The Woman Who Made Tin Faces

Chapter Two
1917-1919 Paris, France


It was a sad gray day when the soldiers began to march from the grounds of the Ecole Militaire after a long speech by Georges Clemenceau about how the Americans were preparing to enter the war after three bloody years of fighting.  German U-boats had closed off the North Sea shipping lines.  This resulted in the sinking of the Lusitania on which many American passengers perished in the waters off the coast of Ireland, but in reality it was the Zimmerman Papers which put a German presence in Mexico right under the American noses.  

After three years of bloody war, it took a lot of emotion to get the suffering people of France to understand there was an endgame if not the complete obliteration of the German Empire, at very least the defeat of Germany now that the Americans were entering the war.  

Standing on the banks of the Seine, tears dripping from her cheeks, Mindy held the letter announcing the death of her beloved Pierre over three years after the fact.  She had feared he had been killed in battle, but the letter from the Ministry confirmed her worst fears. After watching the procession at the Ecole Militaire where Lt. LaFontane had graduated top of his class in 1913, she was convinced that this war was leading France into its own doom.  There was a lot of evidence to support her speculation on the matter.

Prime Minister David Lloyd George from England was not able to make the ceremony and was not able to hear Clemenceau’s inspiring words of hope that the war would soon be over.  Instead the British Prime Minister was in Washington D.C. trying to convince President Widrow Wilson to join the effort to defeat Germany instead of remaining on the path of Isolationism.  With the political pressure from Congress and his allies in Europe, it seemed more and more likely that the United States of America would be joining the fray.  With Canada already invested in the war as part of the British Empire, Isolationism did not seem as practical as it had been when he ran for president on that promise. President Wilson was not a well man either and there was some speculation that his health may not hold out and Thomas Marshall would ascend to the presidency.  

“So you got one, too.” Agnes held her letter out so Mindy could see. 

“Yes.  Three years.” She puffed.

“We should join the Communist Party.” Agnes suggested, but she was not being serious. 

“I thought you had to be Jewish.” Mindy remarked.

“Aren’t you?” Agnes asked.

“My mom was.  Gave me a Jewish first name, too.  But my father is a loyal Catholic and takes a dim view of the Jewish ways.  He blames them for all of the troubles we are going through.” Mindy explained as she dangled her feet over the Seine.  

“How did they ever get together?” Agnes tossed her cigarette into the waters.  It hissed when it came in contact with the river.
“He liked her breasts.” Mindy folded her legs under her.

“Men.  Say one thing, do the other.” Agnes chuckled.

“Didn’t have any trouble enlisting the Jews into the army when the war broke out.  There are a lot of headstones that bear the Star of David rather than the Cross of Jesus.” She put her cheek on one of her knees that was folded up.  

“Are you going to be a nun?” Agnes asked.

“Just because I go to a Catholic school?  No, you’ve got the wrong girl.  Before Pierre left, we went to a hotel and did it almost a dozen times in a day.  I was so sore.” She laughed, but in her laughter tears continued to flow down her cheeks.

“We did it too.” Agnes held her letter up. “A lot.” 

“And now they are gone.” She tossed her letter into the river and watched it float away bobbing in the green brown water.
“You shouldn’t throw things into the river.” A voice admonished Mindy for her actions and when she looked up she saw a soldier with half his face missing.  The stark revelation nearly made her gasp.  Using a cane in place of his left leg, he hobbled over to them.  He was still in uniform. Realizing his appearance was disturbing to the girls, he reached into the pocket of his frock and put on his tin mask. “Sorry, I should get used to wearing this when I am in public.” 

“Who are you?” Mindy asked boldly.

“Sergeant Denis d’Ingraile.” He answered, but his voice was muffled by the tin.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Mindy had regained her composure.

“Verdun.” He pointed to his mask. “Was quite a time.  Artillery never stopped falling on our lines.  We went out on patrols, but them damn guns found us every time.  I don’t even remember the shell that did this.  All I remember is waking up in a surgery tent where a kind nurse told me that they did the best they could.”

“Seems like they could have done a better job.” Agnes finally spoke.

“Oh, I think I was a lucky one.” He took out a cigarette and tapped it on his case, “Gentleman in the next bed lost his jaw and they used some muscle tissue to attempt to reconstruct it by tying it under what used to be his chin.  It looked like he had a permanent bow tie when all was said and done.  A week later the muscle failed and a few hours later he passed away.  I went to his funeral.  Sad.” 

“The real problem is we have created machines and methods of destruction that have outmatched our ability to survive when these machines and methods are used in combat.” One of the generals told the Ministry.  A few days later, he was dismissed from his post. 

In October 1917, when Mindy was starting her fall semester at the university, the news came out of Russia that the Czar and his family had been killed in an overthrow of the czarist government.  The Bolsheviks then took over under Vladimir Lenin who then withdrew all of Russia’s military forces from the war as the allies now stood with one less.  Those doomsdayers predicting the fall of Western Civilization began filling the newspapers with worst case scenarios.  

