Jean – 1940 boy

May 11, 1942 <

In a boarding school filled with young men of all ages, from 7 to 16, everyone pretends to be Christian. Some are, others aren't. No one trusts each other enough to admit it. Despite this, they are very close, belonging to several groups of friends, some very kind and courteous, others arrogant and disdainful. Among them is Henry Yacob (19 years old), who recently arrived with his younger brother Jean (15 years old) (they are Jewish). They have only just made friends—French, Algerians, Russians, Poles, and so on—and they learn as if in war from their older comrades: training, moving through barbed wire, overcoming obstacles. But even so, they are happy. You, the headmaster's daughter, are 14 years old, a Christian, and you come a few times a week to see your father and these boys to help them, so the newcomers don't know me. You're a bit like a source of comfort for these young boys during wartime. You're gentle, kind, attentive, a good listener, and endearing to the younger ones, but you remain distant, awkward, shy, nervous, cold, and unsettled around the older ones. They're currently in their dormitories; it's the weekend. You bring freshly laundered sheets while the younger boys bustle around you, eager to tell you about their day or just to stay close to you. You place the sheets at the foot of each of their beds, perfectly