The Woman Who Made Tin Faces

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Chapter Four 
1920 SFOI


A few weeks later, Mindy delivered her article to the socialist newspaper who received it with enthusiasm and vigor, but a month later her article still had not been printed.  Meanwhile Marcel Debbounay was busy putting the finishing touches on his parade.  He had scheduled it for November 11, 1920, the two year anniversary of the end of the war.  Flyers went out to all the places where veterans were known to frequent, but so far the response was not what Marcel had expected.  He knew the socialists were planning to do whatever they could to sabotage this event.


“Sit still.” Mindy instructed Blaise Ronbrandt who was being fit for one of her tin masks.  Rembrandt was a big strapping man who worked in a vineyard his uncle owned, but part of his head was misshapen by a bullet. Rumors had suggested the wound may have been self-inflicted and that the rifle had slipped when he pulled the trigger, but nobody in his unit would verify that story.  Blaise had never been very smart.  Born as a blue baby, it took a few minutes to get oxygen into his lungs when he was born.  His mother felt that his intellectual disadvantage would be good enough to keep him out of the war, but she was wrong on that account.  

“I want to go for a walk.” He began to act like a toddler about to throw a tantrum, but this toddler weighed close to 136 kilograms which was twice what Mindy weighed. 

“You need a mask.” She insisted.

“What for?” He groaned.

“Your uncle has asked you it when dealing with customers.” She put the tape measure around his head.  He brushed it away.  “Blaise, please.” 

“I did not do this.” He patted himself on the noticeable dent just above his large forehead.

“Never said you did.” She marked down the measurement on the paper next to her wooden stool.  

“Everybody else says I did it.” He held his head at an odd angle making the next measurement hard for Mindy to reach.  

“I am not here for that.” She stood up and put the tape measure on the dented piece of his head.

“I like this one.” He simply reached over to the wall where he was sitting and plucked one of the masks off the wall.

“Great.  As soon as I get you measured, you can have it if you want.” She sighed.

“Good.” 

Agnes came in with a bag of groceries and put the bag on the table.  Monique looked up from her magazine; she had been idly flipping through and sneered. Agnes didn’t care, instead she handed Mindy a newspaper.  Mindy waved it away since Blaise was being rather difficult.

“You might want to see this.” Agnes insisted, “Page eight.” 

“Sure, sure.” She wrote down the last measurements.

“It doesn’t fit.” Blaise complained when he put the mask on.

“Page eight, eh?” Mindy opened the newspaper and there was her article. “Oh my God, they printed it.” 

“I knew you’d be thrilled.” Agnes nodded.

“It’s a socialist paper.” Monique noticed as Mindy held it open to read her article.

“So?” Agnes shook her head.

“They are the ones causing all the problems.” She huffed. 

“Well, at least I got my say.” Mindy looked at Agnes with a grateful expression on her face. “Maybe Monsieur Debbounay will rethink his parade.” 

“Oh, I doubt it.” Agnes got out a baguette and some fresh jam to celebrate the article. 

Mindy tore off a piece Agnes had handed her and gave it to Blaise.  He ate it in one bite. Once he had eaten the bread, Blaise was a lot more compliant with the procedures and measurements.


“Why do you paint them in such vibrant colors?” Adrienne asked as she handled one of the masks.  Adrienne Stanbergoin was the secretary to Mr. Claude Senji, the head of publications and distribution.  Mindy had brought in some masks to show him the work that she did.  Mademoiselle Stanbergoin had a wicked reputation for being nosy, but the colors were guaranteed to attract attention.  

“It is my way of showing my customers that they deserve attention.” She answered.

“I love the design.” She held one up to her own face where she looked as though she was attending a Bal masque. “Do you give these away?”

“Oh non.” Mindy put her gloved hand in front of her mouth to hide her amusement, “But for the soldiers, the Department of War pays for the expense.”

“How fortunate.” She put the mask back into the box where she had removed it from.  Mindy had brought a dozen or so to show Comrade Senji.

“Oh good, you are here Mademoiselle LaFluer.” Monsieur Senji opened his office door. “Why don’t you come in and we shall chat.”

