Thinking back to the hazy days of his youth, Rene recalled the odors of the barnyard and the scent of a spring in 1943. He remem
bered the dreamy pleasure he had gathered during his morning parade among chickens in the barnyard, scattering feed from a battered pail. Perhaps, he thought, that was because the clucking and scratching of the hens and their pullets seemed like evidence of gratitude. On the other hand, Nazi soldiers had recently occupied the nearby village of Reims. No doubt because he detested the Nazis, and no doubt because he associated swine with German soldiers, he now found slopping the hogs an odious task.
