Shadow on the Sun

[Rolf Jäger]

A severe flaw existed in the modern society. It was that of denying the man his right to slay someone offending his property or honour, the society itself having forbidden and criminalized such an act of justice. Rolf would have gladly challenged the Major into a duel and seen him trodden to the ground, bleeding and crying for mercy, to which Rolf would have simply sneered and ended the man's worthless existence in that last moment of his pitiful sniveling. But, as the situation stood now, the Major was sheltered by the laws of the society and even currently elevated above Rolf by his higher rank and the only thing the Hauptmann could do was to grit his teeth together, allowing his mind bathe in the murderous images he would have wished to see brought forth into reality. It was clear from the moment the man grasped Riedel's hand and took the time to explain to Rolf how he might have been surprised over the fact that he was already familiar with the woman, that the Major only wished to aggravate him with this knowledge, to enforce upon Riedel some invisible grasp that would whisk her away from the Hauptmann. It was true that Rolf was already pondering the origins of their acquaintance, but then the Major was all too eager to explain it to him, the information causing Rolf to arch an eyebrow in a cold, surprised fashion. His grey eyes fell upon Riedel in silent disbelief; he had never quite figured that she would have been the type to use her gender to wrench from men the things she desired. It seemed like something that was beneath her, even when he could still recall the occasion when Riedel had walked inside his office to ask for that one important phone call and how she had hardly attempted to trick him into it. In fact, Rolf had been certain that for some reason she did not want him to grant her the request, so very hostile had her presentation been, but he had allowed it to her out of curiosity, out of some strange feeling that had exhilarated him the moment he had contacted the operator and handed the headpiece to Riedel.

When the Major boasted in the knowledge of Riedel's brother in the Wehrmacht, Rolf felt a strong desire to laugh at the other officer's face and gloat at his falsely acquired confidence over the assumption he knew more about Riedel than the Hauptmann did, but the man only arched his eyebrows in a bemused manner. Heinert rambled on, obviously loving the sound of his own voice so dearly, he would have fucked it had he been able to, and Rolf allowed him to continue up to the point where he swore his undying fealty to the dear, gentle Erika. Rolf tilted his chin up, looking at the Major in a rather condescending manner. "Oh Ja, habe ich tatsächlich den Bruder von Erika getroffen. Sie wären an den Ähnlichkeiten der zwei überrascht, Herr Major," Rolf rasped, his eyes glinting with mischief over his words, but the Major was far from done with his monologue and the Hauptmann shifted his weight from one foot to another to accentuate his boredom, even when his eyes remained dutifully upon the superior officer.

His words about visiting the auxiliaries worked to only further evoke Rolf's inner amusement and he stood in silence next to the woman, hoping that he would have been able to imply to the Major that he knew very little about Riedel to begin with, his eyebrows furrowing in irritation only when the other officer implied that Rolf had neglected his duties at the office to secure the woman's company to the reception. With a cold, hostile smile etched upon the man's lips, Rolf tilted his head to the side as he answered. "Ich schätze als ein Rechtsanwalt ich habe das Talent erworben, meine Schreibarbeiten ebenso schnell durchzugehen, und effizient wie möglich, Herr Major. Aber natürlich möchte ich in meinem Kämpfer lieber sein als in einem staubigen Büro irgendwie sitzend. Zu meinen Kenntnissen hat das Schreiben harter Wörter auf einem Papier gescheitert, jedes feindliche Flugzeug bis jetzt zu stürzen," the man smiled as he allowed the poison of his words to sting at the Major, the treacherous smile remaining on his features all this time.

It might have been a mistake, speaking so very venomously at the Major, for the next moment he announced that Riedel should be accompanied by a higher ranking officer and that having a "mere Hauptmann" escorting her was a shame he simply could not tolerate. The smile over Rolf's lips vanished, his eyes freezing over with open hatred and barely contained frenzy as he imagined the Major stealing Riedel away from him, forcing him to stand at the side of the room and watch the two prancing around the room together. Ferocious words were already finding their way upon his tongue, but Riedel addressed the Major first, focusing upon the strange metaphor the man had used rather than the actual content of his words and Rolf's eyes skipped to regard Riedel, some amount of confusion mixing with his anger. When Heinert attempted to explain himself, Riedel cut him off and even as she insulted the Hauptmann with her sharply pronounced words, Rolf was hardly as surprised by them as the baffled Major was. He was already familiar with the woman's wry remarks and if anything, her current insults were some of the more kinder ones; Rolf knew she was accompanying him against her will and that she had trouble containing her anger, but still she managed to surprise him with what she had to say next.

Rolf's eyebrows furrowed in disbelief as he listened to Riedel unleash her hatred upon Major Heinert and even though he got his part of the lashing in the process, it was the first time he had been standing at the sidelines and merely observing the woman attacking someone else for a change. He could see each mercilessly released word drawing deep, bloodied wounds across the Major's self-confidence, his hand frozen in mid-air and his eyes locked upon Riedel in stunned silence, as if he was only waiting to wake up from a bad dream. When the woman mentioned that the Major had only hoped to fuck her on the desk of his office, a small sneer drew across Rolf's lips and his eyes narrowed at the revolting image, its abhorring power filling him with a curious sense of rage that would have seen him strangling the Major until the last signs of life would fade from his worthless carcass. For a moment Rolf felt the burning desire to do just this, but then Riedel's next contemptuous words allowed him to return back to the reality, her insults further reminding Rolf that Riedel found the idea just as disgusting as he did.

Riedel's next words woke him up even more effectively, as they seemed very final and soon enough the woman bid them both farewell, graciously leaving the Major and Hauptmann to keep each other company as she pivoted around, allowing Rolf an arctic glare before she walked away. Rolf blinked, his mouth opening and closing and a few steps away from him Kronberg stood silent and as pale as a sheet, for he had heard each slanderous word spoken by the blonde woman and was still trying to process them, maybe to bury them somewhere deep beneath happier, brighter thoughts. Major Heinert was no better off, obviously still reeling over the force of the woman's verbal assault and he recovered just enough to bitterly remark something about Rolf's taste in women and how very fitting his present company was for him. The Hauptmann glanced at the Major, his scarred eyebrow curving to express either amusement or surprise over Riedel's outburst. "Oh Ja, junge Frauen, können sie so sehr temperamentvoll sein, nicht jeder kann sie behandeln," Rolf bit at the Major with his sharp words, only further injecting his already open wounds with the bitter venom of hatred. He was surprised by Riedel's outburst, but only mildly so, for he had experienced far more hostile things from her than just mere foul words. The Major had no idea, not even slightest clue on the true extent of the blazing spirit dwelling within the untamed female.

"Mit Ihrer Erlaubnis, Herr Major, muss ich mich entschuldigen. Ich hoffe, dass Sie den Rest Ihres Abends genössen," the same contemptuous smile appeared upon Rolf's features once more and he snapped standing at attention for the briefest moment, before taking a few steps back and feeling the Major's hateful gaze burning holes into his back. He felt some sense of achievement in the feeling, the smile upon his lips becoming crooked, his eyes glinting with malice, yet the look vanished quickly enough when he realized he had not followed Riedel with his gaze and the woman was suddenly gone, disappeared into the crowd. The man's heart jumped and his steps slowed down as he craned his neck, trying to spot the familiar golden mass of hair among the guests, hoping to see a pair of green eyes looking back at him from the midst of the meaningless, mindless herd. With a small growl, the man turned around, just to see a pair of familiar hazel eyes staring at him, Kronberg having followed his superior officer in careful silence. "Kronberg! Sahen Sie, wohin sie ging?" Rolf breathed out the question in a low tone, Kronberg's face twisting into a sheepish expression of apology. "Nein. Es tut mir leid, Herr Hauptmann," the man answered, in reality having stood the last few moments seeing nothing at all while his mind had been still attempting to work itself around Riedel's words. "Scheiße," Rolf growled, the skin at the corner of his eyes tightening with irritation and the man distracted himself for a small moment to pick up a fresh glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter. He simply could not believe that the woman would have left the party, for that would have meant she was defying his wishes and thus endangering the career of his "dearest brother". Maybe she had walked to the balcony to cool herself off, taken some distance to regain her self-control.

With these thoughts, Rolf walked to the door of the balcony and cracked it open just enough to see nobody standing at the balcony. Another gruffly spoken expletive escaped from his lips and he turned around, downing half of his glass in one gulp just to soothe his nerves. Rolf's gaze fell promptly upon the Hauptfeldwebel and his eyes narrowed as another thought crossed his mind, Kronberg appearing worried the moment he noticed this small shift in the Hauptmann's demeanor. "Sie erzählten ihr etwas über mich, stimmt das?" Rolf asked, his hoarse voice flexing its dangerous talons around the Hauptfeldwebel's viscera and Kronberg appeared alarmed and disappointed, for he could only guess that Miss Riedel had betrayed his words to the Hauptmann. Still, he could not say just what kind of knowledge they had exchanged and Kronberg shrugged slowly. "So, Ich... Ich dachte gerade, dass ich ihr meine Meinung von Ihnen geben würde, Herr Hauptmann. Ich erzählte ihr bloß, was ein guter Kommandant Sie sind. Und.. und... dass Sie ein guter Mann sind," Kronberg attempted to explain himself, but the look in the Hauptmann's eyes did not soften and the officer merely stared back at the shorter man in disbelief. "Welcher Scheiß ist das, Kronberg? Ich brauche nicht Sie, oder irgendjemanden anderen, was das betrifft mich zu ihr erklärend. Sie wird mich schwach denken, dass ich andere brauche, die einige lächerliche Entschuldigungen für mich machen, bin der ziemlich klar, Hauptfeldwebel?" the man snarled the last of his words at Kronberg, the other man standing pale and silent in front of him. "Ja, Herr Hauptmann, das ist klar," the man replied meekly, breathing out in silent relief when the Hauptmann averted his gaze, trying to spot Riedel from the crowd once again.

He jumped when Jäger's eyes soon fell upon him once more, only this time there was a glint of shoddily veiled interest within his eyes and the man craned his neck to better relay his words at his wingman. "Was sagte sie über mich?" the man asked in a low, curious tone and Kronberg arched both of his eyebrows, Riedel's seemingly endless sermon of the Hauptmann's worthless nature ringing clear and uncomplicated through his mind. Well, that was most likely something he should not repeat to Jäger as long as he fancied having his head still firmly attached upon his shoulders. "Also... Sie mag Sie sicher, Herr Hauptmann," Kronberg breathed out, attempting to smile even when he saw the Hauptmann regarding him with nothing but disbelief. "Sie sagte das? Der komplette Satz," Rolf repeated with a frown and Kronberg tilted his head to the side slowly, a small grimace visiting his face. "So, nicht mit jenen genauen Wörtern, Herr Hauptmann, aber bin ich sicher, dass es ist was sie meinte."

This was enough to convince Rolf that Kronberg would have not been able to spot the woman's contempt even if he had witnessed Riedel smashing a chair over the Hauptmann's head - his foolish, hopeless wingman would have most likely considered this an act of undying love, too. The man scoffed, the sharp answer already waiting upon his tongue, when he suddenly spotted Riedel walking away from them and stopping next to a small group of people when they addressed her. Rolf's feet were moving before he even quite realized it, each step bringing him closer to the woman. Something strange had obviously been uttered between Riedel and the group and Rolf released an inner sigh at the thought, knowing full well that he needed to be there to control the situation. He knew the group of Germans in terms of their names and occupations and one of them happened to be friends with his father, too. Rolf moved to stand next to Riedel with one long, well-measured step, a courteous and well-rehearsed smile drawing across his lips as he nodded at the men. "Herren," Rolf greeted them, not even daring to glance at Riedel, for he felt she might have still been fuming and ready to strike him across the face if he so much as looked at her direction. That would have simply not gone well with the other aristocrats.

"Aah, Hauptmann Jäger, besprachen wir Sie gerade. Tatsächlich sagte die junge Dame hier uns gerade, dass sie, tatsächlich, Ihr Sklave ist. Oh, um Himmels willen hoffe ich, dass Sie diese arme Frau nicht gezwungen haben, dem Empfang gegen ihren Willen beizuwohnen, Hauptmann," the oldest of the men quipped with a bemused smile and Rolf arched his eyebrows, appearing surprised before suddenly narrowing his eyes and laughing hoarsely at the man's words, further allowing his arm to snake around the woman's shoulders to show the men that they were in familiar terms with each other. "Oh, ist das, was sie Ihnen erzählte?" Rolf asked, the tone of his voice suddenly smoother. "Solcher Witz auf ihr! Es ist einfach unmöglich aufzuzäumen, und ich fürchte, dass ich beim Versuch solch einer unerreichbaren Leistung aufgegeben habe," Rolf answered with a small smile, glancing at Riedel briefly to allow her to witness the warning in his eyes before the man returned his gaze back at the other men. He nodded at the oldest of the men, the only one of them not carrying a military uniform, as his tasks in Africa were of a subtler nature and Rolf only knew that he was visiting Africa as a specialist. Just what kind of specialist, he could not say, but he was aware that the man possessed knowledge and skills in matters having to do with finances and his tasks most likely had something to do with this. He held a rank in the military, but Rolf could not recall how high and since he was here as a civilian and the three Wehrmacht men accompanying him held the ranks of a Hauptmann, Oberleutnant and Leutnant, respectively, Rolf did not bother saluting them - the occasion seemed unofficial enough. "Darf ich vorstellen Erika. Erika, hier ist ein guter Freund meines Vaters, Herr Storbeck. Und natürlich, Hauptmann Oldenkamp, Oberleutnant Strantz und Leutnant Rodenberg," Rolf introduced the men in a practiced fashion, each one of them opting to bow slightly at the woman upon the mention of their name instead of going to such extents as having each one of them kiss her hand. "Die Hälfte von ihnen hagelt von Bayern, ich glaube, aber wir werden ihnen das gering verzeihen, sie können nicht ihm helfen," Rolf said with a gracious smile, rousing a series of amused laughs and profusely acted scoffs from the others.

"Dann werden wir gnädig vergessen auch Ihren Handel als ein Rechtsanwalt, Hauptmann," the Wehrmacht Captain answered with a raise of his eyebrows and all of the men laughed heartily in the carefully trained manner only aristocrats could muster, while Herr Storbeck stopped a waiter and made sure everyone's glass was filled with wine once more.


Translations:

"Oh Ja, habe ich tatsächlich den Bruder von Erika getroffen. Sie wären an den Ähnlichkeiten der zwei überrascht, Herr Major."
"Oh yes, I have indeed met Erika's brother. You'd be surprised at the similarities the two share, Herr Major."

"Ich schätze als ein Rechtsanwalt ich habe das Talent erworben..."
"I guess as a lawyer I have acquired the talent to go through my paperwork as quickly and efficiently as possible, Herr Major. But of course, I'd rather be in my fighter than sitting in a dusty office, anyway. To my knowledge, writing harsh words on a paper has failed to bring down any enemy aircraft so far."

"Oh Ja, junge Frauen, können sie so sehr temperamentvoll sein, nicht jeder kann sie behandeln."
"Oh yes, young women, they can be so very spirited, not everyone can handle them."

"Mit Ihrer Erlaubnis, Herr Major, muss ich mich entschuldigen. Ich hoffe, dass Sie den Rest Ihres Abends genössen."
"With your permission, Herr Major, I must excuse myself. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Kronberg! Sahen Sie, wohin sie ging?"
"Kronberg! Did you see where she went?"

"Nein. Es tut mir leid, Herr Hauptmann."
"No. I'm sorry, Herr Hauptmann."

"Sie erzählten ihr etwas über mich, stimmt das?"
"You told her something about me, didn't you?"

"So, Ich... Ich dachte gerade, dass ich ihr meine Meinung von Ihnen geben würde, Herr Hauptmann..."
"Well, I... I just thought I'd give her my opinion of you, Herr Hauptmann. I merely told her what a good commander you are. And.. and... that you are a good man."

"Welcher Scheiß ist das, Kronberg..?"
"What kind of bullshit is this, Kronberg? I don't need you, or anyone else for that matter, explaining me to her. She'll think me weak, that I need others making some ridiculous excuses for me, is that quite clear, Hauptfeldwebel?"

"Ja, Herr Hauptmann, das ist klar."
"Yes, Herr Hauptmann, it's clear."

"Was sagte sie über mich?"
"What did she say about me?"

"Also... Sie mag Sie sicher, Herr Hauptmann."
"Well... She surely likes you, Herr Hauptmann."

"Sie sagte das? Der komplette Satz."
"She said that? The entire sentence."

"So, nicht mit jenen genauen Wörtern, Herr Hauptmann, aber bin ich sicher, dass es ist was sie meinte."
"Well, not with those exact words, Herr Hauptmann, but I'm sure that's what she meant."

"Aah, Hauptmann Jäger, besprachen wir Sie gerade..."
"Aah, Hauptmann Jäger, we were just discussing you. In fact, the young lady here just told us that she is, in fact, your slave. Oh, for heaven's sake, I hope you have not forced this poor woman to attend the reception against her will, Hauptmann."

"Oh, ist das, was sie Ihnen erzählte..?"
"Oh, is that what she told you? Such wit on her! It is simply impossible to bridle and I fear I have given up on attempting such an unachievable feat."

"Darf ich vorstellen Erika..."
"Allow me to introduce you to Erika. Erika, here is a good friend of my father's, Herr Storbeck. And of course, Hauptmann Oldenkamp, Oberleutnant Strantz and Leutnant Rodenberg."

"Die Hälfte von ihnen hagelt von Bayern, ich glaube..."
"Half of them hail from Bavaria, I believe, but we shall forgive them this slight, they cannot help it."

"Dann werden wir gnädig vergessen auch Ihren Handel als ein Rechtsanwalt, Hauptmann."
"Then we shall also graciously forget your trade as a lawyer, Hauptmann."

[Dirk Riedel]

One may understand, that the woman really indulged herself to two large consecutive mouthfuls of half the bottle of wine’s content inside the kitchen, after which she had spent one or two minutes in attempting to find her balance once more before she reappeared in the hall in a civilized form, but then after all the unfortunate and most often foul adventures she had been through all these years – and having forbidden herself a severe abuse of alcohol intake as she had been most prone to during some shady moments of a past not so long gone – could she really be blamed for this sudden lack of discipline? Ever since she had enlisted herself in the armed forces she had always been too careful as to the amount she would drink, and especially after they had been shipped to Africa she had rarely ever drank anything more than one or two bottles of beer each time, for several reasons, most of which were rather apparent in her case. This faintly reminded her of another time she had imbibed ridiculous amounts of alcohol but her senses were beginning to numb to such unpleasant memories, and the only thing that caught her attention at this very moment were those absurd aristocrats addressing in a manner which suggested they might have already known her beforehand. It was only a moment later when she heard that dearly annoying hoarse texture of the man’s voice when she registered the Hauptmann’s presence next to her (not that she had really assumed she would be purged from this nuisance), and another moment following that when she felt his arm easily and without any hesitance snaking around her shoulders, embracing her not with warm affection but a viper’s cold analytical skills upon targeting its victims, and she had to be a fool, even under the influence of wine, to misinterpret the warning tone of his glance. Nevertheless, he had demanded her presence, and must now face the consequences.

The woman did not seem to show any interest at these new acquaintances, but she glanced at Herr Storbeck with mild, drunken interest considering how he was a friend to the Hauptmann’s father. At the last exchange of wit between the aristocrats Dirk could only laugh heartily along with them, most likely something that may not have happened under less inebriated circumstances, but her eyes gleamed with delight and her lips parted in amusement, thinking how those fools were rather talented at sharing sarcasm with one another. Herr Storbeck, attentive and meticulous as he appeared to be, was paying close attention to the woman after he had made certain refillings (and offered the woman a fresh glass of wine, which she would treasure) and observed the two of them carefully, not without eventually deciding to speak. “Ein faszinierender Begleiter, obwohl Erika scheint, für solche Empfänge gehalten in solch einer langen Entfernung von Deutschland zu sein, vertraue ich dass Sie über Elsa nicht vergessen haben, Hauptmann,” he said testily, his tone otherwise warm and friendly in a peculiar and almost distant manner, as though he, in a serpentine manner, wanted to see the woman’s reaction and whether she knew of this betrothed in the first place, before his eyes faintly narrowed. “Tatsächlich, wo ist Ihr Verlobungsring?” he asked enquiringly in the mild, pleasantly dulcet texture of his voice, arching his eyebrows in expectation of an answer. The soldiers of the Wehrmacht had not been aware the Hauptmann had been engaged to begin with and, thus, to see him escorting the woman and, as it was now discovered, having disposed of himself of the ring it made matters significantly clearer to them as they realized what Herr Storbeck was only being suspicious of, and for that reason alone they, with a glint of amusement in their eyes, observed the discussion as it progressed.

Nevertheless it was the woman who had hastened to respond to Herr Storbeck’s question. “Oh, er verlor es,” she said matter-of-factly, as if she was simply explaining that one plus one makes two, and seemed too keen that they should believe this as true.

“Er … verlor es?” Herr Storbeck asked quietly, his forehead wrinkling and a subtle expression of doubt and suspicion passed through his face, by which time the Wehrmacht soldiers had only made their former realization more solid.

“Ja, er gerade … verlor es,” the woman shrugged with a look of disbelief, as though she believed the Hauptmann’s excuse to be utterly absurd – but, in reality, she most certainly had not believed him, the present state of intoxication rendering her more teasing than she would have otherwise been.

“Ich wünsche dass ich meinen Ehering ebenso einfach verlieren konnte wie das,” Hauptmann Oldenkamp expressed in delight with a genuine smile, and his comrades laughed – but Herr Storbeck remained as serious and unsmiling as always.

“Sie wissen das harte afrikanische Wetter, er muss nicht das gut während der Erlaubnis gegessen haben, verlor einige seiner Schlaffheit,” she mused, and with her right hand patted the Hauptmann on his stomach. “Eines Tages ging er durch die Wüste nach einer gefährlichen Offensive, ermüdet und verletzt, und den Ringfällen von seinem abgezehrten Finger spazieren, aber die Hitze macht ihn davon zum Behinderten, es zu begreifen,” she wildly invented, not in the least because she intended to provide with a silly back story as to the Hauptmann’s excuse, but from the thrilled, invigorating tone of her voice, to her widened eyes and the keen smile parting her lips as she spoke with fervour it was made clear she might have as well been telling them a horror story during some cold night in the countryside next to a text. “Bevor er, es ist zu spät, verloren in den endlosen Sanden für immer tut, nie gefunden zu werden!” she finished the tale and laughed along with the Wehrmacht soldiers, in truth ridiculing the Hauptmann’s mindless explanation, but then they understood she did so. She felt relatively more at ease being near to those soldiers of the Wehrmacht, feeling a piece of home to be with her amidst a suffocating crowd of aristocrats, Italian soldiers and members of the Luftwaffe. This was further encouraged by the fact that none of the men belonged to her platoon and, funnily enough, she had never even seen them before let alone to have shared direct duties with them, which significantly made this communication more efficient.

“Ja, können Sie mich ein schrittweiser Führer vorschreiben, Hauptmann? Ich sollte jemals dankbar sein,” Hauptmann Oldenkamp teased heartily, and they laughed once more. Herr Storberk, however, was far from amused.

“Erzählen Sie uns, Herr Hauptmann, wo trafen Sie Erika?” he inquired sternly with curved eyebrows and eyes which, steel-blue and hawk-like, seemed to pierce right through the pair in all of the forbidding tone they imposed. With his strong-angled pale face contrasted by dark brown hair, it was clear he must have been a very handsome man in his days. But before, for a second time, Jäger could respond to the man Dirk had already hastened to rid him of this problem.

“Im Müll-Behälter, während ich den Abfall entleerte,” she said simply as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and the smile etched across the faces of the Wehrmacht soldiers vanished on the spot, registering the woman’s coldness and discerning that the quality of the relationship shared between her and the Hauptmann was, at best, dysfunctional. The woman, however, casually drank from her glass but did not give them enough time to react, for she freed her left arm, glued as it was between her and the Hauptmann’s side, who was still maintaining his hold around her shoulders, and, without warning, snatched Jäger and pulled him closer to her as her arm applied a distinct pressure against the side of his neck to literally force the side of his frame against her own. “Ich weiß was Sie an ihn denken müssen, wie er eine nutzlose kleine Promenadenmischung mit einem großen Mund und einem kleinen Gehirn, und wie alle nutzlosen kleinen Promenadenmischungen ist, die immer die größeren Hunde bellen, die er in seiner Angst sieht, die nur Drohung und Kummer an ihrer Größe und geistigen Anlagen wahrnimmt – wie beiseite von unbekümmert und respektlos er nichts mehr oder weniger außer einem wurmig kohl-äugiger Kretin ist,” she spoke in a fervid, passionate tone as she held him closely, her gaze glazing upon the figures of the aristocrats, green eyes alight in drunken mirth, and a smile rising to spread across the blood-red desert of her lips as she addressed them her words an unending fit of tidal waves crushing against the sea-weathered rocks one right after the other, “der zum bloßen Zweck besteht, andere zu lassen, sich besser fühlen seiend, was sie, eine preiswerte Weihnachten-Verzierung überteuert in den Saisonfesten mit Wahnvorstellungen der Großartigkeit manchmal sogar der Wirkung sind, nichts als ist eine seichte, feige Blase, und dass der einzige Grund er immer so anal ist, wegen der Hefe von einhundert Kamelen, die die seine Geschlechtsorgane mit Tausenden von anderen Fungi bewohnen dauerhaften Wohnsitz in seinem Gehirn – und durch einen gnadenlosen Gott gefordert haben, der Mann hat ein Gesicht wie ein Tumor!” she cried in delight, and pressed him tightly against herself.

“Aber das ist nicht alles, dass er ist!” she called defensively and slightly wrinkled her forehead with a smile, pulling him closer. “So, und wenn sein Gehirn die Größe eines zusammengerafften Eies hat, strömte in eine Tasse eines Säuglings, und wenn ich kastrierte Schweine gesehen habe, die sind mehr von einem Mann, als er jemals sein wird?” she asked them with an earnest enquiring tone, her irises widening, as if the woman was expecting a response. “Er ist noch ein Offizier!” she defended in a feverish tone, her voice hoarse and raspy, her gazing even demanding and stern, although the laughing quality had never lost its significant essence through her mockingly gleaming eyes or the sly smile permanently curving the side of her lips. “Sicher, eine pisse-schlechte Entschuldigung von einem, aber einem Offizier dennoch!

Suffice it to say, each of the men was appropriately speechless at this.

While the soldiers of the Wehrmacht still required some time to absorb these insults, Herr Storbeck, now looking at her with extreme dislike through his progressively severe faces, could only rasp coldly, “Wo sind Sie von, Fräulein?”

Dirk smiled. “Ich komme aus Hannover, berühmte Züchter von Pferden. Sie kennen Pferde, diejenigen bums – ” she began, and just as she was about to describe her theory of aristocratic methods of breeding, she was violently pulled away.

