Dvr H.Adler
PAL/30765
650 Gen Trpt Coy.
R.A.S.C.
M.E.F

November 1942

What a feast, Yvette, what a feast! Two days ago I received six letters from you in one go! Can you imagine, darling, what that means to me? All the same….

Usually when only one letter arrives from you, it causes such an upheaval in me. My hands, holding that lovely green envelope with your dear signature above, begin to tremble ridiculously like the hands of a drunkard, my face muscles begin a mad, frantic dance, my eyes- you would say that they want to start out of their sockets and my heart – my God! – my heart begins suddenly to beat so strongly, so powerfully with its boom booms sounding like a song. That is always the immediate effect of your letters darling.

And now, my adored little one, please imagine the effect on my body of putting such an abundance, six letters from Yvette! Well, try to imagine that if you can. Can you?

Can you see me holding these six dear letters, between my stupid hands, stupefied as I am all over? And then, after some moments, when my spirits return, I reflect- rather it is my hands that reflect, they weigh and judge which of the envelopes to open first. Is it this heavy one, which seems to me so very joyous? Os is it rather that thin one, the modest one, which seems to me sad, which frightens me and already makes me want to cry? But how can you judge with such an impatient heart? Should I be guided by the dates of the postmarks and open the envelopes in chronological order? And carry out this minute research while my heart is beating its infernal “boumboum”. Absurd! I am no superman. Oh no! I open them all at the same time, those envelopes, in a disordered jumble, without logic and with a sudden, clear certainty that entirely illuminates me, that I would never know how to employ logic in the such a case, even after long years, even at the dawn of our life. That’s a good thing. (?) So there they are, your letters, pages filled with your dear intelligent handwriting and my eyes rush feverishly to the end. I look first, in each of your letters, for those last words. I see, “Your wife, Yvette”, I embrace you, Yvette”, “I love you, Yvette “ and these words entirely transform me. Beatitude. Peace. Kindness. All of those envelop me with sweet warmth and, curiously, my knees bent but those black points disappeared from my sight. That did such good. She loves me. She embraces me. She is my wife. She is mine. Time is meaningless. Silence, separations are meaningless. Nothing matters. It is good, it is beautiful. That makes for life.

Only then do I begin to read. Still in no order. But that doesn’t matter because as I will read them dozens of times over, I will all the time arrange them according to date. And in any case, that is not so important. So I plunge myself into all that immense love that you so generously offer me, into all the infinite goodness, the marvellous intelligence and that beautiful healthy poetry that fills your letters. Oh darling, darling, how can I make you understand the extent of my love for you, for your life, your body and your soul, your past, present and future? What can I do, my God, to be always worthy of you, to have you as my companion for life?

Are you asleep Yvette? Can’t you see that you are the giant and I the dwarf? Can’t you see that you dominate my whole life at every point? Am I and will I ever be capable of sending you through several lowly pages, as much rural joy, as much perfume from nature’s flowers as you send me in your delicious letters. Do you know Yvette, Yvette that the flowers you send me in your letters smell better that those I see here?

That never before has the breeze sent me as much freshness as you send me in your letters. Never before has the music of the sea’s waves penetrated me as the waves of your letters.  That I have never before understood the whispering of the trees, the twittering of the birds, the beauty of the snow covered mountains, lifting their wild peaks to the blue sky, the mischievous wind poking fun at people and things, as I do now that I know your darling face and soul?

But it doesn’t make me feel bad to be dominated by you. It is sweet. I demand it. I cannot offer you the richness you offer me. All that I can is to love you with all the capacity of my ordinary man’s simple heart. I withdraw nothing. Nothing and for no one, Everything is for you. Is that enough, my little one? But yes, that is enough. Since you say it and since I feel it. But yes, darling, I feel it.  So drive away, I beg you, the desire to beat me. You so gently correct the faults in my French and you don’t even notice how you correct all of me. How I love you, little one!

Two days ago I received your six letters. Now it is the third day. I have been reading for all  that time. Intoxication has prevented me from writing to you. But that is your fault, so you must excuse me. Don’t believe, however, that I am now, in writing these words, closer to you than yesterday or the day before, or even before that.  I am always so close to you that I have the impression of being merged with you, in you. And you well know that.  It’s only that for these three days I have been truly too painted with the overflow of happiness to pick up a pen. And now, as you can see, things are better because I can at last write to you although what I write is rather vague and boring, like the morning after a night of indulgence.

However I will try to be straightforward about some news which very soon will change. So much better. It is that, and nothing else, which can get me back on my feet.

So, about our dear Ouri. I have not yet seen him but I will see him because that will produce in me an intense joy, and of course I will try and transmit that joy to the little one. I will surely succeed. But what I want you to understand is that I love Ouri. I want you darling, to have no shadow of doubt on that question. I swear to you, little one, that you can treat all questions about Ouri with as much ease and frankness as you could if you were addressing his father. And more. Because you don’t love his father and he did not understand you. But we two love each other so very much. And then I so much love kids! You would have felt that. Besides, if you hadn’t, you would not have been able to love me. For the Yvette that I know and love – and it’s the truth- that Yvette would not know how to attach herself to a man incapable of being profoundly moved when looking at a kid! You see, Yvette, I am too dry in my expression. I should have been able to say all that with pathos. But as dry as that might appear to you, believe me; believe me Yvette, that it is only I who can be the real father of Ouri.

And now for the two of marriage formality and us.

I have been to Mrs Silberg’s house and next week I will have the certificate. Mine are ready. The only difficulty is that I am so far away from you and that I am taking part in a new campaign. And that will work out with time. I believe that we must count on a month before we can obtain the authorisations and co-ordinate out marriage leaves.

In any case, darling, I have done everything necessary in that direction and I can’t wait to get all the formalities over so that I can address my letters, “Yvette Adler”.

This name Adler, take not, little one how it becomes richer more alive and fresh since it is embellished by you. It will become stronger too. It will receive again its real meaning: Eagle. You certainly are already aware and proud of the power with which an eagle with his great wings open wide leaps from the earth and rises irresistibly into the pure blue sky. It is with the same power that I rise and tear myself away from this stifling milieu since my thoughts and my heart fly towards you. And I will do it forever and ever and ever. I love you Yvette,

Henri.