Laugh, I Nearly Died

[Rolf Jäger]

If the woman had remained remarkably and curiously passive for the past few moments, something certainly seemed to flare up inside her now and Rolf could recognize the more familiar Riedel once again. Even through her fever she managed to appear commanding and stern in her irritation and the sharp curve of her eyebrows made Rolf appear involuntarily apprehensive, although he did not so much as move when the woman propped herself up with her hands, just so that she could better gaze at him when she spoke. Her words came in a low, severe hiss when she told Rolf to give up - a notion which in all of its incredulity made Rolf raise an eyebrow at her - before she went on, demanding to know what Rolf meant. Rolf listened to her closely, feeling the feverish heat emanating from her skin burning his face in the manner of an open fire, only blinking in silent confusion when she suggested that he wanted to chain and cage her and all of this was the work of his own, endless pride. Although she was asking Rolf whether his obsession had something to do with their initial meeting and what had, ultimately, become his own failure, it felt more of an judgement than an actual question. Rolf felt almost insulted by the notion, although somewhere in the deepest reaches he knew that the incident had indeed sparked his initial interest towards the woman, but it did not explain away its entire extent. It would have been more simple if that, indeed, had been the answer to the crux that kept so haunting him, yet some other forces were involved in the riddle and Rolf simply had not managed to solve it, not even to himself. His attention was once again drawn to the woman's words when she assured him that she would never be his whore and that she would refuse to submit to him, choosing even death over such disgrace. Rolf did not really doubt her words and even when irritation at her statement kindled inside him, he could still understand her steadfast nature for he could recognize himself in her sternly spoken words. Her suggestion that Rolf regarded peasant women as nothing but whores dwelling in dirt wasn't too far from the truth, but she still failed to realize that the man did not consider her just any common pleb. In some curious manner Rolf was still trying to discern, she had managed to rise above the common serf, one endowed with the courage and pride of a nobler creature... a very special peasant, indeed.

Her irritated words lingered within Rolf's mind and he allowed the small flames of irritation to slowly grow smaller, although they had already made his expression harden and there was a sharper glint to his steel-grey eyes as he observed the woman, watching as she brought the cigarette to her lips, allowing its grey fumes to calm her down once more. The man's lips parted slightly, as if to exclaim something, but for some reason he felt it was better to remain silent for the moment, just in case Riedel was still going to respond to the question that had been the most important one yet, one that would surely shed at least some light into the woman's mysterious nature and the reason behind her very existence. He shifted slightly when he felt the woman moving and she rolled to her back, the cigarette still glowing between her fingers and her viridian eyes staring at the ceiling, yet not looking at anything in particular. Being so close to her felt almost natural now and his body had become accustomed to the unnatural warmth of her skin and to her frame pressing slightly against his; a fact the man was just now noticing, yet one he had no time to explore further. The air was filled with the thick of anticipation and Rolf felt his insides churning with impatience, as if her next words could open all the secrets of the world to him, and how her silence could also condemn him into an eternal darkness. He grasped at her silently spoken words with hungry eagerness, his eyes carefully scanning her features to pick up any further clues pointing towards the sentiments behind her story. He noticed the small sigh that heralded her answer, the silent weariness evident in her tone when she recalled Rolf's insult - or compliment - from their earlier meeting, claiming that it had ultimately been the truth.

Rolf's eyebrows knitted together slightly as he listened to her, appearing only attentive and neutral when Riedel went further into her explanation, first claiming that Rolf had no idea what it was like to have people depend on him. She had carried burdens for others, cared for their well-being, toiled and suffered to the very limits of her strength, having no way out and forced to carry on one single path, one she could not choose herself. She did not go into any details, referring to other people just generally and steering clear from any personal information in a manner that made Rolf narrow his eyes. She was leaving out things he needed to know and her words, as straight from her heart as they were delivered, remained abstract and mysterious. He wanted to know who she had taken care of, for whom she had so much suffered, yet she refused to give out any such details, only allowing Rolf to try and grasp at the emotion instead of the cold, hard facts. His gaze still remained as sharp and immersed as before, while his mind worked furiously on each little aspect of her story, trying to pry it apart with the eagerness of a hunting dog digging open a fox's den. A heavy feeling of exhaustion coated her words, although they were still not statements made out of resignation or surrender; she seemed as stubborn as always, yet Rolf was not sure if she was telling him these things in an effort to answer his question, or just to get the burden off her chest, even if for a moment, even if the confession was made to one she so severely hated.

