It had been a full month since the Nazis had left their home. Clotilde had spent a lot of time cleaning, trying to remove the blood. She had largely been successful, though the faint brown stains still lingered in some places.
Clotilde refused to tell Marie what the Nazis had done to her. She didn't quite understand why – it was as though Marie couldn't possibly comprehend; there was something altogether too terrible about rape to share her story.
She went back to school – Sr. Perpetua and Fr. Renaud had eventually been replaced, and their new teachers continued on with their lessons as if nothing had happened. Clotilde could feel a sense of security, of peace, in going to school, going to Mass, and following a routine. She revelled in its safety – the irregularity of her ordeal had been too much to bear.
Marie, however, was another story altogether. She had grown angrier and angrier, until her rage had begun to consume her. Clotilde refused to tell her the full story of what had happened, and this just frustrated her further.
It was a Saturday morning, having woken up, that she decided that she needed to leave the house, to get out, to get away, and of course, get her revenge. She had heard mutterings in town that the Nazis had moved on to the nearby town of O-. Yes – it made sense; she would go.
Clotilde was in the kitchen, kneading bread. Marie sat down at the table.
"Clotilde."
Clotilde turned, and looked at her sister. She had flour on her hands and apron; her hair was slightly dishevelled. She was smiling slightly, something she had rarely done previously.
"Yes, Marie?
"I've heard…I've heard that the Germans went to O-."
Clotilde looked confused, "What?"
"They've gone to O-."
"And?"
"Well, I think we should go after them."
Clotilde took a sharp intake of breath – she was shocked and horrified. Suddenly, she became very angry.
"What? Marie, are you stupid? Go after them? What are you talking about?"
"I want to get revenge for Maman and Papa?"
"No, no, no!" Clotilde shouted, "Marie, do you have any idea what you're getting involved in? What, do you think you can take on twenty armed men alone? What do you think they'll do to you?"
"I don't care if I die, I want to kill him."
"Marie, don't be so naïve! You don't care if you die? Do you care about me?" She cried, feeling a sob beginning to choke her.
Marie fell silent, "Yes, I care about you."
"Well, Marie, if you care about me, you'll forget this nonsense about revenge. It won't achieve anything."
Marie frowned and put her head in her hands. Her sister was indeed the voice of reason, but the plan was still not banished from her mind.
Standing up, she sullenly told her sister she was going for a walk.
She shuddered as she walked past the gate where she had first met Landa, and made her way on into the countryside. There was a copse not far from their house, and she frequently took walks there – well, she had before the Germans had come.
She began to wander around, taking in the surroundings. The sun shone through the branches, casting strange shadows on the ground.
She had got quite far into the forest when she began to feel tired, and sat down against a tree to rest. She closed her eyes – she thought just for a second – but she drifted involuntarily into sleep.
Marie was woken by the harsh sounds of a certain unfamiliar English phrase.
"Well, fuck – a – duck!"