She had hardly realized what had happened but little did she care, more concerned was she, as she was being forced away, to manage to drink from her glass rather than understand exactly why the figures of the aristocrats were progressively diminishing. When they had finally disappeared from her view she downed the remaining content of her glass in one intake, and turned to look at the Hauptmann demandingly. “Was!” she breathed out, and scoffed in amusement.


Translation

A fascinating companion though Erika appears to be for such receptions held at such a long distance from Germany, I trust you have not forgotten about Elsa, Hauptmann. Indeed, where is your engagement ring?

Oh, he lost it.

He … lost it?

Yes, he just … lost it.

I wish I could lose my wedding ring as simply as that.

You know the harsh African weather, he must have not been eating that well during leave, lost some of his flab. One day he was walking through the desert after a dangerous offensive, fatigued and injured, and the ring falls from his emaciated finger, but the heat disables him from realizing it. Before he does, it is too late, lost in the endless sands forever, never to be found!

Yes, Hauptmann, can you prescribe me a step-by-step guide? I should be ever thankful.

Tell us, Herr Hauptmann, where did you meet Erika?

In the garbage bin while I was emptying the trash.

I know what you must think of him, how he is a useless little mutt with a big mouth and a small brain, and like all useless little mutts always barking at the larger dogs he sees, in his fear perceiving only threat and agony at their size and abilities – how aside from mindless and disrespectful, he is nothing more or less but a wormy, cabbage-eyed cretin who exists for the mere purpose of making others feel better at being what they are, a cheap Christmas ornament overpriced in the seasonal festivities with delusions of grandeur, sometimes even of efficacy, nothing but a shallow, cowardly bladder, and that the only reason he is always so anal is due to the yeasts of a hundred camels inhabiting his genitals with thousands of other fungi having claimed permanent residence in his brain – and, by a merciless God, the man has a face like a tumour!

But that is not everything he is! So what if his brain has the size of a scrambled egg poured into an infant’s cup, what if I’ve seen gelded pigs that are more of a man than he’ll ever be? He’s still an officer! Certainly, a piss-poor excuse of one, but an officer nonetheless!

Where are you from, Miss?

I come from Hannover, famous breeders of horses. You know horses, the ones you fu –

What!

[Rolf Jäger]

Soothing waves rushed through Rolf's frame and he breathed more easily the moment he was certain he had managed to salvage the situation; the other aristocrats were laughing, expressing no signs of confusion, and whatever Riedel had managed to blurt out had been turned into a harmless jest. The smile remained upon the pilot's lips and his eyes glinted with that brief sense of relief just before he noticed Herr Storbeck's blue eyes piercing through him, his gaze that of a circling raptor. Whatever feelings of elation had passed through Rolf's system, were now hopelessly washed away by icy torrent of horror when Storbeck asked him if he had forgotten about Elsa, his voice in all of its geniality carrying the apparent signs of reproach. Nothing seemed to escape the older man's attention and Storbeck narrowed his eyes when he asked about the young Hauptmann's missing engagement ring and Rolf's heart skipped a beat, his own gaze immediately shooting towards the hand holding the wine glass and further regarding the finger where the ring should have been.

He could already feel the other men in the group staring at him, waiting for his explanation, and only now did Rolf slowly start realizing the state of the current situation. He had pried the ring from his finger on a sudden whim, his anxiousness over waiting for Riedel to appear through the door having rendered him blind to the actual consequences of the action. First of all, he had not considered meeting someone as close to his family as Herr Storbeck was, hence not having worried over anyone asking him about Elsa or the members of his family. Furthermore, he had not even realized that some sort of explanation for the missing ring might have still been needed and even Riedel's question about it had caught him by surprise; he had not thought that anyone would notice such an insignificant detail. His answer had been simply the first thing that had popped into his mind and he realized now that it had not been the best one, but what else could he have told her? It had now grown to be an explanation he was supposed to live with, even when faced with the hawk-eyed Herr Storbeck who looked like the kind of person that stared straight through lies and into the very soul of any human being he came across.

Rolf opened his mouth slightly, attempting to keep his smile unchanged and as amused and relaxed as before, yet any attempts of keeping up such a facade were hopelessly lost the moment he heard Riedel speak on his behalf. She simply repeated what Rolf had told her about losing the ring, only she managed to make it seem like nothing but a joke, drawing entertained smiles from all the other men, counting out Storbeck who obviously did not find the explanation amusing. The older man recalled Riedel's words with no small amount of suspicion evident in his tone and the woman confirmed her statement in a flippant manner, the Wehrmacth Hauptmann soon hoping out loud how he would have liked to lose his ring as easy as that. The Wehrmacht officers laughed heartily at his quip and with the now joyless smile stuck upon his lips, Rolf attempted to laugh with them, while his eyes remained on the ever stern features of Herr Storbeck. He was staring at them in a manner that felt far too familiar to Rolf and the laughter died in his throat, the smile fading away the moment he heard Riedel speaking once more, the woman happily going into a ridiculous story of Rolf's lost ring. He flinched when he felt the woman patting him on the stomach and he tried so smile once more to show how amusing he found Riedel's jesting, but it was a forced, nervous smile and he knew it. The officers laughed with Riedel at the story, only Herr Storbeck and Rolf remaining silent, the pilot now finding himself unable to muster any strength to force that faked smile upon his features and he merely stared at the other man in stunned stillness.

He could hear the Wehrmacht Hauptmann posing a playful question at him, yet he could not entirely hear it, nor could he see the other guests, Riedel or the group of men. Even though he realized that it was only Herr Storbeck standing in front of him, he could not help but seeing his father residing within those cold, relentless eyes and Roland Jäger's strong voice rang through his mind as clear as if his father had been standing right next to him. It was a ridiculous idea, of course, but for a small moment Rolf wondered if Herr Storbeck possessed some supernatural quality that allowed him to channel to Rolf's father what he was seeing, the older Herr Jäger staring back at his son through the mirror of another man's eyes and witnessing the disgrace he was bringing upon the family. Even in it's absurdity, the mere thought almost made Rolf reel in horror and breathing suddenly felt laborious, as if the air itself had grown thick with his fathers contempt. Storbeck was not obviously appreciating Rolf's present company or his conveniently misplaced engagement ring and there was acute sharpness to his tone when he asked where Rolf had chanced upon such a woman as Erika.

Some pitiful answer was no doubt already forming within Rolf's numbed mind, but Riedel stole the answer once more, claiming that she had found the Hauptmann in the garbage bin and this time none of the other man laughed at her words, instead only staring at the mirthful female in stunned silence. He felt the woman's arm snaking around his neck, Riedel pulling him closer in a manner that held no warmth or affection to it, the woman's gesture working only to diminish his worth further. He grimaced, attempting to not let any wine spill from his glass, yet he also realized that fighting against her grasp would have only made the situation look more unseemly. Rolf hoped the other men would have said something or that he would have been able to find words to interrupt her with, but her insults came in an unstoppable avalanche, their brute force striking at Rolf's frame and breaking havoc within. He knew not from what endless source her jeering came from and just how her obviously alcohol-induced mind could come up with such intricate and continuously deviating expressions of slander, yet it was not the content of her words, but his father's unyielding gaze looking back at him that caused his heart pound against his ribcage. Suddenly he could feel the stares of every guest in the room boring into him and he was being pushed back, his feet slipping on black ice while the cold wind pushed against his back and the burning condescension of his father scorched his face.

Rolf could only listen to Riedel's slanderous words escalating in severity and he felt a strong desire to shove the woman away, to escape the situation and keep walking across the desert until he could no longer feel the weight of guilt pushing him down. His eyes moved lazily, as if Rolf was dreaming and only able to move very slowly, and he managed a stunned blink when Riedel pressed him against herself tighter after having commented on his disgusting face. The pilot could see the happy smirk carved upon the woman's lips as she still went on, while he slowly realized that his own arm was still resting upon her shoulders and the thought filled him with involuntary shivers of disgust. He drew breath laboriously, feeling the air rushing through his lungs slowly clearing his mind from the stupor it had momentarily succumbed to and he could hear Riedel's words more sharply now, but it was Herr Storbeck's voice that woke him up to the current moment and Rolf stood up straighter, blinking and furrowing his eyebrows. Something had pulled him under the water, but he was fighting against the current now and a glint of anger visited Rolf's eyes as he smelled the sickeningly sweet scent of wine upon the woman's breath, her words suddenly losing their edge and becoming nothing more but meaningless, drunken babbling.

He knew not what manner of strange force had rendered him so powerless for those small moments, and had it not been for Herr Storbeck's oppressing presence, Rolf would have already silenced the woman and prevented her from causing any further harm to him. All of the men in the group had been listening to Riedel's slanderous words with stunned looks plastered upon their faces and even Storbeck seemed to have some trouble in finding his words, coldly enquiring where the woman was from. The woman was all too eager to answer and Rolf sensed the poison lingering beneath her sentence, his movements more instinctive than anything as he grasped her by the arm and pulled her away from the group, only momentarily glancing at the other men to explain the incident. "Zu viel Wein. Entschuldigung," the man said hoarsely, his throat feeling utterly dry as he diverted his gaze and dragged the woman away with him, noticing how she was now focused on only pouring the alcohol down her throat.

Spotting Kronberg, the Hauptmann emptied his own glass in one swig, soon handing it to the Hauptfeldwebel and further relieving Riedel of her own glass, not caring if it was empty or not. His heart was still pounding violently against his ribcage, even further so when he started realizing the full extent of the damage the woman might have caused and, not finding any other excuse to stop the woman to confront her, he pulled the woman towards the dance floor once more. The look in his eyes was hostile and cold as he grasped the woman's hand and crunched it in his own, a sneer forming upon his lips as he found himself fighting to remain in control of his wrath. Placing a hand upon her waist, he pulled Riedel into the slow dance, not quite caring if she was able to follow the movement of his feet or not and in his anger he was ready to simply drag her along, whether she liked it or not. The man's eyes flicked briefly towards the group of men they had left, all of them still staring at the pair and obviously talking amongst each other in hushed tones. For a fleeting moment Herr Storbeck's disgusted gaze was that of his father once more and Rolf turned his head away to dispel the illusion, attempting to calm himself and knowing full well that causing any further scenes would hardly work to his advantage.

Storbeck was here only momentarily and would be returning back to Germany soon, no doubt, maybe back to Nürnberg where he lived and where Rolf's father often visited on work-related matters. Storbeck would mention having met the younger Jäger, of course, his father would ask how he had been and Storbeck would sternly relate to him the events that had just unfolded; Rolf's unexpected female escort, his conveniently lost engagement ring and the quality of the company he was keeping in Africa. His father would refuse to believe it at first, but Herr Storbeck was not one to come up with tall tales and then his father would feel ashamed, crestfallen by the state the family's only heir had fallen into and having to hear this all from an outside source.

Such a disgrace. Such a humiliation upon the entire family.

Rolf's fingers curled even more tightly around Riedel's, strongly enough to cause the woman at least discomfort, if not pain, and the man's gaze moved back to regard the woman and those ever hateful, jeering eyes of hers. She was drunk and rendered more than just slightly out of control, but this knowledge alone was not enough to soothe Rolf's tormented mind. He sneered at her, white teeth flashing in anger as he spoke and even though he kept his voice low and controlled, there was hateful severity to his growl. "Was das Bumsen denken Sie, dass war, Riedel? Wie man annahm, war es komisch? Denken Sie, dass Sie klug sind?" the man asked, bringing his face closer to hers just so that she could better hear him. "Wollen wir Sie sehen dass humorvoll sein, wenn Leutnant Riedel beraubt seiner Reihe, alles wird, er im Laufe dieser Jahre des Vorzugs erreicht hat, das Vaterland zu verteidigen. Oh, ich bin sicher, dass Sie solche komischen Hiebe für die Rückreise zurück nach Deutschland finden würden, vielleicht werden Sie sogar der Jury eine Ihrer amüsanten Geschichten anbieten, während Sie daran sind," Rolf snarled, his feet all this while moving flawlessly to the melody of the calm song, the soothing notes of the music creating for a strange contrast for the anger seething within the man's chest. He glanced elsewhere once more, the hatred evident in his silver irises, while his lips pressed together into a thin, violent line, further causing the man's chin to jut forwards in a hostile manner.

He did not bother looking at the woman the next moment he found enough self-control to speak in such a low tone and he pulled Riedel along into a small, slow swirl, staring somewhere past the blonde woman as he addressed her. "Was zum Teufel Sie konnte, zunächst irgendwie verstehen," the man commented, yet it was not clear if the words were actually aimed at Riedel or if they were just part of some inner monologue, spoken out loud in a moment of carelessness. "Sie wissen nicht, wie Männer wie Herr Storbeck oder mein Vater sind, Sie wissen nicht, wie sie arbeiten. Ich bin sicher, dass ein Bauer im Essen einer Mahlzeit völlig glücklich sein kann und aufstellend, um zu schlafen, sobald der Tag, seine Gedanken getan wird, die nie vorbei an irgendetwas außer dieser kleinen, einfachen Existenz reichen. Aber Männer wie mein Vater oder Storbeck, es gibt großartigere Aspekte zu allem, dass sie, größere Absichten, eine mehr komplizierte... Essenz," the man muttered the last words with a raise of his eyebrow, only then realizing that he was speaking words the woman cared not to hear, things that were simply out of her reach, even more so in her current, intoxicated state. The realization irritated him, yet he noticed that the small moment of contemplation had at least granted him with some sense of calmness and he found himself more in control of himself once more. "Ich fühle mich dass ich versuche die Welt zu einer Ameise zu erklären," the man scoffed, feeling nothing but the burning desire to shut everything out, to not think about the dreadful consequences of the recent confrontation, yet he realized that looking at the woman would hardly work as a distraction right now. He allowed the woman a brief, arctic glare before turning his head away, his eyes narrowed in silent irritation, while inside him the dark clouds of despair were drawing across his soul.


Translations:

"Zu viel Wein. Entschuldigung."
"Too much wine. Excuse me."

"Was das Bumsen denken Sie, dass war, Riedel..?"
"What the fuck do you think that was, Riedel? Was it supposed to be funny? Do you think you're being smart?"

"Wollen wir Sie sehen dass humorvoll sein, wenn Leutnant Riedel beraubt seiner Reihe..."
"Let's see you being that humorous when Leutnant Riedel is getting stripped of his rank, of everything he has achieved over these years, of the privilege of defending the Fatherland. Oh, I'm sure you'd find such funny quips for the return trip back to Germany, maybe you'll even offer the jury one of your amusing stories while you're at it."

"Was zum Teufel Sie konnte, zunächst irgendwie verstehen..."
"What the hell could you understand to begin with, anyway. You don't know how men like Herr Storbeck or my father are, you don't know how they work. I'm sure a peasant can be entirely happy in eating a meal and laying down to sleep once the day is done, his thoughts never reaching past anything besides that small, simple existence. But men like my father or Storbeck, there are grander aspects to everything they do, larger goals, a more complicated... essence."

"Ich fühle mich dass ich versuche die Welt zu einer Ameise zu erklären."
"I feel like I'm trying to explain the world to an ant."

[Dirk Riedel]

The woman felt the glass being pulled off aggressively from her hand but at the time she did not show the remotest complaint, for she had already managed to empty it of any traces of content, only the print of her red lipstick now marked at the rim of the surface as Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg was to receive both hers and his, and before she had any time to process the notion the Hauptmann had forcefully yielded his power for the purpose of coercing her into another dance, and she had to stare down at her own feet and waste a laughable amount of cerebral cells in attempting to discipline herself into avoiding the loss of balance, thereby requiring she held on to him closely for those few moments needed until the man turned around and pressed her furiously against him, leading her to the music’s mellow rhythm. Though she had initially found it moderately challenging to be able to synchronize her feet with his movements, the one and most significant factor which rendered her, for the time being, incapable of simply falling into him like a breathless sack of potatoes was the extent of alcohol consumed; she still needed at least half another bottle to utterly numb her senses and guide her through the pleasurable paths of disaffected tolerance and indescribable mirth, the wine and music enough incentives and reasons for the woman to completely lose control. At present, however, she appeared to be in – partial though it may have been – control, her hand placed upon the Hauptmann’s shoulder more on instinct of balancing herself properly rather than any other affectionate or friendly display of agreement or cordiality. Her eyebrows shifted closer to her eyes in disapproval once the immediate sting of her crunching fingers between his own swept down throughout her spinal cord with a shiver, and however she attempted to shift her hand to another direction and away from his deadly grasp she still failed to accomplish something as little as this. In her state the woman could not register the anxious and almost fearful texture of his expression, her eyes faintly closing as the alcohol was slowly infecting her body with the bliss of warmth and fractional oblivion, even if she was still halfway through being considered as absolutely incapacitated of being able to hold herself responsible on account of her actions.

She faintly heard him sneering about her treatment of the aristocrats, and it was oddly interesting how her mind seemed to have tackled the man’s words as nothing short of insignificant and, for this reason alone, she let them pass from one ear and leave from the next without bearing any access to the cerebral cortex in between that space. Of course he was to whine about her behaviour, and the woman unconsciously knew very well it would be so, but this did not stop her from acting in the way she had, and she really did believe how he should have prepared himself for such an inevitable eventuality: he had dared threaten her in such an indecent, revolting manner and in terms of her family relations, only to blackmail her for his redundant, extravagant whimsicalities? Certainly the woman was hardly thinking of his redundant, extravagant whimsicalities, for her mind at this moment was only concerned about the exact clothing material an aristocrat’s suit had been made of – the unknown man was standing in the distance and conversing with two other of his colleagues, as the woman’s eyes were momentarily fixated upon his appearance and thinking how that bastard’s sense of appeal must have of course not been strictly restricted to black satin but also velvet as well – Dirk was abruptly awoken from this slowly sinking reverie by the Hauptmann’s furiously spat words which now aimed to portray exactly that he planned to follow through with his threats and reveal her secret, but she had already lost the first part of that angry speech and now his words simply refused to be clarified inside her head through a cleansing process that would have otherwise made her, under different circumstances, conduct herself in a more appropriate way. “Seien Sie Jäger nicht so absurd, wen sonst würden Sie dann foltern, wenn ich, der Hund weg wäre?” she muttered, without quite realizing what she was saying, her fatigued voice loud enough to be heard by him through the close space they shared, and yet being unable to be overheard through the general noise and over the music playing on the old gramophone. “Ist elterlichem Missbrauch zu mir ähnlich,” she scoffed in amusement, her eyes always remaining somewhere else than him throughout the time they were dancing, shifting from the various guests to the drinks they were holding and suddenly reminding herself how thirsty she rather felt, her movements falling into place after his own only because he was forcefully guiding her through rather than out of her own personal grace and talent in such an art.

Then, she slowly turned her head around, eyes alight and gleaming from the intoxicated state she was currently breathing through the inconsequential space between them, slightly narrowed closed as she looked at him carefully, while at the same time having the distinct impression that several parts of her brain had declared closing hours already and shut the windows, the process of thoughts and notions now more of a matter of a subconscious than anything else. She brought her face closer and glanced at him in that knowing, perceptive expression even though she did appear rather incapable of perception to begin with, and that was the beautiful paradox of the moment. “Sie brauchen mich,” she said softly. “Sie brauchen mich, um Ihre lächerliche Überlegenheit anzutreiben.” And as she gazed at him not the tiniest hint of derision was visible through her face, upon which the clearest, most genuine expression lay, but that moment of clarity perished before it should blossom and she quickly sank into drunken reverie, her mind too easily distracted by the clinking glasses, the loud, firm and animated voices of the conversers, the song’s slow musical pattern that would have otherwise brought her to a stupor had she not been engaged to dancing with the Hauptmann, freeing herself of any moral, educational or practical necessity of thought and contemplation as she looked around her and, indeed, it was so effortless to sink low into that state of unconsciousness where acquaintances you had made – or been forced to make – were only figures you could hardly see through the fog, where the voices of articulate words were only unintelligible, slurring sounds which overrode and overwrote one another in a chaotic state, which rang too close to her and yet in the far distance, and she felt herself swirling around, further sinking lower into the depths of inertia … until she suddenly was wheeled back around, and her eyes opened wide at his face.

It was strange, indeed, that the numbness should have died down as sharply as it had at this very moment upon watching him in such an usual state, his face thoughtful and contemplative in an in-depth, inward level of perception, his appearance almost desolate and the bitterness exuded from his words stinging the woman briskly across the face in all of its sheer power, and she observed him closely despite her intoxication, eyes wide and enquiring at such an unforeseen, unpredictable countenance, her mind absorbing each and every word he spoke, paradoxically enough, as though rapidly awakened by the gravity of his speech. She remained silent when he became quiet, a sense of something rather heavy and unbearable having shifted right on top of their heads, as though Titans they were who were forced to carry the world upon their shoulders, and to her racing mind she could neither exercise control nor discipline into inertia, and she had no idea of the inward unconscious contemplations having formed with the same precision within her mind as chemical solutions that made her speak in this way, but without warning her face had leaned closer and touched against the side of his face to whisper in his ear, “Warum werden Sie durch Ihre eigene Umgebung, Rolf …” she spoke, the hand on his shoulder snaking around his neck to grasp a hold around, fingers tightly pressed across his nape and forbidding him to otherwise distract his attention to something else even when her eyes could only glance at his cheek, “… so eingeschüchtert warum Sie so Angst vor Ihrem Vater haben?” she asked him and kept him in that posture as they danced, her forehead pressing against his temple and with her breath tingling the length of his ear, bearing the sweet scent of wine and the warmth of her heart, lips of vermilion almost touching at its rim as they remained unmoving when she no longer spoke, and the silence sank in. It was so very loud within the room, and yet so very silent.

One could not tell when she pulled away, but as her face leaned backwards there was not any significant space between them still, when she next addressed him. “Vielleicht würde es nicht so schwierig sein, wenn Sie nur vom Thron in Ihrem Himmel gingen und versuchten, auf die Welt von einer verschiedenen Perspektive – schließlich zu schauen, kann eine Vogelperspektive der Welt die kleinsten Aspekte des Lebens nie fangen. Leute sind ebenso wichtig, wie Sie sie machen, Jäger,” she said, her voice quiet and only sincerity spoke through her gleaming eyes as they shone bright from the room’s yellow and orange glow. “Aber dann, warum würden Sie eine Augenansicht einer Ameise von der Welt haben wollen? Immerhin bin ich gerade ein einfacher Bauer, arsing ringsherum in meinem preiswerten kleinen Kleid,” she continued, reliving the words he had graced her with during their first meeting, and how ironic they should be most befitting to this circumstance – but not a trace of derision, hatred, anger or contempt surfaced through the tone or her face, for she, with perfect calmness that could simply not be attributed on the pretext of alcohol gazed back into the abyss of his grey, cold eyes, and through their motion there was stillness, through the surrounding noises unbroken silence. Indeed that the words were mockingly befitting the situation was true, but the woman’s motive was far from mocking. “Gerade, weil Sie mich gelassen haben mich vom Eingang des Dieners einschleichen, hat mein Leben keinen Wert auf einmal entwickelt, weil ich noch nichts, nichts anderes aber Scheiße in einem ziemlich Verpackungs- bin. Der einzige Grund, der ich hier heute bin, ist, weil Sie dachten, dass ich ein leichter sein würde bumsen …” she said very slowly, and though her lips remained humourless the glinting eyes of celadon green smiled back at him in what appeared to have been bitter acceptance and nothing else but honesty; “… gerade wie ganze meine Art,” she finished, and the smile finally materialized in the corner of her lips, through the upturned curve, and she endlessly gazed back at him for long, for too long – though it was only for a mere second – until perception sank in, and until the dance slowly came to an end. She remained where she was even as the others moved away from their dancing partners, and looked at him, for a moment or two, before she, without another word and a final glance, slowly drew her hand away from his neck, bringing it across the shoulder to eventually have it hang down by her sides, at which point she turned around and began to walk away.



Translation

Don’t be so absurd, Jäger, whom else would you torture then if I were gone, the dog? Sounds like parental abuse to me.

You need me. You need me to goad your ridiculous superiority.

Why are you so intimidated by your own environment, Rolf … why are you so afraid of your father?

Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult if you only stepped from the throne in your sky and attempted to look at the world from a different perspective – after all, a bird’s eye view of the world can never catch the smallest aspects of life. People are as important as you make them, Jäger.

But then, why would you want to have an ant’s eye view of the world? After all, I’m just a simple peasant, arsing around in my cheap little dress. Just because you have let me slip in from the servant’s entrance my life hasn’t all of a sudden developed any worth because I still am nothing, nothing else but crap in a pretty packaging. The only reason I am here today is because you thought I would be an easy fuck … just like all of my kind.

[Rolf Jäger]

For all the exhilaration and enthusiasm Rolf had felt over blackmailing the woman into accompanying him to the reception, he was suddenly paying very little attention to her, never mind the fact that he was currently dragging Riedel along to the steps of the slow dance. His skin felt numb and his mind was a vast, empty space, occupied by a single, lonely thought that echoed in that previously silent territory and multiplied itself until the copies of this one singular sentiment were rattling violently against the insides of his skull. He attempted to displace the harrowing image of his father's relentless gaze with other things, be it either the soft notes of the song, weaving in and out in gentle waves and passing through his ears, or Riedel's warm hand currently crushed in his, the passing thought causing the man merely to relax his hold, but it was of little use. As he pulled the tall woman with him into the dance, he momentarily realized that he was not quite sure if he had been actually dancing or merely standing around, for he had no recollection of thinking about his movements or how to time his steps accordingly to the slow rhythm of the music. He must have been dancing, though, as nobody seemed to be paying much attention to them and they seemed to blend in among the other dancing couples in a manner that momentarily amused Rolf; Riedel had certainly been anything but a low-key escort and he wondered silently why he had not seen this before, why he would have figured that she should be so easily conquered. She carried such short-sighted ferocity within that tameless heart of hers and he knew that even if she should succumb to all of his whims, her spirit would not. Strangely, he realized he was also ready to accept this fact and trying to change it would have been just as useless as attempting to divert the moon from its course.

As if on queue to his thoughts, the woman commented on how he needed her and Rolf stared at her, blinking and furrowing his eyebrows in disbelief. Initially the expression was born out of pure confusion over the boldness of such a claim, but then the meaning suddenly changed and twisted and something tugged at Rolf's heart, a foreign voice reminding him that what she said was the truth, something he already had known but which he simply refused to admit. His eyes narrowed to demonstrate his rejection of the ludicrous idea, the man still remaining silent and further ignoring her insult. He had heard enough slander from her to last for an entire month and whatever quips she might come up with next would affect Rolf very little. His own words had been spoken in a distant manner, not quite aimed at the woman or anyone in particular, and the man did not see Riedel or notice how she seemed to pause at his small speech, emerald eyes staring back at the pilot in almost hallowed silence. Rolf's mind felt numb. Everything was distant and he could not discern the small movement of Riedel's head as she moved her face closer and caused the man to flinch slightly the moment he felt her warm skin pressing against his cheek. The woman's head snaked in closer and Rolf's eyes widened, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion when he felt her breathing upon his ear and neck, the softly whispered words piercing through the numbness of his mind like a sharp dagger and pulling open a wound that stung him viciously. Riedel asked him why he should be so afraid of his own environment and Rolf's frown deepened, the man already attempting to draw his head away so he could properly scoff at her, when her hand settled resting upon the nape of his neck, holding him there. Rolf stared into the empty space in front of him when she asked him why he was so intimidated by his own father and his lips moved in an effort to laugh at her ridiculous statement, yet no sound escaped them and his heart was suddenly beating faster, her words and grasp having rendered him frozen into that one moment. Her forehead settled resting against his temple and Rolf felt his feet moving to the music and his breathing coming in slow, almost desperate gasps as he held her hand in his, feeling the warmth of her skin melding into his.