It had been her burden, then, which had tempered her will with such a force and hardened her shell until it had become an unbending armor of finest steel; not an entirely surprising notion, but one which had not entered Rolf's mind before her admission either. Multiple new questions surfaced over her words and Rolf remained silent for a moment, trying to organize them and attempting to make sense of what was important and what could be dropped for now, saved for a later time. It seemed like she had been charged with a lonely and difficult task, one which for some reason seemed to reach to her early youth, hence most likely involving her family. It was strange that one female should have carried such a burden seemingly on her own, seeing as how determined and protective her brother had seemed. Where had he been, then, to leave his sister with such responsibilities? What had these responsibilities been and how did they relate to her current presence in Africa?

Rolf blinked when he noticed Riedel's hand hovering in front of him, the now severely shortened cigarette faintly burning between her fingers. The man shifted his hand to grasp the paper roll while his gaze remained on her features, the expression upon his bruised features inquiring as he waited for further words, yet the woman remained silent, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. Rolf brought the cigarette to his lips and drew from it while his eyes still remained upon her, watching her through the grey wisps of smoke that slowly snaked from between his lips as he exhaled, the silence between them denoting some sense of inner contemplation for both of them. Rolf squinted his eyes briefly, but turned around to extinguish the cigarette on the side of the table before he flicked the remaining butt somewhere upon the table. He settled into his former position once again, grey eyes slightly narrowed as he watched her, registering the steady movement of her chest in the shadows and the small glint of her open eyes as she stared into nothingness. The faint light from the window painted her pale skin with a etheral blue tint now that the ember of the cigarette had been extinguished and Rolf allowed his gaze to study her shadowed features, trying to pinpoint traces of that seemingly old soul under her strong, youthful frame. Rolf's mouth opened slightly before any words found their way out, his jaw shifting slowly to the side and his eyebrows furrowing when he still spent a small moment to consider her words before speaking. "Deshalb sind Sie hier? Instinkt," the man repeated in an almost incredulous tone as he tried his best to understand the message behind her words. "Also, Sie haben sich gerade alle diese Jahre geplagt, für andere arbeitend, bis es eine zweite Natur für Sie geworden ist. Sie erzählten mir nicht, wie, genau, aber ich glaube, dass es viel erklären würde. Warum Sie im Stande sind, auf sich selbst aufzupassen, warum Sie von niemandem und natürlich... Muskeln abzuhängen brauchen. Das scheint sehr wie Sie," there was a genuine tone of interest to the man's voice, as if he was really trying to make sense of the information and perceive a concept that was obviously quite abstract to him.

"Da hast du Recht, ich könnte nicht alles davon verstehen. Aber ich kann etwas davon verstehen," the man claimed in a stern tone, his eyes never having left Riedel's features after he had extinguished the cigarette. "Ich würde nicht behaupten, dass ich vielfache Leute abhängig von mir abgesondert von meinem Gruppe gehabt habe, oder dass ich jemals für das Lassen von andere verantwortlich gewesen wäre lächeln," the thought seemed to make the man feel slightly amused and a crooked smile appeared on his lips for a small moment as he considered the idea in all of its ridiculousness before continuing. "Aber ich bin nicht ohne meine eigenen Verantwortungen gewesen, egal wie verschieden sie von Ihrig sein könnten. Natürlich konnten Sie keine Idee über sie haben, weil Sie das erste Ding über mich nicht wissen," the man tilted his head to the side and the small smile crept up to his lips once again as he watched her, his silver eyes glinting with a boyish sense of mischief. He was not going to explain himself or his history to her, for he knew she would not care either way and that she simply could not understand his position. He was not in the mood for such tenebrous introspection at the moment to begin with, and Riedel's horribly dark mood simply had to be remedied.