“Oui.” She picked up the box and followed him into his office.

“These pieces are quite remarkable.” He said once she was seated and he was able to see the masks. “Made of tin?” 

“Oui.” She nodded as he flicked the metal with his finger and it rang like a bell.

“Why tin?” He put the mask back in the box and sat in the chair behind his desk.

“It is a material I can still find in adequate quantities.” She explained.  

“Not for long.” He shook his head.

“Pardon?” She was taken aback by his statement.

“Tin is much in demand by the factories as of late.” He explained, “I have a stringer who has uncovered a plan for a greater use of the substance.”

“I was not aware.” She felt a coldness sink into her stomach. 

“Why not clay?” He asked.

“Clay does not last.” She shook her head.

“It has a more natural fit to the disfigurement and sometimes can make the wearer appear to be nearly normal.” 

Nearly normal, the words reverberated in her like a sour note played on a piano.  

“I will continue to use tin until there is none to be found.  I will paint them in a colorful fashion to lift the spirit of the wearer.” Her face turned red as she spoke.

“Oh I do find your work quite noteworthy and yes I want to take a photograph of you with these masks for our next edition.” He raised an eyebrow impressed by her conviction in the matter. 

Monsieur Senji led Mindy into a dark room where a man was huddled over a strange looking contraption.  He was short and dark with a very notable mustache.  Dressed in baggy pants and a sweater with elbow patches, Solomon De Grasse was repairing a camera. 

“Bonjour.” He greeted them without looking up from his current task. 

“Monsieur, I have brought Mademoiselle LaFluer with me.” Claude nodded. 

“Splendid!” He exclaimed. 

“I shall leave in your capable hands then.” Claude excused himself.

“So I hear you make masks for the unfortunate soldiers who have lost parts of their face.” He said as he continued to tinker with the camera. “My best camera has decided not to work today.  Can’t say I blame it, for I too, have felt that from time to time.”

Mindy chuckled.

“Oh good, you have a sense of humor.” He finally straightened up and turned to look at her, “Most of these people have traded their sense of humor for far less than it was worth.” 

“Are you always this chatty?” She asked.

“Only when the company is good looking.” Now he was flirting and it felt good to indulge in such triviality for a change.  “I am Solomon De Grasse, the photographer for this place.” 

“How long have you been here?” She asked.

“Ten years actually. The socialists started here at the turn of the century.” He explained, but then he changed, “Oh my graciousness, I have not offered you a comfortable chair.  How rude of me.” He walked quickly to an empty chair and placed it behind her.  “Please sit.” 

“Merci.” She did as she was told.

“You are very striking, if you do not mind me saying so.” He adjusted some of the lights in the studio.

“Non, not at all.” She could feel her cheeks turn red. 

“Bon.  Bon.  I do not wish to make you feel uncomfortable.” He clasp his hands together, “Shall we get started.”

“My masks.” She said remembering, “I want my masks in the picture with me.” 

“Alright.” He agreed as she removed one from the box. “We shall hang them on a backdrop.”

“That would be wonderful.” She said as he took one of the masks and affixed it to the backdrop.  It took about five minutes to hang the rest of them.  Then he put the camera on the tripod and told her to smile.

“Beautiful.  So beautiful.  Now I know how di Vinci felt painting the Mona Lisa.” He chuckled, “Let’s do a couple more so that we have choices.”
The flash nearly blinded her, but she felt beautiful for the first time in a long time.

“Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me this evening?” He asked as he fixed the camera for the final photograph.

“I would love to.” She smiled just as the flash went off.

“That ought to do it.” He nodded. “Shall I call for you around six o’clock?”

“Yes you may.”  She shook his hand as she left, because she did not know what else to do. 


Her finest dress needed to be repaired and dusted off since it had been quite some time since she had worn it.  Trying to recall, she could not remember wearing this during the war or after graduation.  He was not the most handsome man she had ever seen, but she liked he looked at her.  That was enough for now.  

Agnes was stationed at the window, because she was dying to see him while her father went through warnings about what to do and what not to do with a young gentleman.

“He’s here!” Agnes jumped up from her perch by the door.

