Giselle

Editorial Note: The feature image of this piece is an image of a painting, “Ordinary Pleasures,” by Annika Connor. The Rauch Review used the image with permission from the artist. Annika Connor is a Brooklyn-based multifaceted artist, painter, screenwriter and SAG-AFTRA actor. Annika embodies the spirit of a modern Renaissance woman. Renowned for her evocative watercolor and oil paintings, Connor’s work is characterized by solid symbolism and vivid imagery that sparks the imagination. She received a BFA in 2002 from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where she studied Painting & Performance. Since then, she has lived in New York, London, Stockholm and the Hamptons where she has participated in numerous group and solo exhibitions.

“Now dear,” Giselle’s mother said, trying to sound patient and kind as she handed a list she had written out to her daughter. “I want you to take this list of words and put them into alphabetic order. Don’t take too long, Mrs. Lagrange is going to be here soon for your piano lesson.”

“But, Mama, why do I have to work so hard? It’s so hot! Don’t you know most of the other children in the neighbourhood get to just play all day in the summer? And when girls get to be my age they do sewing with their mother and her friends, not schoolwork and piano lessons!”

“My dear sweet love, the world is not what I grew up in. You are a smart and wonderful, talented human being. There are so many things you can do with that sharp mind of yours rather than just playing or wasting time sewing. In the world that is coming, the world without Hitler, a woman will be able to do anything a man can do. We need to cultivate your talents so when the time comes, you will be able to become whatever your heart desires. That is my greatest dream, my greatest wish, that you have all the chances and all the potential that any child anywhere in the world does.”

“But I don’t want to be special, Mama. I want to have friends that like me. I want to play and swim and laugh,” Giselle pleaded.

“One day you will see how lucky you are that I made sacrifices so you could learn, my little love. One day, it will all become clear to you what precious gifts you have. But don’t despair. I understand what it is to be young. Your mother is not so old she doesn’t know what is in the heart of a little girl. If you finish up before Mrs. Lagrange comes, and work hard at your lesson, I will let you play outside for a short while.”

Giselle’s expression went from defeated to lighting up the room in one moment. Wide-eyed and full of excitement, she whispered a thank you to her mama and took up her pencil and worked with renewed vigour at her alphabetizing.

Giselle was near the end of the list when she heard a loud rumbling outside. A behemoth of a German tank rolled past their picture window followed by a bunch of foot soldiers. She had been seeing more and more men and machines going by in recent months. Anyone could tell something was happening around her small community. For a young girl of eleven who had experienced the German occupation of France, one might assume these sorts of things wouldn’t worry her, but all she could think about was the horrible things that canons, rifles, grenades and bombs could do to people: innocent, helpless people who never asked for a war or led a life filled with killing and hate.

Not long after the Nazis went past their window, there was a knock at the door. She rushed to see if it was Mrs. Lagrange. She peered out the window and saw a German jeep outside. It had to be Captain Schneider. Instead of opening the door, she ran off and hid herself in the closet, terrified, trying not to weep too loudly. After a few more knocks, Giselle heard her mama answer the door. She sounded so happy, and she knew they were probably hugging and kissing, thinking Giselle couldn’t hear. Giselle feared and hated Captain Schneider, like most of the people in the town of St. Eglise. There were sympathizers who had collaborated and benefitted from the many needs the Nazis had, but it seemed all the good and kind people hated them. They had stormed in one day, laid out their own rules, treated the people who had lived there for generations like inferiors, and stole everything of value. And any small act of defiance was enough for a person to disappear and not be seen again.

Her heart pounded hard as she thought of her mother having a boyfriend who was a German officer. She closed her eyes and tried to think of her father. His existence seemed like such a long time ago, but it was only two years past.

* * *

Giselle, her mother and father were sitting at the kitchen table of their house. The house had been in their family for over 150 years. Her great-grandfather had built it. Most of the people in St. Eglise had fled the incoming occupation forces, but the Lacroix family wanted to stay. Her father was a doctor, a kind, caring, giving person. He had wanted to stay for the good of his patients. But when the Nazi invasion came, and the British and French soldiers were pushed out of France, even her brave father showed signs of intense stress and worry.

There was so much noise, so many planes droning overhead, so many tanks rolling down streets. There were thousands of jeeps, and millions of soldiers, in trucks and on foot. No one could conceive of such a thing happening all over Europe, but it was the stark reality. Not long after the occupation, as everything seemed to settle, one day a German jeep pulled up in front of their house, and an officer and two soldiers came up their front steps and knocked loudly on their door.

