Michel's war, Ayjay [best novels of all time .txt] 📗

a bit awkward seeing this but remembering his own words, dismissed his distress. He was a bit shocked by Jonathan’s white blond hair, green eyes and lily pale skin. He was, for some reason, expecting him to have black hair and skin. He had forgotten that the black was ash and burns. Back at the house, they all sat down to eat the soup. Conversation was scarce, mostly the younger children making noise with the older ones eating silently.
After dinner a bit of normalcy ensued with the children doing their jobs. After the younger kids were put to bed, Maman sat down with Jonathan and they had a lengthy conversation. Michel played a game of cards with Sonia and Laurent until they too were put to bed. Jonathan went from the room, and Michel took the time to speak to Maman.
“Maman, who is he?”
“Ah Michel my boy. Mon amour. He is a pilot for the RAF, and was sent into France to bomb someplace. A German fighter saw him and gunned down the plane. He is the only one who survived the fire and the crash. He lost his best friend in that plane.”
“I hate war Maman. It doesn’t mean anything, only men killing other men. I wish it had never started. I hate Hitler.”
“Me too Chérie. Michel, I’m sorry to have to ask this of you, but can Jonathan share your room? Only we have no other rooms in the house and I don’t want him sleeping in the dining room, it’s dangerous.”
He stared at the window. No he didn’t want to share his room, meaning his bed, with Jonathan. But he had to.
“It’s OK, Maman, of course he can share. It’s our duty is it not?”
Sophie laughed at that, and hugged him. Michel would never tire of being in Maman’s hug, the safety that he felt there. He didn’t care that he was 13 and too old for hugs anymore. He wanted them, no, he needed them.
“Right, bon nuit Chérie. A demain matin.”

He went to bed and undressed slowly in the moonlight. From his bedroom in the attic, he could just about see the sea, a day or two away from his house. He lay on the far end of the bed against the wall, dreading the moment when Jonathan would come and invade his personal space. When he came in, he came in as a ghost, with extreme care and silence. Michel closed his eyes while he undressed.
“Michel?” he opened his eyes to see Jonathan hovering besides his bed.
“Can I?” Michel felt bad for him, standing there so far away from his home and family. He nodded and felt the mattress sink with Jonathan’s weight as he lay down.
“Good night.”
“Bon nuit.”

The next day was slightly better, less awkward. Jonathan didn’t need to know French to be able to communicate to the younger kids. He played with them for hours which permitted a grateful Michel and Maman to get along with their jobs. In the late afternoon, he wandered back into the forest, but he couldn’t remember the place where the plane had landed. He wanted to bury his friends. Michel felt bad for him and thus began a friendship between the two. They communicated via sign language and made up words, laughing when they couldn’t understand each other. They taught each other their own language, and were pleased to discover that they caught on quickly. This permitted them to have lengthy and deep conversations that Michel felt he couldn’t have with his Maman or the girls. Michel felt that he had gained an older brother, Jonathan felt grateful to Michel for accepting him into the house with such ease. Clara and Arnaud simply adored Jonathan, begging him to play with them for hours. Danielle and Sonia liked him as well, but they felt slightly awkward having him around. It reminded them too much about papa. Laurent took the longest to accept him. Prior his arrival, Michel and Laurent had been extremely close, sticking close to each other against the girls. Now Laurent felt he had lost his brother to Jonathan, so he began to hate him. Michel didn’t understand why Laurent wasn’t speaking to him anymore but Laurent refused to explain. Jonathan finally caught on, and began paying attention to the boy. To his surprise, Laurent opened up easily to him and Jonathan was pleased to discover that he had a brilliant sense of humour and was witty and clever. By June, Jonathan was fluent in French, and was helping Michel with the jobs on the field. It felt like he had always belonged with the family.

As the weather got warmer, Michel noticed Jonathan withdrawing into himself a bit. He gave him space, not knowing what was wrong, but not wanting to intrude. Jonathan began disappearing for hours by himself. Michel knew he disappeared in to the forest, but he never said anything to Jonathan for fear of distressing him. In the first week of July, he saw Jonathan getting more and more distressed. Michel knew it had something to do with the forest, so one day he followed him even though his instincts were screaming at him to stay away. Jonathan walked quickly and precisely, following a path he obviously knew well. Michel followed with care, not wanting to be seen, but not wanting to be too far away from Jonathan. They walked for ten minutes through the thick foliage, the crunching of branches and twigs the only sound heard.

