Out of the Shaddows

I decided to write another Man Who Cried fanfic because I simply believe that there was not enough Cesar in the movie. His character is far too interesting to leave alone.

Disclaimer: I don't own Cesar or any of his memories but I own everything else.

Oh, and my French sucks so please don't judge me on that.

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Cesar walked along the dimly lit cobblestones of the Rue Duranti. The occasional soft light of the street lamps glared down at him accusingly, questioning his every move. He hated those lights. Over the past few months he had come to savor the darkness and the ease in which he could move in it. Light seemed to bring out his uncertainties and the doubts he held within himself. There was no escaping in the light. But by darkness, inhibition was dead and doubts buried beside it.

In the distance he could hear the strong, rhythmic footsteps of marching soldiers. He had learned to recognize how far away they might be based on their menacing beats. As far as he could tell they were several streets away and if he quickened his pace he would be safe in the Square de la Roquette before they even gained on him. Roquette had become one of the better parks to hide at night. With its elegant mausoleums and gazebos and lack of light in the center of the park, it provided the much needed shelter and darkness every hunted being in Paris so desperately sought.

Cesar had been luckier than most. When the German’s first invaded Paris he was able to find work for himself and members of his family. As long as they could produce work papers, they had nothing to fear. They had become accustomed to the persecution. Cesar and his brother’s would often take bets to see who would be the first German in the square to laugh, taunt, spit at them. It had become a way of life, but they still considered themselves lucky. They weren’t being shipped off the Lord knows where.

But the good luck had run out within two years of the occupation. The work papes were no longer sufficient and one by one, different family members were being loaded up in black trucks, destined for the inevitable. It was clear that somewhere along the way the attitude towards the Gypsies had changed and they were now considered a threat to the German agenda. Cesar somehow got by doing whatever he could. Phony passports and birth certificates could be easily bought and he sold everything he had of any value. His rings, his mother’s jewelry, even his beloved horse. He used them to dodge the bullets as he stood by and watched his family disappear, gone from the world but not from memory.

Until that morning he had been working in a hostile under an assumed Italian alias. It had become easy for him to pose as an Italian. The documents were easy to buy, no one ever questioned his accent, and his dark features only sharpened the lie. What did people really care who was washing the dishes in a hostile, he wondered. As long as he wasn’t a gypsy or a Jew they would leave him be. But the lie was always in danger and when a young Italian man came to the hostile for a hot meal and a room, Cesar knew it was time to leave. He wasn’t one to tempt fate. Up against a real Italian his false identity would never hold much water. He was able to wear all he processed and walked out without a word or sound.

He had hidden in the back alleys for the rest of the day, waiting for the precious darkness of night so he could move more freely. He had memorized the names of the streets which either had no lamps or had numerous ones burnt out. They were no longer hard to find, now that every French man between the ages of 18 and 80 had chosen sides and were either fighting with the Germans or with the French. Who was left in the city to change the fluid in the lamps? He hoped the poor street keepers had gone off to join General ds Gaulle’s army, fighting as the Free French, showing their love of country despite their lack of wealth. Those brave men were saving him from the enemy in two ways. They were fighting them off in the trenches and hiding him in the darkness of their abandoned street lamps. The German’s would have to get through the men with guns and the darkness before ever reaching him.

Cesar was only a few feet away from the park when he heard the footsteps marching closer. There was yelling in German, the anger and hatred in their voices resonating into the night. His survival instinct took over and he swiftly moved into the doorway of one of the townhouses which lined Duranti. His pulse racing, he shut his eyes tightly, willing himself to remain calm. A hunted animal is much more alert if it remains calm. He welcomed images of his family, his horse, Suzie, into his consciousness. They were all lost but none the less brought him the comfort he longed for. The footsteps grew in volume and the yelling grew in intensity but Cesar had transported himself and continued to breathe evenly despite the blinding fear.

“Psst, monsieur, qu’est-ce que tu frais?”

The voice cut through the silence so suddenly, at first he didn’t think it was real.

“Monsieur, est-ce-que tu fait bien?”

Cesar opened his eyes and saw the young female face looking at him through the opened window to the right of the doorway. The darkness of the doorway and the windows surrounding it had led him to believe that home was abandoned. Many had run from Paris when the German’s invaded, leaving only the anglo-saxon pure-blood Parisians who had nothing to fear as long as they sided with Germany. Clearly this girl belonged to the latter group. In the dim light of the night he couldn’t tell how onld she was but she had the voice of a child. He long blond hair billowed out of the window and got caught in the wind. A sea of pale yellow, it seemed to fly in the soft breeze one would associate with the end of summer. It wasn’t until he saw her hair that Cesar even realized there had been a breeze. He was deeply saddened that he was no longer aware of the simple beauties of the world such as the change of season. Along with the rest of him life, the Germans had stolen that from him as well.

He looked at her shadowed form in the window but couldn’t answer. His French had never much improved over the last few years. He had hoped it would but with the invasion he heard more German than French, and it was a language he had come to despised. He could hear the concern in the girls voice and was assuming she was questioning his motives, but the fear of answering her sat heavy in his chest. No one in Paris was his ally.

“Parle français, monsieur?” she asked with a soft smile. The dark man in the shadows of the doorway was clearly terrified. She knew well what fear looked like.

Cesar simply shook his head, still reluctant to speak. The footsteps and yelling receded into the distance and it eased him to know they were gone. Soldiers rarely searched a street more then once a night and he felt some weight lift as he knew he now had at least till morning.

