Jackie's+Novella+(untitled)

Annette Devaux looked nothing like I had predicted. When I had called Annette the previous week to schedule the interview, I had heard a strong and powerful voice with a thick French accent through the receiver. So, when I arrived at her house for the interview and saw a meek little old lady in her late eighties open the door for her, I was shocked.

"Nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Devaux," I said as she shook Annette's old and crippled hand.

"It's Miss Devaux, actually."

"Forgive me."

"No need to. Here, have a seat at the table and let's get this thing over with," She wobbled over to the table and slowly set herself down into a chair. "Who did you say you wrote for again? I don't want to be written about in one of those silly tabloids about beach bodies."

"No, no," I said, not fully certain whether or not she was joking. "You won't be. I'm writing a book actually."

"About little old ladies who live in one bedroom apartments in Paris? That sounds terrible, I'd almost rather you wrote about my beach body..."

"No, no, no. I'm writing about Paris during World War Two- primarily about the Jews here. And I was told that you have some stories that could help me."

Annette remained expressionless. "I'm afraid you've been mistaken. So if you don't mind, I have some laundry that I-"

"Please, Miss Devaux."

"You've come to the wrong-"

"No, you're perfect. You're exactly what I need. Haven't you always wanted to tell someone your story?"

"I'm not about to let some bogus reporter-"

"I'm not a reporter."

"Then what the hell are you?"

I was silent for a moment, wondering why I thought this interview would be so easy. "I'm a curious writer. That's all. I never want to write about an event without two different outlooks on it... So, I need your side of the story. Please, for the sake of the truth."

Annette was silent for a long moment and just stared at the top of the table in exhausted frustration. "Well then. Where should I begin?"

---

Seth couldn’t fall asleep on the night of May 28, 1940. He bitterly rolled over onto his left side, then onto his stomach, but again, his eyes had to force themselves to close. So at last, he switched on his lamp and swung his legs off the bed.

He checked his watch. It was twelve minutes past two in the morning. He had to leave in an hour. Standing up, he walked to his wardrobe. He pulled out his leather suitcase and began flopping clothes into it, not bothering to fold them. When his suits, shirts, pants, and undergarments were all secured tightly on one side, he looked around his room for other things to pack.

“You’ll only need the bare minimums. Pack some clothing, of course, but only a few books. There will be plenty of libraries in Paris, don’t you worry,” Seth’s father, Albert, had told him the day before.

Seth had laughed indignantly. “But only French books.”

But as he now looked over his thorough collection of hardcovers, Seth took his father’s advice. He stooped over, picked up only one from the group, and placed it deep beneath his clothing already packed.

Seth straightened up, eyeing his suitcase distastefully. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, sliding one out and wedging it between his pursed lips. He lit it.

“Done packing?”

Seth turned around to see his father leaning under the low doorway.

“Just about.” He looked over the bleak bedroom that he had lived in for his whole life. The ceiling and walls were in serious need of new paint, for the off white layers had been pealing off of it ever since he could remember. His narrow cot lay in the middle of the room, with books and magazines piled up on either side of it. Books he had treasured for years, he was now probably never going to see again. He turned back to face his father.

“Take these,” Albert said, placing two loafs of bread into Seth’s suitcase. Then he handed him a lightweight wallet. “Inside this is everything you’ll need to get there. Money for your train ticket in Frankfurt, a passport under the name of Seth Devaux, and the address of their apartment in Paris.” Albert spoke painfully slowly. “All evidence of your German existance and all evidence of the fact that Albert Eidelberg has a son is being destroyed is being destroyed as we speak. But, be careful.”

For the rest of Seth’s life, he’ll regret this moment. Had he known that this would be the last time he’ll ever see his father, he might have done something more. For years to come, Seth fantasized about how he should have spent that moment. He would see himself hugging him tightly, holding him, telling him what a wonderful father he was.

But in reality, Seth had silently zipped up his suitcase, stuffed the wallet into his pocket, thrown his cigarette butt onto the floor, and left- without looking back.

Annette Devaux and her roommate Sinclaire Rue sat together on a window seat, looking down on the streets of Toulouse, France. It was early in the morning, and light flooded their shared bedroom at the Le Lycée Norte Dame pour Filles.

“I’ll miss it here,” Sinclaire said. She spoke in a high-pitched monotone.

“I suppose I’ll miss the warm weather,” Annette said, crossing the room to her bureau, “but this summer will be nice without the dictatorship of Madam Herriot.” Madam Herriot taught German at the boarding school, but additionally took it upon herself to make sure all the girls went to bed before ten every evening.

In truth though, Annette had fallen in love with Toulouse and this boarding school, she just couldn't bring herself to agree with Sinclaire on anything. Annette hated sharing a room with her, and ached for some space to herself. Thankfully, being the only child in a capacious apartment in Paris, she’ll have all the space she’ll ever need upon her return. Sinclaire, whom Annette had originally liked enormously, had revealed herself to be over-talkative and incorrigibly boring. At this point in the school year, Annette couldn’t stand seeing her horse face every morning, evening, and night. Unfortunately, Sinclaire’s family also lived in Paris, so Annette would have to survive the nine hour train ride with her back.

<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Annette went to her own bureau, and continued packing everything up. Her satin dresses, lace dresses, stockings, countless pairs of Mary-Jane shoes, winter booties, chapeaus, umbrellas and jewelry all neatly found their way into her many bags. Then she had an additional bag for her sketches and untouched poetry books.

<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">However cramped their room was together, Annette couldn’t deny that it was a beautiful space. The ceiling was ornately trimmed with light pink and gold paint, and the walls were adorned with the latest styles of art. In the corner there was a fireplace that became Annette’s best friend in the colder months. But now, the leaves had fully returned and the sun hung brightly in the sky; summer was coming head on. It was time to pack up and return to Paris.

<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Offizere Leon Neumann was famished. He stared out the window of the train as the French hills rolled by. Although he had gotten enough sleep, his head ached with exhaustion. And although his stomach was nourished and full, he felt weak with malnourishment. It was a tired that couldn’t be cured with sleep, and it was a hunger that food could never satisfy. He placed his palm on the window and felt the warmth of the sun against the glass. Thank god summer was finally on him. After such a treacherous and harshly cold winter he couldn’t ask for more. These past few years had made him much older than his thirty-seven years.

<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The train was fairly empty. Although he had walked past several empty compartments, he couldn't bring himself to be alone. To the annoyance of a young man alone in a compartment, Neumann slid open it’s door. "Guten tag, Offizere," the young man said quietly, not making eye contact. He was traveling lightly with only a small leather suitcase leaning against his chest. For such a young man, his piercing green eyes looked remarkably tired. He had long light brown curls in a tangled mess on his head. Neumann looked upon this untidy youth disdainfully.

"Leon Neumann," the he said, extending his hand to the young man.

"Seth. Seth Devaux," the boy responded stiffly. Neumann sensed a tremble in his otherwise firm handshake.

"So, what business have you in Paris?"

"Family."

"You sound perfectly German to me."

"Well I am," Devaux said quickly with an undertone of desperation. Neumann couldn't discern whether Devaux was conjuring up a lie or feeling emotional. "I'm part German," he paused, "my mother raised me in Frankfurt."

