Soft Steps

I quietly rubbed the cold water on my face and neck and then put some in my moth, sloshing it around. I was trying to be quiet because Brandon was on the other side of the small room sleeping. His hair drifted from side to side as the wind blew in the from the open window, and caused the curtains to billow. He whimpered and mubbled a few words and then turned over. Brandon was my shining light. An angel, sent from God.

He was usually quiet, but when he did talk he usually was just babbling to himself. He knew how to talk, and often only talked when he wanted or needed something. “Up,” “Down,” “Stop,” “Mommy,” and “No,” were mainly the five words that he spoke. When he wanted Sol’s attention he would usually yell, “So!”

Brandon mumbled and turned over again. I laughed as he rubbed his hands over one-another and a faint smiled appeared on his face. I pulled the black wide-legged pants over my short legs, and then put on my three-quarter-sleeved black shirt. Finally I tucked my hair into a hat. With a small, unisex bag, I was out the door after a kiss for Brandon, and a goodbye to Sol.

I started the car, and sat in the front seat. As I let the car run for a bit, I traced the steering wheel with my fingertips; I traced the horn with my palm; I let my fingernails click over each button. The one for Park, Drive, Neutral, and Reverse. I was trying to remember everything. Everything that belonged to me could be gone in an instant. I had to remember that here. I wasn’t in New York anymore. I was in Nazi-Controlled France, and I couldn’t risk losing myself in this town, I couldn’t risk losing my son, my sister, and my only home.

I rolled down my window and pushed the button, putting the car into drive. The car made a few putting noises, but rolled forward, my foot on the gas pedal, pushing it faster. I passed a car filled with Nazi soldiers and heard cat calls. I figured I would wave, as to not draw unwanted attention to myself. I was still amazed that I had gotten into Nazi-Controlled France without being questioned. I rolled by a second car filled with Nazi soldiers and waved to them too. Some of them were good looking, but I needed to remember who they were.

I came into town and drove a bit back out of town to park the car. The first store I wanted to go into was the shoe store. We had accidentally forgotten one of Brandon’s pairs of shoes on the boat, which I we extremely upset about. I walked into the store and picked up a pair of leather shoes that were a little bit bigger than Brandon’s current size. So he could grow into them. I paied the shop keeper and put the bag of shoes on my arm.

I walked out and walked down the block. I passed a small girl skipping and she smiled up at me. I returned the smile, and complimented the dress she was wearing. “Danke!” She laughed and continued skipping, untill she got up to what I was suspecting was her mother. She gripped the woman’s hand and then stopped skipping.

I smiled a bit. I never was really close to my mother. I was upset after they were gone, but I don’t remember ever really mourning them. I don’t remember Brandon mourning them either.

The truth was that I couldn’t remember my mom being there when I went into labor, when I was prepping to push, when my baby was crowning, when he took his first breath. I don’t think she ever even visited me. Solena and her brother visited me more than my own parents did. And I know that for advice for Brandon, I went to my elderly neighbor, Dorothy.

The young girl and her mother went into a dress shop and I followed suit. I had never really worn a dress, and I thought that maybe having one would be fun.

I stood infront of the mirror, looking at myself in a knee length red dress. It had a sweetheart top, with wide-straight straps, and a poofed out skirt. “Puis-je avoir la robe? (Can I have the dress?)” The woman nodded curtly and unzipped it so I could put my pants and shirt back on. She packaged up the dress and I handed her some money.

This was my first dress, since my Holy Communion. When I had stood infront of that mirror, I felt genuinely pretty. I knew I was pretty normal looking, but I really truly felt like I was worth something. After having Brandon, people looked at me differently, because they knew he was my child. I didn’t have a husband, and I so I was looked down upon for having a child, especially because my community was very Religious based.

I walked out of the dress store and stood looking up and down the street. Two soldiers walked by, one of them winking at me. I smiled back, but soon made my way in their opposite direction. When I came to the grocery I opened the door and greeted the shop keeper. I picked up some seeds for the garden, and decided on the large first aid kit. Brandon after all was just beginning to walk. I didn’t want to have to deal with coming bak into town for more supplies. I also picked up a few new pails, they were bigger than the ones at the farm, and were a lot less dented. Lastly, I picked up a few pieces of cloth, some to use to line the baskets that we used for new-born chicks, and to wrap around the other small newborns , and some to use to sew together for a few blankets.

When I left the store there was a man in a green uniform leaning against a car. “Madame Lucielle Cotillard?” “Oui.” “Monte dans la voider. (Get in the car.)” I quickly looked around me as my packages were stolen from my arms, and I was pushed into the car. The soldiers who had taken my packages were sitting on either side of me, holding them. One of them had opened the one with Brandon’s shoes and he laughed at their size.