"Und aus irgendeinem Grund setzen Sie fort zu denken, dass ich Sie meine Hure machen möchte, und ich kann nicht warum verstehen. Huren werden an jeder Ecke einer Stadt mit den geringsten Zeichen der Zivilisation leicht gefunden, also warum würde ich alle Schwierigkeiten des Versuchens durchgehen, Sie in einen umzuwandeln? Ich weiß, dass es... nicht nicht arbeiten würde, dass ich solchen irgendwie versuchen würde," Rolf announced and arched an eyebrow at the woman, his voice taking on a hoarser texture as he continued. "Und wenn ich meinen Stolz hätte löschen wollen, hätte ich große Zeit gehabt tun so, wenn Sie hier früher, alle wehrlos und schwach liegen, noch tat ich nicht. Sie scheinen so darauf scharf beim Herausfinden des Motivs für alles. Müssen wir immer einige komplizierte Gründe hinter jeder Handlung haben, die wir nehmen? Wollen Sie nicht gerade im Moment leben? Lebend auf Ihren Instinkten und erlauben gerade sich, etwas zu wollen. Sie wissen nicht, warum Sie nicht wissen, wie Sie gerade... dem Gefühl folgen," Rolf's lips curled slightly to reveal his teeth when he tried to describe the sensation, one very familiar to him, one he felt the woman was missing out on and there was a wild, fervent glint in his eyes when he spoke. The man breathed in deeply, feeling suddenly rejuvenated by the thought in all of its simple fierceness and savagery, the familiar sensation enticing him to allow it to pull him into it further; to openly laugh at the face of a raging storm, to follow a hunted doe into the thorniest of thickets and to bring his fighter into a roll that made his vision blacken dangerously at his challenge of of gravity. If Riedel would not allow herself to succumb to such feelings, what possible joy could she even find in her dreary life? Rolf's gaze became much more focused again and he stared at Riedel, attempting to discern the answer to his silent question from her viridian eyes and to reach behind the gates that so sternly guarded her thoughts and emotions.

"Oder... haben Sie erschöpfte tatsächlich so sich mit allen Ihren Lasten, dass Sie einfach vergessen haben, was es ist, gerade etwas für sich selbst zur Abwechselung wollend?" the man's eyes reflected sudden, unexpected perception and he seemed to be making his own deductions even before the woman had time to answer. He could already see things clearly now, a wild animal still untamed, yet one caged and so used to being surrounded by the steel bars that she would refuse to step out of the confines of her prison even when the door hung open before her. "Warum sollte ich Sie in einem Käfig bringen mögen, wenn Sie bereits in einem wohnen? Sie haben es selbst und die Leute gebaut, die von Ihnen abhängen, haben es für Sie freundlich geschlossen. Was Sie über Ketten, obwohl sagten... So, tatsächlich ist es ein verlockender Gedanke, aber vielleicht nicht ein für die gegenwärtige Situation," a mischievous, crooked smirk played upon the man's features, one reflecting only genuine amusement and not one born out of malice, the smile easily reaching the man's grey eyes and remaining there while Rolf's hand crept up to the woman's face and his thumb swept over the lower rim of her lip, as if reminiscing on what had happened earlier. Rolf could teach her how to free that caged side of hers, to lead her to the sunlight and show her just what it meant to free oneself from all commitments, even if it was just for a small moment. Rolf brought his face closer to hers and the gaze in his eyes took a sudden change once again, the playful glint changing to that of concentration and ever strengthening fascination, the tips of his fingers resting lightly on her chin. "Es ändert noch meine Meinung nicht, dass Sie sich gerade entspannen und ein wenig leben, Riedel," the man whispered hoarsely, his gaze fixed on her lips and his mouth opening ever so slightly as he leaned in closer to her, ready to demonstrate just what kind of idea of relaxing and living up a little he personally held.


Translations:

"Deshalb sind Sie hier? Instinkt."
"That is why you are here? Instinct."

"Also, Sie haben sich gerade alle diese Jahre geplagt, für andere arbeitend, bis es eine zweite Natur für Sie geworden ist..."
"So, have just toiled all these years, working for others until it has become a second nature to you. You did not tell me how, exactly, but I guess it would explain a lot. Why you are able to take care of yourself, why you don't need to depend on anyone and of course, the... muscles. It seems very like you."

"Da hast du Recht, ich könnte nicht alles davon verstehen. Aber ich kann etwas davon verstehen."
"And you're right, I might not understand all of it. But I can understand some of it."

"Ich würde nicht behaupten, dass ich vielfache Leute abhängig von mir abgesondert von meinem Gruppe gehabt habe..."
"I wouldn't claim I've had multiple people depending on me, apart from my Gruppe, or that I would have ever been in charge of making others smile."

"Aber ich bin nicht ohne meine eigenen Verantwortungen gewesen, egal wie verschieden sie von Ihrig sein könnten..."
"But I have not been without my own responsibilities, no matter how different they might be from yours. Of course, you couldn't have any idea about them, seeing as you do not know the first thing about me."

"Und aus irgendeinem Grund setzen Sie fort zu denken..."
"And for some reason you keep thinking I wish to make you my whore and I cannot understand why. Whores are easily found in every corner of a city with the slightest signs of civilization, so why would I go through all the trouble of trying to convert you into one? I know it wouldn't work... not that I would attempt such, anyway."