"I thought you said that you have family in Paris."

"That wasn't a lie! See.... my mother died from influenza last week. I'm going to live with my French uncle in Paris."

There was an awkward pause as Neumann tried to give the young man a sympathetic look. However, he quickly gave up, and took out some work. His interrogation had come to an end. Sympathy didn't come naturally to Neumann. All his life he had felt obligated to pretend to care about other people's emotions, until his recruitment to the SS where he quickly learned that this was where his apathy was encouraged. As a child, he had always been the odd one out. Not only was he not interested in making friends, but while the other kids would be playing on swings, he would sit in the corner constructing sling-shots.

Neumann looked down at his work. On it was a list of runaway Jews, assumed to be in France. He was the official SS detective of the collectivization and redistribution of Jews in France. He hunted them. To him, this was the best job he could ever imagine having. It was hide-and-go-seek. Except he was always the seeker.

Sinclaire wouldn't stop talking. After an entire school year together, you'd think that she would have run out of things to tell Annette, but no. Sinclaire energetically rambled on and on about boys, fashion, and, for the billionth time, her great grandmother who used to be a prostitute. This officially became the longest train ride of Annette's life. The nine hours were beginning to feel like a lifetime.

"You would never suspect it, would you? With a family as respectable as my own, you would never think it! It's all she ever talks about though. Telling us stories about her various suitors. It's absolutely unchristian. I'm ashamed to even share the same last name with her. But of course, my mother makes us go visit her for dinner once or twice a year. Can you imagine that? A good girl like me sitting across the table from an old lady as disgusting as that? It's disgraceful, don't you think, Annette?

Annette stared at her pen, contemplating all the ways she could kill Sinclaire with it.

"I said, don't you think, Annette?"

"Simply terrible."

"I'd say, I can't wait to get home. I've been meaning to buy some new dresses..."

The rest of what Sinclaire was saying blurred out of focus in Annette's head as her mind drifted off. She stared out the window at the expansive farm fields. She imagined herself running through them in the golden sunlight, perhaps with a boy following closely behind. She had never had a boyfriend before. Sinclaire, however, could never stop talking about all the boys who have fallen in love with her.

When Annette was little, a young boy lived across the street from her with the prettiest eyes she had ever seen before. She made it her goal to get his attention everyday. She would wear beautiful clothing and dance in front of him. But he never paid her any attention. When she would try to speak to him, he would run off with his friends. But one day, in desperation to catch his eye, she began a different approach. She threw a stone at him, and told him how ugly he was. Well, this got his attention. He turned towards her and pinched her hard in the arm. Annette could only assume that that was a pinch of love. She looked upon the bruise he gave her with pride.

The train began passing town after town, each one growing in size. To Annette's enormous pleasure, they were almost in Paris. She looked out the window eagerly to start seeing some familiar sites.

Seth's train rolled to a stop at the Gare du Nord. He couldn't believe his luck as he said farewell to the Nazi who shared his compartment. After just barely escaping through the streets of Frankfurt and just barely being able to board the train, it was just his luck to have a Nazi sit three feet away from him for a total of seven hours. Seth, in a panic, piled lie after lie up, almost hopeless that the Nazi would ever believe them. To his enormous relief, the Nazi gave up on his interrogation quickly and went on to snore loudly for the rest of the ride.

Apart from having to listen to snoring for that long, Seth couldn't believe his luck. He hopped off the train quickly, elatedly, and looked around himself. He couldn't tare the stupid grin off his face as he walked briskly through the humungous train station around him. Finding an exit, he walked into the street.

Having had lived in the mechanical Nazi controlled Frankfurt for his entire life, Paris was the most beautiful place Seth had ever seen. The air felt lighter and flowers were on every lamppost instead of swastikas. Walls were covered with art as opposed to propaganda. For the first time in his life, Seth felt like he wasn't the scum of society. And for the first time in a very long time, Seth could walk around without the Star of David sewed to his shirt.

Eager to try out the French his father had taught him, he seated himself at a sidewalk restaurant. The waiter came up to him, and politely asked for his order.

"Un café au lait, s'il vous plaît," he said hesitantly. He noticed the waiter smile at his accent as he nodded and walked away.

Paris was everything he had ever imagined it to be. On this warm spring morning, the streets were flooded with people. They weren't hurrying to work the way most people in Frankfurt were, but they were just walking around peacefully, enjoying the day as much as he was. The waiter came back with the coffee. So there Seth sat, sipping his coffee, enjoying utter freedom.

When he was a little boy, he never understood why his people were so hated. On Seth's seventh birthday, his father took him out for dinner. Seth firmly held onto his father's hand as they walked down the street. Back then, birthdays were everything. Back then, they were the only days when Seth's father would pick himself up from the bar stool. However, on that night, as turning into a lively restaurant, a burly man in a business suit put his hand on Seth's father's shoulder, turning him around.

"You're not allowed in places like this."

My father sneered, and questioningly pointed to the star on his jacket. "Oh right, I forgot that I was the enemy."

Then, without a second thought, the man threw my father onto the ground before entering the restaurant's doors. And to make matters worse, as Seth's father lay moaning there, an old woman spat on him in dismay. Once Seth's father managed to pick himself up, he took Seth back home for a effortless dinner of butter on bread.

But the damage had been done-Seth was traumatized. His role model, his idol, and his support in live had been publicly humiliated. Seth discovered in that night how powerless he was. Not even his father could walk through the streets without being shunned. So what did that make Seth? An animal at the very bottom of the food chain? The scum of society?

Sipping on his coffee, Seth's reverie was broken at the sight of a French policeman crossing the street- scanning the crowd through narrowed eyes. Although Seth no longer wore a star on his clothing, he all of a sudden became extremely self conscious of his Jew nose. He picked up a menu and held it in front of his face. Seth knew that this French policeman had no interest in the collectivization of Jews, he wasn't going to take any risks. Not bothering to leave any money on the table, Seth bolted from his sidewalk table and submerged himself in a sea of smiling tourists.

Once safe away from the policeman, Seth pulled out his address book holding the address to the Devaux's apartment. 34 Rue de Rennes, Apartment 5, 6th Arrondissment. After asking a stranger for directions, he learned that it was about an hour's walk away. "But," the stranger had said, "what better way to discover Paris than by foot!"

"I'm home!" Annette flopped one of her suitcases down on the ground dramatically as two ushers followed her with the rest of her luggage. She took of her cap, placing it in its usual spot on the mantel piece.

While taking off her coat, out of the corner of her eye she saw her father. "Papa!" she shouted, running into his arms. Behind him in the kitchen her mother approached smiling.

"Welcome home, mon chéri ," her mother said, waiting her turn for a hug.

It felt strange to be in her parents' arms again. It's as if they didn't notice how mature and independent she had grown, they thought that she still needed their enduring attention and love. As if, she thought to herself, as she let go of her mother. She turned towards a mirror slightly, and tucked a blond curl behind her ear.

"Well, if no one minds, I think I'll take a nap now," she said, swaying towards her bedroom. "I'll tell you all about my adventures in the morn-"

"Actually, Annette, we have something important to discuss with you," her father said sullenly.

She froze in her step, and turned to face them. "Well? What is it?"

