The Siren of Paris
Excerpt
June 2, 1940
Paris
Marc left the Metro and started to walk toward the embassy. He noticed people on the street reading flyers strewn everywhere on the ground. He picked one up and started to read the warning of the approaching bombardment.
“Is this real?” he asked the secretary when he walked in. “Yes, maybe. To them, it is real,” the secretary nodded toward the lobby filled with people in all sorts of dress waiting to apply for American visas. After dinner, Marc sat with Marie’s family around the radio. No one spoke a word, each one lost in his or her own world, poring over the meaning of every French word. The tension on the dial was too much, and the station would slip. Marie’s father got up and then tuned it back into the official station.
“Go to sleep, I told you two,” Marie’s mother told her little sister and brother.
“But we can’t. It is too loud,” the little girl said. “Marie, please,” her father said next.
“Come with me,” Marie said, and took them back into their room. “Now, looked back at Larry and his wife Margarette. “It will be fun.” He then looked down at Larry’s young daughter. “Like a camping trip. You like camping, right?” Then he turned back to the officer and said in a soft, dignified tone, “We’ll take five together for the lounge, please,” while he focused his mind upon the rose-colored marble altar of the church back in the port.
“Here are your cot numbers,” the officer said, and passed back their papers.
Marc left the Metro and started to walk toward the embassy. He noticed people on the street reading flyers strewn everywhere on the ground. He picked one up and started to read the warning of the approaching bombardment. “Is this real?” he asked the secretary when he walked in.
“Yes, maybe. To them, it is real,” the secretary nodded toward the lobby filled with people in all sorts of dress waiting to apply for American visas.
After dinner, Marc sat with Marie’s family around the radio. No one spoke a word, each one lost in his or her own world, poring over the meaning of every French word. The tension on the dial was too much, and the station would slip. Marie’s father got up and then tuned it back into the official station. “Go to sleep, I told you two,” Marie’s mother told her little sister and brother.
“But we can’t. It is too loud,” the little girl said.
“Marie, please,” her father said next. “Come with me,” Marie said, and took them back into their room. “Now, you need to sleep, and be good.” She tucked them both in, and then sat for a moment on the edge of her brother’s bed. Then she heard it. Then another one followed the first. She got up and went to the window and stood in front of it in silence, holding her breath so not to smother the noise of the next one. She opened the window to the warm night. She stood listening, while her brother and sister stayed in their beds. Marie’s mother left the room next. Marc listened to the radio with Marie’s father, his attention utterly absorbed by the reports. “Un moment, un moment,” Marie’s father said to Marc as he left the room, but Marc barely noticed as he stared into the frogeye tube of the radio panel.
After a few minutes, Marc awoke from his trance of radio reports, realizing he was alone in the room. Marc listened for their speaking. He heard nothing but the warm voice of the radio. He stood up and walked down the hallway toward the open door to the children’s room. Marie stood at the window with her father. Her mother sat with her little sister on the bed. No one spoke. Marc walked into the room toward the window to try and get a glimpse of what they were looking at down on the street. Then he heard them. They were soft and distant, like the muffled backfires of a car. A louder and closer one snapped his ears to attention. The shelling just northeast of the city softly drowned out all other sounds, including the frantic radio reports.
When Marc left that night for his flat, the streets were alive with people packing cars. A couple argued about getting money before the Germans took over the banks. In the Metro, no one spoke. It seemed to Marc that the air had been removed from all of Paris. People lined the floor of Marc’s station to sleep that night in fear of the approaching bombs.
-LeRoy, David. The Siren Of Paris (Kindle)
Paris
Marc left the Metro and started to walk toward the embassy. He noticed people on the street reading flyers strewn everywhere on the ground. He picked one up and started to read the warning of the approaching bombardment.
“Is this real?” he asked the secretary when he walked in. “Yes, maybe. To them, it is real,” the secretary nodded toward the lobby filled with people in all sorts of dress waiting to apply for American visas. After dinner, Marc sat with Marie’s family around the radio. No one spoke a word, each one lost in his or her own world, poring over the meaning of every French word. The tension on the dial was too much, and the station would slip. Marie’s father got up and then tuned it back into the official station.
