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It had taken a lifetime but he finally stood on the coast where, fifty years prior, a young man, his father, had
waded ashore, fear in his heart and a gun in his hands. The surf ate up the beach, paused and retreated, dragging
bodies to and fro. The young man struggled as his backpack weighed him down and the sea, slowing his
progress, threatened to overwhelm him at any minute. The noise was deafening as the big guns from the ships
off-shore, rained fire and death on the cliffs in front of him. Jets of water exploded all around as a hidden
gunner zeroed in on him. He finally took his first steps out of the water. The soft sand sucked at his boots and
his footprints disappeared as soon as he made them. Bullets rent the air around him and sprays of sand followed
his every move. He took his last step and fell face down, clutching his chest, pain and astonishment on his face.
Ed was weary. He had not enjoyed his trip here in the least. Things had gone badly the minute he had landed. To
his surprise, the plane’s captain had announced that their gate was occupied and they had taxied around the
airport tarmac for, what seemed like hours. Finally, they had stopped. He looked out the plane’s window and
saw that they were in the middle of a construction site! The doors opened and all the smells of a working airport
engulfed the cabin. His eyes watered and his throat closed up. The crew herded them off the plane down a
rickety ramp into an articulated shuttle bus. The few seats inside were quickly taken and he found himself
sandwiched between two rotund chattering matrons and a foul smelling businessman who looked like he had
been sleeping in his clothes for weeks. They were delivered to an anonymous gate and, flanked by armed
policemen, unceremoniously escorted to an empty waiting room. When the last of the passengers finally filed
in, a thin middle-aged woman, in an ill fitting uniform, made an announcement. Her voice probably carried to
the first row and, from his vantage point, she looked like a mime. Amid loud complaints, she repeated her
announcement at the top of her lungs. This time she managed to reach the third row. One of the policemen
leaned over and said something to her. She listened then shrugged her shoulders and left with the policeman.
They did not return. Information trickled to the back of the room where he stood. They were to wait, someone
would come and take them to their luggage. Eventually someone did come. He discovered one of his two
suitcases had not made the trip. After filling out countless numbers of forms, he eventually found himself
outside the airport waiting for the bus that would take him to the train station. The traffic was beyond belief!
Never had he seen so many cars and trucks crammed together on one road. The bus crept along at a snail’s pace.
He didn’t mind too much. The seat was comfortable and he caught some much needed sleep. It was dark when
the bus pulled up at the station. The driver shook him awake:
-“Monsieur! Monsieur! Vous êtes arrivé! Monsieur! You have arrived!”
Bleary eyed, he stepped off the shuttle bus and oriented himself. Wandering through the station, he eventually
found the ticket counter. The good news: he was able to buy a round trip ticket in a sleeper compartment. The
bad news: The train wouldn’t leave for another three hours! He checked his suitcase at the baggage claim and
went looking for sustenance. It had been a long time since his last meal. He was directed to a restaurant on the
main concourse. With his limited French vocabulary and lots of pointing, he managed to order food and drink.
He waited and waited and waited some more. Finally just as he was going to leave, with a flourish, the waiter
placed his order and his bill in front of him. the meal was unremarkable, the bread stale, the drink, flat. He paid
the bill with some crumpled notes he fished out of his pocket. He hoped it was enough but he could wait no
longer. He retrieved his suitcase and walked to his platform. The train waited patiently, huffing and puffing. He
showed his ticket to a conductor who pointed into the distance. He trudged along. More inquiries and more
walking. The train awoke. Men banged on the bogies, brakes hissed and wheezed, people rushed and still he
The surf still ate up the beach, paused and retreated. He wondered if this was the beach where his father had met
his fate. It was hard to be sure. He looked at the grainy photos he held in his trembling hands. They were
enlargements of a few frames from a 16mm black and white film. The first one showed the LST with its door
splashing in the sea. The next one showed three men running for cover. The next was a close up of a scared
soldier. He clutched his rifle and fear distorted his features. This is when his mother had screamed. She had
pointed at the television and tried to speak. As the flickering image on the screen had clutched his chest, she had
fainted. It took a long time to get a copy of the film, even longer to get a precise account of how his father had
died. Now he was here, fifty years later. He had hoped to come earlier but life had chosen otherwise. He had
hoped to come with his mother but death had chosen otherwise. He studied the fourth photo. It showed a long
view of the beach. At the water line, three fuzzy black forms lying on the beach. One was his dead father. In the
distance, towering cliffs shook under the assault of shells and bombs. He could not be sure. the film was taken
up on the bluff and he slowly worked his way up the footpath. He tried to imagine what it must have been like
under the withering fire of the besieged defenders and among the shells that fell all around and killed
indiscriminately. He shook his head: it was beyond imagining. Checking the photo as he climbed, he came to a
flat spot in the path. This looked like the spot chosen by the army cameraman to shoot the last frames of the
film. He surveyed the scene. The cliffs looked just like other cliffs that dip their feet in the sea and the beach
was not quite right, not wide enough and too short. He would have to continue his search. He went back down
to the beach. As he reached it, he saw a man walking towards him. Even at a distance, he could tell this was not
a tourist. The man looked to be in his sixties. He wore baggy pants, a faded wool vest with some missing
buttons, over a once white shirt. A brown cap sat at a jaunty angle over a weather beaten face. A yellow brown
cigarette butt hung from his lower lip and bounced as he spoke to no one in particular. He had a well worn
canvas bag in one hand and punctuated his monologue with the other.
Clutching the photo, Ed went to meet the man who, seeing Ed, stopped and waited.
“Pardon, Monsieur!”
“Oui?”
“Parlez-vous anglais?”
“A leetle.”
Ed follows Henri and they walk out the door where Henri stops and waits. Soon, to Ed’s surprise, Madame
Vergès appears, a black shawl on her head. She closes and locks the door and together, they head out. At the
point where the path forks, again, they stop and wait. Ed wonders what they are waiting for and asks Henri. He
answers:
“Monsieur le curé is coming. Do not worry, he will be here quick, we wait not long!”
Ed wants to ask who this Mr. le curé is but before he can, Henri points into the distance:
“Les voila! Zey come, see!”
Ed peers in the distance and sees a small procession coming towards them. It is led by a young boy wearing a
white cassock and carrying a tall crucifix. Behind him, another boy is carrying an ornate bible. Dressed in a
black frock with a white prayer shawl draped across his shoulders and sporting a round black hat, a priest
follows the two boys. A dozen men and women of all ages bring up the rear.
The procession reaches them and stops. Henri and Madame Vergès greet the priest reverently. He then extends
his hand to Ed who shakes it.
“Bonjour, Monsieur, comment allez vous?”
“Bonjour! Father. Bien, merci. Et vous?”
The priest nods and, with a loud: “Allons-y! Let’s go!”, he motions to the boys and heads off for the beach.
Henri takes Ed by the arm and pushes him behind the priest. He takes his wife’s arm and they follow Ed.
Madame Vergès gives a brief greeting to the others who are waiting patiently and the procession resumes. They
wind their way down to the beach. The tide is out and the beach is huge. Ed can see many metal beams sticking
out of the wet sands. Henri leads the priest to the appropriate spot and they stop. The boy with the bible turns
and faces the priest who opens the book solemnly. He finds his spot and motions to Ed to come stand beside
him. Henri, cap in hand, and Madame Vergès stand to Ed’s right. Slowly the rest of the procession forms a semi
circle around them, facing the sea.
Ed whispers to Henri:
“What’s going on?”