Her father turned to the ushers and tipped them generously, then gestured for their departure. They left the room silently. Then he turned back to Annette, "I think you'd better come into the kitchen."

Out of curiosity rather than obedience, Annette followed her parents into the kitchen. And there, in the seat she always used to eat breakfast in, sat a olive-skinned young man with heavy eyebrows and light green eyes. He thought a lot of himself- that was for sure. He sat with a statue of self importance, as if his shabby clothing was a uniform of rank. He looked her up and down carefully as he brought a cigarette to his lips, exhaling the smoke through his nose. He was a work of art.

"This," her mother said, putting a loving hand on the stranger's shoulder, "is Seth. He's from Frankfurt."

"And what is he doing here?"

"Annette, remember your manners," her father said quickly, as if this was an inveterate thing to say to her.

Seth took his cigarette away from his lips and pressed it down onto the side of his plate. "Your parents are trying to save my life," he said simply, not taking his vigilant eyes off of her. His French was laced with a brutal German accent, but he spoke very well. Annette wondered where he learned to speak French so well.

"Seth just needs a place to lay low outside of Germany," her mother said.

"Why? Are you a criminal or something?"

"Annette, remember your manners," her father repeated.

"Kind of," Seth said, placing his hand under his chin, studying her. She searched his expression of a spark of attraction.

"What do you mean?"

"Well all Jews in Germany are being treated as if they were criminals. So, yes, I suppose you could call me a criminal."

"So you're a Jew?"

Seth didn't respond, not taking his interrogative eyes off of her. He was testing her response, she was sure of it. She played into his game of silence until her mother broke it.

"Yes, Seth is Jewish. And as Christians, it's our duty to help-"

"You see, Annette," her father interrupted, leaning over the kitchen table towards her. "I went to the university with Seth's father, Albert. Good man- smart as hell. But anyway, out of the blue he sent me a letter last month. He told me precisely how terrible things had been going, and his final request was for his son to live a safe distance away from Nazis. So, without a second thought, I agreed to take little Sethy in."

Seth smiled warily.

"So, let me get this straight," Annette said unsteadily, trying to maintain her composure. She could literally feel her knees begin to weaken. "You're going to be living with us?"

"Not only living with us," her mother said, "but he's going to become one of us. We're going to pretend that he is your cousin from Germany."

"And according to this string of lies, why would //he// be living with us?"

"Because my mother died from influenza, leaving me an orphan," Seth said.

There was silence as Annette tried to discern whether this was the truth.

Seth read her silence correctly. "Just ask, Annette."

Flustered, she asked, "Are you actually an orphan?"

He smiled as if this were all some sort of sick joke. "It's true that my mother died of influenza, but that happened a few months before my seventh birthday- over ten years ago."

"Oh."

The following silence made Annette feel squeamish, and she dared not return Seth's gaze this time. Excusing herself, she left the table and walked into her bedroom. Tentatively, she closed the door behind her.

For months, she had been looking forward to having her own room returned to her. She had anticipated being able to sit on her window seat without any one else around. But as she raised her eyes on her room, she realized that this wasn't going to happen.

The ushers hadn't brought her suitcases into the room, but instead, there was a shabby leather one laying on top of her bed. And instead of the her room appearing clean and unused, her bed wasn't properly made, there were male clothing articles thrown onto her desk, and a strange and unfamiliar black German novel laying on her silky white pillow.

Annette screamed.

Seth couldn't have been happier with Mr. and Mrs. Devaux. When he arrived at their doorstep after his hour walk through the streets of Paris, the treated him as an old friend. Mrs. Devaux pulled him inside and gave him a welcoming hug. Mr. Devaux clapped him on the back, and told him how much he looked like his father.

Their apartment was huge. The living room itself was the size of his whole apartment back in Frankfurt. The ceilings were high, with the walls painted a light shade of yellow. The chairs and couches were made of a silky blue material, accented with small white ribbons. The most remarkable aspect of the place for Seth was its lighting. Every room had several windows, most of which faced south, allowing the light to flood directly into their kitchen and living room.

Mrs. Devaux showed him to his bedroom. Even with a king size bed in the center, the room was spacious. It had three tall windows facing East, covered by translucent curtains. "I'll allow you some time to unpack and wash up," she said contently, "you've traveled a lot today." With that, she shut the door behind her.

On the opposite wall of the windows was a full-length mirror. Seth approached it hesitantly. What he saw in it was out of place in this room. He saw a disgruntled teenager with a need to shave and wash his unmanageable curls. His clothes were out of place in this room. They were dark and shabby, the opposite of Paris's dignified energy sunlight. He didn't belong here, he couldn't deny that.

He threw his suitcase onto the bed, unzipping it. He looked through the few clothes he had packed. None of them could be called dignified and sunny. Shit.

He tossed aside shirt after shirt onto the room's desk- shirts he needed to throw away. If he was to blend in to the crowd in Paris, looking like a shabby German Jew from the ghetto would not help. After he was done sorting through his clothing, he looked down at the only book he packed. Lovingly, he picked it up, stroking its spine. After a moment, he placed it down on a pillow.

He returned to the mirror with a comb and unsuccessfully tried to smooth back his curls. He spat on the comb and tried again, this time almost succeeding. But that was as good as it was going to get. He left his room and walked into the kitchen to find Mr. and Mrs. Devaux waiting for him there with a tray of bread and cheese.

Together, they all sat in the kitchen chatting cheerfully. When Seth was full from bread and cheese, Mrs. Devaux brought him some coffee. Soon, the conversation came to a lull, and Mr. Devaux straightened up in his seat. "Seth, m'boy, there is something you should be warned about-"

"We have a daughter," Mrs. Devaux interrupted, "her name is Annette."

"She will be returning from school this evening," Mr. Devaux added cautiously, keeping an eye on Seth over his coffee cup.

"But you see, Seth," Mrs. Devaux said, "she doesn't know that you're going to be staying with us, because we couldn't possibly have risked sending her mail about it. And she might not take this well."

Seth took a sip of coffee. He had dealt with girls who were brats before. In fact, he had a righteous brat as a girlfriend the year before. Honestly, the idea exhausted him. Not only would he have to deal with living in a life of lies, but he would have to deal with a little girl who would be annoyed that he is taking away some of her parents' attention. "That's fine, I'm sure she'll be a delight," he said.

"Good," Mrs. Devaux said, pulling her chair closer to his and putting her arm around his shoulder. This sort of intimacy with people he had just met made him uncomfortable. Seth balled his fingers up on his lap.

That's when their front door opened with a screech. All three of them were on their feet quickly.

"I'm home!" came a strong yet feminine voice from the other room, followed by the sound of the door closing.

The three of them looked at each other nervously. "Seth," Mr. Devaux whispered, "stay here for a moment." With that, he walked out of the kitchen towards his daughter.

The moment Seth laid eyes on Annette he didn't like her. She held her pompous chin high in the air as she entered the room, looking on him as a distasteful surprise. As she interrogated her parents about why he was here, he watched the way she spoke and moved. For a girl of such a slight frame she held herself up strongly. She had short dark brown hair cut short above her neck, and she wore a expensive frock as if it were not any more important than a heap of rags. She had big, round eyes the color of chocolate and a thin mouth that looked as if it were perpetually frozen in a scowl.