“Go to sleep, I told you two,” Marie’s mother told her little sister and brother.
“But we can’t. It is too loud,” the little girl said. “Marie, please,” her father said next.
“Come with me,” Marie said, and took them back into their room. “Now, looked back at Larry and his wife Margarette. “It will be fun.” He then looked down at Larry’s young daughter. “Like a camping trip. You like camping, right?” Then he turned back to the officer and said in a soft, dignified tone, “We’ll take five together for the lounge, please,” while he focused his mind upon the rose-colored marble altar of the church back in the port.
“Here are your cot numbers,” the officer said, and passed back their papers.
Marc left the Metro and started to walk toward the embassy. He noticed people on the street reading flyers strewn everywhere on the ground. He picked one up and started to read the warning of the approaching bombardment. “Is this real?” he asked the secretary when he walked in.
“Yes, maybe. To them, it is real,” the secretary nodded toward the lobby filled with people in all sorts of dress waiting to apply for American visas.
After dinner, Marc sat with Marie’s family around the radio. No one spoke a word, each one lost in his or her own world, poring over the meaning of every French word. The tension on the dial was too much, and the station would slip. Marie’s father got up and then tuned it back into the official station. “Go to sleep, I told you two,” Marie’s mother told her little sister and brother.
“But we can’t. It is too loud,” the little girl said.
“Marie, please,” her father said next. “Come with me,” Marie said, and took them back into their room. “Now, you need to sleep, and be good.” She tucked them both in, and then sat for a moment on the edge of her brother’s bed. Then she heard it. Then another one followed the first. She got up and went to the window and stood in front of it in silence, holding her breath so not to smother the noise of the next one. She opened the window to the warm night. She stood listening, while her brother and sister stayed in their beds. Marie’s mother left the room next. Marc listened to the radio with Marie’s father, his attention utterly absorbed by the reports. “Un moment, un moment,” Marie’s father said to Marc as he left the room, but Marc barely noticed as he stared into the frogeye tube of the radio panel.
After a few minutes, Marc awoke from his trance of radio reports, realizing he was alone in the room. Marc listened for their speaking. He heard nothing but the warm voice of the radio. He stood up and walked down the hallway toward the open door to the children’s room. Marie stood at the window with her father. Her mother sat with her little sister on the bed. No one spoke. Marc walked into the room toward the window to try and get a glimpse of what they were looking at down on the street. Then he heard them. They were soft and distant, like the muffled backfires of a car. A louder and closer one snapped his ears to attention. The shelling just northeast of the city softly drowned out all other sounds, including the frantic radio reports.
When Marc left that night for his flat, the streets were alive with people packing cars. A couple argued about getting money before the Germans took over the banks. In the Metro, no one spoke. It seemed to Marc that the air had been removed from all of Paris. People lined the floor of Marc’s station to sleep that night in fear of the approaching bombs.
-LeRoy, David. The Siren Of Paris (Kindle)
About the Author:
David Leroy did extensive research on the German occupation of France for his debut novel The Siren of Paris. This historical novel follows the journey of one American from medical student, to artist, to political prisoner at Buchenwald Concentration Camp during World War Two.
You can purchase The Siren of Paris in Kindle e-book format from Amazon -- http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0088CA098 and learn more about this author and novel at http://www.thesirenofparis.com/
For more information about this virtual book tour, please visit -- http://bookpromotionservices.com/2012/05/22/siren-of-paris-tour/
David Leroy did extensive research on the German occupation of France for his debut novel The Siren of Paris. This historical novel follows the journey of one American from medical student, to artist, to political prisoner at Buchenwald Concentration Camp during World War Two.
You can purchase The Siren of Paris in Kindle e-book format from Amazon -- http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0088CA098 and learn more about this author and novel at http://www.thesirenofparis.com/
For more information about this virtual book tour, please visit -- http://bookpromotionservices.com/2012/05/22/siren-of-paris-tour/
Nice post...mine is up today.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
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