AFTER THE SURRENDER, on the morning the Nazis arrived in Bordeaux, I rode my bicycle through the sweltering June heat into the city centre. The gentle susurration of cicadas and rushing summer breeze were interrupted only by the occasional crow of a rooster from one of the many farms situated down the river, or the barking of a hungry hound. 

The thick summer air slapped my bare legs as I cycled down cobblestone streets, noticing the lack of people that had crowded the city only a few days before. If not for the tangled smells of wine and fresh bread, I would not have believed anyone still lived there.

Mireille, Jean, my brother, and Monsieur Le Sueur remained behind. Monsieur Le Sueur's fear had propelled him into action and stockpiled all the weapons he could find in the garden shed and the attic. Even common household items—jagged pieces of china and sewing scissors—became potential instruments of resistance.

I did not know why I left the safety of the home that had always provided me comfort when I needed it most. 

I should have remained tucked away in my bed chamber in a cocoon of feather pillows and quilts, or in the salon with everyone else huddled around an illegal radio. At least, I assumed any information from the allies would be illegal now that we had been conquered by our foes.

Nearing my favourite boulangerie outside of Paris, I slid off my bicycle and leaned it against a confectioner's storefront—windows shuttered and a glaring sign erected to deter hungry refugees. In recent days, they had all but destroyed our gardens searching for scraps of anything remotely edible.

For a moment, I stood alone on the street, memories of my childhood echoing through my mind. As a child, I loved venturing into town with Maman and Nicolas. When she was not in one of her dark moods, she would volunteer to collect the groceries for Madame Le Sueur, astounding the shopkeepers with her charming smile and quick wit, but most importantly, her lavish spending.

I remembered her wearing a rose crepe de chine with a cinched waist, full sleeves, and a flowing skirt, flirting with one of the shopkeepers to secure a better deal on a fur boa. When she failed, she had purchased the extravagance anyway, draping it around her slender neck with glee.

I could have surrendered to the intoxicating pull of nostalgia if the sound of marching had not erupted at that moment.

A sea of German soldiers poured into the city streets. 

Windows and doors were slammed shut, with the exception of a few brave souls creeping out into the street to watch the military parade. 

They strode forward with unbridled pride, their weapons slung over their broad shoulders and their grey uniforms pristine. Helmets obscured their faces, but I could still see the eyes of young men and boys—scarcely old enough to bear the brutalities of war. Some men were older, with lines etched into their faces and grey whiskers. They could have fought alongside my father in the Great War. How did they feel about facing another so soon?

A familiar face grinned at me from my periphery.

"Juliette!" I exclaimed, rushing forward to pull the young girl into the safety of a nearby alleyway. We stood amongst the shadows, the soldiers marching past us, pushing deeper into the heart of the city. "What in heaven's name are you doing here? You should be at home with your family!" 

Juliette smiled. "I wanted to watch the parade. Maman does not know where I went, and I do not need to tell her. I am almost seventeen! I can do what I wish." 

I released her thin shoulders from my grasp, surprised by her defiance. Indeed, she was no longer a small child and old enough to make her own decisions. Still, I could not help but feel a crushing worry that something terrible would befall her because of her increasing recklessness. 

We emerged from the shadows and watched our captors relish in their victory, whistling and exalting their leader, whose name I detested too much to even think.

A dark mist poured through the streets. At first, I shuddered with fear at the thought it was the poisonous gas my father had spoken of used in modern warfare, but soon realized it was the first sign of rain as smooth pearls of water touched my bare arms.

We watched as a small German with blonde hair and wide-rimmed spectacles mounted the staircase leading to Bordeaux's most popular church. A middle-aged woman who had emerged from her apartment above to watch the scene spat on the ground before her, muttering about what a shame it was the Nazis were besmirching our most sacred spaces.

The blonde German shouted into an amplifying device with heavily accented French, the rest of the troops standing reverently in front of him. "We have come to liberate your city..."