As the conversation continued it became increasingly obvious that she held antisemitic views. Seth couldn't help assume that this came as a result of her pretentious Catholic boarding school. He watched her carefully in an unfazed expression, studying the only apparent blockade from him having a good life in Paris. He noticed her cheeks redden under his gaze, and as soon as she lost sight of what to say, she excused herself and dashed over dramatically to her room.

"Sorry about her," Mr. Devaux said soberly. "I don't know what's got into her."

"Little Annette just doesn't deal well with change," Mrs. Devaux said reassuringly. "She'll get better, she always does."

A moment later they heard her let off a scream of frustration.

Mr. Devaux sighed and turned to his wife and asked, "Did we forget to tell her that we're giving her room to Seth?"

Seth studied the embers at the end of his cigarette as he lay in bed that evening. They had an interesting way of brightening when he inhaled, then returning to their usual dullness as he took it away from his mouth. His father, who once was a doctor, used to tell him what a disgusting habit smoking was. After Seth's first real fight with him at age thirteen, he lit a cigarette in front of his father's face and stalked out of the house. Now, as Seth lay in this unfamiliar bed in Paris, he couldn't remember what that argument was over. But as he watched the smoke leave his mouth, he waited for his father's lecture about it. The lecture that he had heard so often. Whenever Seth would lit up in front of him, he'd hear the same thing: "As your father, I obviously can't control your actions, but don't come running to me when you have blackened lungs and difficulty running away from the SS. So by all means, finish that cigarette, no one is stopping you."

Disheartened by the reminder of how far away his father was, Seth pressed out his cigarette on the ashtray beside his bed. He lay in silence afterwards, waiting for sleep.

As soon as his eyes had sealed themselves shut, he heard a knocking on his door.

Disgruntled, he pulled himself out of bed and stumbled to the door, pulling it open to find Annette.

"Can I help you?" he asked apathetically.

"Can we talk?" she asked, walking into his room.

Seth murmured something unintelligible as he followed her in, shutting the door softly behind him.

"It's just..." she began tentatively, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "I'd like to discuss the matter of rooming with you."

"What about it?" Seth asked, crossing the room in order to get as far away as possible from her.

"So, my parents seemed to feel that it would be polite to give you my room instead of the guest room," she said, speaking in a strained voice as if trying desperately to hide her anger. "The guest room is far less nice than my room, but seeing that it is called the 'guest'" room-"

"What do you mean?" Seth asked, know exactly what she meant.

"No decisions need to be made now, but soon it would be be best for us to switch."

"Annette, this is what you woke me up to talk about?"

She looked down, flirtatiously biting her lip. "I thought you wouldn't mind.."

"You thought wrong. I'll see you in the morning." He held out his hand, motioning to the door.

She was shocked. She stood up, not knowing what else to do and walked to the door. Before she shut it behind her, she turned back to face him. "Why are you being so rude?"

Seth, in frustration, groaned. "I'm not being rude, I'm just tired."

"Fine."

"//Fine//."

With that, she shut the door forcefully, making the paintings on the wall tremble.

Annette couldn't believe how unreasonable he was being. Her family was giving him a roof over his head and this was how he was treating her? He has some nerve. Maybe all Germans are like this- rude and self-absorbed. But she couldn't help but like that about him. From the moment she first met Seth, she couldn't stop thinking about him. His gaze had something special about it- like he was full of mysteries. Even now, after he had been so rude to her, she couldn't get him off her mind. She thought about the way his curls lay in a tangled mess on the top of his head. Even when he was staring at her with anger and frustration, she couldn't help but deny how beautiful his smoldering eyes were.

Disheartened, Annette realized that she was going no where with him. So far, he was only treating her like a misbehaving sister. But from experience, Annette had learned that the best way to get a guy's attention is through annoyance. To her, there was no difference between sexual tension and infuriated silence.

Suddenly, something in Annette's mind clicked. If she continues to grow as Seth's enemy, in only a few months he won't be able to resist her. She could see it now- she'll attempt to get him kicked out, and once she succeeds, he'd come crawling back to her, confessing how much he adores her. Then she'd place a hand on his shoulder and tell him that she's known all along.

"I loved you from the first moment I saw you," he would say, not taking his strong green eyes off of her.

"You didn't hide it very well, did you?"

Then he would lean in for their first kiss. His soft lips would gently caress her's, as his hands found their way into her hair. Perhaps, Seth and Annette would even go find a private room together.

Annette smiled as she returned to the guest room, closing the door behind her. She jumped into her bed, hugging a pillow. She couldn't wait for Operation Kick-Out Seth to begin.



Mr. Devaux woke up with a smile. Early morning light was pouring into the room, putting everything into a beautiful golden-tint. His wife, who lay beside him, slept soundly. This flattered at her, making her almost appear as she did when they first got married. But no matter how much she ages, she still continues to be out of his league. Overwhelmed by a rush of gratitude, he kissed her on the lips cheerfully. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. A moment later, her eyes closed again and she fell back asleep.

After getting dressed and shaving, Mr. Devaux pranced into his kitchen and began dialing a number on his new telephone.

"Yes, yes, hello? Yes... I would most like for you to come on up and cook us breakfast..... How about crepes? My nephew from Frankfurt has moved in with us and I'd like to introduce him to French cooking.... Yes, indeed, jolly good.... See you soon!"

He hung up the phone, and hurried out of his apartment to grab the daily newspaper from outside. The headline hit him:

> HITLER THREATENS PARIS

Under the headline there was a huge picture of the Fuehrer making a speech to a crowd of millions. In the article it describes a speech he made recently about German social security, highlighting on one point he made about Jews being a threat to their society. The article then went on to describe the intense militarism that Germany has been employing.

Soberly, he placed the newspaper a few feet away from him on the kitchen table. The joy he had just previously felt was a result of being able to help out his old friend Albert Eidelberg by taking in his son. Doing charity had always made Mr. Devaux feel good. But now, he was beginning to realize the weight of the situation he is in. With Germany and France on the brink of war, if Paris falls under Nazi rule and Seth gets discovered, then Mr. Devaux would have to suffer the consequences. And god knows how merciless the Nazis must be.

Seth walked into the kitchen, running his hand through his messy hair. Absentmindedly, he sat down beside Mr. Devaux and poured himself some coffee. He muffled a greeting, and reached over to the newspaper and pulled it towards him.

Mr. Devaux watched Seth uneasily as he read the headline. Not knowing what to expect, Mr. Devaux searched his mind for comforting things to say to Seth. However, Seth looked entirely unaffected as he read the article, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Just then, there was a knocking on the front door. Hurrying to get it, Mr. Devaux stumbled over Seth's feet. He opened the door to find his chef standing outside the door.

"Ah, welcome Gusteau!"

Gusteau had his usual expression of boredom as he walked into the apartment. He was a tall man in his late thirties with a heavily waxed mustache.

"So," he said, pacing the living room, "I hear that there is new meat here?"

"Ah, yes, my nephew from Germany will be living with us now."

"Is that so," Gusteau said as he walked into the kitchen to catch a glimpse of Seth. And there he sat, coffee in one hand and newspaper in another, at the kitchen table.Confused, Seth stood up to shake hands, but Gusteau turned sharply away and walked to the stove. "I am here to make you exquisite food, I am not here to be your friend," Gusteau exclaimed manically as he began pulling ingredients out of the cabinet.