"Und wenn ich meinen Stolz hätte löschen wollen, hätte ich große Zeit gehabt tun so, wenn Sie hier früher..."
"And if I had wanted to quench my pride, I would have had ample time do so when you lay here earlier, all defenseless and weak, yet I did not. You seem so keen on finding out the motive for everything. Do we always have to have some complicated reasons behind every action we take? Don't you just want to live in the moment? Live on your instincts and just allow yourself to want something. You do not know why, you do not know how, you just... follow the feeling."

"Oder haben Sie erschöpfte tatsächlich.."
"Or have you, indeed, so exhausted yourself with all of your burdens that you have simply forgotten what it's like, just wanting something for yourself for a change?"

"Warum sollte ich Sie in einem Käfig bringen mögen..."
"Why should I wish to put you in a cage when you already dwell in one? You've built it yourself and the people who depend on you, have kindly locked it for you. What you said about chains, though... Well, indeed it is an enticing thought, but maybe not one for the current situation."

"Es ändert noch meine Meinung nicht, dass Sie sich gerade entspannen und ein wenig leben, Riedel."
"It still does not change my opinion that you should just relax and live a little, Riedel."

[Dirk Riedel]

From the window’s slightest crevice in came a tendril of moonlight that fell upon the sill, illuminating a single thin line across the marble surface and casting its silver glow in the corners of the dark room, but succumbing the two beings to impenetrable darkness only ever violated by eyes that glinted through the rarity of motion; the first bore deeply into the ceiling, an idle glimmer of fatigue surfacing through, the second bore into the former’s outline with a countenance of ill-assorted interest. She laid her hand to rest on her stomach once he pulled the cigarette from her fingers, felt him shift away from her and before too long resume his position by her side; she could almost feel his eyes burning onto her but moved not, simply stared at the ceiling, eyes open to gaze at the emptiness, to be surrounded by the numbness that followed, as though she in retrospect lay to reconsider her words, as memories flooded through her very being and seeped from her veins, reducing her to a state of prolonged silence that lingered even through his first utterances. And soon enough, he resumed his status as an unimportant by-passer in her life, soon he became nothing more but an insignificant molecule in her sphere of existence, his voice echoed distant and blurry and she no longer felt his frame touching lightly against the side of her figure, soon she simply did not care of what he had to say, whether he had understood, whether he wanted to understand; soon she slowly drowned into a condition of narcotic torpor as her eyes lifelessly glinted with reminiscence, a faint voice absentmindedly brushing through her ears, as light as wind and less as inspiriting, for she did not care about his ability of perception in the first place. He had asked her a question and she had, without quite being obliged to, responded with all the sincerity she possessed. Should he wish to delve further into her words he was free to do as he pleased, analyze her as he seemed fit, even conclude to a number of most unbefitting, offensive evaluations – she would pay no mind to his contemplation from that point onwards, for he mattered not any more. She allowed herself to gaze into the abyss for long, her body transfixed, like a statue, hearing his words but remaining unresponsive as she could only reflect on how ill grounded he was to be able to conceive the notions she had only a few moments ago spoken to him of.

She did not move as he explained to her how he treated her not as a whore, and even more absurd was his assertion he could not understand why precisely she assumed this. How ridiculous he was, and how once more he proved to her he was but a mere child who knew not of his own feelings, unable to sort out his desiderata and further elucidate them to his own self. She could have easily scoffed at his nonsensical perception but his words were not significant enough to release her of her torpor, eyes fixed onto the ceiling, almost unblinking and unemotional, for his existence was not of consequence to cause a tumult into her present state of calm apathy. She breathed evenly, with her neck creating the shape of a crescent moon as it curved upwards, lips serenely pressed closed and the other hand hanging lifelessly down by the edge of the mattress, her heart denying means of entry to his words, for they were meaningless, insignificant, merely spoken to satisfy his own necessity to speak than her own interest to hear, her chest slowly heaving to reveal her unconcern to his journey of discovery, which she only perceived as a journey of absurd notions intertwining with one another to create a mass of ludicrous conclusions that were far from the truth. She retained that determined silence, until, suddenly, she was slowly drawn away from her torpor when his next words reached through her mind, and though there was nothing to outwardly manifest this change in stance something had clicked inside her as he asked whether she truly needed a complicated reason for anything, even daring to tell her how it was not condemnable to live through instincts, succumb to the human notions of spontaneous desires, selfishly tend to her own needs and pursue that which she deemed most noteworthy for her own well-being. He did not stop, but his voice adopted a hint of raw savagery and she could almost feel his hungered breath tingling the side of her face as he accused her of showing ignorance towards her own yearnings. But it was what he had to say next that truly awakened her, and she suddenly shifted her head to look at him in a slow movement. Caged. She was caged. Her heart missed a beat and she could only stare at him blankly for those few moments as he spoke – and something stirred within her, an unbearable burden came to rest on her chest and weighed her down from its sheer magnitude, restricted her throat and rendered her for that fleeting second helpless to his consuming, overpowering existence. He had finally become significant.