His mind was growling at him, hoarsely commanding him to snap out of it, to tell the woman he was not afraid of either his environment or his father, but he felt powerless to act on the thought, his entire existence slowly but steadily spiraling into that warm, curious nothingness. The people around him were now a meaningless blur, his hearing not attuned to the music or to the sounds of the party surrounding them, yet at the same time all of his senses were discerning details that suddenly seemed to matter. His nose picked up the familiar, alluring scent of the woman mixing with that of red wine and tobacco, while her warms fingers were entwined with his and he noted their rougher texture, reminding him of just how different she was from all the other women he had ever danced with. Her breathing felt almost hot against his skin and it sent shivers running down his spine, the cause of which he could not pinpoint, for such a feeling could have been born out of both exhilaration and discomfort. When he swallowed, he felt the loop of the tie constricting him, as if a noose had been tied around his neck, yet the next moment he found himself distracted by the tips of the woman's fingers pressing against the nape of his neck. When she was silent, everything else was silent too, and Rolf listened to that steady, unobtrusive hum born out of complete serenity, the man only barely managing to hear her breathing and that of his own, both of the sounds melding into the hushed stillness.

When she drew away, the world came rushing back to Rolf and the lights were too bright, the sounds were too loud and the reality was both cold and sharp, yet any attempts to escape to that fleeting moment of silence were futile and the man's eyes gleamed with confusion when a multitude of thoughts suddenly occupied his head. He realized the content of her words now and he remembered she had called him by his first name, pronouncing it with complete sincerity instead of mocking it, as she was usually prone to do. The man's mouth was hanging slightly open and he tilted his head to the side as he attempted to make space in his mind to fit her next words, the woman telling him that it might be beneficial for Rolf to view things from a lower altitude, to allow himself to step down from the heights he had elevated himself to. The content of these words Rolf could grasp easily enough, yet when she told him that people were just as important as he made them to be, the man stared at her, not understanding what she was after. Which people was she referring to and just whom should he find important? Her? The pilots in his Gruppe? His parents, Elsa or simply anyone he came across?

Still appearing stunned, the man narrowed his eyes and his lips parted, ready to present just these questions at her, but Riedel's next words rendered him silent and stung at him with a force so vicious, he had simply not been expecting it. They were his own words, spoken upon their first meeting in a time that seemed to be years away, yet it was not, and Rolf felt a strange emotion twisting his core. It was one he was not used to, yet he could see it for what it was, and he knew that the cold fingers pressing against his chest were those of guilt and for that moment he wished he had not uttered those words. She brought them back to the current moment and Rolf realized how they came back to bite at him, for had he not been the very person to force Riedel into the slavery he had mocked earlier? She was not here by her own choice, but his, and the knowledge baited his guilt to press upon him further, the man staring at her in silence while his his expression momentarily twisted by that raw emotion. The music had stopped and they stood there, still, Rolf trying to find something witty and smart to say, his mind frantically searching for a sentence that would turn the tables around and make him feel all better again. His mouth opened and closed, but when he had no answer to offer her, he simply looked away, realizing that she had been holding her hand upon his neck all this time only when she moved it away, taking a step back and leaving the man standing there, stunned and confused.

Rolf remained frozen in his place for a small moment, before he realized that he was attending a reception and that people might have been staring at him. He had some trouble in breaking out of that stupor, but once he did, he saw the faces of the people again, his eyes stopping on the one he was familiar with. Kronberg stood at the edge of the dance floor, appearing almost pale in his worry, for he had rarely witnessed the Hauptmann caught in such a moment and he was afraid to look at him in fear of his anger, yet also too stunned to feign inattention. Something shifted within Rolf, a more feral animal of simple decisions cracking open its yellow eyes, and Rolf pointed a hand towards the woman, snapping his fingers briefly. Kronberg opened his mouth as if to pose a question, but then he already realized that the Hauptmann wished for him to look after the woman and keep her company, maybe to keep her out of trouble, for it certainly seemed to have been following upon Riedel's footsteps this particular evening. Still holding the two empty glasses in his hands, Kronberg settled them upon the tray of a passing waiter before hurrying after the woman, hoping that he did not appear too intrusive in following her.

Turning his back both at Riedel and Kronberg, Rolf opted to walk in the opposite direction, his insides suddenly wrenching with too many emotions to even begin untangling: guilt over his own words, disgust at his inability to just slap the woman as she justly deserved, anger at her constant insolence and anxiety over the events that had unfolded during the evening. Beneath all of this a tiny, insignificant feeling was growing, living inside him like a developing larvae and driving him insane with its constant movement. He would have discarded that feeling and trodden it to the ground had he been able to, but it had latched on to him greedily, happily feeding on his emotions and reactions, the hungry parasite that it was. His eyes skittered over the faces he did not know, discerning some he vaguely might have remembered and he came to a stop in front of a small group of German soldiers, smiling his fake smile, introducing himself and picking up a glass of fresh wine as he set his mind on autopilot. He watched himself from a distance, going through the practiced motions he was so familiar with, laughing and commenting on idle things, while his mind was elsewhere all this time, trying to bring back the order in his thoughts.

Whatever Herr Storbeck might relay back to his father, he had no control over and his worrying would do little to fix the outcome; it was better to merely take a deep breath and deal with the results once he knew them. His guilt over his angrily spoken words was nothing short of foolishness, for they had been nothing but words, spoken in a moment of ferocity, and he should have not been worrying if they had affected the woman or not. On that note, he should have not allowed her drunken ramblings affect him in any way, Riedel finding such a ridiculous emotion as fear in his every reaction. Fear? In his eyes? What a ludicrous idea..! Rolf allowed a small, gruff scoff escape from his lips as he stood in the group of other soldiers, drawing some rather confused glances from the others. When the man smiled, he felt more confident once more, having bolstered up his defences in that small moment of introspection and he excused himself in a gracious manner, picking up a fresh glass of wine and drinking down its contents at a rapid pace, realizing that he was trying to drown the loud voice telling him that he was deceiving himself, that Riedel had managed to create cracks upon his armor and that the bitter poison of truth had been allowed to escape inside his defensive barrier. It's acidic touch was painful, but the agony did not end in the initial contact and the acid burned ever deeper into his skin, slowly carving a path towards his core.

This thought flickered in front of him, a bright flame in the darkness, before he quenched it with an angry sneer and pushed another empty glass upon a silver tray. Rolf stood up straighter, angry determination steeling his eyes as he set upon the task of finding Riedel once more. He would dance once more for the sake of appearances, to show everyone that he was neither ashamed or defeated, and then they would leave, neither too early or too late to stand out from the crowd. Riedel had been drinking quite enough as it stood and Rolf could only hope that Kronberg had possessed the wisdom to limit the amount of alcohol she might have been consuming during the time Rolf had mingled with the guests. He was feeling accumulatively better with each determined step he took, the alcohol running in his veins no doubt assisting him in finding those momentarily lost traces of self-importance, the swagger in his steps becoming those of Rolf Jäger once more. When he could not spot either Kronberg or Riedel from the crowd, he headed for the balcony instead, not feeling very surprised upon finding both of them there.

The man's grey eyes flicked from the blonde woman at the Hauptfeldwebel, as if to read from their expressions whether anything significant had happened upon his absence or not, but then he simply moved to the woman and grasped her by the arm in a commanding manner. "Ein mehr Tanz. Dann reisen wir ab," Rolf was all too kind to inform her, already dragging her towards the door and eyeing her the moment he noticed how challenging something as simple as walking seemed to be to her. He would have changed his mind about the last dance had he not already voiced the command out loud and stepped back inside the building, but he knew it was too late to escape the situation now and he did his best in assisting the woman in maintaining as straight path to the dance floor as possible. With an annoyed grunt, the man pulled Riedel against himself as they had reached the space reserved for dancing, throwing her a severe glare to show how displeasing he found her current state. He could only hope that guests had been drinking enough to simply not care about other drunken people and that the actual process of dancing would cover the severity of Riedel's current state. "Wie viel haben Sie getrunken, trotzdem?" the man muttered through clenched teeth, not finding her clumsiness amusing even in his increasingly tipsy state.

Drawing a deep sigh, Rolf glanced at the ceiling and pulled the woman into the melody of the slow song, realizing that the song playing was "Ich tanze mit dir in den Himmel hinein", the absurdity of the song title and the current situation causing a small groan to emit from within his throat. He circled his arm more carefully around the woman's waist in order to prevent her from stumbling down upon the floor while attempting to keep the movements of his feet as simple and undemanding as possible, firmly deciding to drag Riedel through the song now that he had set upon the task.


Translations:

"Ein mehr Tanz. Dann reisen wir ab."
"One more dance. Then we leave."

"Wie viel haben Sie getrunken, trotzdem?"
"How much have you been drinking, anyway?"

[Dirk Riedel]

“Danke,” the woman chimed as she snatched the open bottle laid across the tray held by a waiter walking towards a group of Italians with the intention to refill their glasses and the man, surprised, looked at her as she strode away with the bottle in her hand; he opened his mouth to protest, to be sure, but before he had the time to utter the first word she had already stepped outside into the balcony and the ill-fated waiter simply grumbled and turned around, heading to the kitchen, furthermore realizing that it was not in his position to begin an argument with any guest. Disregarding the inappropriateness of her action, the woman approached the balcony’s railing and looked at the city of Tripoli before her, the soft breeze crisp and cold as it poked against her face – but to her it was only ever a breath of fresh air rather than an inconvenience. With a weary sigh she brought the bottle closer to her lips and closed her eyes, tilting her head backwards as she gulped down a ridiculously generous amount of red wine, the taste of sour grapes washing down her throat with each ingestion, the scent that of sweet fruits and velvety smooth was the crimson divine nectar as she drank from the liquor, and how strange that at a short moment it should develop a soft, melodious hum ringing within her mind, a sensation of endless mirth oddly intertwined with the feeling of bitterness and traces of sore self-loathing, but she was drinking to forget. Forget this raw exploitation. The moment she put the bottle back down she attempted to place it upon the balustrade, her hand’s unsteadiness causing to almost drop it on the ground before she snatched it back with an admirably incisive swiftness at her present numbed senses, as though that very bottle was the only last resort she desperately held on to that would provide for her peace of mind – as though her own existence depended upon that very same bottle.

Not many knew this, but there had been a shady period in the woman’s past, one characterized by what may one regard as a strange combination of fierce discipline and over-exertion, contrasted with absolute excess and overindulgence. Had it really been discipline? No, the young girl’s desperate efforts to deny and forget the hardship through wearing herself to a shadow by exhausting any remaining physical agility with work had been nothing more but her mind inventing ways to occupy itself to enjoy a faint moment of peace, and what it did matter that such a moment should never pass? She did not stop – refused to discontinue with this technique, so that once she had burned the candle at both ends she realized she had achieved to become the smallest, most insignificant molecule in the sphere of nothingness, as if that state of existence alone was her very own catharsis. It was not. The wick had been extinguished, the light made way to darkness and slowly the wax melted on its descent upon the small golden plate it stood, until she became nothing, until she bitterly, willfully and determinedly made herself shrink into the humiliating state of nihility and worthlessness.

The young girl breathed with difficulty that cold September’s evening, in the winter of 1934, the strengthened breeze violently shifting the leaves from the trees from left to right upon their branches and whistled through the dark, neglected alleyways of an otherwise loud Hamburg. The notorious pub was crowded with the kind of people any respectable citizen of Germany who wished to maintain the good name of their household would have rather avoided, the discordant noises of tinkling glasses, roaring voices laughing heartily or discussing animatedly, fists being pounded upon the wooden tables in mirth or disbelief, and the unmistakable suffocating stench of beer and tobacco consuming the room which, full to bursting, entertained the visitors with the company of immoral women, card games or drunken songs that spoke of valour, lust and patriotism. And there she stood, her nineteen years of age disappeared somewhere in the darkness to show a young woman on whom all the burdens of the world weighed her down, tall and barefooted upon the bar table and with a bottle of red wine emptied halfway through tightly held onto her right hand as she moved fiercely to the music’s rhythm, eyes closed and head bowed down against which wet locks of her mane glued – it had once been golden on her proud, good days, now having lost its bright gleam, its softness and silken feel through neglect and malnourishment, as was made obvious from her uncharacteristically thinned appearance and the anemic colour of her skin. The coal-black dress that embraced the underfed body had glued itself across the higher lands of her thighs from the sweat and left uncovered her legs as she, in drunken oblivion, stood on the narrow bar table not as a Valkyrie neither an Amazon, but as flawed, undivine and weak as was humanly possible. Debauchery, indeed. The proprietor behind the table glanced away from her as he turned his attention to a visitor sitting closely by who was ordering a refill, but his eyes were inevitably distracted by the young woman’s dancing movements which, though restricted, were enough to absorb his observation at her direction. She waved her arms and shifted her figure at the quick jazz rhythm, every so often tilting her head backwards to take ridiculous amounts of wine down her throat, and not once did she open her eyes, lost and devoured into her own world of numbness as she further succumbed into her state of useless obscurity, and how curious it was how rooted her feet were upon the wooden surface that she never fell down, for gravity was a powerful enough natural element to bring her down and crush her upon the ground with its severe force, and she ignored it.

No, she simply did not care. Her head arched and she desperately drank in more from the wine, then moving her arm around as she moved to the sound, and the men could only either drink down their own orders and stare at this unusual, somehow promising spectacle, or speak to one another about the woman in low voices, occasionally smirking and nodding at her direction. But – ethics of society be damned! – it was when the song was hitting a vibrato and the visitors were loudly singing along in their booming voices that she stretched her arm upwards and threw all the remaining content of the wine upon herself, her head drenched in the crimson liquor as it washed down upon her figure and dressed her in a shade of dangerous blood-red, her soaked hair sticking to the sides of her face like flashes of lightning ready to strike down with immeasurable rage upon everyone who chanced to be around, with the dress glued inseparably to her skin in a way that was effortlessly regarded shameless, inviting and carnal. She wanted to yield, she strived to fall so low until she became worthy no more than a cheap, mindless prostitute one could come across in the lesser reputable streets of the city, for all the education and wise guidance she had excelled through now with one such simple gesture abandoning all of it, just so she should dwell in wretchedness. She breathed with great difficulty now as she finally opened her eyes to regard around her, and who could tell the tears from the wine, now melded into one watery essence warming up the febrile skin; tears, wine and sweat. The proprietor had predicted her request already, and outstretched his hand to offer her a fresh new bottle which she greedily snatched from his hands like an undomesticated animal, before she devoured a large gulp down her throat – the third bottle of the night, but they had seen nothing yet. She would drink until her head imploded from all the alcohol, drink until her feet rendered her physically useless, drink not to numb down the pain but to destroy it!

They must have all assumed she was just one more of those examples of an orphaned child whose destiny had proved to serve those who were above her, earning a living through a world of corruption, filth and perversion, and yet how sorely wrong they were! How none of them could know the beastly yeast of hatred squirming inside her chest, precisely around the open neckline across which a crimson tint had painted itself, but the garment did not embrace her with a sacred devotion, no, it was with a cheap easiness that the thin strip fell down on the left shoulder, with a carelessness and indifference so filthy and unspeakable that the woman almost drowned in it, drinking down halfway through the bottle, before she started to wobble. The men would stood around her by the bar table moved to grasp her legs to preserve her balance, and she apathetically turned to glance down at them, but could she really see anything? Before her stormed a raging palette of colours and shades, blacks, and reds, and oranges, people with no faces, bodies with no boundaries all intermingling and intertwining to form one endless entity, sounds dissolved into voices which, distorted and distant, rang achingly through her ears, penetrated through her entire length and violated her being, her tranquility, the calmness she had never possessed to begin with upon arriving in the city – grasps around the lower calves that grew greedy and impatient, demands that overrode her virtue, that shamed her, touches that desecrated her pride, that burned away her dignity and laughed at her honour, inflated goads that deflated her self-respect, all she wanted offered to her with obscene generosity. To crush her, diminish her, to beat her on the ground! Everything whirled around, and her dry mouth had almost forgotten the velvety taste of wine, but at this point she had no more strength to raise her hand again, her legs weak, the accumulated exhaustion tearing her down and the fingers glued around the almost empty bottle and unable to fulfill that one simple request. The voices magnified and slapped her hard on the severely aching head, and she shrieked, she shrieked for all of them to die, to die like the dogs they all were, to die unloved and effortlessly forgotten, like rats, like useless, filthy rats! And she swirled around … and around … her chest heaving laboriously as she gasped for air, her head moving as sounds dissolved into images so that the only thing she could discern was arms – countless arms holding her, and which she did not, could not, would not pull away, until she felt the bottle dropping from her hands, until her eyes closed and she felt herself falling – falling down from the counter and upon their arms like a cheaply conquered treasure.

The woman suddenly turned around, and looked around her. She had not noticed Hauptfeldwebel Kronberg sitting a few metres away in the distance during all the time she spent in silence – how long that could have been, she had no idea – and it was only when she moved to drink from the bottle once more that she noticed it was empty, the last, miserable drop of liquor enough to wet her lips, before the absolute silence almost crushed upon her with the same brutal force the waves exerted as they fell unto the sea-weathered rocks. Where was the clamorous noise, the blinding lights, the things she pursued in her quest of utter senselessness? She placed the bottle back on the balustrade, and fiercely turned around, her eyebrows curved at her frowning appearance in her intention to walk back into the room and lose herself amongst those elements that would render her numb to the humiliation she suffered at the present moment, yet she had not managed to make a single step when, suddenly, a figure which the woman unmistakably recognized as the Hauptmann’s walked through and spoke something about – no, in vain did the woman attempt to understand the meaning behind those few words, her brain addled by alcohol at a greater extent than the one allowing her to hold capacity of understanding of what was being said. She felt her hand being pulled briskly, and nearly stumbled upon the man as he forced her towards the door, the woman trying her best to co-ordinate her movements, a rather simple requirement, it seemed, and, nevertheless, how difficult to produce at this time, mostly relying on him to hold her in a way that should prevent her from literally falling down on the floor right in front of all the guests, and almost glad was she when he pulled her against himself, for she no longer needed to live up to such ridiculously high expectations!

The boisterous noise she craved to find was not the rhythm that greeted her, as Lilian Harvey’s sweet voice filled the room in that one last dance, the song’s soft, peaceful sound, on the contrary, causing her mind to numb more easily than it would have had under different circumstances. She heard the man ask her something – what it could have been she neither cared nor was interested to find out – and she only needed less than a minute to grow weary of the movements, her legs feeling weak under the weight, her hand too heavy to maintain in the air even if he was holding it, and thus she, in such an effortless gesture, moved closer and, with a soft, weary sigh, leaned against his strong frame, her head resting against his shoulder and near his chest, before she easily slipped her hand away from his and embraced him around the neck, her other hand lying on the other shoulder for a moment or two when she intertwined her fingers around his nape, and closed her eyes. It was surprisingly easy to follow in the movements, when she did not need to either co-ordinate her feet or discipline her mind to produce thought and contemplation over what step was to come next, but simply allowed him to guide and lead her as she moved alongside his undemanding rhythm, the alcohol slowly infecting her mind with a bittersweet sensation, her face shielded from the light for bowed it was against him, the warm orange glow gleaming upon the golden mane of hair and her pale, strong arms pressed around him, while the sound sang them along the lines, “Komm laß uns träumen bei leiser Musik unser romantisches Märchen vom Glück, und tanze mit mir in den Himmel hinein, in den siebenten Himmel der Liebe.” Indeed, was it not all the better not being required to think for once, but simply calm one’s spirits down, as the woman did, until she found inward peace even through the large consumption of alcohol, and the headache evaporated into nothingness, the furious despair and any traces of anger so strangely vanished into thin air. She felt, she only felt – felt of home, of a time that was troubled but still happy, a time war had not thudded its loud drums on each of their thresholds, before a man became a soldier, when a woman was yet not called a widow, a time they would ride their bicycles along the endless meadowlands of their beloved Germany, past the rows of trees and bushes into the roseate, warm horizon, swim into the Danube and sit on the grass, eating apples and drinking fresh cow’s milk as they would read from Schiller and Goethe and contemplate on their youth and beauty. A faint smile came to embrace the corner of the woman’s lips through the almost dreamlike quietude, and it was as the song was nearing its end that she spoke, her voice as soft as a rose’s May-time bloom, carrying no traces of demand, anger or contempt, and as quiet as the sound of a river’s slowly rippling waters in the summertime.

“Können wir jetzt nachhause gehen?” she asked, breathing calmly as she held on to him, until the music slowly ended, and the dance reached its denouement. In the next few moments that she eventually opened her eyes and pulled away from the man, a hum of sounds and noises overwhelmed the atmosphere and came to break that inner calmness, the woman appearing considerably disoriented at first, her ears ringing from the noise and the headache immediately resuming in all of its aching force, until a hand grasped her own and led her out of the crowd. She could distantly hear the Hauptmann’s hoarse voice addressing other people – figures which bore no faces and possessed soundless voices – and a short, dry laugh unexpectedly escaped her throat. “Ich brauche keine Millionen, mir fehlt kein Pfennig zum Glück, ich brauche weiter nichts als nur Musik! Musik! Musik!” she sang in her inebriated voice whilst they were walking – or, rather, as she was being led – towards the exit door. “Ich brauch kein Schloss um zu wohnen, kein Auto, Funken und Schick, ich brauche weiter nichts als nur Musik! Musik! Musik!” She could see the door’s distorted image nearing closer, and yet before he could guide her outside in the hall she turned around and waved as she yelled at them in a cheerful chime, “Auf Wiedersehn, Sie alte Ficker!” But then she was quickly pulled away and forced to walk along the hallway, all the while as she continued singing, “Doch eine ganze Kleinigkeit, die brauch ich noch dazu und diese große Kleinigkeit bist du nur du nur du du du du!” she insisted and threw an arm around the man’s shoulders, laughing. “Ich brauche keine Millionen, mir fehlt kein Pfennig zum Glück, ich brauch’ nur deine … Verachtung und Musik! Musik! Musik!”

The sharp breeze slapped her across her face, and she happily welcomed it; she could not expect the fresh air to clear a mind so addled in alcohol, and yet she endeared the sensation it brought her, as she burst into a sudden fit of laughter, entertained by her own insults and the expressions she knew must have crossed upon those people’s arrogant faces, the woman desperately clinging against the Hauptmann to support herself as they walked towards the car, else the chances of maintaining her balance were rather bleak. Still, she hummed the tune of a song whose exact words it was impossible to remember at this very moment, until she became rather annoyed and grumbled incoherent words under her breath. Without warning she slightly bent downwards and pulled the shoe of her right foot, throwing it away somewhere in the distance with renewed energy; she proceeded to do the same with the other, and tossed it aside in frustration. That wretched thing was giving her blisters! And that lipstick, it felt such a mindless embellishment which she had used mockingly, and now caused her to growl angrily as she drew the back of her hand across her lips to remove it – and would have almost tripped down had the Hauptmann not been instinctively quick enough to grasp her, her hands resting upon his shoulders, and though she glanced back at his grey eyes the only thought that crossed her mind was not that this man was the very reason she was suffering such wretchedness, it was not that he had been an obstinate human being who had refused to respect her, that because of his pervasive character her own family may be as well endangered from the abrupt, tidal nature of his keen whimsicalities, no … it was that she desperately needed a handkerchief. And thus, without any capacity of contemplation at her disposal, her arms snatched him from the sides of his face and forced him into a drunken kiss, holding him to the moment for as long as she needed to wipe that revolting cosmetic from her lips. The woman, if anything, one must admit, was awfully practical.

Incapacitated of feeling anything at all in her current condition, the rather utilitarian nature of her gesture having been accomplished, she forced his head away and aggressively pushed him aside as she intended to storm into the night by herself – for she certainly did not need him! Then, however, she almost lost her balance and grasped him from the side, realizing that perhaps it would not hurt to walk with him to the car, and she could not even discern where that wretched car had been parked! As he walked her at its direction the woman was almost left breathless from the genuinely mirthful laughter, and she pressed against her stomach while walking, unable to hold herself, until she broke into a song. “Wenn ich die blonde Friede abends nach Hause bringe, dann sagen wir noch lange nich ‘Auf Wiedersehn’, dann bleiben wir noch stundenlang am Haustor stehn – ach wie schön!” she chimed in a slurring voice, in her mind distorting ‘Wenn ich die blonde Inge’ but, still, one could almost sardonically observe her ability to remember the words … or to transform them as she so pleased. “Wenn ich die blonde Friede abends nach Hause bringe, dann ist es für uns beide ein Albtraum!” she yelled in a cheerful chime. “Dann kommt ein’ langer, dann kommt ein’ langer, dann kommt ein’ langer, langer Kopfnuss!”

And she repeated the lines in a rhythmic, drunken slur as she pushed him aside once more and snatched the rim of the Kubelwagen’s front with a nearly desperate grasp in her attempt to find her balance, and then climbed upon it to walk barefooted upon its surface, and indeed, it was an accomplishment that left her even more breathless as she heaved her chest to breathe in deeply into her tired lungs. She shifted her arms and pointed them up to the sky as she continued singing, her figure moving along the laughable rhythm and with the ivory dress clinging to the curves. She finally stretched her hands down to rest them upon his shoulders as he stood next to her and support herself upon her descent back to the ground, and she almost dropped down roughly, arms pressed around his neck until her feet touched the cold earth, and looking at him through her drunken emerald irises. “Sie sollten wissen, Jäger, Sie sind wirklich …” she mumbled in a slur, and leaned her face closer to him, but in the last moment before her lips forced him into another kiss her body yielded and alongside the direction she was intending to pursue she fell sideways, and collapsed onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. With her arms sprawled close to her she rolled to the side with a grumble and closed her eyes, to sleep.


Translation

Thank you.

Can we go home now?

I do not need millions, I do not need a penny for luck, I need nothing more than just music! Music! Music! I do not need a castle to live at; no car, sparks, and style, I need nothing more than just music! Music! Music!

So long, you old fuckers!

But quite a little thing that I need to have and this great little thing is only you only you you you you! I do not need millions, I do not need a penny for luck, I need only your ... contempt and music! Music! Music!

When I blonde Friede bring home at night, then we say far from ‘Goodbye’, then we remain standing for hours at the front door – oh, how nice! When I blonde Friede bring home at night! It’s a nightmare for us, then comes a long, then comes a long, then comes a long, long clout!

