#simon sakowitz

The Basterds – Profile

🔪 Lt. Aldo “The Apache” Raine – A 37-year-old coal miner and bootlegger from Maynardville, Tennessee. Served as a “war consultant” for the SOE after his stint in the Lincoln Brigade during the Spanish Civil War. Formerly a member of the Devil’s Brigade, with whom he learned guerrilla warfare and took part in the Allied Invasion of Sicily. Raised by a Black woman after the death of his mother and being abandoned by his alcoholic father. Was nearly lynched by the Klan for his bootlegging and having an intimate relationship with a Jewish man, hence the noose scar on his neck. Hates the Nazis and the Klan because to him they represent the scourge of hatred and regression the world needs to overcome. Passionate about his roots and doesn’t forget where he came from. Is a tough and unorthodox leader who truly, deeply cares about his team. The best cook of the Basterds, but no one knows it except for him.

🐻 Sgt. Donny “The Bear Jew” Donowitz – The 32-year-old second-in-command of the Basterds who has achieved paranormal status among the German army because he executes Nazi soldiers with a baseball bat. Worked in his father Sy’s barber shop in Boston, went to beauty school, and dreams of opening his own beauty parlor in Boston when the war ends. Is the father of Lee Donowitz, born to Donny’s ex (with whom he is on somewhat amicable terms) in 1941. 

The boys for my thesis illustration series…

"You're such an asshole Fredrick!" He loved it when she said his name like that. The way his name rolled off of her tongue, the way her French accent complimented the tones of his name, the french i, the way she swore. Everything about her was graceful, like a real French mademoiselle. 

"Colette!" His harsh voice called for her, harsh with that German accent of his that she so adored. She turned towards him, and opened her mouth to say something. Hesitation. Her mouth shut, as she thought for a few seconds, and opened it again. "I'm sorry Fredrick. If only you saw." A silence rested between the two. The silent was so known, homelike, so trusted, but meanwhile so hostile, angry and anxious. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get totally wasted. And if you do mind, I literally do not care. Adieu Monsoir Fredrick!" She cheerfully waved at him, as she elegantly stomped out of the room. Only she could stomp elegantly, and he knew it.

"I really fucked up, didn't I?"

God, why did she, a French fucking citizen, working with the fucking Americans, have to fall in love with Fredrick Fucking Zoller.

To be continued? Is there interest for this?

The Concept | Chapter Zero; The mistake | Chapter One; How it all begun | Chapter Two; Coffee |

Song: I Forgot Your Name (But I Like You) - Two Year Vacation

German speaking will be in bold

All other speaking will be French unless mentioned otherwise.

1941, in occupied Paris, France

The moment her eyes caught a glimpse of him in the very corner of her eye, her attention was drawn towards this young, attractive man. Her eyes moved towards him, from the other side of the street, sitting on a terrace, following his movements for a brief moment, fiddling with the pencil in her hand. She was quite impressed by this man. She couldn't for the life of her remember when was the last time she felt impressed when first seeing someone. Though that enthusiasm took quite a blow when her eyes fell on his uniform. She wasn't even surprised. She knew everybody in and around Paris, so a new one was always a fucking Nazi.

