3.
Lyon, Feb 1941
Marie Delorme was sure that the man approaching her on the Boulevard de la Croix Rousse (the Croix Rousse in the 4th Arrondissement of Lyon was the center of the silk industry, of which Lyon was the most important city in the world in its heyday after the invention of the Jacquard loom) was familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Then it hit her-he had been a classmate of hers from the
lycée-Robert, Robert Goldmann. He had come only during her final year; his family, Jews from Frankfurt had seen the writing on the wall with Hitler’s rise to power and had come to Lyon, where his father had some business ties.
She had liked Robert back then, though she had been too shy to say much to him even though he spoke French well, though with a bit of a German accent, having studied it in the
Gymnasium in Frankfurt.
Marie wondered whether she dared to say anything to him. It would be embarrassing if she were mistaken and it was not Robert, but perhaps even more embarrassing if it were him and he didn’t remember her.
But she was lonely and a bit sad. She worked as a teller in a bank, on her feet all day. The pay was not much, just barely enough to support her and her mother since her father had died a couple of years ago.
Marie had very little experience with men. Though she was attractive, she was very shy and usually found excuses to say no when men asked her out. But Robert was different-she remembered him as being more serious than most of the men she had met.
Marie swallowed her fear and stopped, blocking his path forward. “Robert?” she said.
He stopped a few feet short of her. “Do I know you, Mademoiselle?”
“It’s Marie, Marie Delorme from your class at the
lycée,” she said nervously.
Robert smiled broadly. “Marie! What a pleasure to run into you again! You were the most beautiful girl in that class!’
Marie blushed. “No, Robert, that isn’t true. Not at all. But I thank you for taking the trouble to lie about that.”
“It’s no lie, Marie. I admired you, but was too shy about my terrible French to speak with you.”
“Your French is delightful, Robert. What have you been doing since then?”
“Working for my father, trying to survive these horrible times.”
Marie took his arm. “Yes, it’s bad enough being a Catholic now, but to be a Jew with the Nazis all around must be so difficult.”
“Yes, and the Vichy police are not much better.”
Marie nodded. When she had been a
gone (a Lyonnaise word for a child), her father had spoken of the Great War and the battles against the
Bosch that he had fought in. She had been born while he was away fighting and didn’t remember, but he had told her it was supposed to be “The war to end all wars” and now here the world was fighting another one barely twenty years later.
“It’s shameful what has happened to our proud country,” Marie said. “To have folded in a matter of weeks and surrendered. And then for Marshal Pétain to shake Hitler’s hand like that, a man who once defended our Republic. I am glad my Papa didn’t live to see that.”
“Marie, it is almost dinner time. There is a
bouchon (a restaurant serving traditional Lyonnais dishes) that is very good near here. Would you join me for dinner?”
Marie blushed to be the object of the attention of a handsome man like Robert. “I wish I could, Robert, but money is very tight and I don’t think I can afford such an extravagance. Besides, Maman is waiting for me and will have a simple dinner.”
“You will of course, be my guest, Marie. You can telephone your mother and tell her you are working late at the bank counting the day’s receipts, can you not?”
Marie smiled. It had been so long since she had had an evening out. “It would be delightful, Robert”. He took her arm and led the way.
They had a simple, typical Lyonnais meal, beginning with Salade Lyonnaise (a salad with lardons-a sort of bacon-topped with a poached egg),
quenelles (dumplings made of pike) with a cream sauce and
tablier de sapeur(breaded beef tripe), accompanied by a carafe of wine from nearby Beaujolais. To finish they had a simple fromage blanc (a fresh cheese similar to yogurt) sprinkled with sugar.
As they ate, Robert explained that not everyone in France was willing to accept the abject state of the country as it was today, supine under the Nazi boot, run by traitors and cowards. There were people who believed the true France would return some day soon and were willing to fight for it.
“But what can you do, Robert?” she asked.
He shrugged. “At this time, not so much. We print newspapers that tell the truth, not the lies of the Vichy crew. We organize. We help Jews and others that the cops want to turn over to the Nazis to be shipped to Germany or Poland to be killed to escape when we can. And we wait. Hitler has failed to smash Britain. The Americans are helping. Soon, they will have to join the fight. We must be ready.”
“But it is so dangerous, Robert! Especially for you. If they catch you, they will turn you over to the Germans. And you know what will happen then.”
“Yes, I am under no illusions, Marie. But I cannot sit and do nothing.”
