Liens de Mémoire

The spool broke.

How many images are missing?

Not really any documents.

Snippets, coincidences, demotions, humiliations, the all-too-ordinary.

How many threads of connection have been stretched or broken?

An ordinary story that isn't so ordinary. A story that speaks to families.

My name is Leroux.

That really sounds French, doesn't it?

The first name Fabrice, followed by

Albert—my grandfather’s—and then Marco appears.

Where does Marco come from? From not too far from the 20th century, and from Italy

No heroism, no moment of glory.

He dreams of becoming a police officer. But he'll have to go to Belgium to work in the coal mines.

C'est donc à Liège en Belgique que naîtra en 1948 Anna Maria Sanvido, maman. A nouveau quelques années en Italie. Mais c'est en maçon que Marco reviendra en France.

Anna-Maria is 14 years old and goes to the younger kids' class to learn French. Her first humiliation, a feeling of inferiority.

There will be more of them for the Italians, who come here to eat the French people's bread.

Later, you'll meet Michel Leroux, looking impeccable in his custom-made suits from Herbaut Denneulin, who flirts with you by winking at you while you're at the church.

Marco died before your wedding in 1970.

Sanvido disappears; Anna-Maria becomes Anne-Marie, after having worked as a stenographer, typist, housekeeper, and homemaker. As the crowning achievement of her integration, she will become a town hall secretary.

Maurizio, your brother has become Maurice but still goes by Sanvido—and maybe harbors some resentment toward foreigners (after all, we're all someone's “Italian”).

Your sister will take the name Hellouvry when she gets married, but she'll keep the unchangeable “Ornella,” and she'll have the same inclinations as your brother.

We argue a lot when we talk about politics. The real connection lies elsewhere: in the music with Maurice and your support, Ornella, for my freedom.

Peut-on s'aimer avec des  désaccords fondamentaux?

Anna-Maria, I kind of feel like I don't really know you

I can see you when you speak your native language—you're so much more vibrant than Anne-Marie.

By forcing you to become French, by making you invisible, you've become a stranger to me.