20
PARTISAN REVIEW
read during the rest of my life.' He pointed to some drab rows of
books on his shelves. I said: 'I shouldn't sell your books, because in
five year's time everything will be different, and then you will prob–
ably regret not having beautiful things." 'No,' he said, 'I know it will
be impossible for any German to get out of all this-with any dignity
or self-respect-for more than five years. 'vVe have made ourselves
hated all over the world, and now we are condemned to imprison–
ment in the ruin which is Germany. In five years or in ten years
time I shall be an old man. I am already sixty.'
Later I discovered that he certainly had another reason for
selling his things. He was afraid that during the coming winter his
wife might need a store of cash in order to save them from starvation.
We talked of France. I told him that I had seen Sylvia Beach,
who was formerly Joyce's publisher. I said that she had been interned
during the Occupation of France. I told him that before the war I
remembered seeing in her shop a beautiful girl aged 18 or so. This
girl was Jewish. The Germans had ordered Sylvia to give her notice.
Sylvia explained that she was an American and that as a citizen of
the United States, she did not recognize the anti-Jewish laws. The
Germans then interned Sylvia. The girl was put on a train for Poland.
She was never heard of again.
I spoke also of my friend Ghisa Drouin. She also was Jewish
and she had, while caring for her family in Paris, been subject to the
laws relating to Jews. She had to wear the Star of David, to sit on a
special bench in the park, to travel in a special compartment of the
Metro, and she was only allowed to shop between certain hours in
the morning. In order to keep her family, she had to shop at other
hours, knowing all the time that if she was caught she also would
be put on a train bound for Poland.
When I was in Paris in May I dined with the Drouins. Ghisa
sat at one end of the table, her husband at the other end, and op–
posite me was their little son, Georges, aged 10. Ghisa started talking
about the Germans when they were in Paris. She told how they made
a special choice sometimes of deporting the oldest and the youngest
member of a family, a grandmother and a grandchild, for example.
At this, Georges, who had been watching us with large eyes said:
'And they took away one of my comrades from school.'
'Yes,' said Ghisa quickly, 'they took away a school friend of his
aged 11, together with his grandmother, aged 75.'
'And we never heard of him again,' said Georges. On his mouth
there was a strange expression, a frozen mouth of a Greek tragedy