“They already searched Rue Duranti,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “They won’t be back until tomorrow.” She spoke in a perfect English and Cesar wondered who she thought he was.

“Do you understand my English, monsieur?”

He nodded as her hair took another flight in the wind. Her accent was thick around the syllables and it became clear that she was well educated. Only the better schools in Paris now taught English. Many had given themselves over to learning German instead.

“Are you a foreigner or a Jew?” He was caught off guard by the question. It felt intrusive and bitter. But it was also insightful. It was the only way to explain his fear and the need to hide.

“My family is Rom,” he finally answered and she nodded knowingly. She understood being Rom meant that he was in fact a Gypsy and had much reason to cower in the shadows of her doorway.

“If you need a place to hide you can stay here for the night,” she said quickly and disappeared into the darkness of the house.

Before Cesar could process her offer, the door opened behind him, causing him to stumble. There was a soft, warm light emanating from the back of the house, but the girl still appeared shadowed in darkness. She was small, the top of her head meeting the edge of his chin, but she was clearly not a child. She was still a young girl but old enough to realize she was inviting a stranger into her home.
She looked at him, her eyes a mixture of warmth and reservation. He was cleaner than the other refugees. The rough facial hair around his mouth was kept and groomed and his clothes appeared clean and not too tattered. He had clearly been hiding somewhere he could bathe and clean his attire. He also held himself like a gentleman, standing tall, his head dipped demurely as if it were the custom.. His pride was certainly greater than his fear.

“You can come in. I won’t report you.”

She stepped aside and without a word Cesar stepped into the warmth of the home. The house was set up like every other townhouse in Paris, narrow but tall. He could tell that it was well kept. Despite a little ware, it was clean and warm, more than he could ask for in a temporary shelter. There was a long wooden staircase to the right, against the wall, a small kitchen in the back where the light was coming from and rooms to the left. He could tell there was a small sitting room and saw the open window the girl had spoken to him from.

The girl closed the door behind him and Cesar became aware of how small the foyer of the house was. He turned and met her eyes, the soft light behind him finally illuminating her face. Her features were small and delicate as if made out of porcelain. Her skin was pale and smooth with a subtle pink blush caused by the warmth of the house. Every detail of her seemed soft and childlike, except for her eyes. They were large and inquisitive. Her eyes asked the millions of questions Cesar knew she would not ask. They were dark and wise and appeared to be twenty years older than the rest of her.

“My name is Sabine. You don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t want to. You don’t have to tell me anything at all. But you need not be afraid of me. I am on your side. I am a friend.”

It was a memorized speech. Cesar understood he wasn’t the first stranger Sabine had invited into her home. He had heard of the revolutionaries in Paris who put their own lives in danger for others who were German targets. He had assumed they were a myth. Who would put themselves at risk to help those they didn’t know, especially the dirty Gypsies and Jews? But here Sabine was and she was offering him safety with no questions.

She walked slowly around him to a small cupboard under the staircase and pulled out a blanket, a towel and a bar of soap. She took them into the dark living room and placed them on the sofa. As his eyes adjusted he could see the room also had a large armchair and coffee table. There was a lamp on a side table which Sabine left off. The room seemed that of someone older and he wondered where her family was and whom she shared this home with.

“There is a washing room in the kitchen in the back. The towel and blanket are clean and there are more in the cupboard if you should need. If you need anything else please let me know. She spoke to him from the darkness of the room as she removed the pillows from the sofa. What he really wanted was light. His eyes were beginning to hurt from trying to focus.

“Could you turn on that lamp please?”

She stopped moving and hesitated for a moment. In the past the other’s who had stayed here preferred the darkness. They had said almost nothing and had accepted what she had given with a simple thank you. Sabine switched on the lamp and filled the room with light. Cesar could finally see how inviting the small sitting room was. The sofa and armchair matched in a peach and yellow floral print while the rest of the furniture was large and made from the same dark cherry wood. Two walls of the room were lined with over stuffed bookshelves and on a small table in the corner sat a record player above an old radio.

In the light, Sabine had a much better view of the man she had welcomed into her home. He was dressed like many of the other Rom Gypsies she had encountered but he didn’t seem as afraid as many of them often did. He was already different for wanting the room illuminated but he also seemed to take in the home as if he were a guest rather than a hunted man. He had faint scars on his cheek and his hair was a thick and black as midnight. He seemed soft and relaxed and she was keenly aware of how attractive he was. But she quickly brushed it from her mind.

“Feel free to read any of the books, if you can read. I will be upstairs. If you need anything, you can call up to me. But please do not come upstairs.” She rushed through the rest of her speech as she whirled by him to get to the narrow staircase. She glanced back at him, his eyes still on the room. “Do you have any questions?”

She waited for him to shake his head, walk into the room or in some way indicate he had nothing to add. Instead he turned to look at her , his dark troubled eyes, searching her face.

“Why are you doing this?”

She looked at her hands nervously before answering him. “We must all do our part. My father and brothers can fight the Germans for the Free French in de Gaulles’ army. This is how I choose to fight.”

So she wasn’t alone. Cesar nodded. It was the only answer she would give him and he would not insist he tell her more.

“My name is Cesar,” he said and she looked at him with wide-eyes awe. Did he have that much trust in her. In the months she had been hiding people no one had offered her their name. She had come to expect it. But this man was different. First the light and now the name. Did he have any fear?

“I’m glad I can help you Cesar.” And with that he watched her as she disappeared up the wooden staircase and into the darkness above.