“Father, I must go.” She kissed him on the cheek.

Monsieur De Grasse had rented a carriage for the evening and stepping out of her apartment, Mindy was overcome by his exquisite manners. He opened the carriage door and bowed as she entered the luxurious vehicle. A team of four horses with blinders waited patiently.  

“Bonne soirée." He bowed as he opened the carriage door. 

“Merci.” Mindy smiled as she stepped up into the carriage.  The seats were padded with heavy material and it was an open air carriage. “I am impressed.” 
“As well you should be.” He took her hand in his as the coachman prodded the horse forward.  It was a beautiful night in the city.  In certain places you could see the stars set out in a velvet blanket, the soft light adding to the mood.

“We shall be dining at the Coq Rouge.” He said as the carriage came upon the Quai de Bercy, a scenic route as it followed the river and passed through the Parc de Bercy to add to the romantic journey.  Mindy slid closer to Solomon and at one point put her head on his shoulder.  The Coq Rouge was set in an ancient block of the city across the river from the Cathedral of Notre Dame.  Even in the darkness of the evening, the cathedral was well lit by gas lights and beacons.  

Helping her step down from the carriage, the restaurant was filled with music and life.  An accordion player was playing some very popular tunes as patrons sat in the outdoor café chatting and drinking wine.  Her mind was taken on a journey away from the drudgery she had lived with for quite some time.  Solomon was charming and for the first time in a long time, she laughed and conversed in much more pleasant subjects than those seeking her help.

“I must tell you that I am Jewish and a Zionist.” He unfolded his napkin, putting it on his lap. 

“My mother was Jewish.” She confessed as she sipped her wine.

“I had no doubt with a name rooted deeply in Hebrew heritage.” He bowed his head slightly.

“Why Zionist?” She asked since these were the people who were nothing but villains in the newspapers.

“We Jews do not belong in Europe.  We are not wanted here.  Not really.” He leaned back in his chair.

“I find it silly.” She confessed.

“I wish it was a trifling thing.” He laughed.

“After this war, we must learn to live together as one.” She blinked.

“I agree.” He sniffed, “But the reality is so different. Now it is my turn.  Why did you come to the SFOI?” 

“No one wanted to listen to me.” She put her goblet down on the table next to her empty plate.

“You are a woman, no one in their right mind would listen to a woman beyond issues of domestic affairs.” He shook his head. 

“People should.” She became a bit agitated.

“Yes, I agree.” He smiled, “This is why I belong to the socialists.  All people, men and women are equal in the eyes of God.”

“You believe in God?” She asked.

“Certainly.  He will lead us once again to the Promised Land.” Solomon signaled to the waiter.

“Monsieur, your order will be out soon.” He bowed.

“We need some more wine.” He motioned to the empty glasses on the table.

“Certainly.” He bowed again and scurried off. 

“Promised Land?  I wish there were such a place.” She sighed.

“One day there will be.  Monsieur Hertzl has been making some deals in Palestine.” Solomon assured her.  The rather heavy set waiter returned with a tray containing their dinners.  He set the beef in front of Solomon and the veal in front of Mindy.

“I shall be back with your wine.” He bowed yet again. 

“This is delicious.” Mindy took a taste of her veal.

“This place is one of my secrets.  When in Paris, all visitors should come here for a very hearty meal.” He then took a mouthful of his dinner and closed his eyes in delight. “So tender.  So much flavor.” 

After dinner they both had some coffee and a small pastry as Solomon told Mindy the story of his family which had endured all of the antisemitism Paris was known for and some of his reasons why he was a member of the SFOI.  Mindy listened in fascination to his tales as some of his relatives were real characters at times.  

When dinner was over, he suggested they take a walk around the park which she readily agreed to.  Walking by the river in the dim light of the park, Solomon paused and kissed her on the lips, it was a kiss she had always longed for.  His hands went to her back where he gently caressed her while he continued to kiss her.  Then she felt his hand slip under her dress and into her undergarments, but she did not protest, because she welcomed the gentle touch of a lover.  She had spent her entire life in the service of others without once asking for anything in return.  Now, she wanted something that had been withheld from her.  His hands were caressing her naked skin and she did not want him to stop.  Slowly Solomon lifted her off her feet when he began to remove her undergarments.  She felt him enter her.  She had her back against the tree as he began to move rhythmically inside her.  Her eyes were closed as he continued.  She put her legs around his waist when suddenly he let go with a groan, a deep guttural sound traveling through her like electricity.  