Most of them only followed orders, just like the American, British, Canadian and French soldiers did. Most of them had nothing to do with the mass elimination of jews. And she felt that. She felt that this wasn't one of them. He looked modest, but not too modest. He had confidence, but wasn't egocentric. He was perfectly balanced, like a gift from God, besides the fact that she didn't believe in a god. When his head turned, their eyes met. She could see from across the street where she was standing, that he had dark, hazel like eyes. They looked bright and shining, and god, where they the prettiest things she had ever seen. She turned her grey eyes away from him, a smile curling up her lips. She caught his eye, and the feeling that maybe she wasn't invisible after all made her feel good. She sipped from the coffee in front of her, and lit another cigarette. She took a slow inhale from it, as her eyes went looking for the young man, but he disappeared from sight. She cursed a soft "Merde.", and took another long puff from the cigarette. It didn't matter anyways. She had way more important things to do than think about this man. Or at least, she could pretend as if she had more important things to do. Either way, she didn't have time -or wanted- to think about this man. She grabbed her notebook, and quickly jammed some things down. She nonchalantly and elegantly chugged her coffee. She was done here, for now at least. There was nothing else to see. She took another big, deep huff from her cigarette, finishing it. She packed her things, and was about to leave, when his face appeared in her vision again. If only she'd been patient, she'd still be sipping on that coffee, looking at him. But she convinced herself she didn't have time for that. She hastily walked across the street, needing to pass the man. Whatever you do, do not look at him. She kept her eyes to her shoes, or anywhere else that wasn't his face, really. She sped up her pace slightly, and immediately regretted that choice when she tripped over a loose stone in the pavement. Her bag slipped out of her hand, as her face fell to the ground. She was able to take the hit quite well, and caught herself on her hands. For a moment she was dazed, laying there on te ground, until she heard a voice. It was harsh, but soft and caring at the same time. A slight German accent, speaking clear French. 

"Are you alright, mademoiselle?" She looked up, met his eyes, and internally died. It was him. She prayed for the ground to consume her right there, but her prayers remained unanswered. She got onto her knees, still slightly dazed. She patted the dirt off of her skirt. "I'm fine, thank you monsieur." Her eyes connected with his, as he reached out a hand towards her. She convinced herself she was calm, and nothing was going on, but her mind ran wild. Was this a movie? She carefully put her slim hand into his rough ones. He gently helped her up, and went to collect her bag. "Oh no, monsieur, please, I have bothered you enough." The young man shook his head, and grabbed her bag and some papers that had spilled out. He carefully handed them towards her, and she placed them back in the bag. As her eyes scanned if everything was still in it, his voice demanded for her attention. "May I ask your name, madame?" He looked down towards her grey eyes, which met his. "Colette." The way her own name could roll off of her own tongue as beautiful as that amazed him. "And what about yours, monsieur?" The way she spoke put a spell on his mind, the beautifully pure accent leaving goosebumps on his skin. "Fredrick. Fredrick Zoller." "Fredrick" She repeated, though his sounded like the rough German name it was, with a rough and short i, hers sounded like a love song, soft and tender, with an high i. Their eyes stayed locked for a moment. "I noticed you looking at me." He had a malicious kind of smile on his face, feeling like he did something fantastic. "Ah- yes. I know all the people around here, and I didn't recognize you. Which makes me to believe you're new." A grin formed on her face as she spoke. "Correct. I only got here today."  She took a quick look at the watch around her wrist, and spoke. "Excuse-moi monsieur, but I have to go." He gently smiled, and nodded. "Have a nice day, madame." The way he looked at her made her feel weird, but in a good way. "Have a nice day, monsieur." She started to walk away, her shoes clicking on the stones. Her head turned towards him. "Maybe we'll meet again." A smile appeared on her face, as she continued to walk off.

She closed the door of her house behind her, and let out a deep sigh, before sliding down against the back of it. She hated talking to German soldiers, especially when they invaded their language like that. She could just speak German with them, but they always had to show off. She rolled her eyes at the thought of it, before getting up. A deep sigh left her mouth, as she looked at the envelopes she had accidentally managed to sit on. She was surprised she even got letters at this point. She opened one, and immediately recognized the letter. "Fucking Americans really are stupid aren't they?" She mumbled the words to herself as unfolded the letter. Imagine if the Germans did a house searching while she was gone? Imagine if they found that very letter on the little carpet in the little hallway, opened it, and realized she was working with the allies? They'd be hearing from her. She read the letter, and realized it was a standard letter that expressed gratefulness towards her. Connerie, as she liked to call it in French. The other letter wasn't anything important either, and she tossed both. She'd get rid of the American's letter later. Now, all she wanted to do was write her daily piece for the newspaper, get some long overdue stuff done, and take a nap. 

