5 January 1943

Oh darling, darling, I beg you most tenderly: don’t be miserable.  Kill the miseries that eat away at you for they eat away at me too.  I have to let you know about a new sadness. I know that it will upset you, as it did me. Here it is: I will have no leave now. It is definite.  It is not possible for our company to grant leaves at the present moment. You know what that means for me, don’t you Yvette darling? It means that the fine hope of being able to spend a long week near you, with you – my love- will not be realised. It means that this hope, which delighted me, soothed me, filled me with an ever-renewed strength – our marriage- will not happen as soon as we wanted. It is postponed.  Until when, my God, until when?  And is it only postponed? Who can tell what will happen in the next one, two or three months? […]Since I love you and I want you so intently.  I am now so sad.  What can I say to you, little one? You know how I am feeling now, as I write these words.  Rather you believe you know. For when a man receives a staggering blow well placed, he no longer feels anything. […]

You must take the leave due to you. You must, absolutely, have a rest after those long months of subhuman work in la Salle triste.   And no less you must see and spend some happy days with Ouri. I want you to do that. Yvette, that will do me a great deal of good, believe it.[…]

I beg you. Write to me quickly, very quickly, with the date of your departure and I will impatiently count the days that still separate you from a little rest, from happiness with Ouri.  Then, when the great day comes I will follow you everywhere with my thoughts and my tenderness. You will feel them, go!

I will see you breathing the clear air of the Palestinian winter. I will see you cuddled and loved by Ouri and by all those who know you.  I will see you rested, and – without the horrible heavy weighing worries of your duty in the Salle Triste- travelling the streets and the towns and enjoying for a time the “civilian” atmosphere. I will see you listening to beautiful symphonies and concerts by Palestinian orchestras. I will say to myself: ”Now she is playing with Ouri. Now she is walking with him. Now she is at a concert. At the cinema.[…]

As for me, oh little one, I love you, I love you so much!  I will no longer live except with your love for me, the memory of your lips of your loving looks, of those marvellous moments spent together and with the hope and dream of finding you mine again, as you are now…

I love you my dearest, dearest, darling.   Hear me, little one, hear me.

Yvette!

Your Henri.

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