Free Anne Frank and Me by Cherie Bennett Page B

resistants are heroes.”
    â€œMimi is right,” Suzanne agreed. “Someone has to stand up to Hitler. Listen to this.” She grabbed a copy of a collaborationist newspaper someone had left on the next table. “ ‘For some days,’ ” she read, “ ‘Israelites, with or without their yellow stars, have with their continued insolence provoked a number of incidents in respectable cafes, hotels, and restaurants. The behavior of these Jews has been disgusting. But now, with General Oberg’s order barring these creatures from nearly every public place where a true Frenchman would want to visit, peace and civility may reign when only disorder prevailed before.’ Does anyone really believe this swill?”
    Nicole’s face reddened involuntarily. The “creatures” the newspaper spoke of were her and her family.
    â€œSo, what is it you propose to do?” Jacques asked. “Throw irt clods at their tanks?”
    â€œWhatever it takes,” Mimi shot back defiantly.
    â€œYou should hear what else Oberg said, then.” Jacques took the paper. “ ‘I have ascertained that it is the close friends and relatives of assailants, saboteurs, and troublemakers who have been helping them both before and after their crimes,’ ” he read. “ ‘I have therefore decided to inflict the severest penalties not only on the troublemakers, but on the families of these criminals.’”
    â€œSo?” Mimi challenged her brother. “Are you afraid?”
    Jacques glanced at her coldly and read on. “ ‘One. All male relatives, including brothers-in-law and cousins over the age of eighteen, will be shot. Two. All females will be sentenced to hard labor. Three. All children of men and women affected by these measures will be put in reform schools—’”
    â€œHere we go again,” François groaned. “Politics, politics, politics. I am sick of hearing about politics.”
    Mimi turned on him. “How can you be? Imbecile Huns are running our country, and imbecile French are helping theml” Across the table, Nicole made a motion to Mimi to zip her lip, but she knew Mimi couldn’t help herself.
    â€œIt is always the same thing,” François groused, as he sipped his ersatz coffee. “I am not political. It bores me, really. I am zazou.”
    Nicole laughed. “You are not zazou. They are zazou.” She pointed through the cafe window to a knot of young men and women who sat at an outdoor table.
    The zazous was the name given to a movement of rebellious young people who disdained politics. They all went to the same cafes and listened to “swing” music. The messy, long-haired boys wore oversized jackets, the girls wore sweaters with huge shoulder pads, and they all wore sunglasses, even indoors.
    â€œWhere are your sunglasses, Monsieur Zazou?” Suzanne teased Francois. “Where is your long, greasy hair?”
    François blushed. “It is not my fault that I am forced to live under the domination of my narrow-minded parents.”
    Suzanne laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “It’s all right, François. I understand. You are zazou on the inside.”
    Everyone laughed, even François, because there was something so sweet about Suzanne that even he could not take offense. Nicole thought about how pretty and nice she was, and how her heart had been shattered when Jacques had confessed that he loved her, because—
    No. That didn’t happen. That was the American dream. Mostly, Nicole knew that now. But there still were flashes that felt so real—No. Jacques did not love Suzanne. He loved her. Only her. Forever. She snuggled closer to him, and he smiled.
    â€œWhere’s the waiter?” he wondered aloud. “I want to order you the best national coffee in Paris.”
    Nicole made a face. National coffee, made from ground roots and chicory, was a