Jean-François Lafitte’s Story
God is with them, they say, but they’re wrong, it’s the Devil. Jean-François tries not to lose consciousness. His men have been thrown into the mass grave dug in the middle of the clearing. Now night has fallen, he has just disfigured “K,” and he’s waiting for death to come . . .
From the old house on my right, south of the well, I hear the howls of a wounded animal. And there, covered with blood, leaning against my tree, I ask God to grant me a favor: to see the SS leave carrying their leader’s lifeless body. If he dies, nothing else matters to me! I want to see his stinking corpse return to the mud from which it should never have emerged. Let him die, so that Heaven may be avenged, so that the earth may be cleansed of his existence. Let him die screaming insanities at God, so that I can once again believe that the Devil is not the stronger party. So that everything is not hopeless.
An hour has gone by, the screams have died down, but I still hear his voice. “K” is shouting orders and the words he is uttering resound like scraping metal. I also hear a child crying. The blow from the bayonet that I received in my back is causing me to suffer horribly. But it’s nothing in comparison to the pain I have in my mouth. My teeth were broken by “K’s” triple signet ring.
On my left, the bastards have just set fire to the Canadian uniforms we were wearing. They’ve thrown in the remains of the woman I finished off.
The wind is driving these execrable odors toward me.
From the house’s chimney, another kind of smoke is rising.
The first stars are appearing in the sky. They are like friends, and I start counting them, trying to forget everything. But I will have no respite. The dogs have come closer. I’m trying to make myself faint by banging my injured back against the tree. It’s impossible, I no longer have the strength.
I will never see Marie again.
A squeaking noise; the door of the old house opens and a black silhouette comes out. It approaches me, yelling at the dogs. The animals retreat, regretfully leaving their prey. It’s he. The bloody face of “K” appears in the firelight. Alive. And holding something. A piece of meat that he gnaws on one last time before throwing it to the dogs. It’s hard for me to identify the object that falls at my feet with a wet sound.
Suddenly the fire flares up and illuminates the nearby undergrowth. I don’t understand at first. Or don’t want to understand.
It’s a tiny human torso, the size of a doll, with its head blackened by fire and a largely devoured arm. The dogs rush toward it. In a few seconds, the remains have been divided up and swallowed.
But the animals are not satisfied.
They begin to lick me, all over my body, where my blood has coagulated. Their different-colored eyes shine like firebrands. I know that any moment now they are going to begin. Only a feeling of unreality allows me not to sink into madness. It isn’t possible. What I’ve seen, what I’m seeing. None of it is true! Once upon a time . . .
“K” is leaning over me. “You can escape my dogs and die quickly. Do you want that?” He smiles at me, so I say: “Yes.” I’m ashamed, but I add, cravenly: “Please.” I’m already grateful to him. “But first you have to do something for me.” My eyes ask him what it is and he explains: “Take communion, take communion with me, for the glory of Jesus and Lucifer, those two rival brothers!” Then he hands me a bit of meat: “Eat this.” The bastard smiles: “Because this is my body, human flesh, the Eucharist!” I understand and close my mouth, horrified. “Do you think it’s cannibalism? No, my God, what an ugly name: it’s communion, my son, communion!” Then he explains to me, as I feel myself slipping away: “It’s a choice morsel, very delicate, a child’s cheek, and suckling child. You’re going to love it.”
When I finally wake up I’m being carried by four men in black uniforms. Then I begin to vomit when I realize that my legs have been partly devoured by the dogs. Only a series of leather garrotes keeps what blood I still have from flowing away. “K” has just brought me back to consciousness by giving me smelling salts.
The Nazi’s skull is covered with bandages. He’s shouting and laughing. The ogre has me in his hands, in his teeth. The monster hasn’t finished with me. He has put his metal teeth back in his mouth before leaning over my litter. Suddenly, still wearing his gloves, he approaches me and, God have pity, begins to devour me!
I’ve regained consciousness for the third and last time. My body is no longer mine. It has secreted all the endorphins it contained, and I am no more than a scrap of brain with bones wrapped in cotton and bandages saturated with blood. “K” has finally given the order to throw me into the well. Before I fall, I think I see two violet-colored eyes hidden in the trees, at the edge of the clearing, two eyes that are weeping.
Lying on the ground, which is covered with swallows’ bodies, I feel almost happy. “K” will not follow me into this abyss. The bogeyman is done with me. I’m like a dismembered mouse the cat has left behind. God be praised, I can finally go to sleep looking at the sky.
But was I going to see Marie again someday?
I don’t have time to answer that question. I perceive a regular figure standing out against the starry circle formed by the edge of the well: a triangle that begins to grow rapidly until it covers me with a complete obscurity.
It is at that moment, and only then, that I am finally able to forget my sufferings and the bit of flesh that I swallowed in the hope of escaping the ogre’s dogs.
May God pardon me!