Revolution Baby (11 page)

“And does he want to annex France, too?”

“He hasn't said so for the time being, but there are parts of France that used to belong to Germany, so, obviously . . . In any case, we can't just let him do what he wants in Europe without stepping in.”

I was glad that Geneviève had agreed to try and explain it all to me, but I still wasn't satisfied. Fair enough, we couldn't let Hitler do as he pleased, but was that really sufficient reason to go to war, when children might die? On the newsreels at the movies I had seen pictures of the bombing in a little village in Spain. You could see a whole lot of dead children.

When we went back to school in the fall, this war business continued to worry me. Even Liliane, our teacher, who was not particularly clued in on politics, decided she had to talk to us about it. We even had an entire class about the Great War. You couldn't say it was exactly reassuring. I made some skillful calculations: I was almost nine years old, and if a world war generally lasted four years, I would be roughly thirteen when the next one was over. So I had to survive to the age of thirteen, and after that things should be okay. This became my main goal in life.

All week long, when we walked home from school, war was the only topic of conversation. Because of the images of Spain on the newsreels, we all knew that children were the first ones who were attacked when there was a war. So an orphanage, you can imagine! It became clear that we needed a plan to save our skins, we had to react very quickly if war broke out, because the orphanage could be bombed on the very first day.

Should we hide in the cellar? Or run away? It was an easy decision: most of the children thought we should run away. But should we run away all together? Or in little groups? Or each of us on our own? And where should we go? Into the forest? Should we hide in the countryside, under the haystacks? Seek refuge with the farmers?

Together with Roger and his brother we came up with an escape plan. Like me, Roger and Pierre were not actual orphans: they had a father who lived not far from Paris. Given the fact that he was an alcoholic, we figured the Germans would have no reason to fear him or to attack him, so we could go and hide with him. They hadn't had any news from him for a while, so for the first stage in elaborating our escape plan Pierre was charged with finding out where he lived. Then we would have to find out the various ways to get there, because some of the roads might be cut off or impassable because of the bombings. We had already packed some nonperishable food in Pierre's rucksack. Of the three of us he was the only one who had a rucksack. My job was to find two more.

 

One day at the end of September, in the midst of this tense atmosphere, a small group of children from the orphanage, myself included, took the bus to go to Paris to see
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

When we got to Paris the bus had to take a detour—its normal route was blocked off because of a massive demonstration. It was as if everyone in Paris was out in the street. Accompany­ing us on the outing were Geneviève and Simone, an instructor who had arrived at L'Avenir Social not long before. They seemed surprised to see so many people in the street. As the bus hadn't moved for quite a while, Geneviève asked the driver to let her out, so she could go and find out what was going on. After a few minutes she came back.

“Children, I don't think we're going to make it to the movie in time. I suggest we get out of this bus and try to catch another that will take us back to the orphanage.”

“But what is the demonstration for?”

“A peace treaty has been signed with Germany.”

We greeted the good news with shouts of joy. We could forget our plans to run away, no need to leave L'Avenir Social, no need to go looking for Old Man Binet! The joyful atmosphere that reigned in the streets of Paris infected us, and as we left the bus we raised our voices in unison with the other demonstrators. I noticed that Geneviève did not seem as carried away as we did, but I was too happy to dwell on the fact or try to find out why she was so halfhearted.

In the days that followed the peace treaty, the atmosphere at the orphanage was euphoric and relaxed. We were able to admit how frightened we had been by what had seemed an inevitable war, how vulnerable we had felt as orphans or abandoned children, and how happy we were now to be able to go on living at L'Avenir Social with the people who were our true family.

There was something bothering me, however. The adults didn't seem to share our joy. To be clear in my own mind about it, I went to see Arnold.