“Dr. Lacroix,” the officer said in flawless French as her father opened the door. Giselle was standing next to him, hugging his leg as though with her love she could shield her father from the evil that the German soldier represented. Her father spoke to him in German and at first it seemed they were talking politely. Then their voices were raised and soon they were shouting. Giselle’s father was taken away, and he was never seen again. When Giselle thought of him and the love he had shown her, she felt a sickness wash over her thinking about how such a wonderful and giving, caring person could just be taken without any kind of inquiry or trial.

The next day, more soldiers and officers came to their house. They took the best of the family’s paintings and artworks, many of her father’s books, and set up their house as an office and residence for the German Commander. That day was when she and her mom first met Captain Schneider. He was the commander’s aide.

The Nazis let Giselle, and her mom stay, as servants to the men who had stolen their home and taken her father away, though they had to sleep on blankets without mattresses in the cellar and were only allowed the scraps of food left over from what the Germans demanded as their share. One day Captain Schneider came to the cellar at night and asked Giselle’s mother to come with him. She left, and though at first, she seemed frightened, soon after, the German Commander found a house he liked better, and the Nazis let Giselle, and her mother go back to being the main residents of their house. From then on, Captain Schneider saw to all their needs but came and went as he pleased. Giselle knew her mother missed her father and that she loved him, and for a long time, she couldn’t understand why her mother had a relationship with Captain Schneider. As time passed and she saw the other children grow increasingly gaunt from lack of food, as most of the people in St. Eglise had their spirits broken by the Nazis, she began to understand the trade-off, and it nauseated her.

Giselle waited until her mother and Captain Schneider went upstairs, then came out of her hiding spot. Soon Mrs. Lagrange came and both of them could hear laughter and shouting coming from upstairs. Though she tried to ignore it, as she played the music she had practised, Giselle broke into tears. Her teacher tried to console her and then finally gave in and ended the lesson. These precious minutes were just what Giselle needed so she could leave the house.

Giselle walked for a while, taking a stick with her, making clacking sounds against metal fences. She loved to be outside and smell the summer sea rolling in from the English Channel, the sea air mixed with the invigorating smell of the gardens, trees and grass all around her. Though she still felt sad and desperately missed her father, her steps grew light.

She walked around the town for a while and saw some children she had once gone to school with playing among some trees. They seemed to be having a whale of a time playing a game of tag, screaming, shouting and laughing. Even the Nazis couldn’t stop children from being children, but they also couldn’t stop them from being cruel. Giselle stayed a few hundred feet away from the children as she watched them, but one of them spotted her.

“Hey look! It’s that girl whose mother is a whore to the Germans!” One of them shouted and made them all laugh as Giselle simply went beet red in the face and didn’t know what to do or say. Deep down she knew it was true, and in a way, she hated herself for it. As the taunting grew louder and the odd stick or rock was being thrown in her direction, Giselle’s anxiety sent a shock of fear and shame all over her body, and she turned and ran off as fast as she could.

Giselle ran and ran until she arrived at the beach. She couldn’t go all the way to the water. There were tank traps and barbed wire strung all the way along the shore. Still, the sound of waves and the cool breeze gave her some comfort. She curled up in the sand, crying until she had no more tears left. Then, out of nowhere she heard a voice shout in French but with a German accent.

“Girl! You shouldn’t be there! That beach is mined!” Hearing the warning, she stood up, but this just made the cries sound more desperate. “No! Don’t move!”

Carefully starting from two dozen feet up the beach, the German soldier was able to get to her, somehow miraculously avoiding where the mines had been laid. Every German soldier was told which areas had been mined, but no one bothered to put up signs or tell any of the French who lived nearby. Displaying an incredible amount of bravery, the soldier walked up to Giselle, picked her up, and carried her off the beach, not only saving her, but putting his own life at great risk.

“Why did you help me?” she asked as the soldier set her down.

“You are just a young girl. You are a human being. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t help you. Please now, let me walk you home.”

“You can, but only if you want to embarrass Captain Schneider,” Giselle said.

“So, you’re the one. I have been warned about you.” The soldier said with an air of sadness to his voice. He then went on: “Well, I will walk you most of the way. Maybe you can tell me why you were crying.”

“Because my mother is with Captain Schneider in our house.”

The soldier pretended she hadn’t said those words and tried to continue the conversation. “Tell me your name and what games you like to play with your friends.”

“My name is Giselle, and I don’t have any friends. None of the other children will play with me.”

“Ah, yes. So maybe I can be your friend. Let me introduce myself, I am Johan Meuller. Private for life.”

Giselle smiled. “Why are you just a private? You seem like a smart and thoughtful soldier.”

