I have begun to read dad's stories more closely in preparation for these transcriptions. This one really touches me and it is hard to think of dad being so, sentimental. But there you are, a sentimental tale. In letter form.
Sergeant William Morrison
434 Elm Drive
Poughkeepsie, New York USA
Mon Amour,
No, you will not return. I live now in the words of the songs we listened to together, and the precious memories of our love. If this letter reaches you in America, do not feel you have to answer. Think of it as your last French lesson and a reminder of the happiness we had together.
When they told me you had gone, I looked up at the Parisian sky. They say Le Ciel de Paris n'est pas longstemps cruelle. . .The Parisian sky is never cruel for long. It is a lie. I walk now under the bridges of the Seine so as not to see the sky, those same bridges where we looked at each other, ". . .les yeux dans les yeax. . .our eyes meeting. . . deux couers qui sourient. Two hearts that were smiling. One smiles no more.
One song will always be ours. I play it over and over and over again, and I forget. He will come.
Nothing but belles espoirs, wishful thinking. Il m'appporta des fleurs. Il me dira des histoires de voyages. You carry flowers. You tell me wondrous tales of your travels. Tout si bon. Everything will be wonderful. As when we first met, Paris was liberated and it was always. Dimanch toute la semaine. Sunday all week long. You came with your child-like smile and I said to myself, his eyes caress my being.
You spoke early words of love to a hungry heart. Le couer qui s'ennui. You spoke to me of nonsense. As the song says, Il me dira de bavardes. It was too soon and I should have known. I knew I would answer in the only way I could. Je responderais que je t'aime. I will answer with love.
You will not come. Never. Paris is free but le ciel est sombre. My sky is dark.
Mademoisele Mireille Jourdan
43 Place de la Vendome
Premier Arrondissement
Paris, France
Forgive me for having read your letter to Bill. I am his mother. Yes, he returned--not his physical self, but his effects. It was cruel that you were not told the truth at his unit headquarters. William was killed in a Jeep accident on his way to Paris.
I have known about you for many months. Bill wrote volumes of you. He spoke about remaining in Paris after the war. Among his effects was a letter to me, in which he talked of his plas. I enclose the letter, which belongs to you more than to me. Take it with my sadness for my son and someone dear who touched him briefly with love.
Bill is always in my heart, as you are. I thank you for the happiness you gave my boy.
Samantha Morrison
Dearest Mom:
This letter may not be a surprise to you. You know how many times I wrote to you about Mireille. Now that the war is over I am taking my accumulated leave in Paris. I have official permission and access to a Jeep and will be on my way as soon as I can. I am going to ask Mireille to marry me. I don't know what Army policy is towards soldiers marrying overseas, but it makes no difference We will be together regardless of any policy. If it is possible, I will bring Mireille home If not, I will remain in France. I will be the man of her favorite song, "Il e'apportera des fleurs". I will bring her flowers and we will look forever into each others eyes, two hearts that are smiling where the river is a mistress and her lover is Paris.
La Seine est une amante, et son amant est Paris.
Love,
William
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