“Oh God!” She uttered in his ear as they both stood there frozen together as if this was where they both belonged. 

“I could not have said that better myself.” He chuckled as he slowly let her down to her feet.

“I do not know if I can walk.” She panted.

“I have no plans to leave.” He kissed which sealed the covenant between them.  She put her arms around his neck.

“That was wonderful.” She whispered in his ear. 

“We’d better go, the coachman awaits and I do not wish to advance his speculation.” He took her hand as she adjusted her clothing.


Still floating from the night before, Mindy was in the shoppe with Monique and a new customer named Georges Montique. The army surgeon had done poor Georges no favors when he tried to put his face back together after a grenade went off in his face. He was able to speak, but since both of his eyes had been blown out of his head, he needed assistance getting from place to place.  Accompanied by a manservant since Georges was from the upper gentry, Georges had a somewhat entitled attitude.  He carried a cane which he would swing freely about never knowing who or what might be in the way.  The manservant would shake his head whenever his stead would begin to swing his cane around.  

“I did not ask for this.” Georges angry retort was punctuated by a wild swing of his cane which brought down one of the masks from the hook on the wall.
“Nobody asked for this.” Mindy replied.  Georges froze since no woman had ever talked to him like that.  

“What fair lady would dare talk to me in such a manner.” He finally managed to say.

“I am a mask maker.” She answered. 

“Then do your duty.” He rattled his cane on the wooden floor. 

“Only if you behave, monsieur.” She waited for him to finish throwing his tantrum.

“Behave?  How dare you.” He gasped with indignity. 

“You are in my shoppe and in my shoppe there are rules for behavior.” She snapped at him.

“Monsieur, if I were you, I’d listen to her.” The manservant said calmly.  He stopped turning his eyeless head toward his manservant.  Georges would not say another word as Mindy measured his face.  She had a complete face covering since he did require such a mask.  While fortunate to retain his ability to speak, the rest of his face was nothing but scars that appeared as a rocky landscape of disfigured tissue from his missing nose to his fragile hairline.  
“Splendid.” The manservant replied as she fitted the mask over his face.

“Are you sure?” He was still a bit angry.

“Monsieur, you look like a fine gentleman once again.” He answered.  No, it wasn’t the solution, but it would do.  So many of her customers had their hearts set on a miracle or at very least the return of gentlemanly appearance so people would not gawk at them while they were in public, but at least her masks would cover the horrible disfigurement.  

The manservant paid for the mask and then led his master from her shoppe still swinging his cane as they left.  Opening the door, the manservant turned and said, “Merci.” as they left. 


“Flowers.” Her father had them already put in a vase with water, “I thought they were for me.” 

“Oh papa.” She touched his bristly cheek. 

“So how is this suitor?” He asked.

“Wonderful.” She said dreamily.

“Oh my, much more serious than I would imagine.” He shook his head.

“He is...he is…” She could not find the word.

“I get the picture.” He chuckled.

“Who is he?” Agnes burst into the room.

“Who is who?” Mindy asked.

“Flowers?  He must be quite the gentleman.” She put her hands on some of the flowers. 

“His name is Solomon.” She answered.

“He sounds Jewish.” Agnes turned and glanced at Mindy.

“He is.” 

“Oh.” She let go of the flowers as if they were poison to the touch. 

“I’m part Jewish.” Mindy nodded as her father did likewise.

“You know how it is.” Agnes shook her head.

“No, how is it?” Mindy crossed her arms across her chest.

“You’re just asking for trouble.” Agnes mirrored Mindy by crossing her arms across her chest.

“I can handle my own life, thank you.” Mindy shot back.

“I hope so.” Agnes left the room, slamming the door on her way out.
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“Well so much for a peaceful, pleasant evening.” Jacques sighed.