“Because my little one, I like the Nazis about as much as French people do.”

“Really? I don’t hate Germans. Just hate their beliefs. My dad used to say there was a poison fed to people in Germany because they lost the great war. My mom tells a lot that what we must hate is the Nazi ideas, not the German people. But still she has a boyfriend who is one. Why do you hate them?”

Seemingly ignoring the question, Johann continued. “I’m so grateful you understand that Germans aren’t bad people. Germany is a beautiful country that has rich and wonderful culture. Just think of Bach and Beethoven. Germany is a place with brilliant music, wonderful technological advancements and a history of achievements in art, literature and culture. Those you know as Nazis are those who follow Hitler. I hate those people, too. I never chose to be in his army; I was drafted. I never wanted to carry a gun and never wanted to shoot anyone. I even was told by people I once knew in the resistance that when Hitler first came to power, he barely had over 30% of the vote. Most Germans never asked for him either, but there he is.”

“I thought all boys liked being soldiers.”

“Well, when I was very young I realized I liked flowers more than bullets and uniforms. Still, I had to join the Hitler Youth. But eventually, with a gift of money from my parents, I was able to open my own flower shop in Berlin. I was doing well with it when I was told I had to join the army.”

“I like flowers, too. Would you like to pick some with me?” Giselle said, her heart full of wonder at how a soldier could love the things she did.

“I can not only do that, I can show you which flowers are best. And I can give you this.” Johan brought out his hand from behind his back with a perfect white daisy in it.

“Thank you,” Giselle said with deep emotion. “These are my absolute favourite.”

“When you get home, take this and put it in the pages of a thick book, and it will stay new looking for a very long time.”

The pair spent the next hour walking around the edges of the town, both sharing how when they were young, they had trouble making friends, mostly because of how much they both hated the teasing and bullying that seemed to be the one constant among all children. As they walked, Johan assembled a beautiful bouquet from flowers they came across. He told her a secret that he had a special friend in Germany whom he loved dearly who worked for a local funeral home. The place brought in much business to his flower shop, but what Johan liked the best was that he met this man. Him and Johan were in love, but they had to hide it. Giselle thought it was strange that he would be in love with a man, but there were a lot of things that were different about Johan that she really liked.

That evening, Giselle took one of the few books of her father’s that still remained in their house and pressed her daisy in it. Now that she had a friend, it didn’t seem so hard to be apart from the other kids in St. Eglise. She felt content. She put the book under her pillow, hoping to dream of the brave soldier who saved her life and opened her eyes to a world she never imagined.

The following Saturday, Giselle worked extra hard at her lessons, and mastered an extremely difficult work of Beethoven on the piano. Her mama let her go out again and she caught up with Johan near the point where he had saved her life. He lit up the world with his joyful expression when he saw her, and they walked and talked again, laughing and sharing their experiences. When they parted, Giselle’s step was light, and her mood was high again. In secret whispers that night, before sleeping, she prayed for Johan, dreaming that one day they could be free to be friends, and Johan could have his own flower shop in St. Eglise. She even imagined that his lover would be there and that she would like him just as much as she did Johan.

The days and weeks passed by, and Giselle didn’t see any more of her new friend. All she knew was that he was a private and that his last name was Mueller. She decided to write a letter to him with his name and the address of the nearby base and post it in hopes of getting him a message to meet her.

Dear Johan:

I have been thinking about you a lot lately. I had such a fun time walking and talking with you. I really hope that we can meet again soon. Maybe if you could get away we could meet on a Saturday afternoon at 3:00 pm near the beach where we first met. If you can’t make it one Saturday, come the next. I want to know so much about you, I want to learn what Germany was like before the war. I forgot to ask if you like Beethoven as much as my father did. I have learned some of his music on piano. I would also like to hear about the young man you are in love with and what he is like.

Best wishes,

Giselle.

That Saturday, Giselle finished her lessons and walked down to the beach to meet Johan. She wasn’t sure about the time, so she went a little early but waited a long time after what she estimated was 3:00. Still, there was no sign of her new friend. Not knowing if he had problems or if he couldn’t get leave, she waited the next Saturday in the same spot and then the Saturday after that. She finally decided he wasn’t ever going to come and walked home teary-eyed and deeply hurt.

Giselle got about halfway home and was walking through some trees when she got hit in the shoulder with a rock.

“Ow! Hey! Who did that?”

“I did, and you’re going to get a lot more rocks thrown at you if you don’t stop coming by here!” The shout came from the thick trees beside the path she was walking on. “This part of the woods belongs to us, not to collaborators and sympathizers!” It was the voice of a young boy, and she couldn’t see him.

