Description :
I knew that grandfather had died in the war, but I didn't know the circumstances of his death. The family never talked about it. For the child I was, he was the man in the photo on my grandmother's bedside table. For a long time I did not know his first name. The words "Deportation" and "Resistance" sometimes sprang from the silence that surrounded his fate. Very quickly, modesty took over. Silence covers the shame, the fear, the sadness... Until I betrayed the omerta by putting everything on the public square. This is an attempt at justice. It is the outline of a tribute. It may even be the blossoming of a pride.