It is as if my life began four days ago. Every day brings something so utterly different that I can barely remember what life was like before this all began.
It seems almost ridiculous to explain my situation now, but when I read back on my journal entries from even yesterday, they hardly seem relevant today. Therefore I must explain; whereas yesterday I did not know the other saboteurs, the other agents, today it is as if I have spent my entire life with them.
Number two brought me to a brothel where he introduced me to three and four. You may think that this means my new life and my new assignment are soft. I can almost hear you think, “A brothel, dear saboteur! My how difficult it must be for you! How you must struggle to do your job, being surrounded by the beautiful women of Paris!” I can hear the disdain in your voice. I cannot convey how far from the truth that would be. Yes, the reality is that it is indeed a brothel, kept safe only by the Nazi occupiers’ interest in keeping it safe. Please, though, do not think that sharing four walls with the scum occupiers, their Vichy collaborator pets, and their sneers and superior airs is anything other than the most unbelievably difficult act I’ve ever had to put on. My seething hatred and rage is made even more poignant by seeing them ogle my sisters and countrywomen, by seeing them put their filthy hands on them. Not only do I have to endure this; I have to pretend to be a part of their twisted debauchery. So I drink. I laugh, I smile, I wink. And I hate. I hate, and I plan their deaths, every single one of them.
They will pay.
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