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13, Rue Therese - Elena Mauli Shapiro [18]

By Root 604 0
—and it has been a long time since Aunt Marie has written me. Perhaps her letter was lost, or maybe it was returned while I was at the 2/45 ambulance. I don’t know what else to tell you other than to send my greetings to Aunt Marie.

I embrace you well and hard from the trenches.

Your cousin who loves you and who

thinks of you—

Camille

Sergeant: in the

3rd Infantry Battalion

2nd Company

1st Section

Postal Sector 68

[NB: Now, I wish that I had not picked up this ragged envelope, for translating this has doubtlessly given fuel to my fever images—this tremendous rush of movement and color that seizes me by the throat when the temperature in my body spikes. Now if I listen I can almost hear the echo of a gunshot, and what is this? A delicate pretty thing. A postcard. Look at the detailed embossing around its perimeter and the embroidery. Are the colors not vivid? The embroidery adorns a fine gossamer mesh pouch, with a fine gossamer flesh map—oh goodness, I mean a fine gossamer mesh flap. Inside this pouch is slipped a tiny card—a card within a card. What an idea, to give such respects to a simple postcard. These days, we do not bestow such flowery love upon mere paper.]


*

[NB: The following is the text on the back of the card, which I realize now was written the very same day as the marriage proposal letter I sent you with my first packet. Here, too, he has drawn pencil lines to make sure that his words go straight across. He must think this is an important letter. He must respect the lovely paper on which he bestows his sentiment.]


On 22-11-15

My Little Louisette

Finally! I have received news of you. That this news is good gives me great pleasure: my depression9 has dissipated a little. I thought something ill had happened when I didn’t receive any word from you, but I’ve come to terms with the lateness of your mail. But, My Louisette, you would be very sweet to tell me a few words on the reason for your departure from Malakoff. I assure you that this would please me. For the moment, my health is good, and I’ve been granted some rest (let us hope for as long as possible). It is very cold and it froze to 7 below zero last night. My Little Louisette, I’m going to write a long letter to your little Father, concerning me as well as you. I hope that the response will be favorable to the request.10 If you’d like to discuss it with him, this would only do good. You must suspect why—inside this card is a secret I believe will give you pleasure. If you write me every day, this shall make me very happy. A warm hello to Coffin and also Mme Charles, Mlle Virginie and Mlle Jeanne, and Marcelle. I must finish my card for I am running out of room—I embrace you full-heartedly. Your Cousin who loves you and thinks of you—Camille

Reply to follow


[NB: The following is the card within the card—the secret, as the boy calls it. Despite his horrid spelling and his atrocious punctuation, you can see Camille is clever: he has punned. If you look very closely at the front side of the card, you can just make out that he has rubbed off the manufactured greeting that was previously there and written in his own hand, “Thoughts of the absent.” The French word for “thought” (pensée) is also the French word for “pansy,” which is the flower pictured therein. So, he is giving her flower/thoughts, on paper:


To my sweet Louisette

Thoughts towards the absent

Are the prettiest things

For those that spill their blood

Under a mournful gaze

What happiness upon return

For two hearts filled with love

For Victory smiles

To our Love dear.

Camille Victor

On 26-11-15


As you can see, the poem on the minuscule card is dated four days after the note on the larger card. Did the boy carry the message on him the whole time? On his body, tucked into his jacket next to his frenetic heart? Do you think he kept it so long because he was frightened? More frightened of her reply and of the reply of her father than of being blown to bits by the enemy? But he sent it off—he sent it, the dear boy—the

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