The Notebook + The Proof + The Third Lie (11 page)

"Can I bless you?"

"If you want to."

He places his hands on our heads:

"Almighty God, bless these Thy children. Whatever their crime, forgive them. Poor lambs who have lost their way in an abominable world, themselves victims of our perverted times, they know not what they do. I beg Thee to save their child's souls, to purify them in Thy infinite goodness and mercy. Amen."

Then he says to us again:

"Come back and see me from time to time, even if you don't need anything."

Flight

From one day to the next, posters appear on the walls of the town. One poster shows an old man lying on the ground, his body pierced by the bayonet of an enemy soldier. A second shows an enemy soldier striking a child with another child, whom he is holding by the feet. Yet another shows an enemy soldier pulling at a woman's arm and tearing her blouse off with his other hand. The woman's mouth is open, and tears are streaming from her eyes.

The people who look at the posters are terrified.

Grandmother laughs and says:

"It's all lies. You mustn't be afraid."

People are saying that the Big Town has fallen.

Grandmother says:

"If they've crossed the Big River, nothing will stop them. They'll be here soon."

Our cousin says:

"Then I'll be able to go home."

One day, people say that the army has surrendered, that there is an armistice and the war is over. Next day, people say that there is a new government and the war is going on.

A lot of foreign soldiers arrive by train or truck. Soldiers from our country too. There are many wounded. When people ask the soldiers from our country questions, they reply that they don't know anything. They pass through town. They are going to the other country along the road that runs by the camp.

People say:

"They're running away. The country has collapsed."

Others say:

"They're withdrawing and regrouping behind the frontier. They'll stop them here. They'll never let the enemy cross the frontier."

Grandmother says:

"We'll see."

Many people pass by Grandmother's house. They too are going to the other country. They say they are leaving our country forever, because the enemy army is coming and will take its revenge. It will reduce our people to slavery.

There are people fleeing on foot with sacks on their backs, others pushing bicycles laden with various objects: a down quilt, a violin, a piglet in a cage, saucepans. Others are perched on horse-drawn carts: they are taking all their furniture with them.

Most of them are from our town, but some have come from further away.

One morning, the orderly and the foreign officer come to say goodbye.

The orderly says:

"It's all over. But it's better to be beaten than dead." He laughs. The officer puts a record on the gramophone. We listen to it in silence, sitting on the big bed. The officer holds us tightly in his arms and cries. "I'll never see you again." We say:

"You'll have children of your own." "I don't want any."

Then he says, pointing to the records and the gramophone: "Keep these to remember me by. But not the dictionary. You'll have to learn another language."

The Charnel House

One night, we hear explosions, rifle volleys, and machine- gun fire. We go outside to see what is happening. A big fire is raging on the site of the camp. We think the enemy has arrived, but next day the town is silent; all we can hear is the distant rumble of cannons.

At the end of the road leading to the base, there is no sentry anymore. A thick cloud of smoke with a sickening smell rises up into the sky. We decide to go see.

We enter the camp. It is empty. There isn't a soul in sight. Some of the buildings are still burning. The stench is unbearable, but we hold our noses and keep going. A barbed-wire fence stops us. We climb a watchtower. We see four tall black pyres rising on a big square. We spot an opening, a gap in the fence. We come down from the watchtower and find the entry. It's a big iron gate, left open. Above it is written in the foreign language: "Transit Camp." We go in.

The black pyres we saw from above are burned bodies.

Some of them are thoroughly burned, only the bones remain. Others are barely blackened. There are many of these. Big and small. Adults and children. We think that they killed them first, then piled them up, poured gasoline over them, and set them on fire.

We vomit. We run out of the camp. We go home. Grandmother calls us in to eat, but we vomit again.

Grandmother says:

"You've been eating junk again."

We say:

"Yes, green apples."

Our cousin says:

"The camp has burned down. We ought to go see it. There can't be anybody left there."

"We've already been. There's nothing of interest."

Grandmother sniggers:

"The heroes didn't forget something? They took everything with them? They didn't leave anything useful at all? Did you take a good look?"

"Yes, Grandmother. We took a good look. There's nothing there."

Our cousin leaves the kitchen. We follow her. We ask her:

"Where are you going?"

"To town."

"Already? You usually don't go till evening."

She smiles:

"Yes, but I'm expecting someone. If you don't mind!"

Our cousin smiles at us again, then runs off toward town.

Our Mother

We are in the garden. An army jeep stops in front of the house. Our Mother gets out, followed by a foreign officer. They rush across the garden. Mother is holding a baby in her arms. She sees us and calls:

"Come along! Get into the jeep quickly. We're going. Hurry up. Leave everything and come!"

We ask:

"Whose baby is that?"

She says:

"It's your little sister. Come on! There's no time to waste."

We ask:

"Where are we going?"

"To the other country. Stop asking questions and come along."

We say:

"We don't want to go there. We want to stay here."

Mother says:

"I have to go there. And you're coming with me."

"No. We're staying here."

Grandmother comes out of the house. She says to Mother:

"What are you doing? What have you got there in your arms?"

Mother says:

"I've come for my sons. I'll send you money, Mother."

Grandmother says:

"I don't want your money. And I won't give the boys back."

Mother asks the officer to take us by force. We quickly climb up to the attic by the rope. The officer tries to catch us, but we kick him in the face. The officer swears. We pull the rope up.

Grandmother sniggers:

"You see, they don't want to go with you."

Mother shouts at us:

"I order you to come down immediately!"

Grandmother says:

"They never obey orders."

Mother starts to cry:

"Come, my darlings. I can't leave without you."

Grandmother says:

"Your foreign bastard isn't enough?"

