much to say; no time to say it. The reunion passed in whispers and tears. Ten minutes was an instant. Malevergne was soon back on the train to Casablanca and an uncertain future, while Germaine and the boys stayed standing at the station, their waves and faces fading backward from his window.
The country had changed in his absence. It had grown more “German,” in Malevergne’s estimation. An organization had been created called the Service d’Ordre Légionnaire, a sort of French version of the SS designed to infiltrate and coerce the machinery of its own government. According to Malevergne, “the Legion seems to have adopted the German coarseness, passing alongside us without ever seeing us.”
Also grown in counterpoint to the Fascist elements was the organizationthat he had helped form a year earlier, now commonly referred to as the Resistance. “Born of the idea,” Malevergne wrote in a triumphal moment, “that we were not a race of beaten dogs, but patriots and past masters of the art of walking the tight rope until victory. For one who fell, ten would be added.”
Malevergne took a room at a hotel not far from the German Armistice Commission on the Boulevard de la Gare and reported, as requested, to the office of d’Harcourt, who did not deign to receive Malevergne yet allowed all the appropriate bureaucratic papers to be issued to him.
Malevergne soon discovered that he was being followed by police, at least during his first days back in Morocco. This did not stop him from becoming reacquainted with old friends and fellow travelers over dinner at the Brasserie des Arcades. The officers following him took seats in another room in the same restaurant. “There was nothing for them to do except to take a table, too,” Malevergne commented. So the two groups dined agreeably in their separate stations, ignoring each other to the best of their abilities.
Thankfully, Malevergne was able to get a pass to visit Germaine and the boys for Christmas Eve and for a few days after the holiday. The simple joys of being once again with his family made him think of others not so fortunate, left behind in Clermont-Ferrand, including Brunin. But he couldn’t dwell in melancholy. There was work to be done.
Soon after the New Year, Malevergne was back in Casablanca, where he was able to find a job with an old friend, Charles Chenay, who owned a fish cannery in the city and was sympathetic to the role that Malevergne was about to chart for himself. Because it was winter, there was not much to do at the factory, except to educate himself on the canning business. Malevergne was given a salary of 1,500 francs a month and told by Chenay to “arrange your time as you like. I know you well enough to know that you will not abuse this privilege.”
Chenay spoke this caution with a knowing smile.
Home again in Morocco, René Malevergne settled into something of a routine. He leased a room with a nosy but kindhearted landlady named Mina; took his meals at the Bouef à la Mode on the Boulevard de la Gare, near his home and just down the street from the German Armistice Commission; and began acquainting himself with some local “patriots,” including Lucien Garbieze, the director of a small manufacturing enterprise that made vegetable fiber from palmetto leaves.
Garbieze knew far more about Malevergne than Malevergne knew about Garbieze, and soon he would ask to meet with the river pilot at Malevergne’s new office at the cannery. There Garbieze confided to Malevergne that “he had followed my odyssey closely” and that, knowing how Malevergne had “suffered in the flesh and spirit from the Nazi invasion,” he would love to “count me among his friends.” Malevergne understood the underlying meaning of this language and knew that by agreeing to be Garbieze’s friend, he was committing to the Resistance. Nonetheless, agree he did.
Malevergne’s new job with Chenay required him to periodically check on the arrivals of
The country had changed in his absence. It had grown more “German,” in Malevergne’s estimation. An organization had been created called the Service d’Ordre Légionnaire, a sort of French version of the SS designed to infiltrate and coerce the machinery of its own government. According to Malevergne, “the Legion seems to have adopted the German coarseness, passing alongside us without ever seeing us.”
Also grown in counterpoint to the Fascist elements was the organizationthat he had helped form a year earlier, now commonly referred to as the Resistance. “Born of the idea,” Malevergne wrote in a triumphal moment, “that we were not a race of beaten dogs, but patriots and past masters of the art of walking the tight rope until victory. For one who fell, ten would be added.”
Malevergne took a room at a hotel not far from the German Armistice Commission on the Boulevard de la Gare and reported, as requested, to the office of d’Harcourt, who did not deign to receive Malevergne yet allowed all the appropriate bureaucratic papers to be issued to him.
Malevergne soon discovered that he was being followed by police, at least during his first days back in Morocco. This did not stop him from becoming reacquainted with old friends and fellow travelers over dinner at the Brasserie des Arcades. The officers following him took seats in another room in the same restaurant. “There was nothing for them to do except to take a table, too,” Malevergne commented. So the two groups dined agreeably in their separate stations, ignoring each other to the best of their abilities.
Thankfully, Malevergne was able to get a pass to visit Germaine and the boys for Christmas Eve and for a few days after the holiday. The simple joys of being once again with his family made him think of others not so fortunate, left behind in Clermont-Ferrand, including Brunin. But he couldn’t dwell in melancholy. There was work to be done.
Soon after the New Year, Malevergne was back in Casablanca, where he was able to find a job with an old friend, Charles Chenay, who owned a fish cannery in the city and was sympathetic to the role that Malevergne was about to chart for himself. Because it was winter, there was not much to do at the factory, except to educate himself on the canning business. Malevergne was given a salary of 1,500 francs a month and told by Chenay to “arrange your time as you like. I know you well enough to know that you will not abuse this privilege.”
Chenay spoke this caution with a knowing smile.
Home again in Morocco, René Malevergne settled into something of a routine. He leased a room with a nosy but kindhearted landlady named Mina; took his meals at the Bouef à la Mode on the Boulevard de la Gare, near his home and just down the street from the German Armistice Commission; and began acquainting himself with some local “patriots,” including Lucien Garbieze, the director of a small manufacturing enterprise that made vegetable fiber from palmetto leaves.
Garbieze knew far more about Malevergne than Malevergne knew about Garbieze, and soon he would ask to meet with the river pilot at Malevergne’s new office at the cannery. There Garbieze confided to Malevergne that “he had followed my odyssey closely” and that, knowing how Malevergne had “suffered in the flesh and spirit from the Nazi invasion,” he would love to “count me among his friends.” Malevergne understood the underlying meaning of this language and knew that by agreeing to be Garbieze’s friend, he was committing to the Resistance. Nonetheless, agree he did.
Malevergne’s new job with Chenay required him to periodically check on the arrivals of
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