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| manifesto, thigh highs, boys, abovethe law, laborlaw, fetish, nuns, drunk girl, devil, galleries, mom and son, falafael, pictures, news, israel podcasts, anger management, rape videos, | Myself, I stayed within peter manseau range of my mother. I was rather a docile character. My father was away for the whole of the war, first at the front, then as a prisoner in Germany, near Idar-Oberstein. Would our war have been different if my father hadn't been a prisoner? You can't peter manseau remake history, you have to take the world as it is with all the dead on its battlefields, the emigrations, famines, purges, and exterminations. My father wasn't entirely with us even before the peter manseau war. He went to work, he came home, he did some gardening on Sundays and summer evenings. In winter he bottled his wine in the cellar; he went to Mass on Sundays and took Communion, a reflex left over from his childhood. When he got up in the morning he said, "How are you?" and didn't wait to hear the answer. He lived in a world of his own, what world you couldn't really be sure, double-locked behind an invisible door: it was a tenuous veil but enough to make him inaccessible. When I sometimes asked, as a child, "What are you thinking about, Papa?" |
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| I asked Anne if she knew why our mother was so relieved, and she told me: She isn't going to be a grandma just yet. Anne didn't go back to school after this escapade, but she was spared boys having to work. She spent her evenings dancing, her boys mornings sleeping, and her afternoons flirting. She was free to do anything she liked, and she boys knew no bounds. Yet our parents had been strict with Isabelle and me. We were kept under permanent supervision. My elder sister had met a boy from the southwest, some godforsaken dump in Gascony; you couldn't get there by either train or car in under sixteen hours. She married him in haste to get out of the parental line of fire. On the day when that photo was taken she was visiting, which was unusual. It was Easter time, I think, but she left that same evening. We hardly ever saw her, and spent the war without her. When the national territory was cut in two, she didn't mind: a bold demarcation line traced across the map of France separated her from us, a border like a cordon sanitaire. |
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