Murmuring. A deep throaty sound, a hushed laugh. Jonathan had disappeared between two big stones, a black mark on each one looking like mud if you didn’t know better. Michel caught his breath. He knew that the mark was the Maquis symbol, and you only joined the Maquis if you had lost everything there was to lose or if you wanted to kill. Michel knew that the French resistant had set up a group here; they called themselves the Renard Maquis, the fox resistance. No one spoke about them; they were dangerous, so why had Jonathan just gone and put himself in danger? Michel crept forwards on his belly and entered the camp. He observed Jonathan speaking to a hulking muscled man, while around 15 other men loitered around. They all had a hard brutal look to them, as though they had lived too long and had seen too much. He moved slightly to get a better view of the camp: it was in shambles. Tents were set up close to each other, clothes hanging on spare branches. The men had relaxed somewhat and started talking quietly, sitting on the ground. Jonathan was leaving the camp; Michel let out a sigh of relief and quickly followed him.
“Jonathan?”
Jonathan swirled round, a hand to his mouth. Michel felt a burning cold thing touch, no dig into his back.
“Don’t move if you value your life.”
Michel felt nausea frothing inside him. His palms felt slick with sweat, while his body prickled hot and cold.
“Who are you and how did you get here?”
Michel cleared his throat, trying to get the words out.
“I followed Jonathan. He lives with me.”
The thing in his back stayed where it was digging painfully in to his back, then it was removed.
“So Jonathan, this is your brother?”
Jonathan’s tense face relaxed somewhat. He marched up to Michel and cuffed his head.
“No. this is the boy that saved my life when I crashed down.”
The giant looked down at Michel with a calculation look.
“Hm, so he is brave this one?”
Jonathan hesitated, “Yes?”

The giant suddenly crouched so his eyes were level with Michel’s.
“Where is your father?”
“Dead.” The words fell out of Michel’s mouth without him meaning them to. He kept his eyed firmly on the ground, avoiding Jonathan’s eyes which he was sure looked horrified. He had told Jonathan that his father was fighting. But he hadn’t wanted his pity so he had never told him that he had died.
“What’s your name?”
“Michel Pierre.”
“Hm, you’re Hubert’s son?”
“Yes”
“I’m sorry”
Silence.
“Who killed him?”
“The bloody Boch.”
He looked up, his eyes raging. He had never let himself think about his father’s death before, never really understood that it was final. His father was never returning.
“Michel, do you want to avenge his death?”
“Yes, a thousand times yes.”
“Then join us. Will you?”
Michel nodded, and that was it. He was part of the Maquis.

They returned back to the camp with Michel sandwiched between the two men. He felt safe and hot, a spark had been kindled inside him and he thirsted for revenge. The men in the camp all looked up when they came in; a few darted to their feet when they saw Michel, looks of outrage on their faces. One man with a deep red scar across his face looked especially angry.
“Tomas, what are you-?”
Tomas, the giant next to Michel, held up his hand. Instantly all noises faded leaving just the hush of the wind moving through the trees.
“Gentlemen this is Michel Pierre. He has been drafted into the Renard Maquis as he wants to avenge the death of his father. Do you understand?”
The men all nodded. The one with the scar came up to Michel and shook his hand.
“I’m sorry. Your father, he was a good man.”
Michel nodded his thanks and gritted his teeth against the tears that were threatening to come up. Tomas clapped his hands for attention.
“In the Renard Maquis we only have first names, that way if we’re caught we can’t give any information about anyone in the group. Let me introduce you. I am Tomas Renard. That is why we are called the fox group. This is: Nathan, Richard, Albert, Clément, Claude, Françoise, Nikola, Rudi, Norbert, David, André, Jean, George, Francis and Henry.”
Each man inclined his head as he was introduced. Michel nodded back and promptly forgot each name. He wondered how old they all were, they all had the same weather beaten faces, and they all looked ageless. Jonathan took him back to his house. With one glance they agreed not to tell Sophie about the Maquis, not just yet. Sophie hurried over to Michel as soon as they came in through the door,
“Michel where were you? I was getting worried, it’s late already. Jonathan please don’t take him out without telling me, I couldn’t bear it if I lost another man. I couldn’t bear it if I lost him.”
Jonathan looked guilty.
“I’m so sorry Sophie, we didn’t realize the time.”
They all sat down for dinner. Danielle kept on kicking Michel’s foot. He glared at his skinny blond sister. She kept on kicking him though.
“What?” He finally snapped.
“Nothing.” She replied. He sent her daggers but she just stuck her tongue out and kept on kicking. He was thinking over what Maman had said; she couldn’t bear to lose another man. Did she mean Jonathan? Michel knew her family had been killed at Dunkirk, but she had been so strong. He couldn’t imagine her crying or losing her sanity. Maybe Jonathan replaced the brother she had lost. He decided to ask her.
“Jonathan is the same age as my brother is. Was. He was just 27 years old. In a way, Jonathan represents my lost brother. I try not to show him that, but when I think of losing both of you, I can’t help but worry. I beg you Michel, stay safe.”
He went to bed with his sides racked with guilt. It was as though Maman had known that he had joined the Maquis. How could he do something so dangerous when he knew how Maman felt? But as sleep pulled at him, his thoughts turned to those of