You should know, Jäger, you really are …

[Rolf Jäger]

It was strange how much heavier a drunken person suddenly felt, and Rolf almost flinched back with surprise when he felt Riedel's frame pushing against his, the woman leaning against the Luftwaffe officer for support. It was a strange weight, almost lifeless in its unresponsiveness yet warm at the same time, and Rolf frowned when she pulled her own hand free from his, just to circle both of her arms around his neck for better balance. A small, almost surprised sneer drew across the man's lips when Riedel further rested her head against his shoulder, hanging on to him just to remain standing upright and, glancing around, the man slowly snaked his other arm around the woman, allowing it to settle resting upon her back. For a short moment he hoped that people would not be able to discern the woman's utterly intoxicated state and would only figure that they were sharing a fond moment, but then Rolf's eyes moved over the crowd and stopped on Herr Storbeck's face, the man looking right back at him in a severe manner. Rolf averted his gaze quickly, gritting his teeth as he realized how all of this must have seemed to the man; it would have been quite normal to bring in an escort to the reception, but he was also engaged and Storbeck was expecting him to act accordingly, to respect the promise he had given upon exchanging rings. It did not include conveniently losing the said ring or dancing quite this closely with another woman, but the situation had followed paths Rolf simply could have not foreseen. It was far too late to worry about any of those things right now, and Rolf glanced towards Riedel, only managing to see the golden mane of her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder and lazily dragged her feet to the slow melody of the music. She had obviously been lost into her own constantly spiraling world of inebriation, not caring or even remembering with whom she was dancing; or whether or not she was dancing in the first place to begin with.

Rolf moved his feet very little, his eyes almost nervously skipping from Riedel to the crowd, while the woman seemed to be at a complete state of tranquility and the man attempted to see her face just to see whether she was falling asleep. She was not, for she spoke soon, her voice surprisingly soft and quiet as she asked if they could go home. Rolf's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, both at the tone of her voice and at the question, for they were in Africa and there was no home to return to, but he also realized that her words must have related to whatever time and space she was currently existing in. Right at that moment the song came to its last, drawing notes and Rolf stopped, in his mind already reminding Riedel that they were in Libya and that going home was hardly an option, but then the woman already pulled away from him, swaying rather precariously on her two unsteady feet. There was almost a certain measure of distress upon the woman's features and Rolf blinked, moving closer to Riedel and grasping her by the hand, silently hoping that they would make it out of the door without any further incidents. He had not managed to even drag Riedel along with him more than two steps away from the dance floor, when he recognized Hauptmann Siegner standing almost next to their path, holding a glass of wine and frowning in baffled concern. "Geht's sie ganz gut?" the man inquired and Rolf threw him a strained smile. "Natürlich, gerade ein wenig zu viel Wein, werden wir jetzt fortgehen. Guten Abend zu Ihnen, Hauptmann," the man answered, realizing that he sounded like he was in too much of a hurry, but then, this was obviously the case as the woman could barely remain standing upright. Rolf pulled her towards the door with him, occasionally wishing a half-familiar face a pleasant evening while trying to make it to the exit as quickly as possible.

The hair at the back of his neck stood up the moment Riedel burst into a loud song and Rolf felt the eyes of everyone in the room turning towards them, the gazes followed by hushed whispers and amused scoffs. He hoped he could have disappeared into the floor, vanished, turned invisible and in the process wiped everyone's mind of the images they were now enjoying, a show Riedel was putting up for all them, something they could recall later, share with others and laugh at. A fleeting thought of simply covering the woman's mouth with his hand passed through his mind, but that would have only made everything all the more ludicrous and he ended up gritting his teeth instead, pulling the woman more forcefully towards the exit. Yet, as if the drunken singing had not been enough, Riedel opted to insult everyone in the room while bidding them farewell and Rolf wanted to slam the door shut after them, to bar it and to set the building on fire to dispatch himself of all the witnesses. Kronberg, who had been following them dutifully all this time, flashed bright red and stared at his feet as he hurried to hold open the door for the Hauptmann and the blonde woman, Rolf dragging Riedel along with a constant, irritated sneer drawn across his lips.

He glared at the Italian soldier outside the door, Riedel singing loudly into his ear in her drunken reverie and Rolf attempted to ask for his peaked cap through the noise, but the soldier had already remembered the man's name and was offering the officer his hat, not able to tear his gaze away from the intoxicated German woman. Rolf snatched the cap from the man's hand and placed it upon his head in one, angry move, before he continued pulling the woman along in the corridor, her singing and laughing echoing from the empty walls as if to further invade his ears with all of its unbridled insult. Riedel was clinging to him, her arm thrown over his shoulders when they finally stepped outside and Rolf breathed out a sight of relief the moment he felt the cool, brisk air caressing his skin. He had to accept the fact that whatever damage Riedel had managed to cause to his reputation during the evening could not be fixed at the moment, and his priority lay in getting the woman inside the car and leaving the scene as quickly as possible.

Riedel burst into a mirthful laughter right next to his ear and Rolf grimaced as he attempted to walk towards the car, the woman dragging her feet along and stumbling every now and then in a manner that would have surely brought her tumbling down had she not been holding on to him for support. The next moment she was humming along to a tune Rolf could not recognize, and the man only shook his head, for a few seconds realizing how much easier the evening would have been, had he not opted to bring the woman to the reception. It was far too late to go through the why's and the if's now, and his mind was soon occupied by other things as the woman suddenly dipped down to pick up something. "Riedel, was ist Sie-" Rolf did not bother continuing the question, as the next moment he saw the woman throwing one of her shoes away. "Was zum Teufel tun Sie?" the man asked in a bewildered manner, observing as Riedel picked up the other shoe and sent it flying through the darkness, the shoe landing softly upon the sand at a distance. "Verdammt noch mal! Kronberg, abzuholen Sie denen," Rolf pointed towards the direction the discarded shoes lay and Kronberg stared at him for a few fleeting seconds before settling to the task and hurrying off to find the woman's shoes.

Rolf glared after him with a small sneer and he brought his head around to glance at Riedel once more, just in time to see her teetering precariously on her feet. The Hauptmann acted with surprising agility, changing that small movement of his head into a quick lunge towards Riedel, managing to prevent the woman from falling over just in the nick of time. He held her by the arms, glaring at her drunken visage as if hoping that his severe stare alone would be enough to make her sober up, that the severity of situation would bring Riedel back to her senses once more. Riedel looked straight back at him, her eyes locked into his as if she had actually understood, but of course, it was only hopeful thinking from Rolf's part and the next moment he felt her hands grasping him by the head, the woman planting a drunken kiss upon his lips. Rolf attempted to pull away from her, but her hold was surprisingly strong and the man was certain that had he moved too quickly, she would have tumbled down on the ground. The only sign of resistance was the muffled growl forming in his throat and Rolf could taste the lingering traces of wine in that kiss, both of his hands now latched on her shoulders and attempting to gently push her away.

Having found both of the shoes, Kronberg stomped happily towards them with a wide smile decorating his features, but he came to an awkward stop upon witnessing the scene, his mouth hanging open while some inner voice reminded him that he should have not been staring, yet he simply could not tear his eyes away. He could not be sure if the Hauptmann was struggling or if he was pulling the woman closer and the man's head tilted to the side in confusion, the shoes dangling from his fingers as he witnessed the curious moment, the woman finally pushing the Hauptmann's head away and further shoving him to a distance just to stand on her precariously wobbly feet. Rolf blinked and stared at her, still trying to understand the meaning behind her drunken acts when he saw her teetering, his hands automatically moving in to balance her as she grasped his side to remain standing upright. The Hauptmann growled in growing irritation, not having drank enough wine to achieve that comfortable state of finding everything and everyone funny, only proceeding to walk the woman towards the Kubelwagen. Riedel's drunken mirth obviously held no bounds, as she was soon almost doubling over with laughter, only remaining standing because Rolf was making sure she did, another song soon ringing through the clear desert air. Rolf groaned out loud, only half-listening to her actual words and more working on dismantling the growing irritation at her current state, while also concentrating on the simple task of escorting her towards the car. Riedel pushed him aside once more and Rolf frowned, watching as the woman grasped the vehicle to remain upright, giving Rolf enough time to turn around to regard the Hauptfeldwebel.

Kronberg lifted the shoes in his other hand with a sheepish half-smile. "Ich fand die Schuhe," the man stated the obvious, just to say something, before he grimaced and arched an eyebrow. "Herr Hauptmann, Sie haben ein wenig..." the man pointed at his lips and Rolf stared at him for a few seconds, swiftly bringing a hand to his own lips and rubbing them furiously to erase any traces of the woman's lipstick. "Ist das weg?" the Hauptmann asked gruffly and Kronberg considered whether being truthful would only anger the officer or not, before he slowly pointed at the left side of his own lips. Rolf growled, attempting to wipe off the irritating substance, when he witnessed Kronberg's eyes widening as the man stared somewhere behind him. Rolf pivoted around just in time to witness Riedel standing on top of the Kubelwagen's hood, her arms stretched upwards towards the dark azure sky as she sang and danced, creating for a rather unruly, yet sinfully enticing hood ornament for the Kubelwagen. Both of the men stared at the sight, gaping as they watched the drunken female somehow managing to remain standing on top of the car all the while she danced, the white dress sliding along her curves with the wild movements of her body. Rolf blinked, his lips drawing into a slow sneer the moment he was able to regain his wits. "Teufel noch mal, Riedel! Kommen Sie vom Auto jetzt herunter!" the angry growl rang through the nightly air and Kronberg flinched at it, silently wishing that the woman would calm down and not anger the Hauptmann further. It was not clear whether she had merely grown bored of her antics or actually heard his command, but soon she stretched her hands down upon his shoulders and Rolf held her by the waist as he assisted her down from the Kubelwagen. The woman's frame collided against him the moment her feet touched the ground and Rolf breathed out deeply, suddenly feeling quite exhausted over watching over her, over maintaining such an act for the hours spend at the reception, for worrying over the future. This weariness was evident in his eyes for the smallest moment as he looked back at her, his eyebrows knitting together when she started addressing him in slurring words. She did not bother finishing her sentence, as puzzling as it was, and merely brought her head towards him and Rolf flinched, tilting his head to the side and regarding her with nothing but confusion... up until the moment she suddenly turned limp and slid down upon the ground with a soft thump.

Rolf stared at his empty hands, gaping, while Riedel had already closed her eyes, grumbling in a state of contentedness as she was already drifting off to sleep and obviously feeling perfectly comfortable upon the dusty ground. A string of offensive words escaped from Rolf's lips as he stared at the woman's lethargic figure and he forced himself to concentrate on his breathing, just so he would not completely lose his temper. Kronberg grimaced silently a few steps away, watching as the Hauptmann settled upon the task of hauling the woman back to her feet. "Kommen Sie heran, wir schlafen hier nicht! Kronberg, stehen Sie dort nicht gerade. Öffnen Sie die verflucht Tür, verdammt!" Rolf's voice had regained its stern military quality once more and Kronberg hurried to open the door of the Kubelwagen, not daring to assist the grumbling, swearing officer in his task of attempting to settle Riedel sitting on the seat. It was difficult to attempt shifting around a person in such a sorry, drunken state, but soon Rolf sat upon the backseat next to Riedel, Kronberg closing the door after them and hurrying to sit behind the wheel. Rolf saw Riedel slowly slumping across the seat towards the window, but he caught her by the arm and pulled her sitting next to his side, snaking his arm around her shoulders in an almost awkward manner. The Kubelwagen veered around and the engine's rumbling replaced the silence inside the vehicle, Rolf for a moment occupied in the task of making sure that Riedel was resting securely next to him before he allowed his gaze to be drawn towards the window instead. He felt strange, feeling the woman's warm and curiously spiritless figure pressing against himself, but he did not want to see her, only closing his eyes as he settled into that feeling of warmth beside him, the small bumps on the road causing the woman's head to roll slightly against his shoulder every now and then.

The rest of the journey was spent in that state of curious solitude and when Kronberg pulled the car to a stop at their destination, Rolf waited until the Hauptfeldwebel had hurried around the Kubelwagen to open the door for him before even attempting to haul the woman outside. It was a surprisingly complicated process and Riedel was in some state of half-consciousness as Rolf dragged her outside, glancing at his wingman. "Kommen Sie nehmen mich am Morgen auf. Irgendwo zirka... sieben sollte fein sein," Rolf said in a low voice and Kronberg appeared unsure, glancing from the woman to the Hauptmann. What happened between the Hauptmann and Miss Riedel was hardly any of his business and he would have never even considered that his commanding officer would have abused the woman's helpless state, yet a small voice inside his head was telling him that he should have made sure Riedel would be safe. But of course, that was a completely ridiculous thought, for surely Riedel was perfectly safe with the Hauptmann. Kronberg nodded, from the corner of his eye noticing something gleaming upon the seat and he hurried to pick up the watch, handing it to the other pilot. Rolf narrowed his eyes, picking up the watch and pushing it inside the pocket of his trousers, making a gesture towards the shoes the man was holding. Kronberg watched as the Hauptmann half-carried, half-pulled the woman along, both of his arms more or less around her drunken figure, the shoes held in his other hand and the woman's bare feet dragging in the sand as they headed for the door.

The landlady threw them a rather inquisitive look as she handed the key to the room to Rolf, the man gruffly thanking her before settling to the task of hauling Riedel with him up the small set of stairs, soon finding out how complicated something as simple as unlocking a door could turn out to be. He breathed out in relief the moment the door clicked open and he could merely push it open, dropping Riedel's shoes upon the floor to pull the door closed the moment they were inside. The room had very scarce furniture and Rolf was far too occupied to discern where the light switch was, heading towards the bed only after his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. He leaned down to slide Riedel's arm from around his shoulders and to push her on top of the mattress, the woman settling down upon the bed lazily, obviously not quite realizing where she was and feeling happy enough in the fact that she was allowed to lie down. Rolf straightened his back with a groan, giving himself a small moment to just breathe after the arduous task, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes for those seconds he needed to clear his mind. When he opened them, he could spot more details within the room and his eyes skipped over the bed and the cupboard to the long, wooden table and the door that lead to the bathroom. With a small scoff, Rolf stalked around the bed and fished Riedel's watch from his pocket, placing it upon the table where the woman could easily find it in the morning. He turned around, regarding her silent figure through the shadows and his grey eyes gleamed, hunger and desire passing through the silver irises as he assessed the situation. A small, crooked smile drew across his lips and he turned around, opening the buckle of his belt with his other hand, while the other one picked up the peaked cap and placed it on the table next to the belt and the watch. He left his shoes beside the chair and started opening up his tunic almost absentmindedly, his gaze captured by the figure of the woman resting on top of the bed, all the while his fingers worked on opening up one button after another and he prowled closer to the bed.

"Das ist gerade Sie und ich jetzt, Riedel," the man proclaimed hoarsely, his face hidden in the shadows as he stopped by the other side of the bed, his fingers twisting open the last button of the tunic. He removed the tunic carelessly, hanging it loosely by the other sleeve as he moved to crack open the door of the wardrobe, not noticing the small golden glint of the ring as it slipped out of the pocket and rolled along the floor in a broad circle, coming to a silent rest on the floor at the opposite side of the bed. At the present moment Rolf had forgotten about the presence of the ring completely, occupied by his thoughts of Riedel's current state as he was, his attention momentarily drawn to the task of placing the tunic on top of the open door of the wardrobe so it would not wrinkle. It took a few tries, but after he had managed to settle the blue-grey tunic resting upon the frame of the door, he turned around and opened the knot of his tie in hurried, almost angry motions. "Keine ärgerlichen Italiener. Keine kahl werdend Majore. Kein anderer Hauptmann jeder Art. Kein Leutnants, Oberleutnants oder Herr Storbeck, um uns hier zu stören," Rolf's raspy voice danced in the soft shadows as he stood next to the bed, gazing at her in excited silence, feeling the blood rushing wilder in his veins now. "Gerade Sie. Und ich. Und dieses Bett," the man smiled, a brief glint visiting his eyes as he left the opened tie resting upon his neck, quickly focusing on opening the two top buttons of his white shirt as he crawled upon the bed, settling on his side next to her while his hand reached out to touch Riedel's shoulder and he waited to see those emerald eyes looking back at him, with... what? Anticipation? Hatred? Horror?

Rolf's head snaked in closer and he held his breath to find out the answer to his question and when he saw Riedel's face, he frowned. "Schlafen Sie?" the man asked in a stunned voice, his eyes fixated upon the blissfully closed eyes of the woman, her breathing slow and peaceful as she slumbered at the very same spot Rolf had left her at, completely unaware of both his words and presence. Rolf growled, his hand shooting towards the woman's face to grasp her by her chin, the man's eyes fervently searching her features for any signs of deception, yet her tranquility was genuine enough and he released his hold with a loud sigh, averting his gaze to stare somewhere into the darkness instead. Did it matter if she was sleeping or not? Wasn't this the very thing he had hoped to achieve, to strip away her defences and to claim what he had so desired from the moment he had first glanced at her? The man narrowed his eyes, returning his gaze back at her and truly, what he saw was nothing but a fully enticing sight, one that set his insides into flames, that whispered to him promises of pleasure and ecstasy. Through the shadows her skin seemed all that much paler, the mass of her golden hair appearing silver as the lack of lighting drained everything of colour and her eyebrows curved peacefully over the closed eyes as she slumbered. Rolf leaned in closer once more, his fingers tentatively coming to a rest at her jaws and he moved his head close enough to feel her breathing upon his lips, the man staring at her tranquil figure from that insignificant distance between them. His fingers drew a slow path down to her neck, his eyes tracing the journey downwards before his fingertips did and Rolf held his breath as his gaze moved over her chest towards her stomach. There was a hungry glint in his silver eyes as he allowed his hand to travel over her stomach and down to her hips, Rolf having to shift his position to continue scrawling that leisurely path along her thigh. He hesitated for a small moment, but his desire soon got the better of him and his fingers slid beneath the canvas to circle slightly around her knee, to shift the hem of the dress upwards to reveal more of the pale skin underneath. A low, almost feral grumble formed in his throat as his fingertips moved upwards along her thigh, enjoying the soft texture of her skin and coming to a slow stop somewhere midway her thigh. He tilted his head, eyes settling on the small row of pearl buttons on the dress and he drew his hand away grudgingly, realizing that he was proceeding in things at an awkward order.

His fingers followed the thought obediently, touching her stomach briefly and coming to a stop at the buttons of the dress just to decisively circle around one of them. How easy it would have been to pry open the buttons, to expose her skin for him to enjoy, and he spent a small moment imagining how it might have felt like running his lips across the pale desert of her skin and wondering whether the amount of hard labour had brought out all of the muscles, even those on her stomach. His breathing quickened the moment his fingers circled more resolutely around one of the pearl knobs of the dress and he knew there was nothing stopping him; it was his victory, one he had deserved with his dedication and cunning, and there was nowhere Riedel could escape to, nobody she could complain to should the Hauptmann wish to claim what was rightfully his.

In his mind he already saw him doing just that, claiming the fruits of his labour, knowing that should he do so, he might blissfully forget about her and move to other things, to people who could not cause him such extents of pain as she had. What had been already conquered hardly needed to explore any further and there was no reason for him to tarry on such a moment, on an occasion that was so uncomplicated and very familiar to him. He was used to taking what was his, not asking any questions and simply exerting his power over those he had deemed weaker. The sides of the pearl knob dug into the flesh of his fingers and Rolf's gleaming eyes stared at the peaceful expression upon the woman's face as he gathered that determination, attempting to whip himself into a frenzy that always came so easily to him... just to pull his hand away and turn away from the woman with a furious growl. What was it with her?! How could he survey such an opportunity and still not find the will within himself to do what he was here to do? Had she poisoned his mind with some vicious toxin that kept him at a distance even when he wanted nothing more but to succumb into that simple, feral indulgence? It was such a natural, straightforward thing - it had always been that way to him - yet now it had become complicated and harrowing, throwing him off balance and driving him away. The man shot upright on the bed, opting to sit on the other side just to rub his face furiously, to dig up that simple, animalistic side of him that did not understand anything past simple desire, of wanting and taking what was his.

He sat in silence for those small moments, the darkness enclosing around him like a cool blanket, until he finally realized that the beast within him was looking back at him, yellow eyes gleaming in nothing but puzzlement and he got up to his feet, deciding to leave, to walk back to the barracks and clear his mind, to wash away this disgusting feeling that suddenly made everything far too complicated. Rolf did not want to look back at her, yet he still found his head turning around and remaining on that sight of her sleeping, Riedel's mind traversing lands out of his reach, for a small moment not remembering the war that raged around them or worrying about the fact that she was helpless, locked inside a room with someone like him. He sneered, drawing his gaze away once more and, suddenly feeling the small chill inside the room, he turned around on a whim and leaned over the bed once more to draw the other half of the thin cover over her sleeping figure. She did not notice this, lost in her drunken sleep as she was, and Rolf hesitated, an almost foreign desire making itself known within him. He shifted his head to the side, peering his eyes and considering it, before he silently moved on top of the bed once more, settling upon his other side a small distance away from the woman. Like a careful wild animal, he inched closer to her in small movements, his arm hovering on top of her side tentatively even when he was certain she would not wake up to the touch. His arm descended on top of her slowly, circling around her side while Rolf still stared at her, just expecting those emerald eyes to crack open every moment now.

When nothing seemed to change in Riedel's demeanor, Rolf inched his head closer, flinching back the moment his cheek touched her shoulder. Chiding himself, Rolf repeated the movement and allowed his cheek to press against her arm and he remained there, staring somewhere into the distance and breathing more rapidly, not able to discern the reasons for this strange act. Maybe he only needed to know what it felt like, what it might have been like being able to sleep next to her like that, for it was simply something Rolf had never experienced, all of his knowledge on relationships based on dominance and fear. He could hear her steady breathing and feel her chest shifting under his arm, her warm frame pressed against his and he allowed himself to close his eyes, just to better listen to that sound and to memorize the small moment.

What he did not see was his tired mind slowly accepting that quiet moment and it was too late to recognize that dark tunnel he was soon spiraling into. It tugged at his thoughts gently at first, testing his defences, before it pulled him into the silent nothingness of sleep and he drifted off, a small, almost content smile lingering upon his lips.


Translations:

"Geht's sie ganz gut?"
"Is she quite alright?"

"Natürlich, gerade ein wenig zu viel Wein, werden wir jetzt fortgehen. Guten Abend zu Ihnen, Hauptmann."
"Of course, just a little too much wine, we'll be departing now. Good evening to you, Hauptmann."

"Riedel, was ist Sie-"
"Riedel, what are you-"

"Was zum Teufel tun Sie?"
"What the hell are you doing?"

"Verdammt noch mal! Kronberg, abzuholen Sie denen."
"For fuck's sake! Kronberg, go get those."

"Ich fand die Schuhe. Herr Hauptmann, Sie haben ein wenig..."
"I found the shoes. Herr Hauptmann, you've got a little..."

"Ist das weg?"
"Is it gone?"

"Teufel noch mal, Riedel! Kommen Sie vom Auto jetzt herunter!"
"Dammit, Riedel! Get down from the car, now!"

"Kommen Sie heran, wir schlafen hier nicht! Kronberg, stehen Sie dort nicht gerade. Öffnen Sie die verflucht Tür, verdammt!"
"Come on, we're not sleeping here! Kronberg, don't just stand there. Open the bloody door, dammit!"

"Kommen Sie nehmen mich am Morgen auf. Irgendwo zirka... sieben sollte fein sein."
"Come pick me up in the morning. Somewhere around... seven should be fine."

"Das ist gerade Sie und ich jetzt, Riedel."
"It's just you and me now, Riedel."

"Keine ärgerlichen Italiener..."
"No annoying Italians. No balding Majors. No other Hauptmann's of any kind. No Leutnants, Oberleutnants or Herr Storbeck's to disturb us here."

"Gerade Sie. Und ich. Und dieses Bett."
"Just you. And me. And this bed."

"Schlafen Sie?"
"Are you sleeping?"

[Dirk Riedel]

Throughout the centuries as history has been written in pages shed in crimson and black the spider would always trick the fly into its masterfully weaved cobwebs and devour the victim; it has always been so since the dawn of time, and thus shall always be. The technique is the same, the victim has been targeted with the same desire held accountable for the attack, and the captor’s nature would remain unchangeable throughout the course of history, invariably and unfailingly so triumphing in this task. And always the spider would patiently weave, and always the fly would yield. It has been a process, a sacrament, a ritual of the darkest of animalistic cravings that has never seen divergence, neither has it embraced tolerance or mercy. Thus he moved her slowly up along the long, endless stairs to his baleful, sinister den, and with cold affection laid her upon the mattress, and though she did appear to be free of movement her arms and legs, sprawled, were glued on the tangled web, unable to move, unable to speak; and slowly he crawled closer, hunger seeping through his veins and infecting his viscera with a force so powerful the tidal waves alone could not push it along the current, softly stepping through the evening shadows and past the partly opened window through which silver tendrils of moonlight danced in between the sill and through the atmosphere’s dust, caressing the woman’s figure with its ceremonial light with what appeared to have been an almost sacred devotion, the moonglow traversing across the crescentic lands of her body, up along the line of the mounds and tracing the arch of her neck, as she fell deeply on the arms of Morpheus and allowed him to clasp her with a hold so firm she were to never wake up again. And the spider moved to her from the corner, a smile promising malicious intents surfacing through the dark face with each step he took, the silence almost tangible in the evening’s languor within the den, as warm as the carnal siren melody of sin and as cold as the breezy Libyan night, promising only surrender of the mind to such sirens, promises as sweet and keenly bred to goad the demands of an arrogant beast.

There she lay, quiet and unsuspecting, but though she possessed the status of a victim neither fear nor horror, or naivety had led her to his den; she held no knowledge of her present captivity, the vulnerability which she had brought to her own self through the drunken mirth which had been her own siren melody. There she lay, peaceful and tranquil as he approached, the fly trapped within the cobwebs, the creature captured within his palm, lying upon the soft sheets of the mattress; he had designed the den to perfectly manipulate the victim, for the bed was made of velvety black, the sheets were of silken softness and rose petals had been brutally pulled from their roots to deceive the victim into believing the den was an elegant, rich parlour when it was only ever a carefully mastered trap weaved for the sole purpose of making the fly come closer to its centre. The rose petals were spread around the lair, and once the spider was to dine upon the fly the blood would flow along the crimson corollas, the warm, thick liquid journeying down the spider’s mouth and slowly falling onto the black web. She breathed in blissful unawareness as she deeply slumbered into a state of dreamless nothingness, and closer the spider came, his eight feet creeping slowly towards her and with each step his hunger inflamed, it almost became a burden he had to carry with him, turning into a filthy parasite residing in his viscera, eyes of arctic silver transfixed at the woman’s lying figure, waiting, like a rough, uncut diamond, to be processed into the beautiful ornament it was to become – and ornament to adorn him and nobody else. He would first mine her, break and scrub her, recover her and then process her, before he should finally clean, weigh and prepare her to be used. Then, at the end, he would wear her – wear her in his hand, for she would remain captured within his cold, rough palm, conquered, submitted and exhausted through.