Father Tomas Reggligeur taught religious theology and became a confidant of Mindy as she dealt with all of the distractions that had suddenly come her way.

“So father, you don’t think the Bolsheviks are coming to take over France?” She asked him once while sitting in his spartan office.

“They are godless people.  God would not allow them access.” He said confidently.  Originally from a small town in Normandy, he understood how harsh the world could be, but he had a firm belief that God would look after him.  He was a tall lanky man who during a sermon appeared like a scarecrow when he got his arms waving.  Barely thirty years old, he was young with the wisdom of a much older man.  His facial features were blunt and he kept his bowl-cut hair like some of the monks that worked at the university.  

“The Borsch are godless.” She stated.

“You are right about that.” His brown eyes scanned her carefully.  Politics was a dangerous undertaking these days, because it aligned with religious affiliation at times. One could almost say that this war was just the continuation of the Crusades at times since the Ottoman Empire was Eastern Orthodox or at worst Muslim in some places.  The Armenians were being slaughtered by the Turks in Syria and other atrocities were cropping up in places where there had never been any before.  It was as if God had given up on the people of earth.  

“All I know, father, is that evil has come to roost.” She said evenly.

“I hope that somewhere in His plan, he does have a place for each of us in his Heavenly Kingdom.” He patted her on the back and left his office for the daily mass offering.  


On a list, on a bulletin board near Father Reggliguer’s office the students could volunteer at various places that needed extra help.  Without thinking, Mindy put her name on the list for St. Mary’s Hospital.  St. Mary’s was an overcrowded medical facility in a very poor section of the city, and it was here Mindy met the war.  The ward she was assigned to was filled with wounded soldiers coming back from the front.  Some were ambulatory and some would never be able to walk on their own, some didn’t even have their own legs to walk on.  Some were placed in the hospice ward to live out their final hours here on earth and some were prepared for the long ride on the train home.  Sister d’Anton was in charge of the ward where Mindy had been assigned and after nearly four years at St. Mary’s, the sister  had seen just about everything from young men being called home by God to those so badly wounded there was no hope for them, but through some miracle these men survived and went home. Sister d’Anton would send her volunteers and interns to hold the hands of the dying.  It was hard duty, but Mindy did not shy away from it at all.  Some of the girls would get squeamish at times, but she was always ready.  One of the men came in missing the bottom half of his being.  She walked right up to his cot, picked up his hand and spent the last hour of his life talking about his father’s vineyard in Roeun and how it was nearly harvest time for grapes that would become a prized chardonnay.  

The walls were made from stone laid by masons nearly four centuries ago and there were lots of drafts that swirled about the corridors that some of the nuns would say were the souls of the dead returning to Heaven.  There were portrait paintings of long gone patrons hanging on the walls with the thick fabric of the royalty dyed arrases hung to cut down on the chill the drafts brought with them at times.

It was late in the semester when Mindy got the news of her mother’s death.  She returned home for her mother’s service and never went back to finish her time at the university.  There was a heavy grief that Mindy could never quite get over.  She wrote to her advisor who told her she must return the next semester to finish, but she never did. 

Instead of returning to school, Mindy got involved with the Bohemians movement, free spirits who opposed the war.  Some of them had even once been soldiers themselves.  She was living the Bohemian life when the war ended in November 1918.  There was a rancorous party in the village when the Treaty of Versailles was signed by the Kaiser. In her time as a Bohemian, she discovered she had a great eye for color and used her talent to become a painter, but her best works seldom sold at the outdoor market down by the river even when she dressed up like a gypsy.  Many blamed her source of inspiration and the dark, gloomy mood she brought to the canvas.  

As 1918 came to a close, a new enemy rose up.  Before it was over, the Spanish Flu, millions would fall victim to the world’s newest killer.  Many of the convalescing soldiers instantly fell victim to this deadly outbreak and the church bells never stopped ringing so it seemed.  Mindy left her Bohemian lifestyle behind and returned to St. Mary’s to help.  Father Reggligeur greeted her warmly, but told her that Sister d’Anton had passed away from the flu as had many of his staff and religious.

“It was nearly as hard as the war.” He nodded as Mindy sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair in the priest’s office.

“I am sorry.” Mindy fought off the tears, “I wish I could have been here to say good-bye.” 

“As I.” He shrugged. “I will have you work with Sister Grace.  She is from Scotland.” 

“Scotland?” 

“Yes, a very capable soul, but she’s a bit more earthy and coarse, I would venture to say.” His smile was a rye one and Mindy would soon discover that her coarseness was hard to take at times.  

Wearing her habit covered most of her bulging form except for her pink bulbous pig-like face with small blue eyes set on either side of an unattractive shapeless snout. Her voice was abrasive and it was said her tongue could slice a pineapple with some of the foul words she chose to express herself.   

Mindy chose to immerse herself with the patients rather than cross Sister Grace’s path.  In one ward there were former soldiers whose permanent injuries and disfigurements would never fully heal, no matter who much care they received.  