The sounds her typewriter made were pleasing, the ticking of the letters hitting the screen, the ping after each finished line. As more and more text appeared on the paper. She wrote a daily column about what she saw during the war. Each day she'd sit at the little coffeeshop, at the same table, either inside or outside, looking at what happened. She'd then write it into an article. Though at the beginning she was still free in writing, after getting threatened by Germans several time, she watched her words carefully. As her writing became more Nazi-friendly, quite a few Germans started reading the columns, and she was often requested to write in German. So often, that she'd actually started writing the column in German too. Instead of a half page, she now took up a whole page, though sometimes less, depending on how interesting that day had been. Today was definitely a whole page kind of day. And while she was at it, she might as well just slightly kiss the German's ass. Rather talk good about a German and be spared and get to keep your column, than talk neutrally and get the column taken from you. She soon finished, and started writing the German version. That too was finished faster than she thought, and as she proofread it, she was happy with the results. This was her first draft that didn't contain any mistakes, and for a moment she felt proud. She let the ink dry as she laid the two sheets of paper on her desk, and went towards her bedroom. She opened the window, letting some fresh, cool air in. She made the bed, and threw her pajamas into the laundry bin. She'd wash the laundry sometime later, but not now. For a moment, she took in how damned lucky she was. There weren't many people in Paris in these times that could say they owned a beautiful house, close to the centrum but still intimate and quiet. Or that they owned a typewriter. Or that they had money enough to get a proper meal on the table, to order a coffee every day at exactly eleven in the morning, to be able to live life as it's meant to be. With a bit of cheating of course, and a bit of help from the allies. But she realized she was one lucky woman. 

With a slight smile she left the living room, and picked up the two sheets of paper. She proofread them both once more, just to be sure, and then left the house. She greeted people she came across like always, on her way to the publisher. She looked on her watch, and she was just in time. Two-thirty. The door was already open, and when she entered, she saw the Germans decided to check up again. Every two weeks it was the same story. Four Germans came to inspect the whole building, paperwork, and past published papers. She walked past one that waited in the lobby, blocking the stairs, and greeted him. "Madame Colette?" She heard the voice from above her, and when she looked up, she saw the soldier from before standing there. "Monsieur Zoller?" She looked at him with a look of confusion. He walked down the stairs as her grey eyes followed him. "I know you said that we might meet again soon, but I didn't expect it to be this soon." He slightly grinned, and she smiled back. "I write for the newspaper. I'm always here around this time." She continued to walk down the hallway, and turned to a door on her left. "Monsieur Durand?" She opened the door slightly, and was welcomed by the face of monsieur Durand. "Colette! I was starting to worry you weren't going to show up in time." She smiled at the director. "I've never been late- well, besides that time those German officers insisted on reading what I had written- but that's an exception!" They both laughed, and she turned to Zoller. "Monsieur Durand, I'd like you to meet the star of tomorrow's column, Fredrick Zoller." Durand shook Fredrick's hand, and greeted him. She handed Durand her draft, and he read it. "Colette, I have to compliment you. Each and every single day you improve, and you manage to surprise me." She just nodded. "Thank you, monsieur." 

As she left, Fredrick went after her. "You write columns?" She chuckled. "Yeah, I write a column. Have been doing it since the war started." A smile formed on her face as she was honored with his genuine interest. "What's it called?" Her smile grew. "Read the paper tomorrow, you'll find out." She sped up her pace, and left him in the lobby, stunned. "How is she so mysterious, so graceful, and so luring at the same time." "What?" He looked at the soldier besides him, who was looking at him like he just told him he was a jew. "Oh- Nothing. Nothing."

As soon as her door shut, a screech left her mouth. "He thinks I'm improving!" She cheered happily, and couldn't help but kiss her typewriter. "I wouldn't know what to do without you." Maybe Durand would higher her salary? That would be fantastic! Or maybe, he'd let her publish the book she was working on! She was as happy as ever. She looked at the picture of her father that stood in a frame on the desk. "I told you I could do it. If only you were here to see." That broke her confidence and happiness. "Shouldn't have thought of him, stupid." She threw herself onto the bed. She had written all night yesterday, in the candle lit room, and now all she wanted was a nap. She was a lot more tired than she wanted to admit, but before she even really realised, she was already fast asleep.