“You are right, my Julot, we're not too pleased with this peace treaty, or at least I don't think it was the right decision. If the agreement was signed, once again it is because we've yielded to Hitler's demands, and we've allowed him to annex certain territories in exchange for a promise of peace. But how far will it go? Are we going to allow him to nibble away at Europe in order to avoid a war which, in my opinion, will break out anyway if Hitler remains in power in Germany? How can we believe this madman's promises?”

I didn't know what to say. I was so disappointed by what Arnold had just told me that I was sorry I had even asked. All my joy and relief vanished.

“Don't make such a face, Julot. Maybe I'm wrong, you know, most people don't share my opinion.”

“Maybe not, but you know more about politics than most people.”

I didn't feel like prolonging the discussion. I told Arnold that I had homework to finish and I went to find refuge at the very top of a tree at the end of the yard. I needed to think about it all. I didn't know whether I ought to share the bad news with the Binet brothers or whether it would be better to spare them. Pierre had been so happy at the thought he wouldn't have to go and live with his father.

Spring, 1939. Things were not getting better. There were nights I could not sleep from thinking about the war. Now everyone believed it was imminent. And I had no one left to talk to about the events, because Geneviève and Arnold had left L'Avenir Social. One day they simply came to say goodbye. I was so upset, so sad, that I didn't even ask them why they were leaving. Both of them were very upset.

A gloom settled over the orphanage. We didn't eat as well as we used to, we were told they had to save money, make sacrifices . . . Fortunately there were still some vegetables from Gros Pierre's kitchen garden, but the portions were getting smaller and rarer all the time. We children might complain at mealtimes, but as soon as we left the table we didn't think about it anymore. The grown-ups seemed a great deal more preoccupied. Robert, the cook, who had always been so reserved and shy, was forever losing his temper now, shouting and arguing with Henri.

With the Binet brothers I no longer talked a lot about our escape plans. In fact, I had more or less fallen out with them, because they hadn't even tried to find their father. If I wanted to talk about the situation in Europe it had to be with Philippe—who didn't know as much as Arnold did, but he managed to share some news he found God knows where—or with pretty Rolande who never abandoned her optimism, in spite of her fear.

 

One evening in August I was talking with Rolande when we saw Gros Pierre go by with a shovel in one hand and his rifle under his arm. We were surprised, and decided to follow him discreetly. Other children joined in. Gros Pierre looked really strange, he didn't turn around even once. When he reached the end of the courtyard, he stopped in front of the orphanage's two dogs, which were tied to a stake. Before we even had time to grasp what was happening, Gros Pierre lifted his rifle, took aim, and fired at Voyou, the bigger of the two. The dog fell to the ground. He was wounded, but not dead. He howled and struggled and tried to get to his feet. Gros Pierre took aim again and pulled the trigger. He had to repeat the maneuver several times, then do the same with the second dog, Grisou, who was not about to submit and let his short life end in such a stupid way. No matter where Gros Pierre aimed his gun, there was nothing for it: the dog seemed invincible. In the end he finished him off with the shovel and his own feet. All the while I was screaming, and the others as well, but none of us dared go near the gardener, with his terrifying eyes. It was neither anger nor rage you could see there, but rather a sort of disgust mingled with resignation.

Once Voyou and Grisou were dead, Gros Pierre began to dig a grave for them, quickly, not stopping a single time. We stood there watching him. Silence. He tossed the two animals into the hole, covered them over, and then finally he looked at us.

“That's how it has to be. You have no idea how much food those animals need. And it won't get any easier when the war starts. That's just how it has to be.”

And he walked away.

 

The next morning, before breakfast, I heard shrill cries coming from the garden. I hurried outside. I found a little group of children at the spot where Gros Pierre had buried the dogs the day before. They seemed both frightened and excited. I went closer . . . Two huge dog's paws were sticking out of the ground! Grisou's paws. I could see Rolande from where I stood, her face buried in her hands. Other children were screaming or in tears. As for me, I was furious. Those hard paws sticking out of the ground aroused all the anger that had been simmering in me since the day before. I was certain that the order to kill the dogs had come from Henri. Supposedly for our good, so that we could have more to eat, but we all knew that he never liked those dogs and that he often shouted at them. And as usual, he hadn't asked anyone for their opinion.