Mr. Devaux pulled Seth aside and whispered, "Gusteau has been in the family for years. We accept his antics."

Seth nodded, glancing uncertainly at Gusteau.

"Today," Gusteau exclaimed, throwing ingredients onto a pan, "I shall make you crepes!"

"Seth?" Mr. Devaux said, putting a hand on Seth's shoulder. "Would you care to go for a morning walk with me?" He kept his tone light enough not to leave Gusteau curious.

"Sure."

"Be back in thirty minutes! No later or the crepes will be cold!"

"Don't worry, Gusteau. We'll be back in twenty minutes, in fact," Mr. Devaux said, winking at Seth.

Seth downed the last of his coffee, then followed Mr. Devaux out of the kitchen. Before leaving, Mr. Devaux reached into his closet and took out an old fashioned bowler hat, straightened it's rim, and put it on.

"This hat," Mr. Devaux said with a laugh as he walked out the door, "was actually your father's. His English girlfriend gave it to him at university. But naturally, after they went through a nasty break up, he wanted to throw the hat away. I could never let that happen, so I took it for myself." He smiled at the memory as they walked down the apartment staircase together.

Once on the street, Mr. Devaux's face become solemn. "Seth, there is something I need to talk to you about."

Seth stared at the cobble stoned street below his feet. Mr. Devaux could tell that this was a conversation that Seth had anticipated.

"There is the very slight chance that our countries will go to war and-"

"With all due respect, it is more than a slight change, Mr. Devaux."

They were silent for a moment as Mr. Devaux searched for words."It's just that," he said slowly. "If in the worst case, Paris becomes under the control of the Nazis, then you have to understand something. You will have to go into full hiding- not leaving the house, not even looking out the window. Do you understand? If you get discovered, then..."

"I'm away of the consequences I would face. I'm very aware, you don't have to tell me."

"No," Mr. Devaux shouted, perhaps too loudly. A few passers-by stared at him. He lowered his voice. "No, you need to keep into consideration the consequences of my entire family. We'll all become political prisoners. I need you to keep that into consideration."

Seth didn't respond, and just walked noiselessly behind him. Eventually, they finished their loop and ended back at the apartment building.

"I'm sorry," Seth said quietly before they went in.

"What for, my boy?"

"I'm sorry for putting your family in danger," Seth said in a strangled voice."I promise not to do anything stupid to additionally risk your family's safety. I mean it. I won't even go out alone. You never know what could happen if a Nazi saw me."

Mr. Devaux studied his expression. It wasn't that Seth didn't appear sincere, but there were definitely a lot of things he wasn't saying.

"Don't be sorry," Mr. Devaux said, pulling out his keys. "You had no other choice."

Mr. Devaux unlocked the door, and the two of them slipped inside to find themselves bombarded with crepes.

Annette had gone out to pick flowers from the garden beneath their apartment to put on their breakfast table. She stood staring at her options. She could either pick a lot of the geraniums or the daisies. She liked them both equally, but she obviously knew that they wouldn't sit well together. The geraniums attracted her because of from one stem, there was a whole head of flowers. It was like a bouquet on a single stem. She picked one and studied it's red petals. It held a certain intensity to it. Then there were the daisies. They were her favorite flowers as a little girl, and rightfully so. To her, they were the picture of innocence and sunshine. She picked one of those and held it next the geranium. Comparatively, it was as if she was holding an opera singer next to a choir girl.

Then she heard familiar voices from down the street. She turned and looked to see Seth and her father walking down the road, both staring at their toes. She rushed into the garden and hid beneath a bush as they approached. Soon, they were only a few feet away from her, and she peered through the bush at them. Suddenly aware of how loud her breathing was, she covered her mouth with her hand.

"I'm sorry," she heard Seth say. Or at least that's what she thought she heard. His voice was weaker than usual- it almost sounded sensitive. She studied his worried expression as he continued to speak to her father about her family's safety.

Annette had learned a little bit about Nazi Germany in boarding school. But according to her professor, they weren't much of a threat to such a strong nation as France. Germany, her history teacher had said, has been suffering from severe poverty since the Great War, and hasn't even fully recovered. That was the time when goody goody Sinclaire raised her hand to correct him. "I've read in the newspapers that Hitler has restored Germany to be even stronger than it was before the Great War," she said. The teacher had laughed at that prospect. "No, no, silly girl," he had said, "that is just the reporters trying to sell papers." Sinclaire fell silent then, disappointed that she didn't prove the teacher wrong.

"Don't be sorry," she heard her father say back. But after knowing him for fifteen years, she knew his tone. That was the tone of insincerity and worry. "You had no other choice."

She heard keys jingle, then the sound of the doors locks turning. The creaky door swung open and Seth and her father disappeared into their building.

She gathered up the flowers she had picked, and followed them into to the apartment a few minutes later. When she entered their living room, Seth walked past her into his own room, not bothering to acknowledge her presence. It was time for Operation Kick-Out-Seth to begin. Keeping her chin up, she walked into the kitchen and found her father.

"Daddy, I need to speak to you."

He turned to face her, alarmed by the determination in her voice. "What is it, sweetie."

"Can we talk in the living room? I'll think you'll need to sit down to hear this."

He nodded, and followed her to the couches and settled himself down. "So, what's this about?"

"It's about Seth."

"....Annette..."

"Daddy! He's not as great as you think he is, and you know it."

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Annette, why are you being so difficult about him. I don't think you understand what Seth has gone through..."

"Don't tell me that I don't understand!" Annette stood up in fury, and stormed into her bedroom- slamming the door behind her.

A week passed by. Over time, Seth noticed a considerable change in Annette's behavior. Being careful to avoid her, Seth soon was only seeing her two times a day- at breakfast and dinner. At those two times a day, she would stare at him the entire time through slanted eyes. Whenever she offered her opinion on the table conversation, she would speak with careful articulation and authority, and always speaking on the contrary opinion of Seth.

One evening, they were discussing the strength of the French army, when Seth said, in between bites, "I believe that your government is hiding how terrible things are going in the North."

"What makes you think that?" Mrs. Devaux asked, her brows creased in worry.

"Do your newspapers ever tell you anything as regards to who is winning, even?"

"No, I suppose they don't-"

"If they were losing, of course they wouldn't tell you. They want to keep up the public moral."

"Well," Annette said, clearing her throat, "It's good that the French government keeps up our moral, isn't it? After all, that's how wars are won."

"But it's deceitful. For all we know-"

"Seth, with all due respect-"

"//For all we know//, Paris could be invaded by tomorrow," Seth nearly shouted, his cheeks flushed with frustration.

Annette sat silently, eating her salad with a small smile on her lips. "I highly doubt that that will happen."

Seth couldn't stand her. Everything she did, every movement she made, he swore to god was purposely done to get on his nerves. He wondered what sort of sick game this was-- perhaps it's something that French boarding schools teach their pupils. They teach them to terrorize the polite Jew who might be staying at their house when they return.

Fifteen days later, on June 22, 1940, France surrendered, signing an armistice to the German Army, agreeing to give them the Northern two-thirds of France. Paris was under Nazi occupation.

