her son or her nephew. And even if someone follows me, I'll just come calmly back to Paulette's. As far as we know, she hasn't been doing anything compromising.”

“You're right. I'll give you some fruit and other things for her.”

This was probably what Lena had wanted from the start, for me to go and visit Geneviève. She had even put together a package. But first of all she had to play her role as a mother looking out to protect her son.

 

My first visit to Geneviève was at the prison of La Roquette. She looked thinner, but she was full of vitality. She asked me about school, my friends, what I was reading. I brought her fruit and cookies, and she thanked me warmly. As I was leaving, she whispered in my ear: “Dear Julot, next time, could you bring me some cigarettes? It's forbidden, so you'll have to get them to me discreetly.”

Of course I would bring her cigarettes; I was only too happy to have another opportunity to do something dangerous for her sake.

Since cigarettes were rationed, I used Lena's tickets to get some, because she didn't smoke. On my second visit I went back with fruit and little cakes and, hidden in my pocket, two packs of Gauloises. When I got there I said, proudly, to Geneviève: “I brought you
everything
you need.”

“Thank you, my boy.”

She came closer and gave me a big hug, a tighter squeeze than usual. I took me a second to realize that this was so that I could hand her the cigarettes, after I glanced around to make sure no guards were watching us. Mission accomplished. It might not have been as glorious as my first wartime mission, but Geneviève's shining eyes made me feel as if I had done something truly heroic.

Every time I went to see her, either at La Roquette or, later, at the prison in Fresnes, I would take two packs of Gauloises.

When school was over for the year, my mother and Paulette agreed that it would be better for my physical and mental health to send me to the country for the summer. I would have better food and more space to run around and play outdoors. Paulette thought I spent too much time with my nose in a book, and it was time to see something of the real world. My mother didn't care one way or the other, the main thing for her was that I got enough to eat.

They arranged for me to stay in Volnay, in the Loire region, with some farmers. This time it was a very nice lady by the name of Lise who took me there. She looked serious, even a bit strict, but I liked people who didn't feel obliged to smile to show that they were amiable: they were more intriguing than people who smiled at any old thing.

So at the beginning of July 1941, I found myself staying with Claude and Huguette and their two adolescent sons Benoît and Paul. If the purpose of sending me to the country was to give me a chance to play outdoors, well, it was a flop. I didn't have any time—there was too much to do on the farm. Anyway, I couldn't imagine playing by myself all day long while the others were working.

This was what I had to do: feed, groom, and harness the oldest of the three horses, Picot; churn; gather the eggs from the henhouse; take the eggs, butter and cheese to the village co-op; feed the three rabbits with grass from the ditch; help with the harvest, gathering the wheat; take the horses to the blacksmith . . . I hardly managed to read even two books all summer! But what I liked best of all was that our efforts were rewarded by food in unlimited quantities. Here I could eat as much lard and butter as I wanted! The first days, I was like a cat in a cage full of mice. I gobbled down huge pieces of bacon and eggs, and butter by the spoonful. I think in one week I managed to ingurgitate all the fat I should have eaten for the entire year. Huguette laughed so hard watching me devour it all that she almost choked. She said she'd never seen a more joyful spectacle. And she urged me to have more, and then more after that. And she went on watching me, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

The first time she sent me to the butter churn with a few buckets of cream, she couldn't believe the tiny quantity of butter I came back with. I just couldn't help dipping into the butter as soon as it formed. Same thing when I went to the henhouse to gather the eggs. I'd put two in the basket, then I'd swallow one whole (I'd make a hole at both ends, tilt my head back, place the egg above my mouth and suck in the sticky contents). “Hmm,” said Huguette, ruffling my hair, “it looks like the hens haven't been laying much lately, now have they.”

After one week, maybe two, my excessive appetite for anything containing fat eventually waned. And now that they could send me to the henhouse or the churn without fear, I came back with acceptable quantities of eggs and butter.

When I went to the village co-op, I was impressed by the range of food for sale, and the prices. One day I came upon some lovely dried cheese in ash that I couldn't resist. I would never have found that in Paris! I bought four of them, wrapped up three in paper, and the next time I went to the village, I stopped off at the post office to send them to Lena. A few days later I received an envelope containing a letter from my mother and some money. Lena wrote that she was delighted with my little parcel, and she'd like to have some more like that. No more was needed to launch me on my career as a food trafficker.

I tried to vary the merchandise. I was governed by the laws of supply and demand. What had been in shortest supply in Paris since the beginning of the war? Meat, of course. Lena would surely be delighted to get some, she could even give it to her comrades in the Resistance. I spoke about it with Huguette—not mentioning the comrades—because I'd never had to buy meat in my life. She suggested we find some live rabbits, and she offered to show me how to kill and prepare them. Oh dear, there was me, the great friend of animals, and I would have to kill cute little bunnies! But I figured I just had to make the best of things.

The next morning on my way back from the village I stopped off at the Bouvier farm and chose two plump rabbits. Huguette would kill the first one, and I would deal with the other one. I swore I would behave like a true peasant and not let myself be overwhelmed with pity for these little creatures who would feed my mother for several days. As for Huguette, her gestures were very precise and she seemed to feel no emotion, other than some amusement at the sight of my face, because I didn't manage to remain as stoic as I would have liked. When my turn came, I took a deep breath, grabbed Lena's second meal by the ears, and imitated Huguette's gestures as best I could: I struck the rabbit in the neck, bound his rear paws, plucked out an eye so the blood would drain into a bowl (blood which would then be used for Huguette's fricassee). My little sacrificial beast shrieked a bit longer than his companion in misfortune, but I discovered I had a certain talent as a butcher. Then Huguette showed me how to dress the animal, and I wrapped it up and made a package that I sent to Lena. Who sent me yet another envelope with more money.

At the end of the summer the Bouviers came to me with a big crate full of apples—pippins—and made me an excellent deal. They looked juicy, and I filled my cart. As I'd be going home to Lena soon, I sent her nearly the entire crate.

But back in Paris I was met with the dismal truth: I would not be enjoying my share of the harvest after all, because Lena had already sold all the lovely winter apples to her comrades—at cost, naturally. If I had known—but I'd never figure her out!—I would have saved a few for my suitcase. But then when I thought of my comrades in the Resistance, who were risking their lives for our freedom, and how happy they'd be to bite into a good juicy apple, I got over my disappointment.

September, 1941. Once again Lena took me in at the rue Aubriot. Paris had changed a lot in a few months during my “vacation” in the country. People stood in line everywhere, bicycles had replaced cars, it was hard to find food, people looked sad, the atmosphere was gloomy.

The first months, I did what I had to do. Even if I didn't particularly like my life with my mother, or school, or Paris, in fact. I would have preferred to be out in the country, not doing any homework, living with other children like in the days of L'Avenir Social. But those days were over, and I wasn't the kind to wallow in nostalgia.

One morning Lena informed me that we had to leave the little apartment we were living in at once. And as usual, she gave no details. I realized it was pointless to ask her anything, because the less I knew, the better it would be for everyone. She would move in with her sister Annette, and I would be safer with Anna, Emil's sister. As she lived not very far away from the rue Aubriot (in the 5th arrondissement, on the rue des Boulangers), I'd be able to go to the same school. I didn't think it was a convincing argument—I had nurtured the faint hope that they'd stop sending me to school—but I agreed.