“I don’t think I can either,” she replied. “Not now that I know how much you are risking.”
“Then if you would like, I can have you meet a few people who believe in a free France. The police don’t know you and I think you can be useful.”
That first night, Robert walked Marie to the small apartment she shared with her mother. They exchanged a chaste kiss before parting. But they arranged to meet a few nights later. Robert took her into a house on a quiet street in Vieux Lyon. They exited through another door and passed through a
traboule (a secret passageway between buildings originally used by silk workers to transport goods without them being exposed to the elements) and entered another house on an adjoining street.
There was a group of around a dozen members of the Resistance, mostly men with a couple of women. They asked Marie some questions. They nodded at her answers, then told her they would call on her from time to time. When they needed her, someone would come to the bank where she worked and include a blank sheet of green paper along with their transaction. That would be the signal to wait after work in the Café des Canuts (the Lyonnais term for silk workers) in rue de la Republique in the center of the city where someone would approach her and give her further instructions.
Over the next month, Marie was asked to do a few fairly simple tasks, passing messages to people she would meet in bars and on street corners, sometimes passing money that had been given to her as well, often British Pounds or even American Dollars.
She didn’t see Robert during this month. Then, one evening, one of the Resistance women approached her in the café and told her to go to an apartment in La Croix Rousse. When the door opened, it was him, smiling. “Marie, it is wonderful to see you,” he said.
“You too, Robert,” she replied. Entering as he shut the door quickly behind her.
“You weren’t followed here, were you?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” she replied.
“I fear the police are looking for me,” he told her. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay here in Lyon,” he told her. “But in case I have to leave, I wanted to see you.”
Marie blushed. “I really would miss you if you have to leave. But you must do what is necessary to stay safe. I cannot stand to think of you in the hands of those monsters.”
Robert looked serious for a moment. “I have a few simple things for dinner, some charcuterie, some bread, some wine. But I ask only that we not speak of Nazis, Vichy or anything awful like that. Will you agree?”
“Of course, Robert. I spend enough time thinking of that and I know you do, too.” They sat at a simple pine table, the only piece of furniture in the living area of the apartment, and talked of their families, old classmates, their favorite places in Lyon. As Robert bent to clear the dishes, his face came very near Marie’s. She pulled him to her and kissed him, a kiss he returned with equal passion.
She had never done anything this bold in her whole life, but she was a brave Resistance fighter now, who knew no fear.
Robert pulled Marie to her feet and kissed her again, longer this time. He took her hand and led her into the bedroom, which was furnished with a simple mattress on a wrought iron frame. She did not resist.
He nuzzled her neck, unbuttoning her blouse and slipping it down her torso. Marie undid Robert’s shirt, feeling the hair on his chest. He lay on the bed, pulling Marie down next to him.
She ran her hands over his body, feeling the hardness inside his trousers. Soon they were both naked. “Be gentle, please, Robert. I have never done this before,” Marie said.
“Then I am honored,” he said, placing himself between her legs, his weight on his arms. He bent his head to take her breasts in his mouth, one by one. She moaned with pleasure.
Marie reached down to feel his erection. It felt strange to her, good, but not like anything else in her experience. She placed it at the entrance to her vagina.
“You are sure, Marie?” Robert asked.
“Very sure,” she replied as he pushed slowly inside. For a moment, the fear and anguish of the past year slipped away. Robert moved languorously inside her, savoring the warmth of her body. Gradually he sped up. Marie closed her eyes.
“I love you,” Robert cried, emptying himself into her. Marie shivered with delight. They lay there for a while, holding each other and not daring to speak.
Finally, Robert said, “We must go now”. They got dressed and left the apartment.
Some time later, Marie heard from one of the other Resistance members that Robert and a few others had been building bombs using explosives they had gotten through bribing a foreman at a construction firm. The plan was to get them to fighters in the occupied zone to blow up railway bridges used by the Germans. Unfortunately, there had been an accident and Robert and his colleagues were killed.
Marie cried for many days.
There are ladies present, after all. 
Great start Windar and Barb! Very exciting, these resistance capers.
and aqueducts to supply the city with water. The Aqueduct of the Gier was the longest known one built by the Romans at 85 km. Vestiges remain among the suburban developments 
Two Roman Emperors, Claudius and Caracalla, were born there.
The silk workers built these so they could move their goods between workshops without exposing them to the elements. The Resistance used them to escape the Vichy police and the Nazis.