Ross Marchand had been a pilot of a Sopwith Camel during the war, but a German pilot had set his aircraft ablaze and by the time the ground crew got to him, over seventy percent of his body had been badly burned.  The fact that he survived was considered a miracle.  Skin grafts were painful and seldom repaired the damage left by the flames.  Ross had no hair or ears, but somehow they managed to save his eyes even though his eyelids had been burned off.  Through careful surgical procedure, they were able to repair the damaged skin around his eyes even though he screamed through most of the operation.  Using his hands to try to put out the fire, Ross only had a thumb and two other fingers left.  Wearing a bathrobe most of the time, Ross was confined to a wheelchair.  His disfigurement was a shock to anyone who had not seen him before.

“I wish I had died in that airplane.” He told Mindy who was sitting under an oak tree on a bench next to his wheelchair.
“Don’t say that.” She scolded him, putting her book of Bauldaire poetry in her lap.  

“My wife left me when she came here to visit me at the hospital.” He bowed his head. “My son wouldn’t even talk to me.”  
“One day they will ask for your forgiveness.” She patted him on what remained of his heavily scarred hand.  One day never came for Ross.  When the night crew were playing cards in the staff lounge, he wheeled himself to the roof of the building, got himself on the narrow ledge and fell four stories to the cement walkway below where he would appear as some gory, grotesque angel the next morning. 

After that she never promised any of them anything ever again. 

“What is this?” Father Reggligeur asked as Mindy put a piece of paper on his desk.

“It is what it looks like.” She said calmly, “My resignation.” 

“Yes, but why?” He asked, folding his hands in front of his face with his elbows on the desk. 

“I feel I am no longer useful here.” She turned her head slightly so he could not see her tears.

“You are one of the most useful people I have.” He coughed.

“God is telling me I belong elsewhere.” She ran her finger on her face to catch a stray tear.

“Is it Sister Grace?” He asked.  Part of it was, but only part, the rest was a feeling that if she stayed her heart would grow cold and tough like meat hung to become jerky.  

“No, Sister Grace is not the reason.” She put her hand to her mouth, “God had made it abundantly clear that I must move on.” 
“To do what?” He asked, holding the letter in his hand.

“I am not sure.” She shook her head. “My father is becoming feeble.” 

“Bring him with you.” He suggested.

“My father would only get in the way.” She forced a smile.  She could see him, the ogre that followed her on her rounds. “He needs me to stay home and care for him.” 

“I for one was hurt when you left us the first time.  You were one of the best interns the university sent us at a time when we needed you most.” He paused for a moment, glanced out the small window, “Now that the war is over and we have come through an epidemic, once again you have shown your worth to St. Mary’s.  Our needs are still great.”

“God will provide.” She put her hand on his ruddy face, smiled and walked out of his office.  

On her way home, she passed a legless man in a wheelchair still wearing his tattered uniform.  Around his wheelchair were painted tin faces, about a dozen or so.  

“What are these?” She asked, picking one of them up off the sidewalk.

“What do they look like?” He smiled. 

“Faces.” She examined the metal and the deep vibrant color.

“Yes.  I spend my days painting faces.” He handed her another one of his masterpieces.

“These are quite lovely.” She held them both admiring the artistry in his creations.
 
“How much?” She held them both out to the man.

“Whatever you have in your pocket.” He answered. 

She pulled out a few francs and said, “This is not nearly enough for these wonderful works of art.” 

“It will pay for my dinner.” He reached out his hand and she put the money in his hand.

“Beautiful.” She mumbled.

“As are you.” He nodded, putting the money in his jacket pocket. 

“Father, I am home.” She said as she opened the door.

“What is it you have?” He pointed to the tin faces she had purchased.

“Masks of some kind.” She put them on the kitchen table.

“These are the ones that man in a wheelchair was selling just down the street.” Jacques picked one of them up to look at it. 

“I know.  That’s who I bought them from.” She hung her coat on the hook in the closet.

“Very wonderful.” He put it back on the table where she had originally laid it.

“I shall hang them up in the living room.” She said kissing her father on his whiskery cheek. “How was your day?” 

“I spent some time with Mademoiselle Garcon.” His smile was telling more stories than he dared say out loud.

“How did it go?” Mindy pried.

“Good.” He nodded.  Enough said.

After a simple dinner, Mindy picked up the classifieds of the newspaper and saw an ad for a file clerk.  While this was boring work, she figured it would be mindless enough she could think of where she wanted to go next.  Dressing nicely for a possible interview, she left her apartment with her father still snoring in the other room. 
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When she got on the trolley, she nearly gasped when she saw a man wearing one of those tin faces the man in the wheelchair was selling.  Beneath the metal, she could see a dark shadow where the man’s face was no longer there.  He was conversing with another man who did not seem to be bothered by his tin mask.  The mask had been painted in bright colors just like the one she bought from the wheelchaired vendor, but she chose to hang hers on the wall.  This man was using his to hide his facial disfigurement.