As the passionate, inborn call of hunger and murder raged there was no room for reason, and thus raw instincts turned rampant and drove the captor’s soul with an inevitable, ferocious savagery that would bring down his victim with one simple touch. For hunger is impatient and fierce; hunger does not await or tolerate; it is not mild or kind. It does not insist on a different way; it is not stoppable or unavoidable; it does not rejoice at failure, but rejoices with triumph. Hunger crushes all things, desecrates all things, shames all things, rages all things. The spider smiled with its sly, mirthless smirk as he finally rested beside the sleeping figure, hovering above her, and – suddenly! – flames arose around them and enveloped them with a destructive, unprecedented force as the forest was set on fire, the inferno spread quickly from tree and tree to destroy everything along its vicious way, the blaze having only began as a single flame within the captor’s heart before it had escalated into a wildfire raging through the woodland; the other animals ran for their own safety, but the spider only calmly hovered above his unsuspecting victim. But a strange thing, indeed, for he went against his nature and chose not to dine upon her; rather, those eight feet of his did he stretch and embraced the woman’s body, the spider bringing his face closer to her to taste his possession, the tongue tracing a slow path across her closed eyes to feed from her warmth. Through time the spider would always trick the fly and devour it in his web. But this spider possessed her, arms, arms, the touch of many arms – one, three, six, eight arms – black, venomous and furry, all of them caressing the fly as she further fell into his trap, helpless and powerless, through the evening sun …

Green eyes blinked in the darkness. The woman stared quietly at the ceiling, and it was a moment later that she registered the additional weight upon her stomach; slowly shifting the head she observed a man’s figure lying against her, and a soft frown came to wrinkle her forehead as she breathed calmly, and feeling as if she had just awoken from an endless, dreamless sleep. The first thing she could sense was the terrible headache – like a dozen daggers cutting through the corners of her brain and determinedly on their way to impose more damage as time should pass – and she very slowly lifted her head up, her eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness and fixed upon the man’s faint outline, his serene breathing tingling the skin of her shoulder as he lay by her side with his face pressed against it. The realization that this was the Hauptmann was to break inside her mind only several moments later, and slowly everything was starting to return to her. The social reception, the uncontrollable drinking, the soundless, unfamiliar faces who at this point in time had been branded in her brain physically even if she could hardly remember anything that had passed between them, laughter, strong yellow lights, and then everything had turned black into that moment of continued unconsciousness until she must have finally fallen asleep with all the amount of alcohol she had consumed. Slowly remembering where she was, and how she had ended up in this room, the woman could only feel the burden upon her chest relocating itself lest she should forget that, indeed, the Hauptmann had exploited her and used the knowledge he had slyly acquired as leverage over her. She needed some more time to become used to the fact of not waking up in the barracks, of waking up in this female form and, perhaps most importantly of all, of waking up with a man glued against her like a leech. During those few seconds that passed as she became conscious of where she had been, what she had been doing and where she was now, the woman merely remained in her position until the palm of her hand touched against the fabric of her dress on her stomach, as though to make sure she was indeed dressed, and then reached to touch the man upon the chest, her fingers circling around the material softly. With a weary sigh, she sank low into her pillow, contemplating on the situation, the sky outdoors painted in a brighter shade of a paler blue, although it was still considerably dark.

She could not have been such a fool as to – but, then again, it had not been her own choice and thus how could she have prevented it? Part of the blame, to be sure, lay with her and this she would not deny, for she was angry both at him and at her own self for being entirely unable to hold back on the wine and thus render her helpless to – No. She little by little lifted her head and her hand moved to gently shift the man’s arm off the stomach and slid down by his side, before she slowly turned around and stood up, with a low, aching grumble holding her head as she walked around the bed and finally rested her hands on the edge of the long, wooden table in the other side of the room, her head bowed in soreness and with her eyes closed trying to will the pain away, even if she knew such a thing was only wishful thinking. It was as she opened her eyes, however, that the green irises fixed upon the possession before her, barely discerning it through the darkness through the dusk’s soft light entering from the partly opened window. The belt. She stood quiet as she were, looking at the belt upon the table; the unbuckled belt standing there as if to mock her with its presence. Her eyes shifted, and now she could discern the outline of his shoes by the chair and, once she turned around to lean against the wooden surface, could also distinguish the Luftwaffe tunic laid across the wardrobe’s door, and a knot may have as well formed in her throat, and she pursed her lips. They were there to laugh at her heartily, slap her in the face and jeer at her for having been reduced as a plaything ever since the Hauptmann had discovered her secret; the belt, the shoes and the tunic altogether sneered at and humiliated her, for her present situation, as though the only purpose they existed at the moment was to verify the extent of the exploitation, that indeed the Hauptmann – their owner – held all the power in the world to do with her as he so pleased, whether that was forcing her to attend mindless social receptions or treating her like filth without having to suffer through the consequences that would have otherwise erupted.

In vain did she attempt to remember what had happened, in vain her aching efforts to trace the hours back and recall what had been said and, most significantly, what had passed during the hours in between the time she had been standing upon the Kubelwagen (the memory of this was distant, as though it belonged to a dream she had once seen as a child) and as she had awoken. It was, simply enough, as if her own memories had been robbed off her brain, empty space remaining where any of them should have been, the extent of the alcohol consumption rendering her even more helpless to possess knowledge of the most crucial facts. With an angry sigh she strode across the silent room quietly, and turned the door’s latch as the wood creaked open, and she stared outside. At that moment the landlady chanced to be walking across the hallway on her way downstairs, an early riser such as herself beginning the chores of the day. “Es tut mir leid,” she groaned, and rubbed her forehead with her right hand as she stood by the doorway, the middle-aged, grey-haired lady having stopped at her request, “dass kann ich eine bauchige Weinflasche von Wasser haben?” The other woman nodded briskly and continued walking, before Dirk quickly asked, “Und haben Sie ein Aspirin?”

The landlady stopped, and turned around to look at her, her face emotionless but somehow strict. “Ich kann gerade ein verlassen haben,” she responded in a dry tone, and left.

Dirk could feel the coldness from the floor spread from her bare toes throughout her body, the chill making a shiver run down her spine as she waited by the doorway, her fingers rhythmically massaging her temples in an effort to ease the headache, at the same time as the man was serenely sleeping inside.

The bastard.

In the next few minutes the landlady returned to the door and handed her a jug and a single pill, without a word turning away to leave and see to her duties; Dirk looked at her as she walked away and almost meant to retreat to the room before, suddenly, she took a step forwards. “Sie …” she began, not quite knowing how to appropriately express what she burned to find out, and frowned over this; “… hörten Sie irgendwelche … Töne?”

The landlady turned around slowly, and glanced at her for a moment or two. “Nein, sorgen Sie sich nicht,” she coldly comforted her. “Sie waren sehr ruhig.” And without another word she strode off back into her room, and shut the door.

If the woman had expected to seek comfort through the landlady’s assurances, she was sorely wrong and she was left standing there, by the doorway, holding the jug on one hand and the aspirin on the other, lifelessly, frozen to the spot and with her face an oil painting of emotions – rage, distrust and hatred were there to casually mark her usual mood, lips parted and eyebrows ferociously curved above her eyes, before a scoff of annoyance finally escaped her throat and a fascinating stream of invective oppressed an already aching head, as she walked back and let the door shut closed. She walked to the other end of the room and placed the jug upon the table, immediately throwing the aspirin inside her mouth and pouring the water into an empty glass that stood in the very corner of the table; she had only just washed down the pill when she turned around and looked at him with a fierce glare. The landlady had said one thing and Dirk had understood another, but that did not matter, for had she already not known? She felt a sudden desire to slap the man awake, or throw something particularly heavy on his face, and to prevent herself from doing anything she might regret at a later time she forced herself to turn around and stare at the table, her eyes absentmindedly falling upon her watch. She needed to narrow her eyes and take the watch closer to the window to be able to discern where the thin hands of the watch were placed, at which point she saw the time to be nearing a quarter past five in the early hours of the morning.

With another weary sigh she put the watch back on the table and walked inside the bathroom, not wasting any time to let the hose open as the water was running inside the bath and filling it to the top, the stench of cigarettes and alcohol almost sickening her, not least because it reminded her of the previous night, and anything that reminded her of that was enough to give her an aneurysm. She rubbed her forehead once more and pulled off the dress, throwing it carelessly on the floor as she sat upon the bath’s edge, closing her eyes in an attempt to calm down her disturbed spirits, which in itself proved a rather difficult task as the possibilities came dancing in front of the black space she stared at through the shut eyes. Possibilities that only terminated her identity as Dirk Riedel but also brought a series of uncalled for consequences for her life; this was exactly why she always was careful and cautious enough not to overdo it with alcohol, for the apparent reasons that any drunken mirth that would ensue would render her helpless to letting her identity slip, to have her defenses stripped down to the bone and, of course, something like this. Perhaps it had been something she had pursued during a controversial, more vulnerable part of her life, spending her days in intoxication and cheap entertainment, but that was the past – and though it were so easy to fall into the same state of worthlessness, the woman was armoured with the fierce duties and goals she held so sacred that her ability to discipline herself into abstaining from alcohol and jeopardizing her position as a Leutnant, her brother’s condition and her own family, was indeed almost exemplary. And to have all this shattered in one single night when she suddenly threw caution to the wind was a though so unbearable that she threw herself backwards and splashed into the cold waters, kicking her foot against the other side of the bath in anger and disbelief of her own actions more than the fact the Hauptmann was exploiting the knowledge he possessed.

She remained underwater for the following moments, her eyes shut as though the woman was trying to cleanse herself of the faults she had committed, as though the water alone could prove cathartic and wash away the weakness to alcohol in a time when she could have stopped herself from drinking and therefore control herself more – or actually just remember anything, anything at all. She remained underneath the water long enough to draw bubbles in the surface, until she finally erupted and breathed in deeply, leaning her head against the cold marble and staying there, her chest heaving as she began to contemplate. Was it not really so ridiculous and laughable, how after such a time of staying true to her pursued identity in an effort to avoid any awkward moments or, chiefly, dangerous situations that would allow for suspicion to be ripe, she determinedly stayed clear of alcohol and men (fights was something humanly impossible to discontinue, truth be told), just so that she would be unconscious the only time it would actually chance upon her threshold? Going through with it was bad enough, but going through with it without even being conscious was a double negative. The thought briefly raised a sly smirk in the corner of her lips as she stared at the opposite wall with an absent-minded glance – but then immediately frowned in annoyance and scoffed at herself in disbelief, standing up and climbing out of the bathtub, before she opened the door and looked into the room, her eyes instinctively falling on the man’s lying figure, and she could only glare at that little parasite, before she calmed her nerves and bent to pick up the green dress he had expected of her to wear in the social reception, lying by the bathroom door in its useless, shameful state as yesterday, the woman having humiliated it to the point where she had rendered it worthy of no more than being useful as a bathroom carpet. Nevertheless, she picked it up and began to dry herself with it, standing by the door and glancing at the Hauptmann with an intolerant glare all the while, until she walked back into the bathroom.

When she entered the room again she was wearing the ivory dress and drying her hair with the green dress, throwing him another glance before she walked barefooted to the table and glanced at the watch. It was almost twenty minutes to six and the sky had turned lighter, the silence within the room and in the streets outdoors almost overwhelming in all of its sacred perpetuation. She threw the dress on the floor in a careless move and walked near to her side of the bed, crawling back upon and resting on the mattress next to him with a deep sigh, crossing her legs and staring silently into the ceiling. No, it was useless trying to remember and now all her energy was more focused in controlling the anger that slowly but dangerously simmered within her soul. She moved her head sideways and glanced at him, now noticing the tie wrinkled around his neck or the top two buttons of his shirt opened. They only further confirmed what she was suspecting, and she really was going to have an aneurysm or a stroke anytime now, she could not be saved from either. She turned her head away with an angry growl underneath her face, preferring to stare at the ceiling rather than the man. A few moments passed like this, until her right arm snaked around his neck and rested on the side of his other cheek, green eyes transfixed at the dull image the ceiling provided, before the soft touch turned into a brisk, harmless slap on his face. “Wach auf,” she muttered, and then gave him another slap. “Wach auf!” she insisted, and jumped upright on the bed, her feet touching the floor as she turned to look at him, noticing the man’s eyelids fluttering and his eyes slowing blinking as they opened. “Morgen, Sonnenschein. Tun Sie nicht Sie sehen schön am Morgen aus,” she mocked in a soft tone as she looked at him, before she stood up and walked across the room to the table. She realized she had not really woken up, however, his sleep-addled mind still needing some time to come round, and without wasting a second longer she grabbed the wet green garment lying on the floor and threw it across to his face.

She observed him as he slowly pulled the cloth away, and crossed her arms. “Möchten Sie mich aktualisiert auf den Ereignissen halten? Ich habe Angst ich … in Zonen aufgeteilt einmal,” she said coldly, and walked closer to the table, her fingers easily circling around the strap of leather lying upon it. “Sie wissen, eine Hure, gerade als eine Hure, wird für Dienstleistungen bezahlt, die sie an ihrem Willen tut,” she informed him in a calm tone, and pulled the belt along, tightly held in her fist, as she turned to look at him. But this was how Dirk acted; with deviations came punishment, and that he would have. The woman began to slowly walk across the floor back to the bed until she reached the edge, staring at the man’s figure lying in front of her. She noticed she had received the lion’s share of the bed sheet, how moving! Any ‘gratefulness’, however, would have to be reserved for a different time, for now she was more focused to find out what happened during the time she had been in the reception and when she had woken up. Without another word, the woman effortlessly jumped on the bed and shuffled across the soft, warm mattress, placing her feet each by his side at the height of his stomach and hovering above him like the ruthless Valkyrie she had been in a similar way at their first meeting, ready to inflict punishment upon him for all his wrongdoings. “So wie steht’s mit Ihnen fangen an zu sprechen,” she whispered, her face perfectly calm and stern as she stared down at him. “Wollen Anfang mit dem Wesentlichen wir. Für wie lange war ich unbewusst?” she asked, the belt hanging down by her side as she stood there, trapping him between her legs, until he had nowhere to go, until the only path he was forced to take was one which crossed her unavoidable presence, as wet locks of hair fell loosely by her shoulders, green eyes fixed at his lying figure. And then, without warning, the belt cut briskly through the air and struck at his chest.



Translation

I’m sorry, can I have a jug of water? And do you have an aspirin?

I may have just one left.

Did you … did you hear any … sounds before?

No, don’t worry. You were very quiet.

Wake up. Wake up!

Morning, sunshine. Don’t you look beautiful in the morning.

Would you like to keep me updated on the events? I’m afraid I … zoned out at one point.

You know, a whore, even as a whore, is paid for services she does at her will.

So how about you start talking. Let’s start with the basics. For how long was I unconscious?

[Rolf Jäger]

"Wach auf!"

Something struck Rolf at the side of his face as the the words pierced through his slumber, cutting through its soft texture like a vicious knife and the man woke up with a jolt, his mind still lingering in the realm of dreams while partly also trying to make sense of his surroundings. His thoughts were moving slowly and when he tried to hold on to the reality, he felt his grasp slipping, his eyes still craving to return back to that blissful state of rest he had just been so rudely denied. He cracked his eyes open, squinting them and staring somewhere into nothingness for a few fleeting moments before his gaze caught up with a familiar figure and his mind processed the image for a while, soon informing him that Riedel had woken him up.

Woken him up? Rolf frowned further at the thought, not realizing that he had been sleeping to begin with, for all he could remember was settling momentarily next to the woman, closing his eyes for a few seconds and the next thing Riedel had already slapped him on the face, telling him to... wake up. He realized that he had not enjoyed a good night's sleep for a long while, his time and thoughts having been occupied with the German offensive and recently also by unlocking Riedel's great secret. Besides, he had not slept in a real bed for quite some time now and falling upon the soft mattress next to the woman's warm frame had stripped him of his defences, sleep invading his mind the moment he had closed his eyes. Still, it had been nothing short of idiotic and Rolf blinked in irritation, constantly squinting his eyes at the soft light of dawn sifting through the windowpane. Through this muddled haze he could hear Riedel addressing him once more, wishing him a good morning in a mocking tone and Rolf merely grumbled, rolling around to lie on his back and slowly bringing a hand up to rub his left eye. It was far too late to regret the fact he had fallen asleep and he could now remember that moment he had been running his fingertips along the woman's bare skin, his fingers curling around the buttons of her dress just to pry them open... Yet, for a ridiculous reason which he could not trace to its sources, he had changed his mind and respected the woman enough to allow the buttons remain untouched, meaning to leave her in the room alone to sleep off the effects of the alcohol. But had it truly been respect or some other sentiment that had prevented him from succumbing to his own, lecherous desires? Last night he had been so very close to her powerless body, in a place nobody could disrupt them and furthermore, holding such leverage over Riedel as to render her silent over whatever deeds he might have wished to perform. Why not then, indeed?

Rolf was still trying to find the reason to his latest deeds, or more so, to the lack of them, when something collided forcefully with his face and the man could feel the texture of a damp canvas clinging to his skin. With a disgusted grunt, the man picked up the offensive piece of clothing and lifted it from his face, staring at it with a severe frown as he held it in his hand. It was Riedel's dress, or at least the dress he had meant for her to wear for the evening, yet now the previously flowing green canvas was wrinkled and moist, as if it had been lying in a rather sorry state on the floor for quite some time. Rolf would have certainly felt some measure of anger over her constantly thankless nature had he still not been feeling as sluggish and confused as he was, but in his current state he merely furrowed his eyebrows and dropped the severely abused dress on the floor next to the bed. His gaze shifted back to the woman as she stood nearby, her arms crossed in a decisive manner while she asked him if he'd be inclined to share with her the process of events from the previous night, further admitting that she could not quite remember them. Rolf opened his mouth to answer, but his throat was dry and the sound was caught in his throat, manifesting itself only as a hoarse croak while the man rested his elbow upon the mattress and raised his hand slightly to denote that he had something to say.

Riedel had already turned around and walked towards the table, either not noticing or caring about the man's attempts to answer her question and Rolf tried to clear his throat in an effort to wake up his voice while the woman addressed him again, telling the man that whores expected a payment for services done at their will. The sentence caused Rolf to tilt his head to the side, for he could not understand which services she was talking about and furthermore, which services she had performed at her will. She could not have been referring to Rolf blackmailing her into accompanying him to the reception, for it was certainly something she had been forced to. Then again, he could not think of anything else she might have been referring to, for it was the only even remotely significant event that had come to pass recently. With this confusion written over the man's features, he stared somewhere into the distance, going through the past few days and double-checking for any possible event she might have been referring to, when from the corner of his eyes he saw her walking closer once more. It was just this dangerous gait that swiftly caught his attention and the man soon realized she was carrying a belt in her hand, the leather strip wrapped around her fist. The image was bringing alive painfully recent images of another occasion when she had brandished this same improvised weapon and Rolf felt much more awake now, feeling more than just slightly defenseless, lying on the bed as he currently was.

She pounced upon the bed with the swiftness and ease of a prowling feline and the moment Rolf started contemplating on a hasty retreat, it was already far too late to put that plan into motion. She was standing on top of him, proud and defiant, feet placed on both of his sides to prevent any attempts of a convenient escape. It was a curious reminder from another time and for a moment Rolf could almost feel the blood running down his chin, the dust clinging to his skin and invading his nostrils while she watched down at him, her blonde hair dancing wildly in the breeze, as if the very wind itself had sworn fealty to her power. The situation was different now, yet again, it was really not and Rolf could sense the dangerous strength surrounding Riedel's figure, the white dress hugging her curves like a second skin, just to add those curiously ethereal qualities to her stern authority. Even sensing the hazardousness of the situation, Rolf could not help but allow his eyes to travel slowly upwards, greedily feeding on that enticing image, finding himself hoping that Riedel would have worn a shorter dress to allow him a better view. His grey eyes traced a slow patch upwards her calves and to the small curve of her hips, fondly remembering the moment his hands had travelled over her stomach. His gaze lingered more closely upon her chest, finally reaching the pale skin of her neck, the emerald eyes that stared ferociously at him from the middle of her blonde mane. Had she not been standing there with the obvious intention of defying him, Rolf might have forgotten about her crude way of waking him up and his eyes moved to regard the belt with more than just little suspicion. For a small moment he was not sure whether he should have been feeling exhilarated, worried or both.

She was asking him about the details of the previous night, inquiring how long she had been unconscious, as if Rolf was somehow responsible for her own recklessness. The belt dangled from her hand dangerously and Rolf narrowed his eyes in disbelief as he eyed her makeshift whip, not believing that the woman would dare to use it against him, not in her current situation. He allowed this knowledge to dissolve his confusion and he stared back up at her, a familiar defiance reflecting from his silver eyes as they taunted her to perform the deed and to test the extents of his patience.

He did not need to wait for too long and the thick leather strip soon cut through the air and cut him square on his chest, his thin white shirt providing for little protection against the swift strike. The man grunted, twitching as the pain shot through his skin, injections of small, burning flames travelling through his nerves rapidly. Rolf's eyes widened at the sensation and he held his breath, yet at the same time his other hand was instinctively trying to render the threat harmless and just as the woman was drawing the belt away from his reach, his fingers circled around it tightly, locking the other end of the belt inside his fist. He coughed, feeling the burning pain spreading across his chest, but the next moment his pained expression twisted into a feral sneer and Rolf looked back at her from under his brows, the belt between them tightening enough to make the leather creak. "Sie schlagen mich ein zweites Mal, und ich könnte es zu viel genießen," Rolf growled, the texture of his voice even hoarser than usually due to the dryness of his throat. He felt the urge to rub at his aching chest but forced himself to resist it, for he did not want the woman to know how much the strike had actually hurt.

The man's eyes sparked with untamed anger as he grasped the belt in his hand and allowed a small moment of silence pass between them before he finally spoke. "Sie haben ein echtes verdammt Problem mit dem Stellen von Fragen in der Art, wie normale Leute tun, tun Sie nicht, Riedel?" the irritated man scoffed, his eyes further flashing with contempt over her lack of manners, over the utter foolishness she was demonstrating in her defiance. "Ich würde ein wenig mehr Dankbarkeit von jemandem erwarten, der ihr Trinken für eine Scheiße nicht kontrollieren kann und dann sich wie ein preiswertes Herumtreiberin ausstellt. Oh, sicher könnte ich Sie am Empfang verlassen haben, ich bin sicher dass jemand Ihren äußerst schlaffen Körper interessant genug gefunden hätte. Vielleicht dieser italienische Capitano wer war auf die Verbindung von Ihnen so entschlossen? Ich bin sicher, dass Sie genossen hätten, neben diesem übel riechenden alten Walross zu erwachen, er war so darauf scharf, das Ausmaß seines Wunsches nach dem schönen, Blondine Erika zu demonstrieren," the words were spat out with contempt and Rolf's voice was nothing more but a constant, raspy growl. "Sie möchten wissen was geschah gestern Abend? Ich werde Ihnen nachgeben," the man arched his scarred eyebrow, tilting his head to the side as he continued looking up at her. "Nachdem Sie getan wurden, singend, stolpernd und wie ein betrunkener Idiot lachend, kletterten Sie oben auf dem Kubelwagen, um noch einige zu tanzen und zu singen, ich half Ihnen unten, und Kronberg trieb uns zurück hier. Sie fielen auf dem Bett wie ein Sack von Kartoffeln und schliefen seitdem. Wie viele Stunden Sie unbewusst waren, kann ich nicht sagen, ich habe die Chance nicht gehabt, die Zeit zu überprüfen, weil der Moment, durch den ich erweckte, jemand griff mich mit einem verdammt Riemen an!" Rolf's grey eyes widened momentarily at the statement.

He could not believe that the woman had possessed the gall to assault him, or to insult him the way she had the previous night, no matter how drunken she had been. Rolf knew he should have simply stopped playing this game and brought upon the woman the suffering she was constantly begging for, but he realized this was not the first time this very sentiment had passed through his mind, only to have it rendered futile by some invisible force he could not understand. Just what kind of defiance from the woman did he require to remain stern in that decision? Just how much hatred was he required to store within him to cast aside that nagging little sentiment that had latched to his insides, rendering him weak and driving him insane at the same time? These questions did not stop the man from glaring at Riedel in a hateful manner while he attempted to whip the snarling beast within him to its full frenzy, hoping to hear its familiar howl of hunger ringing within him once more and to have its hungry song drive him into feral acts of vengeance. He soon noticed that he was trying for vain and something shifted slowly in the man's expression, a crooked smirk creeping up to his lips to cover for this slight. "Sie sollten sich an Ihren Platz erinnern, Riedel. Das ist hier unten, nicht dort," the man growled between clenched teeth and tugged at the belt decisively, twisting words she had once spoken to him in a very similar situation. Rolf's eyes glinted with brief amusement while he stared at the woman and he smirked more openly, his hold of the belt firm and dominant.


Translations:

"Sie schlagen mich ein zweites Mal, und ich könnte es zu viel genießen."
"You hit me a second time and I might start enjoying it too much."

"Sie haben ein echtes verdammt Problem mit dem Stellen von Fragen in der Art, wie normale Leute tun, tun Sie nicht, Riedel?"
"You have a real fucking problem with asking questions in the way normal people do, don't you, Riedel?"

"Ich würde ein wenig mehr Dankbarkeit von jemandem erwarten..."
"I'd expect a little more gratitude from someone who can't control their drinking for shit and then goes on to expose herself like a cheap tramp. Oh, certainly, I could have left you at the reception, I'm sure someone would have found your utterly limp body interesting enough. Maybe that Italian Capitano who was so intent on marrying you? I'm sure you would have enjoyed waking next to that smelly old walrus, he was so keen on demonstrating the extent of his desire for the lovely, blonde Erika."

"Sie möchten wissen was geschah gestern Abend..?"
"You wish to know what happened last night? I'll indulge you. After you were done singing, stumbling and laughing like a drunken idiot, you climbed on top of the Kubelwagen to dance and sing some more, I helped you down and Kronberg drove us back here. You fell on the bed like a sack of potatoes and slept ever since. How many hours you were unconscious, I can't say, I haven't had the chance to check the time because the moment I woke up, someone assaulted me with a fucking belt!"

"Sie sollten sich an Ihren Platz erinnern, Riedel. Das ist hier unten, nicht dort."
"You should remember your place, Riedel. It's down here, not up there."