She shouted up to the air around her. “You better watch it. I have a friend who looks out for me! If he finds out you hit me with a rock, you’re going to be in trouble!”

“What kind of friend do you have?” The taunting voice of the boy replied.

“He’s a German soldier! His name is Johan!”

From another part of the trees, a voice chimed in. It was a boy of around 12. He seemed very serious. “Johan Mueller?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“My dad knows him. He’s been sent to a camp. Was he really your friend?”

“Yes, of course, and he wasn’t a Nazi. He didn’t even like Nazis. What kind of camp?”

“It’s a death camp,” the voice replied. “I’m sorry. Your friend won’t be coming back.”

“Why not? What happened? You must tell me! You must tell me what happened!”

“My father said someone sent him a letter and the censor read it. He saw something he didn’t like in the letter and there was a huge uproar about bringing embarrassment to the German army. The letter was enough to confirm earlier suspicions. Once they had proof that he was homosexual, they took away his uniform, put him in prison clothes and sent him away. I’m really sorry.”

“What’s a homosexual?”

“It’s a man who doesn’t like girls.” Giselle had to think for a moment. It had never occurred to her that there was anything wrong with liking boys. When she realized what had happened to Johan, it nearly tore her in half with grief to think of someone hurting or killing Johan because of how he felt.

“But…” Giselle tried to let out more words, but they stuck in her throat. She didn’t know what to say or do. Giselle went numb, realizing that she had damned someone who had helped her and showed her kindness. All at once, her blood boiled with hatred for the Nazis, hatred for Captain Schneider and even hatred for her mother. She dashed home, put on a sweater and grabbed some food she wrapped in butcher paper and just started walking. She got to a checkpoint on the road, and despite the terrifying presence of armed Nazis, she found it easy enough to lie and say she was going to visit her Aunt in another city. She had no map, no knowledge of the area. Walking down the dusty road out of St. Eglise was the first time she had left it other than by train, and then only when she was very young and with her father.

Soon, her food began to dwindle. Days went past, and there were more checkpoints. She didn’t know anyone who didn’t live in St. Eglise, except maybe her Uncle. But she had no clue how to get to where he lived and didn’t know who to stop or how to ask for help. As she was passing by a field a few days after her decision to run away, some armed Resistance fighters saw that she was desperately in need of food and brought her to safety where she could eat and talk with them.

Something confirmed by her rescuers was that there had been a feeling in the air of a huge and growing military presence in the northern coastal area of France that preceded the arrival of more German tanks, jeeps, canons, trucks and troops. The Allies were coming and soon. France would be liberated. Hitler would be stopped. There would be bloodshed, but at the end of it there was hope, as her mother said, of a new world that learned from its mistakes. The resistance fighters she met were being supplied by air from England with arms and equipment. The people of the French Resistance tried to keep her out of danger, but some of them were almost as young as she was. In the coming months and years, she saw many things she wished she hadn’t. All the war brought was hunger, violence, death and destruction.

Once, she watched a captured German officer being tortured for information, the life running out of him as he bled to death. Another time she had bandaged, cared for and sat with one of the Resistance fighters who had lost his hands while wiring some explosives the wrong way. Then, finally, after the horrors of war had burned deep emotional scars into all her new friends for life, the Americans, British and Canadians came. Giselle could have returned home by that time, but she didn’t think there was any home left for her.

Giselle was not only ashamed of herself, but she was also ashamed of her mother. She knew how the French people treated collaborators. The other women would shave her head. They would beat her badly, perhaps even to death.
Giselle tried to be indifferent to her mother’s fate. She had a life now of adventure, and people who cared about her. It was sad to think of the good times she shared with her family, but she simply had no tears left.

With time, when the enemy was gone and word came that first the Germans and then the Japanese had signed an unconditional surrender, the resistance fighters began to split apart. Some of them were recruited as intelligence operatives and deployed in parts of East Germany and some even in the USSR. Many died of wounds or privation from the war they were never able to recover from. As Giselle grew closer to becoming an adult, most of the resistance fighters who were left eventually returned home, or to the battered and blasted remains of what they once knew as home, to rebuild their country and to seek hope for a better future. Giselle would never return home, and one day found herself alone and begging for necessities. The degradation she went through was total.

Wandering around a city she had never been to before, dying of thirst and terribly hungry, she walked into a café, begged for some water and sat down in a corner by herself.

“My, what a sweet young woman you are.” A voice declared from behind her. “Why don’t you come and sit with me?”

Giselle turned to see a well-dressed, middle-aged man sitting at a table with a full bottle of wine and a basket of breadsticks and some cheese. Despite her dirtiness and tangled hair, he waved her over and pushed the food toward her.

