The Thief

Theme – Don’t tell Anyone

THE THIEF

They say you regret the things you could have done but didn’t.

What about the things you did? Those unnecessary things, those things you shouldn’t have done. I regret those more. Lost opportunities are lost. But your past stays with you, till you die. You hope. You hope your blighted past is forgotten, never to be discovered, as its unlikely ever to be forgiven.

And as all true secrets are, they are only secrets, as long as you don’t tell anyone. But of course, you cannot un-tell it to yourself. You cannot forget the words. You cannot forget the memory of what you did.

They say time is a healer. Maybe for some. But not me. It’s as fresh as yesterday to me, when I remember what I cannot forget and all the time in the universe won’t dilute my regret, my shame.

I excuse myself by saying I ’I didn’t know’ and I didn’t; I tell myself that. But of course, I did. I suppose I can say ‘ok, but I didn’t know it was going to turn out that bad’ – but honestly, I didn’t think of the consequences, because I didn’t care. As long as someone else took the blame, that’s all I wanted.

But it’s all in the past now. Who cares? What’s done is done. It’s not as if what I did was unique. It was happening all over France at that time, during the occupation. I wasn’t the only one. 

But of course, I was, I was the only one for the them. My crime was unique for them. A once and only never to be repeated crime – for them.

Even now, after all these years, when my mind is in turmoil, I still find myself saying it out load “It was the L’Oren’s” And the past suddenly becomes the present. And I forget where I am, for I am not here, but back in that backyard in the Rue Poulet, on that wet morning when they came. And Time, she has slipped away and left me fifty years earlier. As I stare at the cat and see what I cannot unsee.

Twelve cans of petrol, that’s all it was, twelve measly cans of petrol. On the black market maybe two hundred francs was all I was going to get for them. Twelve cans of petrol, what was the big deal. What I got though, I didn’t want, never wanted. And will never be rid of.

When the big Sergeant grabbed me, he could smell the petrol on me. And I knew I was in shit street up to my armpits. But I had hidden the cans in the L’Oren’s shed next door, so I just said it, “It was the L’Oren’s” - the rest is not my fault. I tell myself that every day; For fifty years I have told myself, ‘I didn’t know and if I did, I would have owned up” – except, I know, wouldn’t have.

You can lie to the whole world. You can lie to yourself. But you can’t lie to the truth.

The L’Oren’s were Jews. You wouldn’t know it to see them. They were my neighbours and I didn’t know. They weren’t wearing stars at that point; the Germans hadn’t been here long enough.

The Sergeant called them all out. lined them up, Papa L’Oren’s, Mama, Joules, Marie, and little Anna. All in the backyard of their house.

I tried to leave, but the Sergent stopped me.

Papa L’Orens, pleaded his innocence. He appealed to me, I just looked at the floor, what could I do?

The Sergeant demanded their papers. And as he looked at them, he just nodded his head “Ah Jewden” he said. He pulled his gun out of his holster and I and all the L’Orens just stared at it. The little courtyard suddenly shook with terror, you could feel it bouncing off the walls, I almost said something. But I didn’t. I was too scared.

He half turned and said something to the other soldiers behind him, in German, and laughed, then turning back he looked at Papa L’Orens. In that moment I thought ‘he’s going to hit him’ but the silence was too long. In one action he raised the pistol and shot Papa L’Oren’s in the head -  Bang! The shot was like an explosion as the sound filled the little courtyard. I think we all jumped from the shock. I did. My legs lost all their strength and I thought I was going to fall down as Papa L’Orens collapsed onto the cobbles, blood running freely from the back of his head. Mama just put her hands to her mouth and stared wide eyed, to shocked to utter a word. He turned, regarded her for a second and raising his arm and shot her. - Bang! -  As she fell, no one moved. We were all stood frozen in fear and in the certain knowledge of what was going to happen next, for you could see it in his face, the disgust, the sheer disgust he had for these people.  

He looked down at Joules, just twelves old, and Joules looked up at him, their eyes met and the German could see not fear, but defiance. The boy was not pleading for his life, but daring the German to kill him, showing he may be killed, but he would not be defeated. The Sergeant shot him in the face. - Bang!

Each shot mad me jump and felt like a blow to my head. The force of the bullet threw Joules down at Maries feet, blood splashing her legs as she stood like a log holding little Anna’s hand. He stepped past the body of dead boy and looked at her and for a moment I thought ‘He’ll stop now’. Maybe he was going to, he seemed to hesitate, then he quickly raised the pistol and in a single action shot her in the head. - Bang!  Her legs folded at the knees as she sank down, but she never let go of little Annas hand.

He stood like a giant over this small girl in a brown coat, with dark pigtails and big round eyes staring up at him. In all this she had not uttered a word or a cry and as he looked down at little Anna and she stared at him with big scared eyes, he hardly raised the gun and shot her. - Bang! And she fell and lay side by side, by Marie, still holding her hand.

Turning and walking past me he said something, but I couldn’t hear, I was deafened from the gunshots. Then they took the petrol and left. Leaving me to see what I’d done.

And I am standing there and they are lying there; Papa, mama, joules, Marie and little Anna, in their back yard - I see them every day; just lying in their back yard.

They say time is a healer. But not for me. Time is my torturer. My punishment. My sentence.