Page 4 of Love in the Shadows

“And the tin opener?”

“On the shelf.” Fabienne put the pan of potatoes on the kitchen surface ready to be cooked later and started preparing the carrots.

Thinking about her family brought back the vivid recollection of her parents’ deaths in the early days of the war. Their murders, along with those of her tante and oncle, had been an act of retaliation for the death of a German officer. At that time, many Alsatians were still debating the complexity of their position, no longer annexed to Germany since the end of the Great War, and after a failed attempt at claiming autonomy from the French government, not entirely French either. Everyone’s neighbour had hailed from one or the other of the two countries over the generations, and control had bounced from Germany to France and back again, but the region, Alsatians had insisted, belonged to neither country. No one really believed the war was going to take hold. And then, suddenly, no one had the power to stop it. The matter was settled. They were once again annexed to Germany.

The murder of her family had been one of several attacks aimed at instilling fear and encouraging compliance. The Germans had commandeered French-owned properties and thrown the owners onto the street, and French men had been immediately drafted into the Nazi army and sent to fight against Russia. The Nazi perspective was clear. They, with their Alsatian pride and their illusion of power and control over their destiny, had been incorporated into the Reich. The schools were under orders to teach in German. They were forced to speak German, live and breathe everything German, and it was suffocating. They even socialised in the same brasseries in town. If it hadn’t been for the killings and the uniforms, it might have been like life as normal.

Four years on and with significantly depleted rations and a lack of access to appropriate medicine, there was no evidence that an end to their suffering was coming any time soon.

“I hate this feeling, Mamie,” she said.

In the early days, she’d thought she might be better off dead with them, but she couldn’t leave Mamie and Nancy alone in this darkly changing world. They needed her, and she needed them, and they would get through it together or not at all. She was mentally tough, like her papa had been, but her heart remained empty, unreachable, in the absence of her parents’ love.

Her mamie’s deep sigh did nothing to abate the burning anger that had replaced the sadness and twisted Fabienne’s insides like a wet rag, squeezing out what little life she had left in her.

“It is much worse than the last time. They seem more determined, or maybe I am just getting older,” Mamie said, softly.

“You are wiser,” Fabienne said.

“You mean I don’t fight back anymore?” Mamie put the prepared dessert into the fridge.

Hauptmann Kohl appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying a chicken by its broken neck. “You can prepare this for dinner?” He smiled as if he’d hunted it. “It’s a special night with Frau Neumann arriving.”

Mamie took the feathered hen, its head hanging over her hand, and put it on the table. She sat and started plucking. The captain clicked his heels softly, turned and walked away.

“At least it’s not one of our birds,” Mamie said. “Though if they have too many special nights, they’ll run out of their own soon enough.”

“I don’t suppose it occurs to them that hens are more productive when kept alive,” Fabienne said.

Mamie laughed.

The all-too-familiar thunderous roll coming from the heavy metal tracks grinding along the road towards town gained Fabienne’s attention. It seemed this train of vehicles hadn’t eased up since first thing that morning, like a death knell. She worried about where they were heading, the properties they would reduce to rubble en route, and how many would die in their wake.

“Will it ever end?” She sighed.

“Working here could prove helpful, Fabienne,” Mamie whispered.

Fabienne glanced through the kitchen doorway that led into the dining room. There was a straight line though the long room to the foyer and the main entrance, where the soldiers now gathered, their low, sharp tones travelling back to the kitchen.

Mamie got up from the table and took the plucked bird to the sink, cut off its head, and gutted it.

Mamie’s deep sadness reflected Fabienne’s, though Fabienne kept hers hidden beneath the veil of anger. Both emotions reflected the mood of most of the French citizens of Erstein, that hovered like the permanent cloud of injustice over them.

Mother, Father, Uncle Olivier, Aunt Jeanne, Fabien Dubois, Arsène Lauret, Jérôme Petite, the Cohens, the Bornsteins. She could name more than a hundred people, friends, neighbours, and that wasn’t counting the Jewish families who had just disappeared overnight. The list would only get longer, and news about the work camps they had been sent to more distressing. Meanwhile, these people ate fresh chicken and vegetables and drank the best wine available.

“These putains de Boches take from us every day,” she whispered.

Mamie touched her cheek. It didn’t comfort her the way it used to. How could it, if she wouldn’t let it? “It is always that way, ma chérie. We must fight in every way possible. But in here, we cook, and clean, and follow orders.”

The pit of Fabienne’s stomach remained leaden from the unfairness levied on all the innocent people who had died while simply trying to protect what was rightfully theirs.

In the early days, she’d wished they lived deeper into central France, or to the southwest, rather than three kilometres from the German border, but now nowhere was safe. She couldn’t trust her Alsatian comrades either. They were all part of the Reich, whether they liked it or not, and it was impossible to tell for certain who did and who did not enjoy privileges. Those who had jumped at the “opportunities” offered to them had been rewarded with new, elevated positions under their German bosses. They had gained the most, and lost the least. Many local women had given themselves to a German officer to secure protection for their family. Who could blame them? But who knew what else they might be capable of?

Fabienne and Mamie had lost their home to the first kommandant, and their dairy farm was now owned and managed by the Reich, but the Germans still needed workers and that meant Fabienne was needed at the dairy. Unless Frau Neumann had other ideas.

“We must go before she arrives,” Mamie said. She put the prepared chicken into the fridge, tidied the kitchen, and they left quietly via the back door. They would return later to cook.

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