James W. Nichol - Transgression: A Novel of Love and War

FRANCE, 1941

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1941

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1941

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1941

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1941

FRANCE, 1941

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1942

FRANCE, 1942

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1942

FRANCE, 1943

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1943

FRANCE, 1944

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1944

FRANCE, 1944

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1944

FRANCE, 1944

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1945

CANADA, 1946

GERMANY, 1945

FRANCE, 1945

CANADA, 1946

FRANCE, 1945

FRANCE, 1945

CANADA, 1946

CANADA, 1946

CANADA, 1946

CANADA, 1946

CANADA, 1946

CANADA, 1946

CANADA, 1946

CANADA, 1946

CANADA, 1946

CANADA, 1946

CANADA, 1946

A burst of pigeons flew up off the narrow cobblestone street, cleared the roof of the nearest building and scattered across the grey sky. Hands fleeing in front of the Germans, Adele Georges thought to herself. It was a futile gesture; theyd already been chopped off.

Adele was given to such thoughts and visions. They visited her mind, filled her eyes, sometimes invited, sometimes not, but always more vividly than shed expected.

Adele is blessed with an imagination that would rival Dantes, her father had remarked many times. Shell be a great artist.

Shes empty-headed this from her mother. Any absurd idea can fly in there and find a home. She should live in the real world. And on the tip of Madame Georges tongue, And so should you.

During the first weeks of the Occupation this hand story had swept the country but it had turned out not to be true. The Germans were not cutting off the hands of hundreds of young men to make a future resistance impossible. Nevertheless darkness had come to France the year before, and death, and mind-numbing fear.

Adele walked on toward the Domestic Population Bureau of Information and took her place at the end of a long queue. The line shuffled slowly and silently ahead. Finally she reached the open door. Rising up on her toes, she could see a Wehrmacht officer in his field-green uniform talking to an old lady. She wondered if he was wearing one of her trousers. She thought it was quite possible, because thats what she did every night now, sit in a long dimly lit room in the middle of a row of rough women and sew seams on an endless procession of Wehrmacht pants.

The queue divided into two beyond the doorway, the right tributary heading off toward another officer. Unlike the Wehrmacht man, this one was sitting rigidly at his desk, his eyes fixed on a tall, frail-looking individual who was standing in front of him kneading his cap in his hands. His uniform was black.

Adeles body went rigid.

Just that morning, Ren had screamed at her not to go to the Domestic Population Bureau of Information.

Its a Wehrmacht office, shed stubbornly yelled back. They dont know anything! Besides, I have to!

Adele aimed herself at the tributary to the left. After another half-hour of shuffling, she sat down and asked her question.

Perhaps your father is dead, the middle-aged officer replied in a reasonable tone. So many soldiers couldnt be identified.

Yes. Adele was trying to keep her voice low without whispering, so that the young SS officer sitting only twenty feet away wouldnt overhear, but wouldnt become suspicious either. But my father wasnt a soldier. He was a doctor. He was serving in the medical corps.

The man smiled sadly at the naivet of this remark, particularly coming from such a diminutive and sweet-looking girl. It was all Adele could do not to spit in his face. She hated him, she hated every German on the face of the earth. She kept her expression set and blank.

How old are you, dear? he asked in his raspy French.

Sixteen.

In time of war, front lines collapse back on themselves, even safe positions can be over-run. Bombs fall, shells explode. You say your father was stationed near Arras?

He was still speaking kindly enough. Tears, unplanned for and unwanted, burned in Adeles eyes. Thats the last we heard from him.

The officer reached for a cigarette and lit it. Very high casualties there. And it wasnt until after the Armistice was signed that we allowed French authorities on to the battlefields. Many weeks under a very hot sun, a hundred thousand French soldiers strewn everywhere. Very difficult to identify.

We have heard that a million of our soldiers were taken prisoner and transported. We think our father is in your country.

They felt the SS officers eyes fall on them at the same moment. The older man shifted in his chair. Why havent you made inquiries to your own authorities? he said more sharply.

Adele leaned forwardthere was no stopping now. We have. Every week for months but they have no information about prisoners in Germany. They said we should come here.

Adele could see the young man rising like a black cloud in the corner of her eye.

May I ask this young lady a question? He had excellent French.

Certainly, Captain.

Adele looked up.

The young mans pale eyes were fixed on hers. Tell me, why did you wait so long to make this inquiry?

We were waiting for our father to return home. We hoped hed just been wounded.

How long did you wait? Two months? Four?

He sat down on the corner of the desk. His black pants, flaring out at the thighs, were tucked neatly inside the tops of his gleaming boots. Adele tried to concentrate on the seams.

We made repeated inquiries, we went to our town hall, we wrote to hospitals, to the special centres of information in Paris. No ones lists are complete. They always say we have to wait for more information to come in.

So you find no information from French sources, but you hope for the best, that your father has been transported to Germany. And now, almost a year later, you come here to inquire if this is indeed true. I ask you again, what took you so long?

We were told complete lists of prisoners would be made available to our officials, but to this day they have not been made available. We waited and prayed.

The young SS captain stared at her in silence.

Adele examined her bruised hands and broken fingernails.

What is your fathers name?

Henri Paul-Louis Georges.

What was his occupation?

She says he was a medical doctor. The Wehrmacht officer answered for her.

It is always of interest when people seem slow to bring a name to our attention, particularly in a matter that seems so routine. We have to wonder why. But we have your fathers name now. Thank you.

Adele nodded, got up and walked out of the Domestic Population Bureau of Information. She couldnt feel her legs.

Ren was waiting for her, sitting at the kitchen table smoking one of his black-market Turkish cigarettes. His dark hair was uncut and wild-looking, his fingernails were black with grease, and he was trying to grow a beard. He glared at Adele through a cloud of blue smoke when she opened the back door.

Ren was older than Adele by only thirteen months but already her head barely reached his shoulder. For some infuriating reason her body was refusing to grow at an acceptable rate. Her hair was black and thick and wild about her head. They both had prominent eyebrows, high cheekbones, and the same dark eyes, though Adeles eyes were larger and more luminous and projected an appealing vulnerability. With no effort at all they seemed to be able to draw all kinds of people to her. Adele and Ren had been in a heightened state of competition all their lives, whether it was to demonstrate who could balance a spoon on the end of their nose the longest, who could make the funniest remarks at the dinner table or who could deliver to their father the most impressive school report. After the first few grades, Adele wasnt really in the running when it came to school.