[Dirk Riedel]

The woman looked down at him with a cold, severe and emotionless expression written across the sharp angles of her facial features as he responded in his usual insolent tone, words which neither offered her any information as to the things she had requested to know, nor, by extension, satisfied her curiosity – her necessity to learn. He had grasped the other end of the belt to prevent her wrath, as if that action alone was enough to halt his punishment, and she did not react. He continued by commenting on her complete lack of manners and rather problematic approach in her pursuing of answers, his irritation visible through the stark quality of his tone, the face that stared back at her with annoyance, the grey eyes that glinted with indolent ill-intention. Irritation, indeed? If he was irritated he had no idea what she was, and were he not to speak straightforwardly to her over the events which had unfolded during the previous hours her anger and growing intolerance would let him know exactly how serious she was with regard to this issue. There was nothing to stop her from implementing any form of punishment upon his thoughtless, uncaring soul who exerted such whimsical power on the call of his own predominantly abusive nature and the authority which such power armoured him with; should it have happened the way she was presently suspecting then, apparently, punishment seemed a rather useless action, unless she wanted to simply inflict that pain on him as means of revenge. “Der normale Weg um Fragen zu stellen redet normale Leute an, und Sie sind nicht einer von ihnen,” she told him simply, and watched down at him with an unceasing but controlled severity.

She wondered whether he would actually speak of the events or simply beat about the bush just so he could jest at her and enjoy her complete lack of knowledge, playing around with her headache and threatening to push her to the edge of her patience and tolerance – when, in the very next moment, his words shed a little more light, ridiculous enough to believe she should have felt ‘gratitude’ over his grand generosity of manners, and she could not help but question herself whether he truly held this most absurd impression or if this was simply another way to ridicule and mock her. Her eyes glinted with something inside that much resembled recognition as he mentioned the words ‘cheap tramp’, but that small touch of her affected countenance was only ever limited to that brief glint without truly appearing in her otherwise deadly calm exterior, her face a statue of emotions overriding one another and yet at the same time intertwining to form one catastrophic mass entity, anger, hatred and the thirst for revenge. He spoke of how someone was bound to find her idle body interesting enough to use and abuse it, and, ironically enough, these words, without his knowledge, hit too close to home and she looked at him with a determinedly controlled expression through her forbidding face, but something had stung her – something stung into the rim of her heart and momentarily grasped it with icy fingers and sent a fleeting eletric shock through the surrounding region, but the next moments the fingers retreated and an embittered trace could be barely visible through the green eyes staring back at him. The inner contemplation was interrupted when he mentioned the Italian Capitano and the woman could only narrow her eyes and curve her eyebrows in both confusion and contempt, and she definitely did not remember any such requests being forwarded in person, at which point she understood that the Italian must have spoke such absurdities to the Hauptmann whilst they were addressing her.

She easily ignored that when the man heartily told her he should indulge her as to the events and her grip around the belt’s length tightened in anticipation, the end of which his own hand firmly grasped, irises slightly widening as she stared back down at him. Singing, dancing, raving intoxication, and her eyes faintly gleamed in mild surprise as he mentioned she had climbed upon the Kubelwagen and began dancing, but it was hardly surprise in its purest form, more so recognition, signaling that the woman was perfectly conscious of such actions best identified to her inebriated nature. She was not truly surprised, but indeed, how strange it were that she could remember none of these, as though someone else had taken possession of her body and was to be held accountable for all the deeds, memories robbed off her mind once the external soul occupying her had departed. Still, this was not a fresh sentiment but she felt it anew, not entirely certain whether it was a welcome feeling or simply strange. He described her state during the time of her heavy intoxication in a most believable fashion and she had no trouble in having confidence in his words, and a small thought passed through her mind – that, perhaps, everything had simply conspired against her – the belt, the tunic, the shoes by the table – in their otherworldly, conniving effort to bring about her disquiet, on purpose spawning these suspicions with the only intent to spread more anguish within an already tormented soul. It might have even been as if the Hauptmann, for the first time showing genuine responsibility and respect, had placed his possessions accordingly and laid down to rest, despite that, during the night, these possessions had moved and misplaced themselves secretly, smirking at one other as the shoes whispered to the tunic to quickly lie upon the wardrobe’s door, and the tunic in turn made sure that the belt had unbuckled itself from the owner’s waist to quietly slither along the bed in all of its vicious immorality, crawl down on the floor and then snake up on the table’s surface, curling its tail around itself and patiently waiting for the moment that its target – the woman – would find it there as it would then spread its poison inside her mind.

Until his final words were spoken to crush the fleeting, however cold, comfort that passed through her spine as she had attempted to persuade herself that, perhaps, she had been wronging him in her suspicions, and she stared back into the grey abyss of his mocking eyes.

Silence passed between them as she merely looked down at him, a rush of uncontrollable rage seeping through her veins with a maniacal force and in vain would she have attempted to extinguish or lessen the intensity, if indeed that had been her wish – but it had been far from this, and she allowed the flames of wrath and fury grow tenfold inside her, internally growing and externally shown through the small veins popping in her hands, or as her muscles tensed. It was just too obvious, was it not, and he had only just confirmed it in his own way. The possessions had not simply placed themselves in the position she found them out of their own will, and the man had not been found pressed against her simply because he felt a shudder in the evening breeze. After all, was it really so difficult to pull the thin blanket upon him? The intense doubts and growing suspicions the woman had fed from had now been made solid, undeniable facts that slapped her across the face with a force so brisk, sharp and unexpected that she could only remain quiet, eyebrows relaxed in an almost too forceful way in an effort to further goad her fury from within before it unfurled upon the man’s direction, merciless as it would be unforgiving. And, quietly, as though she yielded to his last words she slowly came down, calmly, her bent knees touching against the soft mattress and each by his side where her feet had formerly been, hovering in the shortened distance above him as she carefully glanced at him, her grasp of the upper part of the belt relentless, as his was firm. Very well; if he was going to twist her words so could she. “Oh, ich merke keinen Weg,” she said softly. “Obwohl ich zugebe, leider für Sie … ziehe ich es vor zu sein, wo ich jetzt bin,” she informed him in a calm tone, and she did not even know herself whence such composure of voice and movement arose, considering the inner turmoil of her thoughts and emotions, but it was only ever the calm before the storm – and a thunderstorm it would be. Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, her free hand lunged forwards and snatched him from his head, long, lean but strong fingers twirling around his hair with a brutal strength as she forced his head to near closer to hers, her breathing still calm as she stared at him openly, daringly and without a trace of hesitation or apprehension. She brought him close enough to feel his warm breath tingling her face, close enough to trace the distant taste of wine in his throat and – damnation! – insufferably close that their lips almost touched, but alas, her intentions were darker than what he might have desired her to pursue, her eyes fixed not upon the line of the lips but on his eyes, gazing into that endless abyss, drawn inside the blanket of mystifying silver beneath which lay the secrets of his nature, the truth of his own intentions.

Her gaze fell across the entire face, holding him captive against her and refusing to relax her hold, the other hand still firmly glued around the strap of leather. “Die Notwendigkeit, dazwischen zu wählen, neben einem übel riechenden alten Walross oder einer schmutzigen, ungehorsamen Promenadenmischung aufzuwachen. Sind nicht ich die glücklichen,” she spoke in a low, soft voice as she glanced at him in that superior, stern countenance, and further observed him, examined and assessed him, but also furthermore prodded her own imminent wrath, allowing it to simmer before it would unleash itself from the volcano like burning lava running alongside her body to envelop him, burn through his skin and exterminate him, forever, as he would be lost and forgotten, unwanted and unloved, but most of all, never missed. Then, with a fierce, unyielding move she snatched the belt away from his grasp, and so forbidding, so savage and unquestioning this simple action was that the strip leather cut through the air as it flapped to her direction, hanging down by her side at the same time as she violently pushed his head away back into the pillow and slowly rose like a newborn Aphrodite from the waves of the sea to finally look down upon him once more, trapping and encircling him between her steel columns, in her inevitable wrath.

“Wenn Sie anfangen, es das zweite Mal zu genießen, sich die große Unterhaltung vorstellen, fühlen Sie sich, sobald ich durch bin,” she warned him in that same soft voice, and a mirthless, cold smile came to curve the corner of her lips, eyes of green staring down at him with no mercy or remorse. Slowly, she moved her right leg and rested it upon his stomach, in the same fashion as she had once performed what appeared to have been, indeed, many years in the far distance, and she quietly traced an achingly slow path along his thorax, her chest heaving higher with each step her foot made as though to express her growing intolerance, the anger that was building up and threatened to bring a state of chaos within that wretched room of the old city, until the bare foot of that pale leg came to a stop in between his collarbone, and violently applied pressure to sink him lower into the mattress, that single motion hateful and enforcing, as she quietly watched him with eyes open wide to thoroughly perceive him. “Ich werde Sie zerstören, Jäger,” she promised him in a quiet, unassuming voice, the clarity of intentions and honesty of carrying out this task perceivable through her progressively severe face, the jaw that was hardened, the stiff lines of her face and the hawk-eyed briskness of her expression, the sheer power the foot exerted upon his unfortunate body and the pressure she maintained against his otherwise strong frame, that viciously resolute balance she perfectly excelled in through the religious silence. It was a moment later, with her head slightly bowed down to observe him, that she moved the foot on its northern journey, softly up the strong, almost admirably so, arch of his neck, across the Adam’s apple as she felt the veins from within, and with her toe pulsating with the motion as he swallowed, before the foot rose and rested at the side of his face, at first gently, but then crushing his cheek with redundant strength as she pressed it sideways and forced the other side of his face against the pillow and made it sink lower into the material. She watched him in revered silence, unsmiling, threatening and unforgiving. “Werde ich barmherzig sein?” she whispered, and her eyes sharpened, transfixed upon his figure.

And then, the violent motion cut through the air, sharp as a razor and brisk as paper, as the belt struck again against his torso, brutally so and no longer merciful and harmless as the first hit had been. Finally the wrath had been unleashed and the perfectly calm face was distorted into a mask of feral detestation, eyebrows fiercely curved over eyes narrowed, gleaming with primitive savagery, standing there, like a raw uncut diamond, refusing to be processed, refusing to be broken. She flogged him, and with each strike her anger fueled, with each time the belt hit against his thorax growing in severity and pain. Again she struck with no mercy, no quarter given and no sympathy; again she punished him, disciplined him, fixed him as if he was nothing else but a scrap of metal which at some point had been awfully twisted by human hand. With her face malformed into nothing but a statuesque illustration of irrepressible anger and hatred, and lips pursed with disgust, she flogged him again and again, to the point where her breath grew laborious, where her foot pressed him deeper into the pillow that absorbed the muffled voices and the bed creaked under the weight, the leather hitting through the white fabric upon his thorax and around his chest, and when she finally pulled her hand away she was breathless, a groan drawn out of her throat with the final strike, her chest heaving arduously up and down, her throat dry and thirsty. She let the foot slide off his face and touch on the mattress next to him as she leaned slightly forwards, the belt dropping on the bed, to press her right hand against the wall in front of her in support, resting the side of her head on the arm, bowed downwards to stare at him.

“Werden Sie sich umdrehen, oder muss ich Sie zwingen?” she whispered, her tone nothing short of breathless.


Translation

The normal way for asking questions addresses normal people, and you aren’t one of them.

Oh, I don’t mind either way. Although I admit, unfortunately for you … I prefer to be where I am now.

Having to choose between waking up next to a smelly old walrus or a filthy, disobedient mutt. Aren’t I the lucky one.

If you start enjoying it the second time, imagine the great entertainment you’ll feel once I am through.

I will destroy you, Jäger.

Shall I be merciful?

Will you turn around or do I have to force you?

[Rolf Jäger]

A dangerous silence passed between them, the room suddenly adopting an ominous chill that wrapped its tendrils around them, their cold and hostile gazes meeting with the intensity of a rising storm. The woman's expression remained calm and unchanged, yet something sparked within her green eyes, a flame that reflected faintly through the mirror of her irises and Rolf knew that his words had hardly pleased the woman. He could not understand why she should feel so offended by his answer, for Rolf was not responsible for her drunken acts and he had answered her questions truthfully, even when her manner of posing the question had been offensive at best. If she was distraught by the fact that Rolf had fallen asleep next to her, that was certainly something she should have felt thankful for; she could have ended up far more worse and she still could, for Rolf was certain that his mind was only experiencing a temporary malfunction. He knew not what manner of foreign power had locked his desire into such a confining cage and rendered him unable to go through with something that had been left unfinished upon their first meeting, but he was going to get rid of it soon enough. Rolf tilted his head to the side the moment he felt the belt sternly held between them loosening, the woman crouching down in a slow, almost seductive manner and even though he could plainly sense the danger hidden beneath that one, simple movement, he found himself holding his breath at the sight. He would have enjoyed nothing more but grasping the woman by her hips and pulling her against his own frame and enjoying feeling the warmth of her body through the thin canvas of his shirt. Still, she did not release her hold of the belt and Riedel merely observed him, Rolf's eyes remaining upon her stern features while his heart was beating faster, the flames of desire consuming him from the inside.

She twisted his words in a manner that had seemed to become a game between them; recalling words once spoken and fitting them to another situation, both of them attempting to sting at each other like two fighting scorpions, their poisonous barbs constantly raised as they searched for a weakness within each other's armour. Her poisonous sting brought up a small, crooked smile upon Rolf's lips and he grunted in a mildly amused manner, his own fingers also still decisively curled around the leather belt. Riedel's hand shot out towards him suddenly, grasping him by the hair and causing the man's lopsided smirk to evaporate as he grimaced at the agony that had suddenly taken over his scalp. The stinging, sharp pain raised a muffled grunt to his lips and Rolf transformed it into a violent sneer, not fighting back and only staring straight into her viridian irises, his own grey eyes still full of defiance and pride, while the desire still lurked close beneath the surface, not scattered even by the woman's violent gesture. She forced his head closer to hers and Rolf could feel her breath upon his own skin, the woman's lips moving ever closer until they hovered right in front of his and only a small shift of his head would have been required to reach them. Of course, at the current moment he was completely unable to change the position of his head with Riedel's strong fingers still curled around his hair, so he merely stared at her, breathing out slowly, hungrily.

Her insult was lost on Rolf, for his attention was completely occupied by her actions and he stared at the woman as if she was a vision of divinity, descended from amidst the misty clouds of Mount Olympus to wage her will upon the mortals, be it either hostile or benign. A low, ravenous growl was already forming within his throat when Riedel suddenly pushed his head against the pillow, changing that growl into a brief grunt and it was too late, too late for him to act when he felt the belt being ripped from his grasp, the side of the leather strip cutting viciously against his fingers in the process. He could hear the belt snapping as its swift movement through the air came to a stop and Rolf's eyes widened momentarily as he saw the woman rising up, once more governing over him with the same ferocious, merciless quality he had already witnessed in her. That expression always ended up in something painful and as she glared down at him from her heights, Rolf knew well that agony was only a few brief steps away, his muscles instinctively tightening in anticipation. She addressed him with cold, violent words, bringing her other foot up and settling it against his stomach, a quick flash of a memory passing through Rolf's mind as he remembered this same event from another time, only then it had been the heel of her shoe digging into his skin. Feeling powerless and almost drunken, he allowed her foot to start its leisurely, scrawling path up from its starting position towards his chest. His heart was racing ever faster, thumping almost painfully against his ribcage as he felt her foot slowly passing over it, coming to a stop at his collarbones and commandingly proceeding to push him down against the mattress. Riedel promised that she would destroy him and Rolf looked at her through that haze of lust, knowing that he was allowing a poisonous snake to curl around his body just to quench the life out of him, yet he could not bring himself to stop it and he merely stared at her, in his mind welcoming such a destruction if it would only allow him to see what it would feel like. His eyes glinted with this desire when she allowed her foot to continue on its due course, travelling almost gently over his throat and he swallowed, his eyes half-closed as he observed her, Riedel's burning hatred scorching his skin through hers. Her foot came to a slow stop at the side of his face and Rolf tilted his head slightly to the side with this movement, yielding to it even when the look in his grey eyes remained as hungry and proud as always.

Suddenly the pressure on the side of his face became more demanding and Rolf grunted when he felt his head pushed against the pillow and he could almost hear the tired muscles on his neck creaking and cracking under the force of her foot. Rolf's hand moved instinctively to grasp at her ankle, for even though he felt only mere discomfort over the light pain, he found himself having trouble breathing when his face sunk into the soft pillow. Riedel was asking him whether she should be merciful or not and by now Rolf was slowly starting to snap out of his salacious entrancement, the promise of pain suddenly having changed from a silent whisper into a loud growl. He could hear the sound of the belt cutting through the air just before the strike caught him in his chest, for a fraction of a second rendering his skin numb, just to have the pain enflame and spread across it like an uncontrolled wildfire. He grunted in pain, but the sound was muffled by the pillow and on a pure instinct he brought a hand to his chest to grasp at the afflicted area, just to have another vicious strike of the belt hit the back of his hand, the rest of the belt continuing to still clash against his chest. Rolf shut his eyes with a grimace, still reeling over the force of the second strike when a third one hit him, another pained growl lost somewhere into the soft, oppressing mass of the pillow. Riedel's foot was pushing his head against it even more violently than before and Rolf's neck was complaining loudly in protest, while his chest was in flames, the following strikes registered only faintly over this continuous, throbbing agony as nothing more but sharper and clearer stabs of burning torment. He found himself having trouble breathing, yet his lungs demanded him to draw breath deeply each time another strike hit home and the air he managed to inhale soon escaped from between his lips in another uncontrolled groan of pain.

All of the sensations were melding into a curious state of existence, woven into a patchwork quilt he could examine at his leisure, and he could observe it closely, concentrating on one part at a time. He could feel the side of the thick leather belt biting into his skin through the shirt, like the vicious claws of some hungry beast clasping upon his flesh, wishing to rip open his ribcage and to feast on his insides. Riedel's foot pressed against the side of his face felt curiously cool, yet its pressure was violent and determined, not offering him even the slightest chance of escape lest he'd choose to crack his neck. Small flames danced upon his chest and the pain had now shifted from the initially precise and sharp sensations to that of having a bucket of hot coals dumped all over his skin. Time had lost its meaning, as had place, reason and substance; Rolf Jäger no longer existed and he was merely a nameless man; a tortured soul thrust into the middle of the raging fires of Hell. For a moment he truly believed that there was indeed no escape and no reprieve in that scorching existence his mind had succumbed into.

He was drawn back into reality the moment he could no longer feel another strike falling upon him and slowly the pressure upon the side of his face eased, the fresh air flooding into his nostrils and into his open mouth suddenly feeling like a rare commodity. Rolf's aching chest was heaving up and down rapidly, the sandy hair on his forehead clinging to his skin with sweat and the man cracked his eyes open the moment he could breathe once more, his gaze wide from disbelief. It was a sensation much similar to that of waking up, when one's mind shifted from one world to another, and the man's grey eyes had to search for the woman's countenance for a small while before they finally found it. Riedel was resting a hand against the wall, breathing heavily from the exertion and anger and Rolf managed to hear her words only barely as she asked him if he would turn around on his own will of whether she should force him. The man blinked, mouth hanging open as the still fresh pain crisscrossed over his chest and his hands moved up slowly, carefully touching the shirt and flinching away the moment he felt the pain worsening on that touch. Only now did he realize just what had come to pass, that the woman had punished him for whatever offense he did not remember inflicting upon her, and that she was meaning to continue still, expecting Rolf to cower in pain and fear. He understood this, yet he was still far too stunned to either answer her or to act on anything decisive, the man's breathing coming in short, labored gasps as his fingers curled around the canvas of his white shirt.

The grasp of the man's fingers became almost pained and his eyebrows curved into a confused frown as he opened up two more buttons from the shirt and pulled the canvas aside, just so that he might be able to glance at the damage she had caused. The skin underneath his shirt was dabbled with several small moles, much as the rest of him was, yet now his chest was also decorated by long, reddish welts, some shorter and thicker, while others streaked through the entire width of his chest. The thin metallic chain of his identity disc lay across his throat, but the identification tag itself had shifted to the side and eventually disappeared somewhere behind his neck, not having been caught between the belt and his skin. Rolf blinked as he stared at the sight, breathing out sharply in nothing but confusion and disbelief and he slowly raised his gaze up, his silver eyes still alive with these same sentiments as they caught hers. He could not understand what he had done to deserve this, yet his mind was also trying to come to terms with the actual offense of her deed, for she was in a situation where such an act would have brought her nothing but her own doom. Through that tumult of his thoughts a more familiar sentiment sparked and the beast bared its teeth at the woman, no longer cowering in pain. its jaws already fast at work at its leash and biting through it with a furious snarl.

This shift within Rolf's core was nothing more but a brief spark, but by the time that small hateful flash had passed through his silver irises, his hand had already shot out to grasp her ankle while he bolted sitting upright on the bed, his head colliding with the woman's stomach and his entire body twisting in an effort to bring Riedel down. The pain had sent adrenaline flowing through his veins and he cared not if his movements were not fluid or graceful, his entire frame set to work with nothing but brutal efficiency. He pulled at her ankle to disturb her balance, while his other arm pushed her from the mid-torso to another direction and towards the unoccupied side of the bed. Rolf succumbed into this fray with all of his might, not caring about the damage she might have inflicted upon him in the process, his already pained body hardly registering her attempts of defence and his only thought that of bringing her down and of rendering her harmless. It was only expected that she should fight back and Rolf brought his head away from her as far as possible after she had fallen upon the mattress next to him. He caught her wrist as he crawled and stumbled closer in those fast seconds, the man's knee pushing against her thigh to better lock her down. If a strike caught him across his face, he could not register it, his rage now consuming all the pain inflicted upon him in this moment or the past and urging it into a savage frenzy. He pushed his frame on top of hers to render her harmless and to capture her against the mattress, his other hand pressing her wrist against the bed while the other one was trying to find the woman's free hand, recognizing its danger. He saw it coming towards his face and he had only enough time to haphazardly snatch her by the forearm, the man sneering as he strained his muscles and forced her hand to remain at a distance away from him. Rolf had ended up lying half on top of her, both of his hands occupied in keeping hers at bay, while he pushed his hip against her thighs to pin the woman in her place.

The man's breathing was heavy and fast, his grey eyes staring at her wildly, violently, that familiar mad glint residing in them for that small moment when he was still not certain if the struggle had been won or not. Rolf swallowed, his heart beating rapidly within his red-streaked chest as he stared at her, knowing that he should have destroyed her then and there, to attack her with ferocity she could not repel and which would see her humiliated, used for his own whims. The hatred inside him burned savage and bright and that image felt final and decisive... yet when he blinked, it had become obscured and he was no longer certain of what he wanted. Still, it did little to lessen the extent of his anger and he bared his teeth at her as he spoke. "Was zum Teufel mit Ihnen falsch ist, Riedel? Sind Sie wirklich dass selbstzerstörerisch? Vielleicht sind Sie noch betrunken und wissen gerade etwas besser nicht!" the man growled and he felt his voice grating the insides of his dry throat when he spoke, a more mundane feeling of thirst briefly visiting his mind. His chest was still heaving from both the pain and from the struggle and he had to give himself some time to catch his breath before he spoke again, the grasp of his hands ever relentless and firm. "Offenherzig brauche ich nicht wirklich zu wissen, was das war, aber es war das endgültig Vergehen, das ich von Ihnen nehmen! Endgültig!" the man spat out with furor. "Sie so viel als Blick auf mich falsch und werden Sie finden, dass es viel leichter ist, aus Afrika verladen zu werden, als das hier kommen sollte. Ich kann nicht ehrlich erzählen, welche Dinge innerhalb Ihrer Meinung, Riedel weitergehen, und ich nicht weiß, warum Sie fanden, dass das eine richtige Weise ist, durch jemanden zu erwecken, aber mich für Ihren Mangel an der Selbstdisziplin nicht verantwortlich machen," the man's eyes flashed in a hostile manner, but by this time his breathing had calmed down somewhat and he narrowed his eyes at her, as if contemplating something.

He did not really want to expose himself to her violence by being as careless as he had been so far, but he needed to know if she had understood his words and whether she believed them, for another offense such as this one would have certainly brought this continuously infuriating game to an abrupt end. He hesitated for a few fleeting seconds, but then his grasp around her wrist and her arm lightened gradually, until he had moved his hands away, pushing himself into a sitting position on the bed and holding his breath as that movement reminded him of the welts across his skin. He brought a hand up to his chest without thinking about it and the pain caused him to momentarily furrow his eyebrows, yet the next moment Rolf already regarded Riedel from under his brows, his gaze intent and hostile.


Translations:

"Was zum Teufel mit Ihnen falsch ist, Riedel..?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Riedel? Are you really that self-destructive? Maybe you are still drunk and just don't know any better!"

"Offenherzig brauche ich nicht wirklich zu wissen, was das war, aber es war das endgültig Vergehen, das ich von Ihnen nehmen! Endgültig!"
"Frankly, I don't really need to know what that was, but it was the final offense I'll take from you! Final!"

"Sie so viel als Blick auf mich falsch und werden Sie finden, dass es viel leichter ist, aus Afrika verladen zu werden..."
"You so much as look at me wrong and you'll find that it's much easier to get shipped out of Africa than it was to get here. I can't honestly tell what kind of things go on inside your mind, Riedel, and I don't know why you felt this is a proper way of waking someone up, but don't blame me for your lack of self-control."

[Dirk Riedel]

With a heave she stared down at him, her pant nothing but a sweet promise of a bitter effort she was to execute within the next moment, eyes of celadon green transfixed at the lying figure below her, upon the mattress, and expecting nothing else of him but to yield to her demand, for he deserved no more refined treatment than was he were to receive at the wake of dawn as the newborn rays of sunshine first began to tease the wide pale blue firmament before they were to embrace it wholeheartedly and let day resume its call in that preordained natural transcendence. At the moment, however, a faint tendril of glow entered the room through the window and cast its pale light upon the dark wardrobe, or the dusty surface of the old wooden table standing against the wall. The woman did not expect of him to turn around but at this particular moment she was not thinking of tending to the task herself, rather opting to give herself a rather short interval to regain her breath but always determined, nonetheless, to go through with the task at hand. She closed her eyes momentarily in a fleeting moment’s worth of repose, but at the time she opened them she felt fingers looped around her ankle; it all happened rather quickly for her to respond to – although, indeed, her response would have in any case been moderate considering her disadvantaged position – and she did not quite realize how it came to be, but a sheer force pulled her and sent her flying downwards onto the mattress, where she fell.

She flailed her arms about, eyes widened in shock and disbelief, and any reaction she would have made was quickly obstructed by the magnitude of his power enforced upon her, feeling his weight against her as he pressed his frame against her subdued form and held on to her, locking her one wrist and the other forearm to hinder her from an attack at the same moment as she instinctively raised it to strike him across the face and pull him away. A low growl escaped her throat as she glared at his hovering figure above, breathing heavily and with her eyebrows fiercely furrowed to further accentuate the extent of her wrath and intolerance as she openly glared at him, lips parted to breathe in the air her lungs sought for and swallowing down when her throat complained in all of its dryness. Her chest rose and fell with the movement as she gazed at him with no end, expecting the movement to turn into a violent pillaging of what the man assumed were his own rightful possessions he had claimed as spoils of a war he had come victorious in, and her eyes narrowed, they became aggressive in the same way a canine reacted upon the first sign of threat, the curves in each corner of her lips lined to form an expression of disapproval and discontent – but, rather, the man chose to speak to her, his visage as belligerent and menacing as she knew him capable of being, words harshly spoken with the brisk capacity such as their owner possessed, words that cut through the air and pierced through her mind in their warning quality, which lightly scorched upon her skin and threatened to execute the task at full length until nothing should remain of her but ashes on the floor. She knew not how exactly it had come to be so, but she could no longer ignore his threats; perhaps it was the finality in his tone which rendered her perfectly conscious as to the implementation of his threats and their true nature, as though the woman was for the first time registering in what hole she had been pushed through, her situation inescapable as it was foreboding. She gazed back at his rabid grey eyes, and felt the strong frame relentlessly pressed against her form and the warmth which transcended his skin unto hers, at the same time as, almost sardonically enough, the coldness of his words slapped her rudely across the face.

