La Liberation de Paris August 1944

Julien stared down at his confiture. "Maman. Francois. I know a month has passed since Father's death, but I can't help feeling guilt that he died without reconciliation."

Mme. Quentin and Francois stared back at him.

"Seriously?" Mme inquired sarcastically. "I was married to him for 25 years and even I don't give a merde."

"Yeah, come on," Francois added. "I'm the one who let him rot. I don't feel bad at all!"

"I don't usually speak my emotions to you," said Julien, looking down to the ground. "In fact, the only person I ever felt truly comfortable to share my feelings with was Jean. And he's probably dead in some camp right now. I just feel so much guilt about so many things. First Jean, now Papa… When will the deaths end? When will we finally be free? If only Jean had been hidden until now. If only I hadn't gave him the glance that led to his death. I… I… I… just got along with him so well. He understood me like no one ever has."

Julien looked up. His family had left hours ago.

Late October 1944

Julien stared out the window of his flat. The image of Jean's smiling face and beautiful curled hair re-emerged in his mind. He felt a premonition of doom and remembered the best moments he and Jean spent in the short time they shared together. He remembered the determined look in Jean's eyes as they walked through the forest, and how badly he had wanted to pin him onto a tree and kiss the living hell out of him. He had wanted so desperately to bite Jean's luscious lip and run his hands through those curly locks. Jean may have wanted to find a way back to le college, but Julien had wanted to prolong their alone time in the secluded forest.

Julien's stomach twisted. Something terrible had happened to Jean, he was sure of it. He whispered to the sky, "Mon Dieu, please let Jean know that I love him. Please let him live so I can tell him." But Jean was probably dead. If he hadn't returned to see Julien by now, he must have died. Julien knew it was all his fault.

Scene 11. The Allied Victory May 1945

"Excuse me, monsieur," Julien inquired to an American soldier on the streets of Paris. "Do you have a record of Jean Kippelstein? He was in the camp at Auschwitz."

"Ah yes," said the American, rifling through his records. You see, he didn't have the aid of the internet so this took a long time. Julien stood there as the American looked through five separate tomes of Auschwitz records. Late afternoon turned into evening turned into dusk turned into dawn. Finally, the soldier opened his mouth. "He died in the camp."

Julien was shocked beyond belief. He had known there was a low probability of Jean's survival, but he had had the smallest hope that Jean would have survived.

"When?"

"October 1944."

He had hoped that he and Jean could have escaped to a tropical island and recreated one of the scenes from the Arabian Nights. Julien was now 13. His lust for Jean was growing, though he knew it could never be realised.

Francois passed his bac and went to university. Shortly after, he met the girl of his dreams, proposed to her, and moved out of the Quentins' flat.

Julien continued to attend the snobby Parisian school. He hated it. He was full of teen angst and also Holocaust angst and homosexual angst that he kept hidden deep inside.