I'll never forget you (part 2)

U.S.A. 2010
Andre


Why had I agreed to speak here? The vice principal, who was giving the students some background on the French resistance, was barely in control of an auditorium packed with high school freshmen. When I was in school, teachers had no problem keeping a room full of students silent. What had happened to teaching? What had happened to respect for elders?


“Here to speak to us today is Mr. Andre Devereaux. He will be talking about his own experiences as a member of the French resistance. Please give him your full, undivided attention.”


I almost laughed at that. Half of the teenagers were asleep and the other half seemed just not to care there was a speaker in front of them. Those who were attentive were the minority.


“Good afternoon, students.” I began my talk.


The students didn’t even look up at me. A few even snickered at my accented English. I hoped that once I began talking, it would be different. If my story doesn’t make an impression on them, I thought angrily, what kind of people are they!


“As Ms Lewis told you, I was a member of the French resistance as a teenager, when I was the same age you are now.” I paused. The speech my son and daughter had helped me prepare would not go over well with this unruly audience. I’d have to tell the entire, sad story. “This is true, I hope, for most of you so it won’t be too hard to imagine this, that you have a nice life. You have lots of friends and no cares in the world except forgetting your homework done on time. And then suddenly it all changes. The Nazis have taken over your country and there are German soldiers in your town. You don’t want them there. This is your country, not theirs. You know what their aims are and you don’t want them to achieve those aims.” I paused again and hoped this would sink in to the still whispering crowd, “I decided, when I was fifteen years old, to fight them.


“I learned about the resistance through my older brother, Daniel. He said I was too young to join but I pleaded and he gave in. We soon became partners and distributed illegal newspapers and blew up factories or railway lines important to the Nazis, to name a couple things we did. But when French Jews started to be persecuted my entire family did something even more dangerous than what Daniel and I did for the resistance. We hid people until other resistance fighters could smuggle them to neutral Spain and Switzerland.” Yet again I paused and strained to hear if there was anymore whispering from the assembled teenagers. Unless I was going completely deaf, it had definitely gone down. I continued from there, “the first two people we had were Jews fleeing the Nazis. We hid them in a small room that was once a servant’s room long ago. If anyone came to our house we would move the bookshelf snugly in front of the door. Usually Daniel did it since he was bigger and stronger than me.


“Those first two times were an amazing success! The Nazis didn’t even bother us once. The next two times we hid fellow resistance fighters on the run from the Gestapo. Yet again, we kept them safe until other resistance fighters came and got them. The fifth time, though, we were not so lucky.” The entire room was silent. Completely silent. How had this happened? I took a deep breath before I kept going. “Ella, like the others was on the run from the Gestapo. I found her in the woods on a routine patrol and took her home as quick as I could. One week later, the Nazis came to inspect our farm. Daniel let me move the bookshelf to cover Ella’s door. I must have not wedged it completely into place because one Nazi noticed something a little off with the bookshelf. Within a few hours, the Gestapo had arrived in our home. We were completely unprepared. The bookshelf wasn’t even in front of Ella’s door. They found her within five minutes of their arrival. From what I learned later, they questioned and tortured her for another two weeks before finally executing her. Her death,” I paused, swallowing harder, “was my fault. I should’ve let Daniel move the bookshelf. He was bigger and stronger than me and wouldn’t have let the doorknob show. I continued my work in the resistance because I knew Ella would’ve wanted me to. Shortly after the war, though, I moved to the United States where I live now. I couldn’t bear to live in France anymore after all the horrible things that went on. It wasn’t just Ella. The Nazis had destroyed my memories of my beautiful country.” I swallowed hard again before continuing, “At this point I will let anyone ask any question they want. Don’t call out, raise your hands.”



“Excuse me, Mr. Devereaux?” said the first student I called on, a thin boy with very messy hair, “did you kill Nazis like in Call of Duty? I play that game on my Xbox every day when I get home from school.”


There was a sharp intake of breath from the vice principal seated behind me. “Mr. Devereaux,” she whispered to me, “you don’t have to answer such a rude question.”


“Though I can see where you’re coming from,” I answered, trying not to sound too angry at how casually this boy talked about war and killing, “it’s not a question you should ask. We did not kill because we wanted to, in the resistance. We killed because we had to. If they were not dead, we would be. I hope this answers your question.”


The boy sank low in his seat, embarrassed. I hoped my message had gotten through to him. Too many children nowadays were treating war and killing like they were nothing. Maybe my answer would change this boy’s feelings towards it.


“Yes?” The next person to raise their hand was a girl seated a few rows back.


“I’m sorry about Ella,” she sounded like she actually meant it, “was she pretty? Did you, well, love her?”


“With Ella,” I smiled sadly, “it wasn’t about love or about how she looked. My job, and my family’s job, was to protect her from people who would torture and kill her. Just because we were teenagers doesn’t mean we were in love. It didn’t matter weather she was pretty or ugly, fat or thin. The Gestapo would still kill her if they found her. I hope this satisfies you.”


The girl had gone from bright red to completely pale. Maybe after this she wouldn’t judge people’s behaviors by their looks alone. Maybe she’d look a little deeper into a person next time. So many people judged others on the silliest things and hopefully this girl would no longer be one of them.


Another student raised their hand. I called on them.


“Mr. Devereaux, I’m glad you came today.”


“Why?” I was curious why this student, another girl, was happy that I came. Most students couldn’t care less about some speaker, even if that speaker had been through horrible things in his lifetime.


“Because so many people are horribly rude to teenagers. They say we won’t amount to anything and all we do is get drunk, get high, have unprotected sex, and be rude to our parents. When you were a teenager you were risking your life to defy the Nazis. I wish people would think of that when they think of teenagers.”


The atmosphere amongst the students quickly changed. Suddenly I was answering many intelligent questions about my life as a resistance fighter, about Ella, and mostly about how my life as a teenager was different from theirs. To my surprise, I was sad when my time to speak was up. As I exited the auditorium, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the girl who had made the comment about teenagers.


“Mr. Devereaux, could I tell you something?”


“Yes?” I wondered what she had to say.


“Thanks for coming! I think you made a huge impression on my grade and they’re not exactly impressionable.”


“And you made one on me,” I smiled, “more teenagers should be like you. What’s your name, by the way?”


She blushed, “Ella.”


“Ella, I’ll never forget you.” I smiled once more at the girl as I made my way through the throngs of students. I was tired. It had been a long day.