“Thank you, Mister,” she said. He poured her some wine, but she was reluctant to take it. As a child, her parents had strict rules against alcohol. It had ruined one of her Uncle’s lives, and even though she lived with drinkers for most of the war, she had never had more than a sip. Thirsty and afraid, she took a long drink from the wine glass and felt a pleasant and relaxing sensation go through her. It was good wine. Soon she was gleefully drunk.

As time passed, her new friend seemed more and more handsome and charming. As the night wore on, he asked if she had a place to stay. When she admitted she didn’t, he offered her his spare bed at his house. Through glassy-eyed vision she said yes and stumbled with him, singing loudly as they went, not understanding what this man had wanted from her from first seeing her walk into the cafe.

The next morning, Giselle woke up with a horrible headache, and the realization that she was no longer a virgin. At the table beside her side of the bed there was a small stack of bank notes left for her. She slipped quietly away, stuffing the notes in her pocket. She was in a state of rage, fear and contempt for humanity. Worst of all she hated herself for what she had let herself become. She almost couldn’t believe that she didn’t see through this man’s intentions sooner. She wished she could tear the money up and throw it in his face, but it was all she had in the world.

As the money ran out, Giselle grew more practical and conniving as each day passed. She learned to notice whether a man was single, and how to find out if she could play with his desire, and how a few words, a few promises would secure her food, money, drinks. Anything she wanted.

As the days and weeks passed, Giselle often thought of her mother. She was the last person who had ever truly cared for her, the last person who saw that she could have made something of her life. Alcohol became the only thing that distracted her from the pain of remorse for leaving her mother, hating her.

Giselle spent her time after that going to different bars in different towns and cities, moving around to avoid legal trouble or to simply try and start over again, but without ever succeeding. Her addictions progressed from wine to mixed drinks, then to hard liquor. When money was scarce there were bootleggers she knew who distilled their own liquor/moonshine. Many times, she moved on when she ran out of friends or temporary lovers. She lived off chocolate and pastries, and in a few short years she aged far more than she should have. Her health rapidly declined. One day she went to get a morning drink and after swallowing it she became violently ill.

Not long after, from her hospital bed, in a rare moment of lucidity, after going days without a drink, Giselle scratched out a letter to her mother. She had thought for a long time about what to say. She was hoping to ease the pain and loneliness her mama must be going through, though she didn’t even totally believe the words she used herself. As she lay in her bed writing, she thought about Johan and how perfect, how kind and wonderful he was. Even though she hated the Nazis for what they had done to him, for such a stupid, private thing, there was nothing she could do or say that would bring him back. He was beautiful, a wonderful soul. One madman with a powerful voice and a little black moustache set a flame that killed him and 46 million other people.

Dear Mama:

I can’t imagine what you must have gone through since I last saw you. I loved you so dearly, Mama. You were the light of my life. But after my friend was sent to a camp I could no longer accept the fact that you were a collaborator. In the years since the war, I have seen time and time again the truth you tried to instill in me. No one can change the world. You have to just love those close to you and try to do what is best for them. I was just a little girl, but I loved my Johan. And the people you sided with killed him. I lay now in my deathbed, and I just wanted to send this last letter to you to say I understand what you did and I forgive you.

Giselle.

The letter was sent, but it took a few weeks for a response to come. What came was a package with a book in it, with the address of her former home listed on the cover of the package, but with a name she didn’t recognize. There was a letter inside.

Dear Giselle:

I am sorry there hasn’t been any effort to contact you until now. When the war ended, so many people were missing and so many millions of people died that it became impossible to fulfill a task such as finding you. I am sad to have to tell you that your mother was among the war dead. People were unforgiving toward those who consorted with Nazis. I purchased this home from your father’s brother, your Uncle Gil who has since also passed away. When my family took possession of this house, I found your mother’s will and it clearly stated that this book was to be kept for you.

Henry L’Hirondelle

Giselle took out the book and at once recognized it. It was the book she claimed for herself on the day she met Johan, the day he saved her life. She began to sob a little, then tears rolled down her cheek. It was the first she had cried since she left home. It felt good to let things out.

She took the daisy out of the book, thought of her father, thought of Johan and her mother, and felt a sense of peace and innocence like none she had ever known. As her condition worsened, a chaplain asked if she had any last wishes. She asked to borrow a wheelchair and was taken into a dining hall where there was a piano. As she used the last of her strength. Over the course of a few weeks, the gentle sounds of a former piano prodigy somehow whispered a forced rendition of Beethoven through the hallways of the hospital.