Revolution Baby by Alison Anderson, Joanna Gruda Page B

opportunity arose. The opportunity never arose and, in fact, it was better that way, because we no longer felt like talking to these individuals who looked like civil servants, like bureaucrats, with their gray complexion and their dull eyes.
    Â 
    That night, while he was next to me washing his face, Roger said, “What did you think of them, then, the Soviets?”
    â€œWell, I’d imagined them differently.”
    â€œMe too . . . maybe those were the only ones who were available, maybe the other ones, the real ones, were too busy doing more important things for the Revolution than visiting an orphanage in a little village in the middle of nowhere. Maybe it’s just because they couldn’t understand Arnold’s Russian that they looked so miserable.”
    â€œMaybe . . . ”
    Roger was making a desperate effort to keep that handful of men in ties from ruining the fine image he had of our Soviet brothers. For the time being I was too disappointed to try to rescue anything with my imagination. Maybe they sent us the dullest ones because the others, the real ones, didn’t have time. But who was to say they weren’t all like that? I fell asleep very quickly, I didn’t want to have to think anymore about the day gone by.

CHAPTER 15
War And Peace
    The grown-ups were talking more and more of war. According to some, war was inevitable. I tried to grill Arnold about it, but contrary to his usual manner, he was very vague with his replies. I understood that we were against Germany and Italy, the two countries supporting Franco in Spain. But who would attack who, and why? These questions remained unanswered. Arnold adopted his “it’s not for children” air as soon as I tried to scratch the surface, and this surprised me because, frankly, it wasn’t like him. I remained unruffled and decided to ask Geneviève, whom I suspected—even though she rarely talked politics with us—of knowing at least as much about the question as Arnold did. One day when I was returning a book she had lent me, I asked if I could stay in her room—something I hadn’t done since her candy victory—to discuss something important.
    â€œOf course you can, my little Julot.”
    â€œGood. You have to explain this business about imminent war with the Germans and the Italians, well, against them, I mean.”
    I tried to imply that I already knew quite a bit, so no need to handle me with kid gloves.
    â€œIs that all you want?”
    â€œYes, that’s all.”
    â€œYou know, it’s never that simple, a matter like this. First, you have to know what a dictator is.”
    â€œI know what a dictator is, they’re like Hitler and Mussolini, they’re people who do whatever they want, who think they’re the king and they don’t care about the will of their people.”
    â€œIn a way, yes. Listen, I’ll do my best, but it’s complicated.”
    â€œTake your time, I’m not in a hurry.”
    â€œOkay, fine. In fact, the reason everybody thinks that war is imminent is because Hitler keeps on threatening different countries. Every time it’s for a new reason—he claims, for example, than such and such a territory should belong to Germany, and if they don’t give it to him, he’s going to go to war. He’s already annexed Austria, and now he wants to do the same thing with Czechoslovakia, or with part of the country anyway. Do you follow?”
    â€œAnd does he want to annex France, too?”
    â€œHe hasn’t said so for the time being, but there are parts of France that used to belong to Germany, so, obviously . . . In any case, we can’t just let him do what he wants in Europe without stepping in.”
    I was glad that Geneviève had agreed to try and explain it all to me, but I still wasn’t satisfied. Fair enough, we couldn’t let Hitler do as he pleased, but was that really