He said something to the other in German, and then they both laughed. “Les chaussures appartiennent à mon fils. (The shoes belong to my son.)” I snapped and placed them back into the box. “Votre fils (Your son?)” The officer at the front laughed. “Quel âge avez-vous? (How old are you?)” “Dix-neigh (nineteen)”

One of the soldiers moved his hand onto my knee, and glared at the other. I felt like a piece of meat. Everything that had been established in that dress store was shattered. I glared at the solider that was gripping my knee. My hat blew off, and thankfully had fallen behind my back, and not out onto the road. My blonde hair was let loose and it blew in my face. I quickly retrieved my had from behind my back redid my hair. One of the soldiers had taken my har and placed in in my hand, smiling at my head. I quickly looked down. I felt so violated, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I noticed the soldiers watch read half past five. I had been gone for four hours, already, and Sol wanted...The car stopped infront of another shop, this one was another grocery store. I was led to the back of the shop, were a man was sitting at a table, his hands folded behind his head. The man smiled when I walked in and stood up. My packages were placed in the corner, and my hat was placed on the table. I quickly removed it and tucked it into my pocket.

“Anything to drink?” The man asked, to my surprise, in English. “Lait.” I whispered. Milk always managed to calm me down. “I know you speak perfect english, and quite frankly, I’d prefer if you spoke English. Your french is quite...disgusting.”

I looked up incredulously. He knew I spoke English? “And I know you’re from America too.” He smiled poured me a cup of milk. I quietly sipped at it.

“I’ll need your name.” The mysterious man pulled out a pen and a book, and hone opened to a clean page. “Lucielle Cotillard.” I confirmed and set my half-empty glass down. The man laughed and sat back, his hands folded again.

“I asked for your name, not the name you gave yourself. I know that is not your real name. And I understand you needed to change to...fit in. Am I right?” I nodded.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked as I stared at the milk. “Me? Madam, I will leave you alone. I just need to keep you on track. If something gets out of hand in this little town, well, there is obviously someone behind it. Being that you are, in fact, not a native Frank, or German, I would hate for you to be automatically blamed. But if you were behind it. It also would easier to…track you down.”

“Lucy Schulz.” I said a bit stronger and picked up my glass of milk. “And your friend’s name?” “Solena Cotillard.” “And is there anyone else in the farm?” “My son, Brandon. He is two.”

The man smiled and wrote down the names. “You said you won’t do anything to me, or my family? We won’t be any trouble. We just want to live peacefully. Sir, we really don’t want any trouble. We were losing our home in America, and Solena’s grandfather had passed, leaving the house to her. We don’t want to be trouble. I just want my son to grow up with a roof over his head, and a bed to sleep in.”

“I give you my word. If you do not do anything to disturb or get in the way of the third reich, or any of their plans, you will be left alone, and I will make sure of that.”

“Thank you.” I whispered.

“Just two more questions.” “Ask away.”

“Do you know of the whereabout of the third jewish family that lives in your area?”
“I don’t know any of the people in this area.”

He smiled again, but I cold tell that this smile was forced.

“Lastly, how many full bedrooms are in your house?”

I raised my eyebrow, “Four, but three are currently being used.”

The man smiled and then scribbled something else down.

“Well that is all I’ll need. I thank you for your time. May I just tell you that as long as you stick to your french you really should have no problem.”

I curtsied, “Thank you so very much sir.”

The man smiled and kissed my hand, causing me to flinch, “Please, call me Colonel Hans Landa.”

I was escorted by the soldiers who carried my packages, back towards the car. I was then driven back to my back my car, and they helped put everything into the car. I thanked the soldiers and they headed out, going down the same road as me.

It was nearing sundown and I decided to try and push the engine a little bit more so I could return home before it was dark. I saw a car up ahead and honked because the car was still.

I began to drive past, but when I looked at the stationary car, I leaned out the window and puked. I puked again and looked up at the bloody car. At the mutilated faces of the driver and passenger, and the mutilated faces of the two passengers, one had only recently held the shoes of my baby boy in one if their hands, the other who had only recently placed his hand on my leg.

I looked around the destroyed car and found a knife in the belt of the solider who had help up Brandon’s shoes. I pulled off his belt and put it in my car. When I went back, I puked a third time as I noticed that all four of the men were missing the top of their head. I stood up and wiped my mouth off.

I wielded the knife in my left hand and slowly did the same thing that had happened to the solider’s skull, but this time to their palms. As I pulled the skin off each soldier, I threw it behind me into the forest.

I stood back and looked at the knife in my hand, wondering what it had been used for. There was dried, browned blood along the side of the blade. I dropped it to the floor, and then dropped my knees to the floor, and emptied my stomach once more, and then my body made me try two more times, but nothing was left. I quietly stood up and wiped the knife off on the uniform of the front passenger, then replaced the knife in my new belt.

I sat in the car and stared straight ahead as I drove away. I needed to get home. Solena was probably attempting to cook her nerves away.