Questions We Sidestep in Peacetime
The crowd parted before their uniforms and closed behind them, leaving a pale, unassuming—half-expected—patch of faded green among the dark clothing of the civilians. (1)
November 1943, Paris
Gilbert hated doing these so-called 'parades.' Festivities to let the rest of the world know Paris was alive and kicking, that she was still the city she once was. Instead, the German soldiers were just marching in the fast-deteriorating cobble stone streets while the French citizens stood watching hatefully from their doorways. But still, marching sure beat fighting along the Russian front. At least here he knew he and his brother would be safe. So they marched. Gilbert was on the end of his row, so he could see all the French citizens he had been living alongside for the past couple years. At first, they seemed like regular people but if you looked closely, you could see the sunken cheeks, the hollowed out eyes, the malnutrition evident on their faces and bodies. But most of all, the sorrowful look which became contagious soon after the Germans first strode into the city.
Gilbert decided to avert his eyes from these guilt-inducing stares, to the road ahead. Down the street, he could see a couple figures trying to get to the other side of the street. With the soldiers marching on steadily, it looked like they weren't going to get far. There were two of them, siblings, maybe twins as they both had the same short brunette hair, although one was darker than the other. From where Gilbert was, he could only speculate the genders. A boy and a girl, he guessed, and the girl carried a suitcase with her while the boy was gesturing frantically for her to hurry up. This bothered Gilbert as surely the boy should have offered to carry the lady's suitcase, sibling or not. It seemed the boy had found a gap in the endless row of soldiers and was able to make it through, but the poor girl was less lucky as she accidentally bumped into one of the soldiers, spilling the contents of the suitcase everywhere. It was a camera, tripod, lights and microphone; the whole package. An expensive camera, comprised of many parts; one you had to fix up and take apart every time you wanted to use it. This complexity contributed to the quality of the camera, but was not very convenient when all the parts were scattered on the floor. The girl managed to gather nearly all the parts, but as Gilbert advanced towards her he noticed a cog had rolled out of her eyesight, therefore went unnoticed as she shut up the suitcase. Gilbert took a quick glance around at the other men, then broke away and scooped up the missing cog.
Quickly jogging to the girl, Gilbert pressed the small cog into her delicate hands.
"Oh, thank you." She spoke in English, which was surprising since Gilbert hadn't heard English in a long time. Her hand flew up to her mouth. "Ah, I'm not English." She probably knew about the recent arrests of Englishmen and women. It sounded like she was speaking the truth though, her words clipped by a distinct Italian accent. Gilbert tapped his nose twice.
"Don't worry, you don't sound English." Gilbert walked backwards until he rejoined the march.
"Where the hell did you go?" The man who marched next to him asked.
"I think she was Italian." Gilbert was still looking back at the girl, who was now getting a good scolding from her brother.
"What?" The soldier was baffled by Gilbert's supposed answer. Gilbert turned his gaze at the soldier, grinning like a love sick idiot.
"I said I think she was Italian."
Once Feliciano had joined his brother, he received every swear word under the sun from Lovino for dropping the suitcase. At least that kind German soldier spotted the cog. He'd be in even more trouble if he had lost that. But he was more confused than anything; as the war wore on, the people around him painted a terrible picture of the Germans. Nazi soldiers were robots who obeyed a tyrannical racist man with a moustache who only wished for power. And yet this German had helped him, had made him smile.
Either way, he was able to get to the other side of the street more or less in one piece. He let his brother's rant go over his head, as he had grown accustomed to that kind of behaviour and knew that Lovino didn't really mean the things he said.
"Just don't fucking do it again."
Feliciano waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry, I've got it."
"Lovino!" They were joined by a slightly taller man with shoulder length golden tousled hair and a stubble. He pulled Lovino into a hug and kissed him on both cheeks. "So good to see you again, how's your Grandfather?"
"He died." Lovino was curt with this information, he didn't like getting into his and Feliciano's Grandfather's death too much for fear of upsetting either of them.
"Oh, sorry to hear that." The man had taken the hint and decided to change to subject. "And who is this lovely lady?" He sauntered over to Feliciano and bent down to kiss his hand. Feliciano could only giggle nervously at this courteous Frenchman.
Lovino slapped the Frenchman on his shoulder. "That is my brother, Feliciano. And could you take your fucking hands off of him." He smiled pleasantly through clenched teeth.
The Frenchman let go of Feliciano's hand. "Well, don't let a silly little thing like gender stop you. I'm right here if you need me, mon chéri."
The two brothers had migrated from America to France when America joined the war, but France being a country divided it had taken them 2 years to contact and meet up with family, that family being Francis. Francis was open to the idea of housing two Italians, even though he'd most likely be called a fascist due to their nationality. Feliciano and Lovino had gone to live in America in the first place to escape the fascism of their country, and to find a better life after their Grandfather died. Unfortunately, war beckoned and the two were told to leave. Refusing to go back to Italy, they decided to go to France, to go to the only known family they had left.
Francis welcomed them with open arms, and although Paris wasn't as lovely as it would have been without the war's interference, he stayed optimistic in hope of the two seeing a liberated Paris.
"And, of course, I fight in the Resistance." Francis told them while welcoming them to their knew home, a three bedroomed apartment much too vast for three people, let alone one. The excess of dusty expensive looking crockery made up for lack of food in the cupboards.
"You're too trusting, we could be collaborating with the Germans." Lovino remarked, taking into account the lavish but not very well-kept furniture; valuable, but stained; costly, but disorderly. The complete cut of electricity and oil also contributed to the sombre atmosphere of the apartment. The meek glow of the winter sun only emanated light in a small radius neighbouring the window, leaving the surrounding room in a pale shadow.
"But you are family, no? We should always be able to trust family."
Lovino scowled. Maybe he and Feliciano weren't fit for life in Paris, the heart of the world and the heart of the war. This was the first they had glimpsed at German soldiers so close, not on the radio or television. And it would become all too real all too quickly.