Mrs. Devaux was terrified for her family. Seth had become almost like a second child- she had always wanted to have a son, and although he was putting her family in danger, she could never imagine throwing him out. On July 4th, the Nazis began declaring the collectivization of Jews in Paris. When she was walking to the market that day, she saw a huge poster showing an unattractive and disgustingly dirty Orthodox Jewish man walking along the streets of Paris. The caption on the poster, was 'Help Keep Paris Clean-- Report Them'. She stared at it in dismay. The man in the poster had a slight resemblance of Seth. Not that Seth was unattractive- in fact she thought he was a strapping young man, but the man in the poster had similar curls, nose, and lips. Was her new son, Seth, really making Paris dirty?

Impossible, she told herself. She had seen his room, and it was perfectly tidy. He wasn't making anything dirty.

She felt bad for Seth. Ever since the occupation of Paris began, he hasn't allowed himself to leave the house or even look out the window. He had subjected himself to house-arrest. One night, she woke up in the middle of the night, and went into the kitchen to have a drink of water. There she found Seth, passed out on the floor, with a empty bottle of brandy beside him, and an ash tray full of cigarette butts. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he was going through.

Seth once had a mother of his own. Mrs. Devaux often tried to imagine her. She must have been beautiful to have a son with such fine looks. She probably had looked upon Seth as an angel brought into her arms. Did Jews believe in angels? Mrs. Devaux didn't know. But poor boy, having lost his mother at such a young age. She wondered how clearly Seth remembered her.

"What was your mother's name?" she asked him one day, after her husband and daughter had left the dinner table.

"Adina," he said, looking at her curiously. "Why?"

"Oh," Mrs. Devaux said, forcing a smile to her lips, "I was just wondering, dear."

She wondered how his father was doing. Most likely, he had already been rounded up in Frankfurt. According to Seth, it was very difficult to get out of that city. The fact that he was able to escape was a miracle.

And thank god for that miracle. Although Annette hadn't warmed to Seth, Mrs. Devaux was confident that soon she would get used to him, and learn how to properly act around young gentleman. But she feared that her daughter might eventually fall in love with him. Falling in love with a boy that wouldn't be able to take her on dates, marry her, or even leave the apartment with her for a morning walk would torture her frail daughter. She prayed for her to have her eye on some other boy.

However, Mrs. Devaux would love to have Seth as a son in law. She imagined Annette's and Seth's children- what beauties they would be! With Seth's eyes and Annette's pure white skin, they would truly look as if they had fallen from heaven. If only.

Annette left the house for a walk of her own the next morning. She picked out a sun hat and pranced out the door towards the bakery. The walls of the familiar buildings around her had been adorned with swastikas. In the distance, she saw a group of Nazis marching through the street. Then, all of a sudden, she made a very unpleasant encounter-

"Hello, Annette! How have you been?"

Annette turned to face the familiar voice behind her. "Hello, Sinclaire."

"It's amazing to see you, we must catch up!"

"Actually, I was on my way to the-"

"Nonsense, that can wait. Come get coffee with me," she said, grabbing Annette's hand and pulling her in a different direction.

They walked along together for a while until they reached a sidewalk cafe. Sinclaire pulled Annette down into a seat beside her.

"Summer has been so dreadfully dull for me!" Sinclaire exclaimed dramatically. "Nothing has happened, and my brother has been getting on my nerves constantly. And to think, I haven't even met a cute boy this summer... probably because they're all on the front."

Annette sighed. She studied Sinclaire's appearance. She was over dressed for just going out for coffee, and her dark red lipstick was smudged on the sides of her mouth. "Well I have," Annette said, pretending to sound uninterested.

"You have?" Sinclaire's mouth fell open. "What's his name?"

"Can you keep a secret?" Annette asked. She loved finally having something to brag to Sinclaire about.

Sinclaire nodded eagerly.

"His name is Seth."

Sinclaire's expression warped from eager to condescending in a flash. "Seth? What is he? Jewish?" She laughed at the concept.

Annette's cheeks reddened. "Of course he isn't!"

"I doubt there are even any Jews left in Paris," Sinclaire said passively.

"Why do you say that?"

"You haven't heard about what Hitler has been doing? Jesus, Annette you should really start reading the news- you're fifteen for god's sake, you should know what is going on-"

"I imagine I know of more that is going on than you do," she said indigently.

"I doubt that," Sinclaire said, smiling.

They paused. Annette fiddled with her hair, trying to pull it straight under her hat.

"So," Sinclaire whispered, leaning towards Annette. "What's the deal with this //Seth//?"

"Actually nothing."

"Pssshhyeahright."

"No actually!" Annette protested, stamping her foot childishly. "I don't like him. He's not good enough for me."

"I highly doubt that too."

"Why?"

Sinclaire chuckled mischievously. "Annette, look in the mirror, honey. You look love sick."

Annette's cheeks burned red. She opened her mouth, trying to find a retort. She found nothing.

"If you don't mind," Sinclaire said, "I need to get home. We'll have coffee another time. Thanks for inviting me though."

"You invited me, Sinclaire."

Sinclaire pretended to not hear her as she stood up from their table and began walking away. Annette made a mental note to request a different roommate next year at school. But finally though, Annette had something to one-up Sinclaire with. Annette had a boy in her life, he even lived in her house.

She walked home, eager to see Seth. The other day, she had noticed his eyes twinkle when he looked at her. Perhaps her scheme of getting his attention was working. For all she knew, perhaps he was in love with her already.

Annette reached the apartment building and walked up the stairs slowly, flattening her skirt and fixing her hair. In a few moments, she was going to open the door to her apartment and see his beautiful eyes ready to twinkle back at her.

She turned the door knob slowly, and opened the door. In her best efforts to be graceful, she closed the door behind her and skipped into the kitchen. There, Seth was all alone, reading the soberly newspaper- like he always does. He turned a page of the newspaper with a strong gracefulness that she adored.

"How are you?" she said, focusing on making her voice sound prim and collected.

Seth looked up from his paper for the first time and stared at her. His sharp green eyes gleamed in the early morning light. But then, his soft features contorted- warped in front of her eyes. He scowled in repulsion, and looked back down, and didn't respond to her.

Her heart stopped beating. Everything around her froze, and she could feel the blood rush into her head. The person who mattered the most to her had just dismissed her existence completely. She stumbled over her feet while backing out of the kitchen as quickly as she could.

Seth was trying to read. While being stuck in a Parisian apartment for an entire summer, Seth found that he didn't have many other ways to entertain himself. Before, reading had been a beautiful way to escape reality, but now it became a mere time passer. Days ticked by slowly, and weeks took months to pass. Alone in his room, he was curled up on one end of his bed, turning the pages of his book, scanning the lines of words with his eyes, but not taking in any of it. His mind was elsewhere.

The Nazis had been occupying Paris for over a month now, and not once had he left the apartment. He imagined how the leaves must have changed into a much deeper shade of green by this time. Paris must be beautiful in the later summer, but he contained himself well. He didn't even look out the window for fear that a SS solider might be looking up at his window at that precise moment. Every moment of Seth's dull existence was soaked in regret, fear, and helplessness. Without anything to do, one can only look back on what one has done. For the hundredth time, Seth walked through the last time he saw his father in their familiar shabby apartment in Frankfurt. Seth hadn't even acknowledged the goodbye. Seth wished he could know where his father was then. But then, he was hit with a horrible image- the entrance to a concentration camp. Maybe Seth didn't want to know where his father was. Or how is father was doing. Or whether his father was even still alive.

