Near the end of World War II, the Germans arrested your Uncle Gilles, Aunt Claire told me. Her white hair fluffed, softening a face that conveyed firmness and self-possession.
She called me her gauche niece, an American Gigi. She was my formidable, sophisticated French aunt. When my mother was a child, her brother moved to France to further his studies in classical piano music. He married Claire, a divorcee ten years his senior, and she accompanied him on his concert tours in Europe, the Middle East and South America.
Gilles worked for the French Resistance, Aunt Claire continued. If he went to a concentration camp, he would surely die.
We were visiting in their sparkling white studio in Paris. The terror of the German Occupation seemed distant. Light beamed through skylights onto one huge room divided into four: the living area where we sat, a corner devoted to Uncle Gilles' grand piano, a screened bedroom, and a dining area. Original paintings hung on the walls.
She persuaded her brother, a doctor, to send the Germans x-rays of a man in TB's final stages, as those of Gilles, Aunt Claire continued. Having more urgent matters than to fuss over a dying man, the Germans released him. He weighed about 80 pounds.
After the war, she began her career as an art dealer, while Uncle Gilles played jazz in nightclubs. He was depressed and nervous. So in the mornings, as she visited galleries and met with artists, she stayed alert for amusing stories to cheer him.
The determination to bring to pass life's joy for my uncle played through her voice. When Aunt Claire died, Uncle Gilles wrote to my mother: "Claire made my life a banquet." He rejoined her and the banquet two years later.
My glimpse behind the scenes, at how she created that banquet, remains indelible. I already knew I wanted to be a writer. She illustrated the power of the word--how one of her tools to fight war's aftermath was the storytelling--that moves, charms, and amuses, and that gives us heart.
When Americans renamed the French Fry, I still called them French. France is our old, dear friend. My aunt and uncle suffered and worked for our freedoms every bit as much as people here.
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Award-winning author Ina Gilles has published over thirty articles and interviews. She earned her bachelor's degree in philosophy at University of Puget Sound, and a master's degree in music at University of Washington. Gilles has studied creative writing with noted poets, authors and screenwriters and served on the board of the literary magazine at the Annie Wright School. She has written three novels. Frequent trips to Europe and India enrich Gilles' writing and inspire her exploration of world philosophy and art.