A Secret Page #2

From the rare images I was allowed to glimpse,

a few uttered words,

snippets of information.

I made up my parents' idyll,

as if I were writing a romance.

I imagined they shared a love of sports

at a time when thousands of Germans

shared the same passion.

Playing sports made Dad hope

he could erase his origins.

Mom modeled for designers,

and did sketches for a fashion magazine.

GENERAL MOBILIZATION

FIGHTING ON THE GERMAN-POLISH FRON

Oddly, my parents

never talked about the Occupation.

They kept it from me like a shameful secret.

I was reduced to imagining the period.

Like I invented a brother,

I devised my own improbable narrative.

Due to the hardships

my parents crossed the Demarcation Line.

I imagined their place of refuge, St Gaultier,

a memory of bliss.

That's where I wish I'd been born,

lovingly conceived after one of their walks.

Summer '44

For my parents,

death, suffering, terror

all remained in the confines of the radio.

Tania pressured Maxime into having a child.

At last, the fruit of their union arrives: Me,

so different from the one they dreamed of.

Not much.

It's a little baby.

My father's first gaze left its mark on me.

Time and again,

I would catch that bitter glint.

Later, he said of my conception

that I slipped out of him.

SPRING 1962

May I?

You go to Berthelot School, huh?

Me, too.

You're in 9th grade?

You're a real egghead.

I'm repeating 8th grade.

My name's Rebecca Finkiel.

Franois Grimbert.

See that woman there?

Boy, you should see her swim.

She's so gorgeous.

That's my mother.

I have to go.

Who's the pretty girl?

I don't know.

She's from school.

She's cute.

- What's her name?

Rebecca Finkiel.

So, I hear you're seeing a certain Rebecca?

She's just someone I know.

Just someone you know?

Is she a Yid?

- I didn't ask.

You're really not curious.

You're hurting.

- You're annoying.

Next time,

ask if she's a Yid.

All you do is talk about Jews.

I don't want to be Jewish.

Understand?

They'll catch cold.

Ve have vays of making you tok,

Jewish swine.

What'd you say?

Stay in your seats.

Just stop this.

Calm down.

Go back to your seats.

You beat him up?

- It was Jean-Paul.

He tried to swipe my pen.

Show Louise your eye.

I'd feel better.

For a pen?

You really beat him up?

I think I wanted to kill him.

You wanted to kill him?

Didn't you wonder why?

I wanted to rub out his face.

Why?

Why?

I know why you're crying.

Simon.

That year, I would turn 15.

Louise finally told me what I'd always known.

Louise, who'd never had children or any true love,

loved me enough to betray my parents' trust.

Since she revealed part of the secret,

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