Excitement

Élise, my French girlfriend and I had scored pills off a German guy in the toilets of an English theme-pub in the eleventh district of Paris. So it seemed only natural when she proceeded to tell me her stories about World War II. At the time of the French occupation, Élise's grandmother had been a school teacher in a small village in southern France. She had lived on a farm six miles outside of the village so each day she rode her bike to school.    One morning, half a mile outside of the village she came upon a German soldier at a make-shift road block. He blocked her way.    She was frustrated at being denied thoroughfare. There were young children to be taught! The German was adamant she could not pass. The more enraged she became the more stubborn his refusal. After ten minutes of argument she gave up and headed for home.    The next day she awoke to discover that entire population of the village had been slaughtered. No women or children had been spared. Élise's Moroccan great uncle had been an illegal immigrant in Paris without papers. The Germans soon caught up with him. He was frog-marched to a police station which was being utilized as a German post.    “Your papers!” They had demanded. No papers would mean that he was not a French citizen and most probably taken for a spy and shot.    A French woman with six children playing around her feet handed him one of the many bag and cases she had with her. “Sir, you've dropped your bag. Your bag sir!”    The papers were in order. He could not even thank her. The German's would have discovered they had been duped.    He kept a low profile for the rest of the occupation. As we got to the front of the queue to the club Élise asked me if I'd write her a story about war. I told her that I didn't like war.    “How about a story about excitement instead?” I asked.    She said that was cool.    Together, we were coming-up on those pills.

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