Her eyes fixated at nowhere in particular once he moved, and she remained in her position, unresponsive and very still, her mind racing as she contemplated, feeling his intense gaze burning onto her form but unable to shift her head sideways and return the gesture. A few moments passed during which she simply lay in silence, eyes staring at the empty space in front of her, and yet not really staring, as though she would be looking through the fog, as though that very sense had been lost to her. It was only several minutes later that she finally raised herself from the mattress, very slowly, and stood up, her feet shuffling on the floor as she walked towards the wooden table and poured some water from the jug into the glass. Drinking from it felt to have been the most refreshing thing she had done in the last few days, and yet she did not completely indulge herself aside from a gulp or two, as her eyes fell upon the packet of cigarettes lying in the very corner of that table, formerly concealed to her by the shadows and now eventually revealed as the light rays of sunshine and dust glimmered upon its wretched state. Green eyes glanced at it almost with surprise to have found them there, forgotten and lost in the darkness, and she lost no time in snatching the packet to pull a single cigarette and light it.

Turning sideways, she threw a brief glance at the man as she breathed in the smoke, and slowly walked back to him, climbing on the mattress and positioning herself in the same way he was sat, lying upright with her back against the wall on her side, one arm carelessly on her lap and the other holding the cigarette as she glanced into nothingness, and contemplated. Her eyebrows slightly curved at the process, and her mind was consumed in thoughts – thoughts and assessments – before, without a word, and with her eyes still fixed upon something rather uninteresting in the wall opposite her, she pulled her hand and shifted it to his side, bringing the cigarette in front of his lips so that the man should draw in from the tobacco roll; he did not even need to lift a finger, for so close did she bring her hand that only a minimal stir of the head sufficed to reach the cigarette, and she let him take a deep drag, before she retracted her hand to draw in from the tobacco herself. She did not utter any word as the moments passed in this manner, shifting her arm every now and then as each smoked in turn, but not once did she turn her head to glance at him, her mind too absorbed in her estimations. He had claimed how she had merely slept through the fatigue of her intoxicated state, that he had not exploited the chance otherwise befitting his education and stature, and the woman could now reflect on his words and reaction, the irritation, the disbelief of his punishment, telling her only of his genuine incapacity to understand this, on the grounds that he had not acted in the way she had believed him to, in the first place. That thought alone was enough to calm her spirits, and her chest now heaved more peacefully than before as realization dawned on her, and slowly did she finally turn her head sideways to glance at the man.

The gaze was only ever broken when she turned around to extinguish the shortened end of the cigarette on the makeshift ash tray by the bedside table, before she turned back to him, and though before her eyes had glanced at anything but him now remained transfixed upon his frame, unable as she was to tear them away from his sight. Slowly she crawled closer, the palms of her hands supporting the movement as she brought herself nearer to his figure, until she could feel the side of his arm touching against her own. “Sie haben vor mir zu erzählen, dass Sie die Chance des Schicksals hatten, jemanden ohne irgendwelche direkten Folgen zu missbrauchen, und Sie wurden blind dazu?” she asked softly, and moved closer. “Sie haben vor mir zu sagen, dass Sie gegen Ihre beleidigende Natur, durch Ihre Launen und endlose Launen und vanities kämpften, und abfuhren? Und Sie haben vor mir zu sagen,” she whispered, and her face moved close enough that her breath tingled his ear, “dass das einzige Ding, das Sie tun wollten, neben mir und Schlaf im Laufe der Nacht einfach liegen sollte?” And as she leaned in by his side, she could not help but look at him with mild curiosity and some other warm sentiment whose nature she could not know at this moment even if she attempted to explore these strange feelings consuming her entire length and prodding her to react in this way, even through the threats she had received, through his obstinate character and through the cruel promises she knew could come to pass.

Her left hand shifted to the side of his face, and the forefinger traced a slow line across his cheek as she observed him, all signs of wrath and hatred that had formerly consumed her now vanished into nothingness, where they were to remain for the moment. “Ist es weil Sie sich so in der Nähe von mir fühlen wollen?” she breathed, her forefinger softly traversing across his face to meet the corner of his lips and in pilgrimage travelling southern across his jaw line, her green eyes examining him closely whilst his head faced the wall opposite them. “Ist das warum Sie mein Leben verletzt und einen Teil davon gefordert haben?” she spoke softly, and her other hand moved to caress the lower side on the nape of his neck, moving up to stroke his hair in that slow, caring rhythm, her eyes never leaving his face as she shared with him her own assessment; it was something she had not really understood herself, and such raw thoughts should best be processed before they are uttered, one might think, and yet how she felt they were true, how effectively did they explain the man’s nature! The woman did not expect any response to these questions that hang in the atmosphere in all of their wretched simplicity, and she leaned her head against the side of his face, her lips almost touching his cheek but not quite meeting it, before she whispered, “Wann werden Sie lernen fliegen? Sie ist ein Nutzen Pilot, wenn Sie durch den Krieg kämpfen müssen, aber sind Sie ein guter Pilot, wenn Sie Ihr eigenes selbst kämpfen müssen?” Her eyes almost closed, and the left hand moved to embrace his jaw in a firm but not forceful manner. “Sie müssen lernen, wie man fliegt,” she told him, and her eyelids closed as her lips moved to plant that small, faint kiss on his cheek; how odd to know of the affection that transcended from that simple movement unto the man’s frame, that rather unbefitting affection, the warmth and keen necessity to pass onto him part of her soul, so that he could finally see. Finally see the sun.

She knew not with what unprecedented force something shifted inside her and prodded her to hold on to him, but she could understood where it came from even if she did not really want to admit it. That simple, innocent kiss children shared with one another when their souls were still unscathed and gentle, and which the man – whose soul was bruised and violent – bitterly needed, raised a storm of emotions within the woman’s veins as they beckoned for her to strengthen her hold, what had began as a children’s play now escalating into something of a greater essence as she, with her one hand pressed more strongly against his hair and the other held underneath his jaw, moved her lips across his cheek on their slow journey towards his mouth, with a nearly hungry force sprang from the rivers experiencing a terrible period of draught and awaiting for the monsoons to arrive with an almost aching necessity, in the same way did she move to lead him to a heretical fusion; a part of her screamed at her, cried to shift away from the man immediately and resume the identity she had claimed years back – no, that part did not mock at her, for that should mean the action itself was as unimportant as to deserve mocking, but it shrieked at her with all the force it possessed to stir away and never look back, to retract her arms and never succumb falling into the precipice – but did that part know that holding on to him meant holding herself on the edges as not to collapse in the void? She may not have realized that, but voices cried within her mind and begged of her stop, to seize this moment of insanity and regain control of her thoughts, but such effort this required to be achieved! Her hold of his jaw strengthened and forced his head to turn sideways and look at her, her eyes glassy and widened gazing back at him, and how easy it would have been, how effortless, a moment’s breath away from – Dirk shook her head at herself, and the fingers trailed a path from his jaw line to cover his lips, determinedly, almost furiously, as though that action alone served to prohibit her from what she so desperately intended to do, and how she hated herself for it, how she hated the man for it, and how irritated was she by the entire situation that she cursed the time and place she ever decided to attend that social gathering in the first place. She closed her eyes, and her forehead touched against his as she remained in that position, in that conclusive exertion to discipline herself and destroy the mercurial ardour which had overcome her better wisdom; her breath tingled her fingers pressed against his mouth relentlessly, pursing her own lips resolutely to avoid succumbing to the storm as it rained upon her, knowing that once she stood on the road and let the rain wash down on her shivering body and unless she sought shelter, she would have to meet all the consequences – the tidal waves coming at her direction with the wrath of Poseidon. A pained expression almost gripped her face as she forced herself into discipline, and then she opened her eyes.

She did not spend any time in looking back at him for fear she would yield, and quickly shifted away from the mattress, her feet reaching down on the floor as she moved around the bed to the wardrobe; she opened the door and it was when she bent lower that a sudden surge of pain rushed through her body, at the spot where she had received the bullet wound, in the right side of her stomach in which her skin had now been formed into one small, albeit distinct, wound, and she fleetingly shut her eyes to ignore the aching as she bent lower to reach the uniform lying on the shelf below, fingers groping inside the material in search of the plastic object. When she had finally found it in the pocket of her trousers she let the door creak closed, and walked to his side, easily crawling on the mattress and coming to stand with her knees right in front of him. She moved to sit in the space between his legs and had to reallocate his one leg away so that she could conveniently fit within that restricted territory, crossing her left leg underneath her right thigh, whilst she cared not to keep the right leg bent against his own. Without a word, the woman opened the miniscule bottle and applied some of the cream on her hand; she had taken the medical lotion from the hospital at the time she had been admitted, even if the Doctor had not agreed to – or been present during –that rather rushed exit she had made the day following the Hauptmann’s departure. Aside from the antibiotics and other medicine she had been prescribed the Doctor had also suggested she should apply some of the ointment upon the wound to appease the skin deformed from the cauterization it had been through. The woman secretly did this in the barracks whenever she could find some private time and now only a small portion of the medicinal ointment remained to be used, but it sufficed for now. The fingers of her other hand moved to slowly unclasp the last two buttons of his shirt, one first, then the other, and pulled the shirt aside to glance at the damage she had caused. Though her face was emotionless, albeit fatigued, her eyes glinted as she stared back at the lashes, and the lashes stared back at her. Ill-deserved, unbefitting and speaking only of humiliation.

Slowly her hand moved to touch the sensitive skin, fingers barely pressed to apply the ointment and felt him flinching away; she understood the surge of pain even such a bare touch could curse him with, yet she knew this was necessary. She let her hand hover in the air at first, the tips of her fingers pointing the ointment in several different directions in the same way an artist applied slow spots of colour upon his beloved painting wherever he deemed fit, and by doing so she allowed his skin to reconcile itself with her hand – the very same which had not many moments ago meted out such punishment upon it – until she softly moved the entire palm against it in a gentle, fluid motion, spreading the emollient throughout his chest and covering every lash she saw with it, her movement considerate and not rushed, soft but firm, and precise. Not once did she stir her eyes to gaze up at him, for so dedicated was she to this task that she forgot about his threats, his wrath, the wrongness of his nature, that the thunderous bark of his menace promised only shortcomings and disorder – for, suddenly, as she slowly traced her hand across the wounded chest, she recalled his lost, neglected gaze in the hospital, his speechless countenance, the forlorn expression meeting her eyes as she was taking steps back and into the wilderness, and everything else was forgotten.



Translation

You mean to tell me you had the chance of fate to misuse someone without any direct consequences and you turned blind to it? You mean to tell me that you battled against your abusive nature, through your whims and endless caprices and vanities, and pulled away? And you mean to tell me that the only thing you wanted to do was to simply lie next to me and sleep through the night?

Is it because you want to feel so close to me? Is this why you violated my life and wanted to claim part of it?

When will you learn to fly? You are a good pilot when you have to battle through war, but are you a good pilot when you have to battle your own self? You need to learn how to fly.

[Rolf Jäger]

Rolf could feel his skin crawling with suppressed hatred, of that single and uncomplicated emotion he had learned to consider to be the purest and simplest form of sentiment and one that he would have wished to bring forth at this very moment. Still, the hatred lingered somewhere beneath the surface, strangely passive and distant, refusing to emerge and to straighten out the tangle of his thoughts, rousing up an irritated frown upon the man's brow as he rested his back against the wall. His hand moved towards his chest, but stopped mid-journey, his gaze slowly shifting towards the woman as if he was expecting her to retaliate any moment now. The man was intent on not giving her a window for attack, not dropping his defences even for the briefest of moment, but he still felt himself relaxing as Riedel merely lay on her spot, chest moving with her breathing and her green eyes staring somewhere into nothingness. Rolf could not tell what kind of thoughts currently occupied her mind; they could have had something to do with the events of the previous night, as well as Rolf's sudden counterattack or his threats, spoken with severity as they had been. She was unpredictable like some wild animal and momentarily resting in complete silence as she might have been, she was not to be trusted, not to be allowed too near unless it was of Rolf's own choice.

He was already starting to believe that something strange had happened to Riedel when a long silence had passed between them and the woman remained unmoving, still, but she finally shifted from her position and propped herself up on the bed. The woman's feet shuffled faintly upon the floor and Rolf still gazed at her, waiting for that hostile reaction that surely must have been brewing inside her seemingly calm countenance, but she merely spent her time drinking water, picking up a packet of cigarettes and soon proceeding to light one of them. When she finally turned around to regard Rolf, that glint of suspicion visited the man's eyes once more and only strengthened the moment he saw her walking back towards the bed, settling down to sit not too far from him and further resting her back against the wall to enjoy the cigarette. It was an unthreatening gesture, yet Rolf's eyes flicked to the side to regard the woman more often than he meant to, the doubt residing within his heart still too strong and the fresh injuries upon his skin reminding him of treachery with their continuously uncomfortable sting.

This was why he could immediately spot her hand moving towards him and his eyes flashed with a brief mixture of anger and alarm, as if he had just been confirmed that he had been right and that Riedel was just waiting for the right time to retaliate once more. Instead the cigarette was brought close to his lips, the woman's hand hovering expectantly right in front of him and Rolf arched an eyebrow with no small amount of confusion and doubt. Was it a trick? A trap set for him, the vicious steel jaws just waiting beneath the brushes to latch around his flesh? Rolf stared at her hand and at the roll of tobacco, before he breathed out briefly and shifted his head carefully, taking a drag out of the cigarette and allowing its blissful smoke linger within his mouth for a good moment before he finally breathed it out. He watched as the grey tendrils of smoke danced around in the still air of the room for a while before they dissipated and he felt as some of his tenseness faded away with them. He knew not what manner of force had brought such sense of calmness to the woman, for just moments ago her anger had burned him with the relentless force of the Libyan sun, yet here she sat now, her viridian eyes nothing but pools of neutral serenity. When she offered the cigarette to him the next time, Rolf reacted to the gesture more easily, allowing himself to meld into that silent tranquility that existed within the room. It seemed as if that space had been changed into a zone detached from the outside world, a small bubble of existence where all strong emotions were suddenly soothed and toned down. It made Rolf's mind feel too numb and tired to contemplate on the reasons behind the woman's curious behaviour and he was content on just smoking his share of the cigarette whenever it was offered to him. Rolf no longer felt the continuous need to glance at the woman, but he realized how strange it felt having someone sit so close to him, the nearness of the woman manifested in the small shift in the air and as a curious, warm pressure he could feel through the fabric of his thin shirt even though there was a small distance between them.

It was through this continuous aura that he could feel the woman shifting before he actually saw it from the corner of his eyes and he could not stop himself from straining his muscles, the suspicion glinting within his irises the moment he witnessed Riedel moving closer. His breathing became faster, that small moment of serenity forgotten as quickly as it had transpired and he felt the urge to move away from her, while his pride was telling him that such a shift would have been unforgivable; even when his insides were screaming him to create that safe distance between them once more, he sat rooted in his place, only his eyes reflecting the mistrust reigning within. He still could not prevent himself from flinching ever so slightly the moment her arm brushed against his and a small sneer formed in the corner of his mouth, the man readying himself for defence and the angry words already crawling along his tongue, just to be spat out at the woman to keep her at bay. Her words pierced through that veil of mistrust softly, effortlessly stepping past the shield he had already raised between himself when she asked him if he had truly managed to battle his nature, only laying down beside her to rest, never violating her pride even when offered such an open opportunity. It was the truth, at least to an extent, for the woman could not know what manner of thoughts had teased his mind as he had watched his fingers traversing over her pale skin, hungry beasts whispering enticing propositions to him through the cover of darkness. He had fallen asleep, but not on purpose, for he had merely meant to see how it might have felt like resting close to her for nothing more but a few fleeting seconds - a ridiculous and needless idea, of course, and also one that had backfired on him and he had found himself waking up in the morning to a swift slap from Riedel herself.

Rolf could feel her warm breath upon his ear and still he found himself being pushed closer to the first phases of panic, a primal desire for attack manifesting somewhere within the reaches of his mind, yet he remained still and unmoving like some wild thing of the forest soothed by a strong, decisive hand. With her eyes of verdant green and golden mane the colour of the summer sun, she might have as well been that elusive deity of a forest, a pagan goddess silently walking among beasts and closing their bloodied jaws with nothing but the lightest touch of her fingers, yet as easily could she punish them in the severest manner possible, for such was the way of nature. The beast within Rolf had experienced the punishment multiple times, his aching frame still carrying the scars of such lectures, yet he also knew how benign her touch could be. He could never predict if that hand of hers was ready to met out pain or solace and this was why his eyes remained decisively on her, slightly widened and feral when her fingers moved to touch the side of his face. He held his breath as he settled on witnessing that light touch tracing a slow path across his cheek and she spoke, asking if the reason behind his actions had been due to the simple fact that Rolf needed to feel close to her, that his meddling was merely the only way he had managed to find to have himself included in her life. Rolf's scoff was trapped within his throat and he felt his heart dropping somewhere beneath his lungs, his blood running cold at her words. For a moment he realized that this was the only reason he had settled resting so close to her, that it was a truth he already had known but one which he did not want to hear, but then he chased the thought away with an angry force. It was ridiculous, some mind game of hers that made him believe whatever she might have said if she only worded her thoughts craftily enough and he wanted to growl at her, to drive her away, but her fingers were already scrawling a gentle path along his chin, moving to the corner of his lips in a manner that rendered him powerless. When her hand moved to his neck and her fingers further shifted upwards to caress his hair, his thoughts had already melded away into a meaningless nothingness, his grey eyes now half-closed at the foreign feeling such an undemanding, gentle touch lit within him.

It asked for nothing, nor did it require any favours later and it took him by the hand, leading him that one step needed across a threshold he had ever so closely guarded. He stood on that small, precarious line between two different worlds and gazed from this vantage point to another existence. Behind his back dark clouds swelled and gathered, the angry crackling of lightnings revealing in flashes a murky wasteland beaten by rain and wind, the ground hard and relentless, unable to support any other manner of life but poisonous vipers resting coiled in their rocky hiding places. Those lands had flourished for only a small while, fueled by a childish innocence, until life had withered and all things gentle and kind had died, the landscape carved by struggle and hatred. In front of him the light was blinding and warm and it rendered him blind to whatever visions might have greeted him on the other side, yet he felt himself being pulled towards that warmth, the woman's words now calmly telling him that he needed to learn how to fly.

It was as if she was urging him to take that step over the line and to test his courage and determination, Riedel's fingers curling around his jaw as if to help him make that decision and to leave behind the rocky wastelands curved by the violent, unceasing storms. Soft lips brushed against his cheek and Rolf closed his eyes, realizing that he was not quite sure if he had remembered to breathe or not, but then it felt like such an unimportant detail, it simply faded away as easily as mist before the rising sun. Even though he still stood between those two realities, he was drawn fast into a third one, the woman's lips slowly tracing a path across his cheek while her other hand still remained in his hair, the other one pressed against his chin. It was an easy feeling to get lost into and it did not feel pressuring or conflicting, as if he was allowed to remain undecided and exist in this new dimension instead. The voices of doubt had been rendered powerless here and they lay quiet at the bottom of the deep, dark waters of his mind. The man shifted his head very slowly and carefully towards hers, cold shivers running down his spine as he felt the warmth of the breath escaping from between her lips infecting his own skin with some tangle of sentiments he could only feel, but not understand. It was not an uncomfortable sensation and if anything, it only made him cling to the moment all the more decisively, as if letting go of it would have made him falter and fall into a darkness that would see him lost forever. It was so much better to just not think at all, to just accept whatever was happening and not delve into the reasons behind them and he focused on the fingertips curled around his chin, the touch strengthening only to make him face her better. Rolf's grey eyes cracked open halfway and his irises glinted almost feverishly as he realized how close he was to simply taking that one step required to study these lands of light and warmth, that he only needed to let his mind break free of the chains that had forever been binding him. He already inched his head closer, feeling hunger and thirst at the same time, but then Riedel's fingers shifted to rest upon his lips instead, creating a small invisible barrier between them, stopping Rolf in his tracks and leaving him standing at the edge. She shifted her head, resting her forehead against his and Rolf allowed himself to remain still, his eyes closing as he felt himself withdrawing from that foreign moment back to reality. He breathed out deeply, swallowing and realizing the dryness of his throat and the warmth of her skin radiating upon his own.

It might have lasted for nothing more but a few seconds or several hours, but when she moved away, Rolf could almost hear something fast and vicious snapping at him, his grey eyes opening the moment he felt her moving away, the hands sliding down as she looked away and got up from the bed decisively. Rolf blinked, his mouth hanging open in confusion and he glanced around in the room as if to remind himself of his current surroundings. Whatever thoughts had passed through his mind during those fleeting seconds felt oddly foreign to him now, as if another person's musings had been somehow injected into his brain and he had recognized their alien presence inside his head. The more he studied this notion, the more reassured he became of the fact that these had not been his thoughts at all and some sense of irritation passed through his eyes the moment he had drawn the final conclusion, dismissing his silent, foolishly sentimental musings as something drawn up by another person entirely. It was a somewhat calming decision and he felt more confident once again, promptly ignoring the small voice that was telling him that the only thoughts within his minds were that of his own. The voice remained standing at the corners of his mind, prodding at him, but he focused his attention on Riedel in an effort to ignore if more efficiently, watching as the woman settled into digging up something from the wardrobe. The moment she turned around and walked back to him, Rolf felt some of his resolve fading and his head tilted to the side, his back pressing against the wall as she moved closer and settled into sitting in front of him.

There was hardly anywhere to escape to, trapped as he was, and his eyes widened the moment Riedel's hands moved in to unclasp the remaining buttons of his shirt. Of course, at the same time he could plainly spot the tiny bottle she was carrying with him, yet he still eyed her warily as her fingers moved closer once more. Her touch burned him and the man flinched, only at that moment realizing that she meant to treat the lashes upon his skin, the very same ones she had only moments earlier inflicted upon him. It was not the cleansing substance itself that drew such a feral glance from the man, but her touch, the very thing he had just momentarily managed to distance himself from. Like a growling dog grown mistrusting after too many severe beatings, he glared at her for those small moments she dabbed the burning ointment upon his skin, his sentiments easily readable from the way his muscles tensed upon the instinct, his heart beating just slightly faster than before. He felt the need to push her aside and to attack her, to make sure she would not trespass his mind and disturb his balance upon the pedestal he had elevated himself on to. It was only when she paid him no mind and pressed the palm of her hand against his skin to better spread the cleansing ointment upon his skin that the man breathed out slowly, with each small gesture allowing himself to relax once more. He observed her closely, witnessing the determination within her green irises as she remained settled upon her current task and it was this familiarity that calmed him down further and he merely waited, making sure that he would so much as breathe out in pain whenever the burning substance was drawn across the red welts.

When her hand travelled upwards, she suddenly seemed lost in some sentiment of her own and Rolf's gaze sharpened, his hand moving up slowly and suddenly grasping her wrist, holding her hand there while he attempted to capture her eyes with his. "Was ist es mit Ihnen?" the man asked in a low voice, feverishly trying to seek the answer from her pale countenance as he continued. "Ich meine gerade das nicht. Ich meine alles," Rolf tilted his head to the side, not making quite clear if he was referring to her unexpected treatment of his wounds or the curious moment that had existed before that one. His mouth opened to further elaborate on the question as he tried to find it in that growing moment of silence and his eyes remained on hers, that need for understanding lingering beneath the grey steel of his irises. He almost voiced the continuation to these questions, but the next moment panic stabbed at his heart and he felt the burning need to get away from the situation after it had grown too alien to him. Like some wild animal of the forest that had just come upon a foreign object upon a familiar path, he could not bring himself to explore it and he chose to route around it, hastily attempting to distance himself from her. He realized that he held her hand still trapped in his and he released it far too quickly, as if it had suddenly scorched him. Pushing the woman away decisively, the man stumbled up from the bed and walked three steps away from it, away from Riedel; just to be sure, just to feel safer. Whatever had just transpired was far too confusing and thus also painful and the man was already attempting to muster sentiments more familiar to him. He glanced down at the red lashes across his skin, now painstakingly treated by her hand and his grey eyes flashed with torment, agony over guilt and fear, over having experienced something so conflicting and foreign. This expression was hidden from the woman, as Rolf still had his back turned towards her, but when he turned around, Rolf Jäger was back once more, his chin tilted upwards and his eyebrow arching up as he regarded her. "Sie sagten mir nie, dass Sie den Major vorher getroffen hatten. Oder das er Ihnen gewährt hatte, bevorzugt sogar. Nicht etwas das ich von Ihnen erwartet hätte, glaube ich, dass ich gerade gewachsen war, um zu glauben, dass solch ein Ding... unter Ihnen sein würde," the man commented, not able to discern the conflict in his words, for he had ever insulted the woman for her plebeian lack of morals.

"Er schien Sie ganz zu lieben," the man scoffed, glancing somewhere to his side and focusing on buttoning up his shirt instead, the almost insulted sting in his words nothing but a lingering trace of that small feeling. The sharper his words became, the easier he found vanishing all remaining memories of the thoughts that had so tormented him just earlier and he felt stronger each moment, more confident, more like himself. "Sind nicht Sie beunruhigten, dass er wirklich versuchen wird, Sie nachzuschlagen? Besonders nachdem Sie ihn so ernst beleidigten. Sollten Sie nicht sorgfältiger sein?" the man turned his gaze back at Riedel and flashed her a dry smile, settling into straightening up the sleeves of his white shirt as he watched her.


Translations:

"Was ist es mit Ihnen?"
"What is it with you?"

"Ich meine gerade das nicht. Ich meine alles."
"I don't mean just this. I mean everything."

"Sie sagten mir nie, dass Sie den Major vorher getroffen hatten..."
"You never told me you had met the Major before. Or that he had granted you favours, even. Not something I would have expected from you, I guess I had just grown to believe that such a thing would be... beneath you."

"Er schien Sie ganz zu lieben."
"He seemed to be quite fond of you."

"Sind nicht Sie beunruhigten, dass er wirklich versuchen wird, Sie nachzuschlagen..?"
"Aren't you worried he will really attempt to look you up? Especially after you insulted him so gravely. Shouldn't you be more careful?"