I blocked out his words, my eyes drifting over the crowd of enemy faces. I had expected them to look like beasts up close, but they appeared more regular than imagined.

Juliette giggled about how handsome they looked in their uniforms and how lovely it would be to have more young men in the city at last, since so many of our young Frenchmen were still deployed. I reminded her that our Frenchmen were gone fighting against these invaders, but she batted her eyelids and dismissed my protestations as pessimistic.

I caught the glance of a soldier with a thick moustache and dark hair, his appearance not unlike any of the Frenchmen I encountered on a daily basis. Before I could pry my eyes away, he made some crude hand gestures and elbowed his neighbour, who joined in on the aggravation.

I grabbed Juliette by the hand and dragged her away from the scene, feeling both violated and terribly afraid of what was in store.

"I want to stay!" Juliette demanded petulantly, resisting my grasp. "Please!"

I ignored her pleas and led her down the alley with my bicycle in tow. A shiver rose through me when I noticed a paper that must have flown away from one of the soldiers during the parade. I picked it up and read the contents aloud: "Beware of the Jew and his plans to destroy the French people."

I tore the paper into tiny shreds. Juliette stared at me in shock as I threw the remnants down and stomped on them, spitting at my feet in exasperation.

"You should not have done that, Mademoiselle." A stern, accented voice tickled the back of my neck. Goosebumps sprouted over my arms. "The only kind of person who would disgrace a document of truth is a Jew himself. And a beautiful young woman like yourself is undoubtedly a pure-blooded Frenchwoman."

I spun around to face a German soldier, his eyes narrowed. He must have seen us leave the parade and followed us into the alley. He was not tall but possessed a certain confidence characteristic of one high in rank. Perfectly combed blonde hair and a pristine uniform made it seem as though the war had not touched him. Perhaps it hadn't.

I wanted desperately to argue with the man and tell him the truth, but I knew doing so would result in a terrible fate. Thankfully, I was a performer and knew how to put on a show.

"Of course. I do not know what I was thinking. I should not have done that." I bowed my head in faux reverence, biting back the hundreds of sarcastic retorts I wanted to utter instead. "I have yet to learn about the German mission, and only understand what my fellow Frenchmen say about it. Perhaps that is why I reacted poorly."

The soldier seemed surprised by my reaction but smiled pleasantly. "It can be forgiven. My name is Wilhelm Detweiler and I would be pleased to explain our führer's noble cause to you over a café if that suits you. Or perhaps, you can show me your favourite parts of Bordeaux while I am stationed here. I would be the envy of the entire German army with such a beautiful woman on my arm." 

At my side, Juliette giggled hysterically. I resisted the urge to elbow her.

I realized his intentions were more than patriotic. I had lived long enough to understand he wanted to have a romantic excursion. Bedding the enemy's women was another military boast he could add to his accomplishments.

"I am afraid that will not be possible as I am a married woman." I used my usual excuse, though I was not wearing the emerald ring I would wear when I performed at Parisian jazz clubs and wanted to keep relentless potential suitors at bay.

Wilhelm's gaze dropped to my ring finger, but he did not mention the absence of a wedding ring. "But of course, your husband could accompany us! What is his name? And yours, so that I may call on you?"

"My husband is..." My voice faltered, but only momentarily. "His name is Monsieur Jean Rytewski, and I am Madame Vivienne Rytewsi."

In my periphery, I saw Juliette's mouth hang open. I was pretending her beloved Jean was my husband, though we hardly knew one another.

Wilhelm smiled, though frowned slightly when he heard the surname. My stomach dropped when I realized I had used a Polish name instead of a French one.

"Of course, he is a true Frenchman. One of his ancestors was Polish but so far back that you would hardly notice." I lied.

"Very well," Wilhelm grinned lewdly, "I will call on you both soon. Good day, Madame and Mademoiselle."