The Blessing

We have to go back to the priest's house to return the books we've borrowed.

The door is opened by an old woman again. She lets us in and says:

"Father is expecting you."

The priest says:

"Sit down."

We put the books on his desk. We sit down.

The priest looks at us for a moment, then says:

"I've been waiting for you. You haven't come for a long time."

We say:

"We wanted to finish the books. And we've been very busy."

"And what about your bath?"

"We have all we need to wash ourselves now. We bought a tub, soap, scissors, and toothbrushes."

"With what? Where did you get the money?"

"With the money we earn playing music in the cafés."

"The cafés are places of perdition. Especially at your age."

We don't answer. He says:

"You haven't been for the blind woman's money either. It amounts to a considerable sum now. Take it."

He hands us the money. We say:

"Keep it. You have given enough. We took your money when it was absolutely necessary. Now we earn enough money to give some to Harelip. We have also taught her to work. We have helped her dig her garden and plant potatoes, beans, squash, and tomatoes. We have given her chicks and rabbits to raise. She looks after her garden and her animals. She doesn't beg anymore. She doesn't need your money anymore."

The priest says:

"Then take this money for yourselves. That way you will not have to work in the cafés."

"We like working in the cafés."

He says:

"I heard you were beaten and tortured."

We ask:

"What happened to your housekeeper?"

"She went to the front to care for the wounded. She died."

We say nothing. He asks:

"Would you like to confide in me? I am sworn to keep the secrets of the confessional. You have nothing to fear. You can confess."

We say:

"We have nothing to confess."

"You are wrong. Such a crime is very hard to bear. Confession will relieve you. God forgives all those who are sincerely sorry for their sins."

We say:

"We are sorry for nothing. We have nothing to be sorry for."

After a long silence, he says:

"I saw it all through the window. The piece of bread… But vengeance belongs to God. You have no right to do His work for Him."

We say nothing. He asks:

"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.