Charlotte. David Foenkinos
mother howls with pain.
The next day’s newspapers run stories about this girl.
Who took her own life without any explanation.
And perhaps that is the ultimate outrage.
Violence added to violence.
Why?
Her sister considers this suicide an affront to their closeness.
Mostly, she feels responsible.
She never saw, never understood that slowness.
Now she moves forward, with guilt in her heart.
2
The parents and the sister do not attend the funeral.
Devastated, they shut themselves away.
They probably feel a little ashamed too.
They flee the eyes of others.
A few months pass like this.
In the impossibility of taking part in the world.
A long period of silence.
To speak is to risk mentioning Charlotte.
She hides in wait behind every word.
Silence is the survivors’ only crutch.
Until the moment when Franziska touches the piano.
She plays something, sings softly.
Her parents move over to her.
Surprised by this manifestation of life.
The country enters the war, and perhaps this is for the best.
Chaos is the perfect backdrop to their pain.
For the first time, the conflict is global.
Sarajevo brings the fall of the old empires.
Millions of men rush to their deaths.
The future is fought over in long tunnels dug in the earth.
Franziska decides to become a nurse.
She wants to heal the wounded, cure the sick, bring the dead back to life.
And to feel useful, of course.
This girl who lives each day with the feeling of having been useless.
Her mother is horrified by this decision.
It gives rise to tensions and arguments.
A war within the war.
But it makes no difference: Franziska signs up.
And finds herself near the danger zone.
Some think her brave.
But she is quite simply no longer afraid of death.
In the heat of battle, she meets Albert Salomon.
He is one of the youngest surgeons.
He is very tall and very concentrated.
One of those men who seem in a rush even when they are still.
He manages a makeshift hospital.
On the front, in France.
His parents are dead, so medicine is his only family.
Obsessed with his work, nothing can distract him from his mission.
He shows little attention to women.
Barely even registers the presence of a new nurse.
She smiles at him constantly, all the same.
Thankfully, something happens to change this.
In the middle of an operation, Albert sneezes.
His nose runs, he needs to blow it.
But his hands are deep in a soldier’s guts.
So Franziska approaches with a handkerchief.
It is at this very moment that he finally looks at her.
. . .
One year later, Albert takes his courage in his hands.
His surgeon’s hands.
He goes to see Franziska’s parents.
They are so cold that he loses his nerve.
Why has he come here?
Oh yes . . . to ask for their daughter’s . . . hand in . . . marriage . . .
To ask for what? the father grumbles.
He doesn’t want this gangly beanpole for a son-in-law.
He’s not good enough to marry a Grunwald!
But Franziska insists.
She says she is deeply in love.
It’s hard to be sure.
But she is not the type for passing whims and fancies.
Since Charlotte’s death, life has been reduced to its essentials.
The parents finally give in.
They force themselves to rejoice a little bit.
To learn to smile again.
They even buy flowers.
It has been so long since colors were seen in their living room.
Somehow they are reborn through the petals.
At the wedding, though, they look like mourners.
3
Right from the beginning, Franziska is left alone.
Is this really married life?
Albert returns to the front.
The war is mired in mud, it seems endless.
One vast slaughter in the trenches.
Just don’t let her husband be killed.
She does not want to be a widow.
She’s already a . . .
Actually, what is the word for someone who has lost a sister?
There is no word.
Sometimes the dictionary says nothing.
Frightened by pain, just like her.
The young newlywed wanders around her large apartment.
On the second floor of a bourgeois building in Charlottenburg.
Charlotte town.
It is located at 15 Wielandstrasse, near the Savignyplatz.
I have often walked that street.
Even before I knew about Charlotte, I loved her neighborhood.
In 2004, I wanted to entitle a novel “Savignyplatz.”
That name resonated strangely within me.
Something drew me to it, though I didn’t know why.
A long hallway runs through the apartment.
Franziska often sits there to read.
In the hallway, she feels as if she is at the border of her home.
Today, she closes her book quite quickly.
Feeling dizzy, she heads to the bathroom.
And splashes some water on her face.
It takes her only a few seconds to understand.
While caring for a wounded man, Albert receives a letter.
Seeing his face turn pale, a nurse becomes worried.
My