[Dirk Riedel]

Her eyes looked up the moment his fingers looped around her wrist and captured the moment in that simple motion, as she stared back into his glassy, grey eyes – unmoving and lost they were, as though he had spent years roaming in the desert, across paths he had tread before, sand he had walked upon and the merciless sun burning him for weeks that turned to months, to years of neglect and wandering, looking at her if she would give him the answer he sought for: where should he go, what path should he tread to find his way – he did not know where he was going, walking he was, walking for years, where should he go? Where should he go? He spoke, and she could only look at him quietly, green eyes melding into his own silver irises with as much simplicity and calmness as she could offer him, as much as was indeed humanly possible; he was exerting efforts in understanding, she could see that, and his confusion, his incapacity to properly come to terms with the situation was so intense that she could almost feel his ignorance, his perplexity. Of course he could not understand. What did he know of human contact, how could he connect to another person when throughout his meaningless, shallow life he had only ever learned to create and pursue human relationships entirely founded upon contrivance, deceit and exploitation, taking advantage of weaknesses to ravage the other person whom he should always consider as an opponent if that person was his own mother. There he stood, crumbling under an unbearable weight of burdens; she had been too, but the difference lay in the fact her own burdens had been accepted from the love and affection she held for her family, whereas his were only ever created and imposed by others, cold, distant burdens that belonged not to him but which still weighed down on him, crushing him with their sheer weight.

She turned her head to look after him as he pushed her aside and stood up, creating a short distance between them as though her closeness was something yet so agonizing to him. Her eyes locked into his once he turned around to address her, and she observed that same arrogance through his features, the overflowing conceit and over-confident temperament that so drove her to the edge of her sanity and tolerance, and she was driven by the sudden desire to pull the chair from the corner of the room and smash it on his face before she threw him directly out of the window. He mentioned the Major, indeed, and in such an insulting way that lowered her on the status of a common whoring wench, his tone nothing short of contemptuous and humiliating, as she thus perceived it. That dry smile he gave her was one time too many and she briskly used the remaining of the ointment on her skin before she sharply turned her body sideways, her hand reaching to grab the tie lying in the mattress before she stood up, effortlessly closing the distance he had created as she strode close to him, until she stood a step away from his frame. “Ich erzählte Ihnen nicht? Sie fragten nicht,” she simply said, but then her face leaned closer to his as anger flashed through her eyes, and her eyebrows curved fiercely above her gleaming eyes. “Oh, tun Sie nicht Sie, Blick auf mich wie das bumsend, Jäger,” she warned him, and her gaze sharpened. “Sie wissen so viel wie ich tue, möchte ich im Sand wie ein Hund als Becken ebenso niedrig lieber sterben wie die preiswerten Getrampel Sie Hure ringsherum damit.” She scoffed and narrowed her eyes, her arms hanging down by her sides, the tie strongly held within the palm. “Sie Ficker stahlen unseren vorbestellten Lehrpunkt, was wie man nahm an, ich tat, mit meinen Armen durchquert sitzen zu bleiben und Sie ziemlich schmückende Jungen zu beobachten, tanzen ringsherum damit Walzer, was wir zuerst gefordert hatten? Das war Wehrmacht Territorium, und der Major war zu egoistisch, um seine Reihe zu verwenden und es – gerade wie Sie zurückzufordern,” she told him, and her eyes gleamed at this.

“Es gab nichts ich konnte mit meiner Reihe tun, die einzige letzte Auswahl, die ich hatte, sollte einen Sinn in ihn mit anderen Mitteln reden. Denken Sie wirklich, dass ich zu Ihnen nach der Erniedrigung des Bildens dieser Bitte um den Anruf kommen würde?” she asked him, and scoffed once more, disbelief and contempt written across her facial features that clearly presumed him to be a rather ridiculous candidate for her rather unconventional request, in the first place. “Denken Sie, dass ich zu Ihnen aus allen Leuten gekommen wäre, zu bitten, vernünftig zu sein, und Show-Verantwortung? Sie? Ich handelte nur jemals mit den besten Interessen meines Landes im Innersten verschieden von Ihrem Vorgesetzten. Zärtlich von mir? Oh, ich bin sicher, dass er war,” she sneered. “Ich bin sicher, dass er mich auf seinem Schreibtisch haben möchte - aber andererseits können Sie sich … einfühlen tun nicht Sie?” she whispered, her eyes searching beneath the cold silver irises as she looked up at him, her breath tingling his jaw for that small moment she tested him, eyes faintly narrowed and looking at him with curious interest, and perhaps something mocking had indeed passed in that gaze. It was too tempting not to.

Nevertheless, her gaze did not cease being as intense as it was, and in the next moment when she wished to make a few things clear it had employed the same ferocity and untamed quality he had first known her as. “Er tat mir keinen Gefallen,” she told him forcefully, glaring at the man who was so insolent as to dare suggest she had been like one of those mindless socialite she-dogs he had come to associate himself with, who would do anything and turn to any coquettish means to achieve their own ends, such self-centered morons they were. “Er tat nur, was richtig war, und das ist weil ich ihn so machte. Der einzige Grund ich tat das mit dieser Form, ist, weil ich die ganze Zeit in der Welt nicht habe, die alte Idioten ihrer Aufgaben erinnert, ist das ich praktisch seiend. Tun Sie so nicht Sie verhandeln mich, Jäger. Tun Sie nicht Sie ordern verdammt heraus, mich zu verhandeln,” she warned him slowly through her widened, hawk-like eyes, sharp and piercing in their relentless glare, her tone passionate and unyielding, fierce as it was firm, and ever intolerant if any doubts should arise with regard to this matter.

Having said this, she raised her right arm and without another word, or simply bothering to let him know of her actions, angered with his behaviour and estimations, the woman pulled the tie around his neck sharply, and any resistance she might have met was easily vanquished from the brisk movement of her fingers as she moved the cloth underneath the collar, carefully extending the necktie’s wide end below its narrow end on the left. “Schlagen Sie mich nach!” she scoffed, her eyes fixed upon her work rather than his countenance. It had been his own words causing a chain of memories to unfold within her mind and remind her of the events with regard to the Major, and yet even though she could remember that particular incident and standing right in front of the man, it was impossible to recall her grave insults and, thus, had it not been for the Hauptmann, the woman would have hardly even known such a moment had come to pass in any case. “Ich bin seine Reaktion zum Herausfinden sicher, dass Erika Riedel nicht besteht, und der Soldat in der Armee hat gar keine Idee, worüber der Major spricht, wird ganz … denkwürdig sein. Ich habe keine Schwester in meinen Dokumenten, Jäger, aber natürlich –” she said softly, and raised her glance to meet his face, her eyes smiling at him with a curious glint, “Sie sollten das vor langer Zeit gewusst haben.” A smile arose on her lips for that moment as she stared back at him, but then she lowered her gaze, her fingers pulling the necktie’s wide end through the loop she had made and to the right; her movements were sharp and precise, and her appearance stern and dedicated as she committed to this task. “Und er wird mich wieder nicht sehen, weil ich in dieser Form eine andere Zeit werde nicht erscheinen müssen, verstehen Sie?” she told him and her tone sharpened, as the woman turned to look up at him to make sure the meaning was clear and that her words were to be respected. “Was für Scheißspiele haben Sie in Ihrer Meinung, die Sie hatten am besten vergessen. Ich sorge mich nicht, was Sie denken, dass Sie mit mir jetzt, aber trotzdem tun können, ich bin ein Soldat der Armee, und ich habe meine Verantwortungen und Aufgaben, zu verpflichten, Launen eines kleinen Jungen nicht befriedigend und meine eigene Identität in Gefahr zu stellen,” she rasped, her eyes faintly narrowing as she glared back at him, all the while her fingers working on the tie, now bringing its wide end down through the knot. Her eyes fixed upon his neck as she, then, tightened the knot carefully and began to draw it slowly, albeit firmly, up to the collar. The faint temptation of simply drawing it a little too far and strangling him passed through her mind but she laughed that idea away, rather focusing on settling the necktie well against the collar. Once she was done she looked at it briefly, and gave him a sharp pat on the chest to signify she was finished.

Frowning, she neared closer and smelled the shirt at the collarbone. “Und Sie müssen Ihr Hemd ändern, es stinkt,” she said, making out the reek of tobacco and the scent of wine, a rather natural consequence after spending some time in a room filled with the fume of all those who had been smoking and, then, of course, having laid to sleep with her for all those hours had meant that, ironically so, the woman’s strong scent of alcohol reeking her dress had passed onto him. That was something she had not realized at the moment, and perhaps it was better so. “Aber ich glaube, dass es normal ist, wenn Sie so in der Nähe von mir richtig stehen?” she asked him, an expert now on his witty insults with regard to peasantry, and a scoff that exhibited neither contempt nor hatred, but genuine amusement, escaped her lips as a fleeting smile adorned the corner before she turned away with a weary sigh, and with her back against him walked the short steps required to reach the wardrobe.

She opened the door and looked inside, as she then groped through the shelf in search of the trousers; she pulled them away from the tunic and laid them on top of it, just as she then placed her hands at the rim of her dress and pulled it off from the head, carelessly throwing it somewhere inside that wardrobe, utterly indifferent to the man standing behind her to the side. He could go drown in the Mediterrannean Sea for all she cared. She snatched the trousers from the shelf and wasted no time in hopping inside them, first one leg, then the other, quickly buttoning them, for what came next was far more important and required a considerable amount of greater attention and care than those wretched trousers. She picked up a thin metallic layer and glanced at it as it stood within the palm of her hands, green eyes gazing at its silver surface for a moment or two, as though in contemplation, and not once did her reverie break throughout these small moments that passed, not the Hauptmann’s presence, not the fact she was furious at him over his several whimsicalities, not at the Major – but this very plate that was the entire symbolism of all her efforts, the very reason she was here in Africa, the one thing that was able to completely wipe away her feminine identity and create a new one, that of Leutnant Dirk Riedel. With a long weary sigh, she raised the layer and pressed it against the chest, the cold iron melding and becoming one with her skin in that unavoidable, damned union, and she closed her eyes for that brief second. It was a sensation she felt every time she removed it and placed it back upon the skin, its hardness connecting across the chest as it pressed it forcefully, flattened it with a power so raw and inescapable as she had to live with every second of the day. Her burden, and yet the only road she had to tread, that she knew very well. She could see the pathway she had to walk through, it was so very clearly created before her, and how could one be lost in it? She never had, for such was the clarity of her purpose that her steps never faltered as she stepped onto it, a road filled with mud, dirt, rocks and thorns, fallen trunks of trees and other debris – obstacles she had to overpass to truly commit to her sacred duty, obstacles that often threatened to meddle with her mind and the health of her body, but always failed to do so and her sanity was ever strong, her purpose ever unfailing through her unyielding nature, the task she had devoted her years to. The palm of her right hand pressed against the iron to keep it positioned against her, reaching down to the abdomen, whilst the other roamed inside the wardrobe for the layer of white linen; once she found it she placed its end against the metal, and then slowly pulled it around herself, bringing it forth from the other side. It had been laborious at first, but her fingers had by now turned expert to this action, and skillfully pulled the cloth around, slowly but firmly covering part of the metal, and yet another part, her gaze dedicated to this task, so simple yet so complicated, so that once she turned around to face the man both hands were pressed against the covering cloth, her face emotionless and solemn when her eyes met his.

“Sie werden gehen bekommen mich ein Paar der Schere,” she simply stated, her tone strong and serious, her voice curiously becoming slightly hoarser as the identity of the Leutnant was slowly coming on its way. “Ich muss das Haar wegnehmen.”



Translation

I didn’t tell you? You didn’t ask. Oh, don’t you fucking look at me like that, Jäger. You know as much as I do I would rather die in the sand like a dog than sink as low as the cheap tramps you whore around with. You fuckers stole our reserved training spot, what was I supposed to do, stay down with my arms crossed and watch you pretty fancy boys waltz around with what we had first claimed? That was Wehrmacht territory, and the Major was too selfish to use his rank and reclaim it – just like you. There was nothing I could do with my rank, the only last option I had was to talk some sense into him with other means. Do you really think I would come to you after the humiliation of making that request for the phone call? Do you think I would have come to you, out of all people, to ask to be sensible and show responsibility? You? I only ever acted with my country’s best interests at heart, unlike your superior. Fond of me? Oh, I’m sure he was. I’m sure he’d like to have me on his desk – but then again you can empathize … don’t you?

He didn’t do me any favour. He only did what was right, and that is because I made him so. The only reason I did this with this form is because I don’t have all the time in the world reminding old idiots of their duties, this is me being practical. So don’t you judge me, Jäger. Don’t you dare fucking judge me.

Look me up! I’m certain his reaction to finding out Erika Riedel does not exist and the soldier in the army has absolutely no idea what the Major is talking about will be quite … memorable. I don’t have any sister in my documents, Jäger, but of course – you should have known this a long time ago.

And he will not see me again because I won’t have to appear in this form another time, do you understand? Whatever fucking games you have in your mind you had best forget. I don’t care what you think you can do with me now, but regardless, I am a soldier of the army and I have my responsibilities and duties to commit to, not satisfying a small boy’s whims and put my own identity in danger.

And you need to change your shirt, it stinks. But I guess that’s normal when you stand so close to me, right?

You’ll go get me a pair of scissors. I need to take the hair off.

[Rolf Jäger]

There was safety in distance, in creating space between yourself and others, ever keeping them at bay and not allowing them the chance to execute their treacherous plans and knowing this Rolf felt better and more confident. He pulled his shoulders back, that familiar glint of arrogance now dominating his grey eyes and a crooked smirk lingering in the corner of his lips as he allowed this assurance to pass through his veins and fill him with power, with the very essence that made him Rolf Jäger. It felt reassuring to allow that familiar cloak to embrace him again and the tenseness of his muscles faded away, the air filling his lungs more easily, as if someone had opened the window wide open to allow the last lingering traces of cooler air to enter the small space. He knew well enough that the content of his questions and the manner in which he had presented them would only agitate the woman and dissolve the curiously calm disposition that had momentarily taken her over. For a few fleeting moments Rolf realized that he had prodded her with these words just for this very reason, and that he felt it would be easier to face her anger: it was something he could understand and something familiar to him, a sentiment he knew how to respond.

He could easily see that his words had bitten at Riedel effectively the moment she grasped something from the bed - his tie, Rolf noticed after a brief contemplation - and moved towards him decisively enough to turn that self-absorbed smirk on his lips into a small, mistrusting sneer. The woman stopped but a step away from him, bringing her face close to snarl furious words at him, telling Rolf that he had not asked her about the Major to begin with. Rolf arched an eyebrow at her, as if silently telling her that he did not need to ask about each and every thing separately if he just considered the knowledge something that should be commonly shared between them. Witnessing this look upon his features, Riedel told him to stop looking at her in such a manner and Rolf's eyebrows drew into a small frown at such a command, listening to the woman as she continued explaining the situation with the Major to him. If anything, she seemed more defensive than anything and Rolf already knew well enough that Riedel had not engaged in any unseemly and demeaning actions with the Major, for this the woman had made quite clear the previous evening. As always, she mocked the Luftwaffe, yet caused Rolf only to narrow his eyes, for hearing such contemptuous words from her was hardly the first time and what irritated him more was the fact that she was talking as if Rolf was to blame for her plans getting messed up. Rolf would have only participated in Riedel's anger towards the Major and to have her compare him to the other officer was simply atrocious. When she further proceeded to tell him how humiliated she had been by asking for that one precious phone call earlier, Rolf released a loud scoff, for she had been anything but humble in making that request. For all her talk about showing respect and humility, he had hardly seen her showcasing these qualities herself.

Instead of allowing her the pleasure of having her words aggravate him, he merely stared at Riedel in a neutral, almost bored manner, smiling more crookedly the moment she mentioned the part about the desk, saying how Rolf must have been familiar with this particular sentiment. She brought her face closer as she posed him this question and Rolf met her gaze with that same smile still carved upon his lips. After all, it was no secret what he craved for and Rolf found her jab amusing, yet even through his mirth he could sense how sternly defensive the woman had become at the suggestion of allowing herself being used like a cheap whore. As much as Rolf liked to call her such a demeaning name, he already had witnessed - through several rather grievous experiences, no less - that she was far too proud to succumb to such paltry practices. He only ever insulted her with such a name because it seemed effective enough, but only now did he consider that such an anger might have been created from an insult that had hit too close to home and actually wounded the woman. But her? Riedel? Rolf narrowed his grey eyes and could not see it, not in that proud, unbreakable disposition of hers, yet he felt all the more confused when she told him not to judge her, her words sharp and hostile. Since when had she started caring anything about his opinions or his judgement to begin with and why would it have mattered to her at all? Or was she simply stating that he had no grounds to pass judgement on her? Rolf could not quite grasp the meaning of this warning and so he merely glanced somewhere up and to his side, as if to show that he cared not about her warnings, not even enough to judge her no more than a person would care to contemplate on the worth of a small insect.

Rolf almost bolted back the moment Riedel suddenly pulled the tie around his neck and his eyes flashed with brief anger, his lips pulling into a fast sneer, but his expression slowly changed to that of confusion when he realized that she was merely meaning to assist him. When she pulled sharply on the tie around his neck, Rolf flinched involuntarily, frowning at her gruff manners. She was far done from answering his question and as she started settling the tie under the collars of his shirt, she spoke, fast and angry words dropping from her lips while her eyes remained on the task at hand. All this time Rolf remained standing in his place tentatively, attempting to both listen to Riedel and keep a close eye on each of her movements. When she venomously pointed out that Rolf should have already known all about Leutnant Riedel's files, Rolf merely allowed her a dry smile. "Natürlich weiß ich," he commented hoarsely, not feeling quite relaxed enough to keep his gaze on her face and returning it towards her hands instead. Riedel was once more telling Rolf how she would not play his games and how this was the last time she would ever succumb to his whims and the man glanced her briefly in the eyes to see if she was being truly serious. She had no grounds for making such demands and Rolf knew he could play whatever games he wanted to, as long as he wanted to, but he also realized that he might have not been making his point clear enough to her. She was a soldier in the German army only because Rolf allowed things to remain that way - for the moment, at least - yet she spoke as if Rolf was nothing but a minor annoyance she merely had to brush off.

While Rolf was still contemplating if he should have further enforced his position, Riedel was already done with the knot on his tie and the woman merely patted him on the chest, the sharp touch drawing a small, involuntary grimace from the man. The woman leaned closer once more, sniffing at his shirt briefly and soon commenting that he needed to change it for it reeked and Rolf frowned, not smiling even at Riedel's sarcastic words about her own scent rubbing on to him. The moment she had moved away from him, Rolf glanced after her and grasped the collar of his shirt to smell it, wrinkling his nose in slight distaste when he realized just how strong the stink of alcohol and tobacco was. He could have done with a shower or a bath, but he had no intention of doing that here, even if the next chance for such luxuries might have been weeks away from the current moment. As unpleasant as the lack of such comforts was, Rolf was not as blind as not to realize why such amenities were often out of their reach; they were waging a war on one of the most challenging fronts imaginable and merely staying alive had become something most of the men in North Africa could well appreciate. Still, it did not mean that Rolf enjoyed smelling like a tankard of alcohol marinated in tobacco smoke for several weeks and he tried to ignore this fact for now, instead bringing a hand to the knot on the tie to test it. It had been tied skillfully enough and Rolf arched his eyebrows at the thought, briefly considering how useful it would have been to have someone to always tie it for him, but the thought faded away as he turned around to regard Riedel once more.

Without quite realizing it, he had already decided to make his stance on the current situation quite clear and he wanted to make sure no such words of insolence would ever escape from the woman's lips once more, yet when he turned around, his mouth was left hanging open at the sight. Riedel had just pulled off her dress and even though she was not facing Rolf as she did so, the man was left completely stunned at the sight, his fingers still curled around the knot on his tie. The woman was already fast pulling her trousers on - or those of Leutnant Riedel's - and Rolf was left gaping at the imagery, wondering if Riedel had completely lost her mind and simply forgotten that Rolf was still standing in the room. He could plainly spy the whiteness of her skin, the strength in her arms, yet also the feminine curve of her hips and waist, something easily concealed by a military uniform. The man had trouble tearing his eyes off her pale figure, yet he managed to see her holding the thin layer of metal she wore beneath her tunic to help conceal her true nature. She appeared almost tired and defeated the moment she started wrapping that layer of metal around her chest, her movements practiced and precise and Rolf realized he had never quite considered how difficult it must have been to endure the heat of the scorching sun wearing such an oppressing thing around one's chest. And what other qualities was she required to change in order to keep up her appearance as Leutnant Riedel, how consuming it must have been to constantly live in that state of knowing that someone might find out her secret over the smallest mistake she might make? Indeed, someone... Someone like Rolf Jäger.

If Rolf felt a small twinge of guilt, it was gone the moment Riedel turned around to address him, the white canvas and the metal plate beneath it now concealing the sights the man would have much enjoyed witnessing. There was a commanding edge to her voice as she commanded Rolf to find some scissors to "take off her hair" and Rolf arched both of his eyebrows slowly, fingers still curled around his tie. He was still trying to get over the previous sight, as was he trying to remember what he had been meaning to say before it. The man was also slowly realizing that she had not been asking him to do anything, but commanding him. Him! Hauptmann Jäger! A peasant commanding a baron around? Rolf blinked at the thought, feeling far too confused to even begin rousing up the anger needed to retaliate to such outrageous orders and instead he glanced around himself, as if expecting to spot a pair of scissors lying somewhere nearby. "...Schere..." was all he could mutter, needing to clarify the content of her words to himself further before he managed to drop the hand from his tie and move around in the room to see if such an item might be found nearby. A passing thought of the fact that a pair of scissors most likely wasn't an item commonly found in the room, the man grumbled, glancing at Riedel grudgingly from underneath his eyebrows before he put on his shoes and left the room, making sure that the door was left slightly ajar before he headed downstairs.

There was a certain coldness to the landlady's eyes when Rolf addressed her, requesting to borrow a pair of scissors and the old woman glanced at the Hauptmann from head to toes, as if he was to blame for some deed Rolf could not remember doing. Maybe she did not like renting rooms to German soldiers and their nightly companions, not that she had any business knowing what had gone inside the room and furthermore, not that Rolf would have wanted anyone to know about the exact events that had taken place within to begin with. The man rubbed his chest carefully while the woman was searching for the scissors, raising an eyebrow at the thought of someone finding out of the nature of "fun" that had taken place inside the room and he glanced sharply at the landlady when she returned, handing the Luftwaffe officer the item he had requested for. The man grasped the pair of scissors from her hand, raising them in front of him and pointing them towards the landlady as if silently telling her to shut up - just in case - which the woman could not understand and she was left standing flabbergasted downstairs when the man headed back upstairs.

The man's steely gaze immediately fell upon Riedel the moment he stepped back inside the room, scissors in hand, and he strode up to her, narrowing his eyes as he handed the item to her. "Ich glaube, dass es dumm sein würde, jede Dankbarkeit von Ihnen zu erwarten. Aber hier," the man rasped and stepped away from her, just so that he could grasp the tunic still hanging from the edge of the wardrobe door, creating some distance between himself and the woman so he could properly pull it on. He stood up straighter as he buttoned up the tunic, smoothing out the front and making sure that the tie and the lapels of his shirt settled properly underneath. He glanced towards the table to look for the belt, but it was no longer there and his eyes edged slowly towards the bed, the man's teeth gritting together the moment he realized Riedel had used his belt to met out her punishment. He did not want to see the belt, nor did he want to touch it and much less did he wish to wear it once more, but through his pride he could not allow the woman to witness the effects the attack had left on him. Rolf sneered at that one despicable item, promising himself that he would bury it in the desert sands the first chance available, and his skin tingled with disgust as his fingers finally curled around the leather belt. He wrapped the belt around him, fastening the clasp and staring hatefully into nothingness for a small, fleeting moment, before finally regarding Riedel once more.

She had started cutting her hair, the golden locks falling upon the floor slowly after each sharp, almost ominous snip of the scissors and Rolf felt as if he was watching a sacrilege, the sight drawing a small frown to his brow. The man stepped forward, stopping close to Riedel just so that he could bend down and pick up one of the long locks of hair that had fallen down on the floor. He straightened his back, bringing the blonde lock of hair in front of his vision to study it, to glance upon a piece of her discarded identity. Rolf had always figured that she had opted for a wig, but this was some solution of her own and obviously one that took some meticulous care to finish properly. The gaze of the man's grey eyes remained on those strands of hair for a small while as he contemplated on the shift that happened not only outside but also within the woman, to what extents she had to take it and how believable that change was, even when he knew the truth behind it. The corner of the man's mouth drew slightly and he brought his hand down to drop the golden hairs from his grasp. In an almost absentminded gesture his fingers separated a small portion of that hair which he pushed against the palm of his hand while the other part fell back upon the floor and the Hauptmann tilted his head to the side as he pushed both of his hands in his pockets, effectively hiding the stolen lock of hair inside. "Sie können Ihre Drohungen an mir alles spucken, dass Sie, Riedel wollen. Ich glaube, dass es Sie sich mindestens ein bisschen besser fühlen lässt, zu sich selbst liegend, versuchend, zu überzeugen, haben Sie noch etwas Wahl in den Sachen. Wir sehen bald genug, Sie können darauf zählen," the man pulled his hands casually out of his pockets as he glanced towards the window and at the sun already crawling determinedly higher upon the ever lightening sky. He did not know what manner of whim had prompted him to steal that one lock of hair, one that wasn't even truly hers but one that had still been a part of her, even if only for a small while, but for some reason its presence felt almost reassuring inside his pocket.

"Genießen Sie das Zimmer, wenn Sie wünschen, es wird für den kompletten Tag bezahlt," the man flashed Riedel a crooked smile, knowing that referring to a payment, as indirect as it was, would agitate her. Rolf gazed at her challengingly for a few fleeting seconds before he turned around and stopped to pick up the peaked cap, placing it under his arm and already proceeding to open the door. He stopped when his hand had already turned the latch and gazed back at Riedel over his shoulder, grey eyes narrowed with mirth even when they only attempted to look at her, not really reaching her figure or her expression to witness her emotional state. "Und nehmen Sie die Schere zurück unten, sobald Sie getan werden. Bis bald, Friederike," Rolf rasped with a crooked smirk, pushing open the door and stepping outside in the corridor silently and leaving Riedel alone to vent her anger and hatred and maybe, by now.. even her desperation.


Translations:

"Natürlich weiß ich."
"Of course I know."

"...Schere..."
"...scissors..."

"Ich glaube, dass es dumm sein würde, jede Dankbarkeit von Ihnen zu erwarten. Aber hier."
"I guess it would be foolish to expect any gratitude from you. But here you go."

"Sie können Ihre Drohungen an mir alles spucken, dass Sie, Riedel wollen..."
"You may spit your threats at me all you want, Riedel. I guess it makes you feel at least slightly better, lying to yourself, trying to convince yourself you still have some choice in the matters. I'll see you soon enough, you can count on that."

"Genießen Sie das Zimmer, wenn Sie wünschen, es wird für den kompletten Tag bezahlt."
"Enjoy the room if you wish, it's paid for the entire day."

"Und nehmen Sie die Schere zurück unten, sobald Sie getan werden. Bis bald, Friederike."
"And take the scissors back downstairs once you're done. I'll see you soon, Friederike."