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| "Are you Pierre Séguy?"
they asked me.
Strolling down the stairs with feigned indolence I told them from the next landing, "No gentlemen, but I am his brother." "Do you have any idea where we can find him?" "I know only that he was supposed to go to the train station for the STO departure; but I have not seen him since." By then I had reached the ground floor, upon which the gendarmes asked me for my papers, which I tendered to them nonchalantly. Returning the document to Pierre's younger brother, the two gendarmes noted with an almost ingratiating smile, "If you ever see Pierre, could you tell him to come and see us at the Gendarmerie for his STO departure?" "I certainly will give him the message," said I, with sincere conviction in my voice, ushering the two gendarmes politely out the door. This encounter was followed by an energetic dressing down of the idiot who had failed to recognize that two gendarmes, coming to see Pierre Séguy, were not coming to invite him to a tea party. I also announced my official name change in the dining hall that evening, and that everyone in the seminary should be au courant about Pierre's younger brother who had taken his place among the students. Yet, though everybody now was aware of my new identity, most of them continued to call me, from force of habit, "Pierre," and have done so for forty-eight years. There was another name change during the early months of 1944, when even the class of 1924 was beginning to be called up to go to Germany. I then became my own elder brother, Jean Séguy, evangelist by profession, who was born (again) at Amiens, but on July 25, 1919. This card was even authentic, having been registered in a small town in the Isère. As our studies at Montpellier ended when the Germans closed the seminary, I never had to use this card. My assignment as Pastor
took me to Lasalle in the Cévennes, where I became the successor
of Georges Crespy, who had left just two steps ahead of the Gestapo.
He was now residing in Switzerland. |
