Free Odette's Secrets by Maryann Macdonald Page B

Closer
    Only one person in our village has a radio,
    our landlord’s son.
    Mama and I go to his house
    and crouch with him in front of his beat-up old radio.
    We listen to scratchy sounds,
    news of nearby battles.
    The war is creeping closer and closer.
    American and British soldiers land in Normandy,
    and take part of France back from the Nazis.
    Now they are blasting a strong submarine base,
    only fifty miles away.
    Bombs fall on Saint-Nazaire day and night.
    Echoes of these bombs
    reach as far as La Basse Clavalière.
    I watch the lamp tremble over our table.
    Sometimes it even swings back and forth.
    I count how many times …
    eight, nine, ten.
    I tell myself if I get to twelve,
    the war will be over.
    But I never get quite that far.
    Before long,
    enemy soldiers fill Saint-Fulgent.
    One day,
    we hear Nazi soldiers march past our school.
    They are singing a rowdy song.
    My teacher closes the shutters
    so we won’t have to listen.
    Then she closes the windows,
    even though it’s warm.
    But we can still hear the song.
    At first, my teacher looks sad.
    But after a while,
    her sadness shifts into anger.
    She pounds one fist on her desk.
    Then she pounds both fists.
    We listen, and at last we understand.
    She is pounding out the beat of “La Marseillaise,”
    the French national anthem.
    We begin to pound our desks too.
    We’re going to pound out the enemy soldiers,
    pound out the sound of their song.
    â€œArise, children of the Fatherland,
    the day of glory has arrived….”
    Our chests swell.
    Like strong soldiers,
    we battle bravely.
    We’ll win back freedom for our beloved country,
    La Belle France
,
    or die trying.

The Soldiers Go Away
    The Nazis leave our village at last!
    The war is going badly for them.
    The troops gather in the main square.
    Their officer makes a speech.
    He thanks the mayor for our village’s hospitality.
    Then he reaches forward to shake the mayor’s hand.
    â€œNever,” says the mayor,
    â€œwould I shake hands with my country’s enemy.”
    The officer’s eyes darken with anger.
    He marches off with his men.
    Cars and trucks follow.
    In the last one,
    I see a goat.
    She stands on the backseat,
    her head stuck out the window.
    Children chase after the car, laughing and cheering.
    The goat watches them calmly.
    She bats her eyelashes.
    Within minutes, our houses and windows shake.
    A deep rumble, a crash!
    Are the soldiers bombing our village?
    No, just our mayor’s chateau.
    The enemy officer had to repay our mayor’s insult.
    For refusing to shake hands,
    his elegant mansion has been turned into a pile of rubble.
    Two scared, stranded soldiers straggle into our village,
    pushing carts packed with food.
    They are lost.
    â€œCan anyone show us which way the others went?” they ask.
    â€œOh, yes,” says Mama.
    She points in the direction of the woods,
    where Resistance fighters hide.
    In minutes, the enemy soldiers are back in the town square,
    prisoners of our local young heroes.
    Everyone gathers around the carts to see what’s in them.
    â€œCandy?” all the children ask.
    â€œIs there any chocolate?”
    When we find it,
    we eat every last piece.
    No one tries to stop us.

Vive la France!
    â€œHurry!” say the villagers.
    â€œDon’t miss the celebration in Saint-Fulgent.
    News has come that Paris is free.”
    Mama drags me to Saint-Fulgent.
    People dance in the streets.
    â€œThe war is almost over!” they shout.
    France and its allies are winning.
    What does this mean for us? I wonder.
    Are Jews safe now?
    What about Papa?
    On the way home, Mama can’t stop talking.
    â€œNo more cooking in a black iron pot.
    No more straw mattresses or cottages filled with mice.
    No more kneeling in church,
    lugging water from the well,
    pretending that your father does not exist.”
    She can’t wait to get back to Paris,
    to electric lights, running water, and indoor toilets.
    My