Days and days passed where Seth stayed in his room, replaying the same old memories in his head over and over again. If his memories were records, they would have broken weeks ago, because they never stopped spinning- and they spun fast.The same records, played over and over again, never stopping, spinning quicker and quicker, playing louder and louder and louder and louder- and then silence. All Seth knew for sure anymore was that if he didn't leave this apartment, he was going to lose his mind.

Late at night on July 30th, 1940, old Henri Cocteau was in his usual spot, on a bar stool at a pub on the Boulevard Saint-Germain. He rubbed his fingers against the wooden bar, watching the fading streak of oil that his fingers left on it. The pub was loud- there was music, shouting, and screaming. And yet, this was the only place in the world where Henri could think straight. He waved to the bartender, and without a question, he began fixing Henri his usual drink.

It felt nice to be a regular. It felt like he truly belonged there. That pub had received twenty years of nightly service from him. Everybody knew his name, everybody anticipated his appearance there every evening. Henri knew that if he were to die from a heart failure in his apartment, the pub would notice his absence first. Not his daughter or wife- god no. If Henri died in his apartment, his daughter would nonchalantly hear about it two weeks later over a long distance phone call to America. And the love of his life, his wife, would probably hear about it from their daughter, through a long distance call to mansion in Switzerland where her mother spent her evenings in between the sheets with another man.

It's a lie that family is the most important thing out there, Henri thought as the familiar and kind bartender brought him his drink. Family betrays you, walks out on you, and lies to you. Bars like this one, go no where, and offer you a drink every time you visit them. His wife never did that for him, did she?

A young man sat beside him on a bar stool that evening. His expression was tight and afraid, and he looked around the pub nervously before placing an order for a glass of brandy. When he spoke to the bartender, his french was laced with a very faint accent. It was either an English accent or a German accent, Henri wasn't sure, but it was harsh. Perhaps it was a Dutch accent.

"Where you from, lad?"

The boy whipped around to look at Henri. The boy had piercing green eyes that were covered in fear. "Paris."

"Sure you are." Henri let out a burst of laughter that turned into a smoker's cough.

"Yes I am!" the boy said sharply- making his accent clearer and more distinctive.

Henri wiped his mouth and smiled at the boy. "So, where abouts in Germany are you from?"

The boy was in a silent panic, and looked around the pub once more.

"You can trust me," Henri said with a laugh. "I don't bite."

He studied Henri for a long moment before saying, "Frankfurt."

"How's it going there?"

The boy fell silent. The glass of brandy was set in front of him and he brought it to his lips. "Horrible," he said before pouring it into his mouth.

"I can imagine."

"No, no you can't."

Henri ordered another glass himself, followed by another and another. The boy followed suit. Together, they sat in silence, downing glass after glass of the brown poison. Soon, the boy was talking again. His accent became heavier and heavier as the night progressed. At first, the boy was whispering secrets in Henri's ear, but eventually they were being told the bartender too. Soon, he was no longer whispering, but shouting his secrets.

"And I'll never see my father again, that's for sure," he said loudly, pounding his fist on the bar. "You want to know why? I bet you guys can guess why, can't you. Gotta love the gestapo." The boy did an imitation of one of Hitler's speeches and the whole bar erupted into laughter.

"What's your name, boy?" the bartender asked him, smiling.

"Seth Eidelberg, the one and only. Nice to meet you." They shook hands.

Then Henri noticed it. In the corner, and man with a gray uniform emerged from the crowd. Even in Henri's drunken vision, he saw it- the red arm band with the infamous symbol on it.

"Kid!" Henri tensely whispered in the boy's ear urgently, pulling him close. "Shut up, you need to shut up."

"Why do I need to shut up?" the boy shouted, laughing, still pretending to be Hitler.

"Please," Henri whispered frantically, almost in tears. "Please, please! Please don't be this stupid."

Earlier that evening, Annette was sleeplessly laying in her bed. She wasn't tired in the slightest. Something inside her was throbbing in pain, but she couldn't figure out what it was. But whenever she tried to close her eyes, she would see Seth's expression of repulsion as he turned away from her. Then the throbbing in her body would increase, and her eyes would swell with tears. Laying there in the dark, she could feel the tares in her heart begin to heal themselves with bitterness. She imagined Seth screaming in excruciating pain, and she would fell better. She imagined Seth crying in agony, and she could feel the cracks in her heart fill themselves with hatred.

All of a sudden, she heard the door to Seth's room creak- followed by his familiar slow footsteps towards the front door. She got out of bed silently, and slid her door open a notch just in time to see him close the apartment door behind him.

Why she did what she did next, she'll never know for sure. Perhaps it was because she was obsessed with him, perhaps it was because she wanted to get back at him. But she rushed back into her room, pulled on a jacket to cover her nightgown, and slipped out of the apartment into the dark streets of Paris, following Seth's figure.

<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000000; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Offizere Leon Neumann had made little progress from when he first arrived in Paris. His job was to find and turn in over twenty suspected Jewish runaways with connections to Paris, but so far, he hadn't found any. But it had been easier to look for runaways now that he didn't have to pretend to be a Frenchman. Before Germany won over Northern France, he couldn't very well walk through the streets of Paris in a Nazi uniform, now could he? So, after his train first arrived in Paris, he waited for the boy in his compartment to leave so that he could quickly change out of his uniform.

Weeks after that, he researched the Jews he was looking for from his lonely apartment in Paris. Near the top of the list was Natalie Bernstein, a ten year old child from Berlin who was reported missing over three months ago. Her only connection to Paris was her godmother named Ruby, a Catholic. When he was first assigned the case to find these runaway Jews, he felt that it was an honor. But no, as he sat in a rowdy pub surrounded by drunken frogs, he realized what a horrible assignment this was. For weeks before the Nazis finally won over Paris, Neumann had to walk through the streets pretending to be one of them. He even wore a white suit one of those days. It was embarrassing.

But even now that Neumann no longer had to pretend to be French, and could walk along side his fellow Nazis in the streets of Paris, he hated this assignment. The runaways' connections to Paris were all very vague, and he wasn't even positive that they were even in the city. Neumann took a sip of vodka from his seat in the pub and looked over his of runaways for the millionth time- Rose Aboulafia, age 12; Wolf Adler, age 15; Ninette Arous, age 14; ect. The list went on for 27 more- mostly all children whose parents the Nazis had already caught. The oldest person the list was actually a boy of only 17 years named Seth Eidelberg from Frankfurt whose father they had caught months ago. Apparently, his mother had died from natural causes when he was young boy, and his father had raised him alone for the past ten years. His father, Albert Eidelberg used to be a successful doctor in Frankfurt before the Jewish boycotting began. But now, he's laying either dead or alive on a cot in Auschwitz, while his son is suspected to be roaming the streets of Paris. According the neighbors, Eidelberg had been teaching his son French for the past five years, and even attended medical school in Paris when he was younger. But for Neumann, that information gave him absolutely no heading. He didn't know even where to begin looking for this Seth Eidelberg- just like all the other young Jews on his list.