We say:

"We're fine here, Mother. Go, and don't worry. We're really fine at Grandmother's."

We hear cannons and machine-gun fire. The officer takes Mother by the shoulders and leads her toward the car. But Mother pulls free:

"They're my sons, I want them! I love them!"

Grandmother says:

"I need them. I'm old. You can still have others—as we can see!"

Mother says:

"I beg you, don't keep them."

Grandmother says:

"I'm not keeping them. Hey, you boys, come down at once and go with your mother."

We say:

"We don't want to go. We want to stay with you, Grandmother."

The officer takes Mother in his arms, but she pushes him away. The officer goes and sits in the jeep and starts the engine. At precisely that moment, there is an explosion in the garden. Immediately afterward, we see Mother on the ground. The officer runs toward her. Grandmother tries to hold us back. She says:

"Don't look! Go back in the house!"

The officer swears, runs to his jeep, and drives off at top speed.

We look at Mother. Her guts are coming out of her belly. She is red all over. So is the baby. Mother's head is hanging in the hole made by the shell. Her eyes are open and still wet with tears.

Grandmother says:

"Go get the spade!"

We put a blanket at the bottom of the hole, we lay Mother on it. The baby is still pressed to her breast. We cover them with another blanket, then fill in the hole.

When our cousin comes back from town, she asks: "Did something happen?" We say:

"Yes, a shell made a hole in the garden."

The Departure of Our Cousin

All night we hear gunfire and explosions. At dawn, everything is suddenly quiet. We are sleeping in the officer's big bed. His bed has become our bed, and his room our room.

In the morning we go to the kitchen for breakfast. Grandmother is standing in front of the stove. Our cousin is folding her blankets.

She says:

"I really slept badly."

We say:

"You'll sleep in the garden. There's no more noise, and it's warm."

She asks:

"Weren't you afraid last night?"

We shrug our shoulders and say nothing.

There's a knock at the door. A man in civilian clothes enters, followed by two soldiers. The soldiers have machine guns and are wearing a uniform we have never seen before.

Grandmother says something in the language she speaks when she's drinking her brandy. The soldiers answer. Grandmother flings her arms around their necks and kisses them one after the other as she goes on talking to them.

The civilian says:

"You speak their language, madam?"

Grandmother replies:

"It's my mother tongue, sir."

Our cousin asks:

"Are they here? When did they arrive? We wanted to welcome them in the Town Square with bouquets of flowers."

The civilian asks:

"Who's 'we'?"

"My friends and I."

The civilian smiles:

"Well, it's too late. They arrived last night. And I came just after them. I'm looking for a girl."

He speaks a name; our cousin says:

"Yes, that's me. Where are my parents?"

The civilian says:

"I don't know. My job is just to find the children on my list. First we'll go to a reception center in the Big Town. Then we'll try to find your parents."

Our cousin says:

"I have a friend here. Is he on your list too?"

She says the name of her lover. The civilian consults his list:

"Yes. He's already at army headquarters. You'll travel together. Get your things ready."

Our cousin joyfully packs her dresses and gathers all her toiletries together in her bath towel.

The civilian turns to us: "And what about you? What are your names?"

Grandmother says:

"They're my grandsons. They'll stay with me."

We say:

"Yes, we'll stay with Grandmother."

The civilian says:

"I'd like to have your names all the same."

We tell him. He looks at his papers.

"You're not on my list. You can keep them, madam."

Grandmother says:

"What do you mean I can keep them? Of course I can keep them!"

Our cousin says:

"I'm ready. Let's go."

The civilian says:

"You're certainly in a hurry. You might at least thank this lady and say goodbye to these little boys."

Our cousin says:

"Little boys? Little bastards, you mean."

She gives us a big hug.

"I won't kiss you, I know you don't like that. Don't screw around too much. Take care."

She gives us an even bigger hug and starts crying. The civilian takes her by the arm and says to Grandmother:

"I thank you, madam, for everything you have done for this child."

We all go out together. In front of the garden gate is a jeep. The two soldiers sit in front, the civilian and our cousin in back. Grandmother shouts something. The soldiers laugh. The jeep moves off. Our cousin doesn't look back.

The Arrival of the New Foreigners

After our cousin has left, we go into town to see what's happening.

There is a tank at every street corner. On the Town Square, there are trucks, jeeps, motorcycles, sidecars, and everywhere lots of soldiers. In the Market Square, which is not paved, they are pitching tents and setting up open-air kitchens.

When we go by, they smile at us, they talk to us, but we can't understand what they're saying.

Apart from the soldiers, there is nobody in the streets. The doors of the houses are closed, the shutters drawn, the shop blinds lowered.

We go home and say to Grandmother:

"Everything is quiet in town."

She sniggers:

"They're resting for the moment, but this afternoon, you'll see!"

"What's going to happen, Grandmother?"

"They'll carry out searches. They'll go into everybody's house and ransack it. And they'll take whatever they like. I've lived through one war already, I know what happens. But we don't have anything to be afraid of: there's nothing to take here, and I know how to talk to them."

"But what are they looking for, Grandmother?"

"Spies, weapons, ammunition, watches, gold, women."

Sure enough, in the afternoon, the soldiers begin systematically searching the houses. If there is no answer, they fire a shot in the air, then batter down the door.

A lot of houses are empty. The residents have left for good or are hiding in the forest. These uninhabited houses are searched just like the others, along with all the stores and shops.

After the soldiers have gone, thieves invade the abandoned shops and houses. The thieves are mainly children and old men, and a few women too, those who are fearless or those who are poor.

We meet Harelip. Her arms are full of clothes and shoes. She says to us: