p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"span lang="FR" style="font-size: 14pt; font-family: 'Brush Script Std';"Les months pass/span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"span lang="FR" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"Only once Julien was safely locked in his room in Paris, did he allow himself to crumble. It felt long overdue. Jean, whom he had loved. Gone. He couldn't be gone. God would not have been so cruel./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Julien left his room only for meals and during the air raid sirens that rang out over the city practically every night. And life continued. He and Francois were enrolled at l'Ecole Masillon which was filled with snobby preening privileged boys. They were nothing like Jean. They had none of his beauty, intelligence, or sophistication. They were twice as bad as the boys at boarding school, but Julien had learned to be tough and deal with them. Sophie still worked at the Croix Rouge, and Rose and Aline were both coming of age. Rose was getting married to a tall and gaunt man who said terrible things about les Juifs, and Aline was leaving to study arts at the University. Julien's pere spent essentially all of his time in Lille and his maman was busy. True, she had no job, but she was busy trying to keep her family together. Julien thought it was a noble, if futile pursuit./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Every day, Julien learned about the gains the Allies were making in beating the Krauts. Every night, he wet his bedsheets with tears. Le 7 avril, Julien lit a candle and sang Joyeux anniversaire. He realized Jean was turning 13. Then, he realized that Jean might already have died. He cried. Mme. Quentin found Julien asleep on the floor, the candle still burning in front of him. She put it out, because candles were expensive./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"Le 7 juillet, Julien turned 13 as well. Mme. Quentin had pulled some strings and Adrienne, the cook, had been able to make cake with the confiture that Julien loved. It was just Julien and his parents at his birthday dinner. Francois had arranged a rendez-vous avec sa copine at the last minute, Sophie was at the Croix Rouge, Rose had just stayed away on purpose, and Aline was at the University./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Julien stared sullenly at the cake. emI traded that confiture with Joseph, which got him into trouble, which made him turn against Pere Jean, which exposed Jean. It's all my fault. If I could trade this confiture for Jean, I would./em His composure cracked as he remembered. emJean loved this confiture./em/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""What are you being so gloomy about, boy?" M. Quentin looked angry. He was always angry these days, though Julien didn't see how he was entitled to his rage./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Jean loved this confiture," he mumbled./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Speak up! I can't hear a word of what you're saying!" M. Quentin barked. Julien's maman shot him a warning glare./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Jean loved this confiture," he repeated. His father looked strangely amused./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Who is this Jean? A cliptip?" He turned to Mme. Quentin. "I hope our son hasn't fallen in love with one of those."/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Julien forced the rage rising in his stomach downwards. He would not lose his temper. He would not let his father get the best of him. M. Quentin just continued. "Those Jesus killers got what was coming to them. Hey, Julien, do you know they're being made into soap once they die?" And that was that. Julien saw red as he shot up, knocking his chair to the ground./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Julien!" Mme Quentin tried to grab him but he was hurtling over the table already, his hands over his father's face. Julien wanted to strangle him. He wanted to gouge his father's eyes out, to tear out his hair. emPoor Jean had done nothing wrong. It was I who did everything wrong. But I will not stand this wrong, to have his dignity so marred./em/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" He landed a solid punch against his father's nose. "THE JEWS DID NOTHING." His father snarled and Mme Quentin dragged her son away./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""What's wrong with you?" M. Quentin bellowed. He got to his feet. "The Jews took away the customers my factory supplied. That is what they did wrong." He spun on his heel and left the dining room. Julien stood with his mother as his father grabbed his cloak and stormed out of the apartment. Mme Quentin silently picked up the cake and headed back to the kitchen./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"That night, the air raid sirens sounded again. "Papa, I hear air raid sirens! We need to find shelter!" Julien yelled at his dad./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Non!" yelled his father. "I never resolve fights until the other person admits they're wrong!"/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Dad, vous etes trop petainiste!" hollered Francois. "Come on everyone, let's leave him to rot." So the entire Quentin family abandoned their breadwinner on a Paris street and went to the shelter./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"That night, M. Quentin was blown up./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"span lang="FR" /span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"Only once Julien was safely locked in his room in Paris, did he allow himself to crumble. It felt long overdue. Jean, whom he had loved. Gone. He couldn't be gone. God would not have been so cruel./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Julien left his room only for meals and during the air raid sirens that rang out over the city practically every night. And life continued. He and Francois were enrolled at l'Ecole Masillon which was filled with snobby preening privileged boys. They were nothing like Jean. They had none of his beauty, intelligence, or sophistication. They were twice as bad as the boys at boarding school, but Julien had learned to be tough and deal with them. Sophie still worked at the Croix Rouge, and Rose and Aline were both coming of age. Rose was getting married to a tall and gaunt man who said terrible things about les Juifs, and Aline was leaving to study arts at the University. Julien's pere spent essentially all of his time in Lille and his maman was busy. True, she had no job, but she was busy trying to keep her family together. Julien thought it was a noble, if futile pursuit./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Every day, Julien learned about the gains the Allies were making in beating the Krauts. Every night, he wet his bedsheets with tears. Le 7 avril, Julien lit a candle and sang Joyeux anniversaire. He realized Jean was turning 13. Then, he realized that Jean might already have died. He cried. Mme. Quentin found Julien asleep on the floor, the candle still burning in front of him. She put it out, because candles were expensive./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"Le 7 juillet, Julien turned 13 as well. Mme. Quentin had pulled some strings and Adrienne, the cook, had been able to make cake with the confiture that Julien loved. It was just Julien and his parents at his birthday dinner. Francois had arranged a rendez-vous avec sa copine at the last minute, Sophie was at the Croix Rouge, Rose had just stayed away on purpose, and Aline was at the University./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Julien stared sullenly at the cake. emI traded that confiture with Joseph, which got him into trouble, which made him turn against Pere Jean, which exposed Jean. It's all my fault. If I could trade this confiture for Jean, I would./em His composure cracked as he remembered. emJean loved this confiture./em/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""What are you being so gloomy about, boy?" M. Quentin looked angry. He was always angry these days, though Julien didn't see how he was entitled to his rage./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Jean loved this confiture," he mumbled./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Speak up! I can't hear a word of what you're saying!" M. Quentin barked. Julien's maman shot him a warning glare./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Jean loved this confiture," he repeated. His father looked strangely amused./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Who is this Jean? A cliptip?" He turned to Mme. Quentin. "I hope our son hasn't fallen in love with one of those."/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Julien forced the rage rising in his stomach downwards. He would not lose his temper. He would not let his father get the best of him. M. Quentin just continued. "Those Jesus killers got what was coming to them. Hey, Julien, do you know they're being made into soap once they die?" And that was that. Julien saw red as he shot up, knocking his chair to the ground./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Julien!" Mme Quentin tried to grab him but he was hurtling over the table already, his hands over his father's face. Julien wanted to strangle him. He wanted to gouge his father's eyes out, to tear out his hair. emPoor Jean had done nothing wrong. It was I who did everything wrong. But I will not stand this wrong, to have his dignity so marred./em/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" He landed a solid punch against his father's nose. "THE JEWS DID NOTHING." His father snarled and Mme Quentin dragged her son away./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""What's wrong with you?" M. Quentin bellowed. He got to his feet. "The Jews took away the customers my factory supplied. That is what they did wrong." He spun on his heel and left the dining room. Julien stood with his mother as his father grabbed his cloak and stormed out of the apartment. Mme Quentin silently picked up the cake and headed back to the kitchen./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"That night, the air raid sirens sounded again. "Papa, I hear air raid sirens! We need to find shelter!" Julien yelled at his dad./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Non!" yelled his father. "I never resolve fights until the other person admits they're wrong!"/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;""Dad, vous etes trop petainiste!" hollered Francois. "Come on everyone, let's leave him to rot." So the entire Quentin family abandoned their breadwinner on a Paris street and went to the shelter./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;" /p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 36pt;"That night, M. Quentin was blown up./p