All of a sudden, as if Neumann was hearing voices in his head, he heard that familiar name being shouted from across the room. "Seth Eidelberg, the one and only. Nice to meet you," said a young man's voice in a German accent. Neumann couldn't believe his ears as he stood up, searching for where the voice came from. Then he saw the source- a young man with brown curls, olive skin, and sharp green eyes. His face was familiar, however. Neumann began walking towards him, almost positive that he had imagined hearing him shout the name Seth Eidelberg. Neumann laid his hand down on the young man's shoulder, and he turned around.

And that's when Neumann recognized him. This was the same boy from his train compartment from Frankfurt to Paris. And Frankfurt was the city that Seth Eidelberg was said to be from. The dots were being connected quickly- Neumann couldn't believe his luck.

"What did you say your name was?" Neumann asked, speaking in German. The whole bar fell silent. Neumann couldn't describe how much he loved the power that his uniform gave him.

The young man looked Neumann up and down fearlessly- either he was drunk out of his mind or he was a total idiot. "I'm sorry, I don't speak barbaric languages such as German," the young man said in French, turning away from Neumann and back towards the bartender. A woman to the young man's left laughed loudly at this, and Neumann swelled with rage. He pulled out his bat and swung it into her stomach, causing her to double over in pain and fall off her bar stool. A few people screamed in muffled alarm.

"How could you do that!" the bartender shouted indignantly, coming around to help the lady to her feet.

"How could you do that!" Neumann repeated mockingly, pulling out a rifle and pointing it at the bartender's head. "Because I can do whatever I damn well please, that's why."

Whenever you point a gun at someone's head, their true character gets revealed. The bartender shriveled behind the barrel of Neumann's gun, and backed away to behind his bar once more. Neumann smiled and turned back around in order to point his gun now at the Jew, but the stool where he was previously sitting, now was empty.

"WHERE THE HELL IS THE JEW?" the Nazi screamed in Henri's face, swinging his gun up to his head.

"What Jew?"

The Nazis face burned red with anger. "I will not hesitate to kill you."

"Yes," Henri said, taking a gulp from another glass of brandy. "You'd make a horrible Nazi if you did."

Truthfully, as soon as the Nazi had turned away from Seth, Henri had pulled Seth silently off of his stool, urging him to run out of the pub as fast as he could. Seth, who was sobering up, heeded Henri's advice and staggered away as fast as he could from the pub into the street. Then when the Nazi turned back towards Seth's seat, it was only to be expected that the gun would get directed at Henri.

"If you don't tell me in three seconds-"

"You'll kill me?"

"One..." the Nazi said, shoving the gun's barrel hard into Henri's head.

"Two?" Henri said stiffly.

The last thing Henri ever saw was the Nazi's infuriated ugly face. As his manicured finger pulled in on his trigger, the world around Henri blurred and he saw images flash before his eyes- familiar images. He saw his mother washing his hair in the tub as a child, his mentally challenged sister getting mocked in the school hallways, her funeral and the suit that he was wearing to it, the first time he kissed his wife, and her walking down the church aisle, smiling at him. His life was flashing before his eyes. And then-

"Three."

Annette had followed Seth's dark figure into a pub down the street. She didn't understand why he had run out, wasn't it dangerous for him to be seen? She entered the pub, pulling her coat up to cover her face. But as she pulled it up, the bottom slid up too, taking her silk nightgown with it. Behind her a drunken old man wolf-whistled. Disoriented, she pulled down her coat and nightgown quickly and slid into the pub's crowd, trying to find Seth.

Then there he was, slumped over on the bar counter, talking quietly to the man next to him. Annette leaned on the wall of the pub facing them. She wondered how long he would be out tonight- but mostly, she wondered if he planned on returning home after tonight. With all the hatred that had swelled in her heart towards him, she hoped he wouldn't.

Time ticked away as she watched Seth down glass after glass of brandy. Soon, she could faintly hear what he was saying to the man beside him. And after a few more drinks, she was pretty sure everybody in the pub could hear his German accent perfectly.

She watched him move his arms as he spoke. Even in his drunken clumsiness, he moved gracefully. His strong hand gripped his glass of brandy and brought it smoothly up to his soft lips and drank. Annette was mesmerized by him until all of a sudden her concentration was broken. From the other corner of the room, a Nazi solider stood up and approached Seth. The man beside Seth noticed first, and pulled him in, whispering frantically.

The Nazi began speaking to Seth in German. The whole pub had hushed, watching the scene. Moments after, the Nazi swung a bat at a woman sitting beside Seth, and the bartender ran out from behind the counter to help her. Annette slid deeper into the crowd, scared that the Nazi might direct his violence on her. She hid behind a tall man with a black beard, and turned to face the wall. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, she pressed her hands against her ears.

But through her palms, she heard a gun shot, followed by a thump on the floor. She turned around, expecting to see Seth's strong body laying on the ground. Instead, and old man was there, and Seth was no where to be seen.

"Now," the Nazi said, putting his gun back into his pocket, "//who// can tell me where the Jew went?"

Annette watched the Nazi as he paced the floor, scanning the crowd. Something about him looked familiar. He had a fierce, unforgiving expression boiled in hatred- hatred for Seth Eidelberg. She clenched her fists, remembering the previous morning, when the world around her came crashing down when he didn't respond to her greeting. Her fingers were sweaty, and her nails dug into her soft skin, drawing blood. And then, as if disconnected from her body, she approached the Nazi slowly, and opened her mouth.

"I can."

The Nazi stared at her in shock, as did everybody around them. He stepped towards her, his expression softening. "What's your name?"

His kindness gave her confidence and her voice strengthened. "Annette Devaux, I know where he lives. I can take you there."

"Well, Annette, let's go for a walk." He offered her his hand, and together they left the pub.

"Well?" I asked, after Annette's story had come to an end, looking over my notes from the interview. It had stopped raining outside and the sun was beginning to peak through the clouds.

"Well what?" the Annette from 2004 asked, looking down solemnly at her knitting.

"Do you regret it?"

Annette didn't respond. She continued to knit, not looking up at me. We were silent for a long moment as the question sunk in. Then, she looked up while tucking one of her gray curls behind her ear innocently.

"There's not a day that goes by where I don't regret it."

"And why's that?" I knew that I was testing my luck as I jotted down what Annette previously said into my notebook.

"That night in the bar," Annette said slowly, "was the last time I ever saw Seth. I brought the Nazi to our house, and he called for backup, while he personally brought me to the police station for questioning. My parents never spoke to me after that evening, so I moved in with my school friend Sinclaire, and I never saw Seth again. Years later, I read his name in the list Jews from Paris killed in Auschwitz."

I finished jotting that down, then looked up at Annette. My hand hurt from taking so many notes. "But why did you do it?"

"Because I loved him."

Outside, there was the sound of birds chirping. Spring had finally found it's way to Paris after such a long and unbearable winter. I finished taking notes, and stood up from her table, shaking hands with Annette. On my way out, I looked back at the old woman sitting all alone at her dinning room table, with her knitting in front of her. An old woman who had lived an entire live of regret because of something she did when she was young and naive. Painstakingly, I turned back towards the door and left.