My eyes met Philippe's. We were of one mind: we had to do something, we could not let such an act go unpunished. Philippe had already been talking with some of the older kids, and they too were disgusted by what Henri had done, so they had decided to go on a hunger strike. I liked the idea, even though I knew that I didn't have a lot of willpower in that respect.

“The main thing is that all of us have to participate. There's not much time left until breakfast. I'll go and speak to the kids who are still outside, and you wait at the entrance to the refectory and tell the others as soon as they start to arrive.”

“Good idea. There are bound to be two or three who won't join in, and we already know who they are, but it doesn't matter, thirty or more children on a hunger strike, that's enough to send them into a panic, for sure.”

In the end, at breakfast all the children refused to eat. The owl wasn't there, I don't know if he ate in bed or what, but of all those children present, not a single one dared to defy the mobilization order. We didn't even have to intimidate anyone, the importance of the cause was enough to convince them all.

 

When Henri came to ask us for an explanation, there was con­fusion, everyone had their own version, some of us demanded he buy more dogs, others that Gros Pierre be dismissed. Before long Philippe stood up and waited for things to calm down. His confident and determined manner quickly imposed silence.

“The children of L'Avenir Social have unanimously decided to go on a hunger strike until they obtain compensation for the crimes committed yesterday, the villainous murder of the two dogs, Grisou and Voyou. The strike, which began this morning, August 16, 1939, will be unlimited in nature.”

Henri's face went purple, and his lips were pinched.

“And could you explain to me what you mean by compensation? Do you want us to buy more dogs?”

“We want to be taken seriously. The decision to go on a hunger strike was not made lightly, and we know the possible consequences of such an act. We want to see the representatives of the CGT in Paris.”

Henri was fuming. He raised his eyes to the sky and walked away, not adding anything. As we had nothing to do there and the kitchen smells were a terrible taunt to our stomachs, we went out into the yard. The atmosphere was solemn. Little groups formed, children speaking among themselves, and some of them questioned Philippe's authority, whether he had the right to speak on behalf of the others; then there were some children who were proud of the composure he had shown in answering Henri.

At lunchtime, a few of us stood outside the refectory doors to talk with any eventual strikebreakers. But not a single child dared to venture into the lair filled with mouthwatering smells.

In spite of the hunger that made my belly rumble, I found it easy to be on strike. I pictured myself as a knight heading off to conquer enemy territory, never letting hunger get in the way of his mission. I recalled my Aunt Karolka, too, the determined air she had kept about her in prison. The sudden appearance of her face in my mind was overwhelming. I tried to prevent other images from surfacing, but it was as if I couldn't control anything anymore. Fruzia was there smiling at me, and Hugo, too, doubled over with laughter because I had bitten the policeman. I wanted to tell them about our hunger strike, I wanted them to see me as I was just then, so that they would be proud of me. Then it was Emil's turn, whom I had always thought of as a revolutionary. If he was truly my father, that meant I had revolutionary blood in my veins. I must not yield. I just hoped that the people from the CGT would arrive soon, because I knew that our immediate future depended on them.

 

Suppertime went by. Once again, everyone stood fast. We were beginning to prepare ourselves for the idea of sleeping on an empty stomach. Suddenly Louis came running into the courtyard where we had set up our headquarters.

“I saw some cars, with people in them, and Henri went to meet them, I think it's them!”

Louis had just shouted the news when we saw a strange man and woman walking toward us. Henri wasn't with them. The woman, who had very short ginger hair, walked up to us.

“Hello, we're the representatives of the CGT, which oversees L'Avenir Social. We came as quickly as we could when we heard what was happening. We want to talk it over with you. I imagine you have good reasons for deciding to go on strike. I heard your director's version, and now I'd like to hear yours.”