THE URN
Chapter 13
April 24, 1942
Written and illustrated
By Elaine Troisi
Max stumbled into the Resistance HQ, exhausted after delivering the Steins to safety. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and cigarette smoke. His stomach growled, protesting the hours since his last meal. The throbbing headache from the bullet graze only added to his misery. He slumped onto a bench, the wooden slats creaking beneath him.
"What’s going on?" he asked, his voice hoarse from thirst. The room fell silent, except for the soft clinking of cups and murmured conversations. His friend Colette turned toward him, a faint smile on her face. "Max, you look like you've been in a war!" The group erupted into laughter, but it was short-lived.
Max's gaze swept the room, his eyes locking onto the coded messages scattered across the table. "Something’s up. I can feel it in the air. Clue me in," he said, stifling a yawn. Someone placed a steaming cup of real coffee in his hands, the aroma momentarily lifting his spirits.
-
Colette leaned in again, her voice low. "We have news, big news." The room's chatter died down, and all eyes turned to Jean Moulin, chosen by General de Gaulle to unite the Resistance. He stood at the head of the table. Max's gaze followed, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
Jean's eyes scanned the room before settling on Max. "Your mission is vital to us, Max. We now have confirmation of Hitler's next plan for Paris." The room seemed to shrink, the weight of Jean's words settling like a physical presence. "First, they take away our freedoms. Then they try to starve us. Now it’s the arm bands forced on Jews." Jean's voice was steady, but his grip on the table's edge betrayed his emotions.
The air seemed to vibrate with tension as Jean paused, his gaze locking onto Max's. "In July, Hitler wants the Gestapo, with the help of the police, to round up every single Jew in the city.” The words hung in the air like a challenge.
Max felt the room spinning, his mind reeling with the implications. He thought of his mother, Hannah, and baby Rachel, his heart racing with fear. Tears stung his eyes as he struggled to find his voice. "So, what do you want me to do, Sir?" he managed, his words barely above a whisper.
Jean's expression softened, and he placed a firm hand on Max's shoulder. "You and Jacob must get the word out. Some of us will hide Jewish families or get them out of the city. Others wil take more …um … drastic measures." He glanced around the room, his eyes meeting those of the silent band of brave men and women. "We'll need every able body. We'll work tirelessly, using every resource at our disposal."
As Jean's words trailed off, the room seemed to shift, the atmosphere transforming from one of fear to determination. The members exchanged glances, their faces set with resolve. Jean stood, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "Gentlemen, let’s get to work. We have a city to save."
-
Everyone stood and
cheered, each excited to fulfill the goals spelled out by Jean Moulin. Save their city! Protect the Jews. In just three months’ time. Daunting was the only word to describe the task. Or impossible. The talk went on for another hour. Finally, Max made his farewells to his comrades and left, a little deflated as the adrenaline wore off and reality took its place.
It was afternoon when Max climbed from the musty air of the tunnels into the fr sh air of a sunlit day. He knew how to the Gestapo checkpoints. But avoiding the police ... that was another matter. He swore they could smell Jews!
-
During the last two miles of his journey, he began planning how his family and Jacob’s family could evade capture during the coming roundup. The Gestapo knew where the Jews lived, especially the homes of once-prominent Jews like his father. He shuddered, not because of the sudden chill in the air, but because of nagging worries.
M
-
He arrived home, two days late, and was enveloped in a whirlwind of tears, hugs, and stories. The familiar scent of bread wafting from the oven and the sizzle of latkes on the stovetop transported him back to a sense of normalcy. His mother, Golde, smiled warmly as she handed him a plate piled high with his favorite food. Rachel made tea, and they sat together at the worn wooden table, the warmth of the moment a fleeting respite from the darkness of their world.
Rachel's eyes searched his face as she asked, "Any word on our parents?" He shook his head, the familiar ache of uncertainty settling in. He decided to spare them the news of the roundup for another day, choosing instead to savor the fragile peace that had settled over their little family. He needed to sleep, and he did, for two long days.
The muffled voices and shuffling outside his room brought him instantly alert. He leapt from bed, his heart racing, but the scent of roses wafting into the room calmed him. His mother, Golde, stood in the doorway, a gentle smile on her face.
"Shalom, mein boychik," she said softly, her arms open wide. "You slept so long, we worried." She wrapped him in a tight hug, holding him close. "Are you well?"
"I've brought news, Mama," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Gather the family. It's crucial we talk."
The family assembled in the parlor; their faces etched with concern. Max took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully as he recounted the events of the imminent roundup. The air grew thick with fear, the silence punctuated only by the sound of Hannah's quiet sobs and the baby's fretful wails. Jacob took the baby from Hannah, his face set in a grim mask. Max's anger simmered just below the surface, his jaw clenched in restraint.
Golde stood, her eyes blazing with determination. She slammed her fist on the table, the sound making them all jump. Then she drew a deep breath, her shoulders squaring. "We've known this was coming," she said, her voice low and steady. "We've seen the signs – the rationing, the disappearances, the whispered warnings. We've tried to ignore it, to pretend it's not happening, but we can't anymore." She sat down, her eyes never leaving Max's face. "What do we do now?"
Lexicon
mein boychik :
my boy, or my little boy
Note:
This is a fictional story of the Holocaust in Paris. As such I intermix real characters, places, and events, though they are fictionalized to advance the narrative.
For example, in Chapter 12, Max leads the Steins to jusf south of the city to Chambon-Sur-Lignon , a real town that was a haven for fleeing Jews. However, it was not on the outskirts of Paris; in reality, it was 350 miles south of Paris!
In this chapter, I mention a true hero of the Resistance, Jean Moulin. He was captured, tortured, and murdered by the infamous Gestapo leader, Klaus Barbie in July 1943.
Please let me know if you are enjoying the story and my art. I may need t be a Louise Penny, but my writing exceeds my skills as an artist! Forgive me if I disappoint! Reach out! Im listening!
etlainie92@gmail.com
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