Book One: August - December 1914 "Passion"
“But perhaps I was destined for a more glorious end, one worthy of envy, as Victor Hugo said—like, for example, being pounded, shredded, asphyxiated, blown to bits in a cloud of smoke.”
-Louis Barthas (1879 – 1952), Poilu
Chapter One - L'interview
The two men were walking, or rather labouring, up the steep, pebbly mountain path, the almost-noon sun burned down on them since the few trees close by were without any leaves thus could only cast the thin shadows of their branches onto the ground. One man, skinny and tall with a small hunchback and black hair, turned around and saw that he was far ahead of the another man, a small chubby one, with a flatcap on his head, almost the opposite of the skinny one, only their dark eyes were the same any.
"Hey, Clope", shouted the skinny one, "hurry up! What you waiting for, setting sun?"
"Shut up, Polar", yelled Clope back, "Maybe you should walk slower, enjoying the sight, like I do."
"Enjoying the sight? Lame excuse, you can do better than that. Look, I am faster, even with my camera."
Clope stopped and looked fiercely at his skinny friend who was smiling ill, his skull like head and spare hair looking out from under his cap made him look like a skeleton. He dragged himself further hoping he would finally reach their destination. After thirty gruesome -at least for Clope- minutes was this the case. The steep path got flatter and the trees began to have leaves. After a few more minutes disappeared the trees and the two, by now abreast because Polar was so kind to walk slower, reached a house. It was one of these old mountain houses which looked like as if it was taken out of a fairy tale. Wooden walls, small windows with embroided white blinds and, next to the house, a garden with various herbs and flowers whose scent tickled in the nose of the two compared to the fresh and neutral mountain air. Next to the garden stood a small shack whose door was missing, inside stood a old rusty bicycle and garden tools. The two stood in front of the dark door of the house.
"Do you want to knock", asked Polar one his friend.
"Hmm, you can do the honour", answered Clope.
Polar knocked. After a short while opened a woman in her early twenties the door. She had a dark brow skin and long, charcoal black hair. The apron of her white dress had some dirt stains. Probably spilled coffee, Polar assumed.
"Allô? Ah! Monsieur Merlin and Bristol, I presume?"
"Correct", Clope kissed her on both cheeks and said: "I am Jean Bristol for the Le Petit Parisien me telephoned if you remember. And this", with a fast gesticulation towards his friend, "is David Merlin."
David also kissed the woman on both cheeks, the small camera hanging around his neck made this small gesture more complicated than it should have, and added: "Photographer, but I think Jean told you everything, madame...?"
"Lylou Belaide, but you can call me Lilly. Please, enter. I will inform monsieur Rampasse about your arrival."
David and Jean stepped into the house and instantly noticed the enormous amount of book-shelves covering the walls for the most parts. On these shelves stood thick multivolume encyclopaedias next to thin booklets. Books about science, religion, philosophy and politics next to fairy tales, legends and folklore. Funny books, serious books, books about tragedy and loss stood behind books about love, friendship and happiness. The antechamber, the corridor to other rooms and the staircase were full of packed shelves. On the few dressers stood old photos of nature and people, some of them were working, some sleeping or looked directly to the viewer. The two were so baffled by this sight that they didn't notice Lylou leaving them and returning shortly after from another room.
"Monsieur Rampasse is ready to see you, please follow me."
The two men and the woman entered a room on the end of the corridor. The room was small, or at least seemed small. Two massy, wooden armoires occupied almost half of the room, in the other half stood a small table with a large, wooden box on it and two old sofas. David noticed dust floating in the sun light inciding through a small window behind one of the sofas. On it sat an old man in his sixties. He was bulky, or at least as bulky as over sixty years old man can be, and the brown suit he wore was almost too tight, the white shirt underneath even had to stretch around his chest. The old man's right face sagged down, very primitive plastic surgery, as Jean assumed, and the left side was thinner than the other and more wrinklier than a puppy pug's but the shiny, green eyes indicated a vivacious mind. The few grey hair on his head could not cover the dappled skin. The man said slowly in a deep, rough voice:
"Monsieur Bristol and Merlin, Lylou has already announced you. I am Thomas Rampasse, but I assume you already know that. Please take a seat, well, a sofa. I am sorry to be so rude to not stand up but-"
"No no, this is no problem, we understand", assured David as he and his friend sat down next to each other opposite of Thomas with the table between them.
Jean said after he finished being surprised about how absurd cushy the sofa was:
"I am Jean Bristol, I assume Lily", he looked at the door and saw that the woman had, to his disappointment, already left, "told you about me. I was the one who telephoned her. And this man here is David Merlin, a friend of mine who got interested when I told him."
Jean took out a small notepad together with a pen, both had been in the wide pockets of his jacked, and said eagerly: "So, shall we get started?"