She lay motionless on the mattress as his strong fingers traced a gentle path across the lower brink of her fairly parted lips, her breathing heavier, and with her eyebrows faintly curved over those eyes that searched into his face as he drew in closer, as if in frozen disbelief, for anything that would allege to any support of such assumptions with reasoning and true sentiment, and yet all she could see was arrogant self-confidence through his bloated sense of complacency. She tried to swallow but this simple action seemed too difficult when she realized her throat had been tied into a knot, and only stared at him breathlessly as he leaned nearer, her face distorted into a strange amalgamation of confusion, disbelief and altercation altogether, her heart racing against her ribcage from the rapid venom he had infected her with and which frantically spread throughout, passing the disease to the most secret corners of her organism. Her eyebrows fiercely lined over her eyes as they narrowed at the touch, and she remained unresponsive through her wretched inability to react when he closed the distance between them, the fleeting, in some way faint, feel of the breath drawn from his nose never permeating through her insides but only ever tingling her nostrils, making this unearthly contact even more unnatural to her. She was very conscious of the fact it was her he was kissing, and yet it was not her he was kissing; at the same time as she perceived it must have been her he had drawn himself towards, she could only feel how it must have been someone else, and she was merely watching from an outsider’s perspective, standing in the corner drowned in the shadows and without invitation, watching something that was forbidden, something she was not allowed to be present to, and yet, quite strangely so, something that was very much closely connected to her own reality. She was receiving but not responding, incapacitated of the ability to feel anything even if she could distinctly be aware of the motion; the touch itself was distant and had she not kept her eyes open through those few moments it existed she might have thought it only an ill product of her high temperature.

In a strange way it felt like all those times she had visited the church in town with her parents; she was but nine years old, wearing a knit, sleeved, knee-length black dress, the golden strands of properly combed straight hair falling down onto her shoulders, as large, wide eyes of palest green looked around her with a small frown etched through her thoughtful face. Her mother had tried to force her daughter into wearing a white ribbon around her head but, to her irritation, the child had obstinately refused to follow her mother’s request; had Lara Wolterman been prepared to administer a controlled, sharp slap the father had instantly intervened, allowing his beloved child to choose for herself whether she fancied such a silly ornament or not. She did not. The young girl stared at the clergyman while he was addressing his sermon to the common townspeople or peasant folk, and slowly let her gaze divert to those sitting closest to her or the young priests standing at the very end in the church’s corner. She gazed at them for long and, soon enough, easily forgot herself, neglecting the sermon for which she was most uninterested in and instead focusing upon those young souls who had – for some strange, inexplicable reason, she assumed – chosen to spend their lives in such a pointless manner as this. She found such a choice so completely incomprehensible and perplexing that she spent the following hour persistently trying to solve the puzzle and understand the reasons behind these priests’ desires, what their motivations had been, often wondering whether they had truly felt spiritual contact with God. So determined she had been in this quest that the words of the clergyman merely passed through her ears like the wind whistling outdoors that cold spring’s evening; she was present, sat on the wooden bench, in a reality she could not escape, receiving the messages of the sermon, but so distant they felt that it was as if her body was there, the words were being addressed and her mind was unconsciously filtering the knowledge according to which was useful information she needed to keep and which ought to be quickly brushed aside, which, in the case of a sermon, was often the latter. But as her eyes flickered through the dim orange lights of the hall, gazing at the young servants of a divine being, she was unable to feel the true meaning of the clergyman’s words though she may have been right there, detached from the reality in an almost absolute way.

This is how she felt during the present moment, but the mere contact had only lasted for no longer than three, four, five seconds when, as though in true awakening, her hands shot straight up and pressed against his lips, sharply pulling him away as she stared back into his eyes, her face distorted into an expression of aggravated disbelief, the spiral waves of hatred firing up inside her as her hands violently shoved him away. She pulled herself up and fiercely scowled at him, her lips curved to show her distaste when, without a warning, she raised her hand and struck against the right side of his face. She frowned, and hatefully spat on him, her chest heaving forcefully while she stared at a man she felt most hostile towards. “Sie wissen was, Jäger?” she hissed angrily, her eyes narrowed as she leaned slightly closer to him. “Gehen Sie bumsen ein Pferd,” she told him with a detestable sneer, before she immediately shifted her weight off the bed and walked barefooted across the room; her hand soon turned the latch, the door clicked open and in a moment she disappeared into the darkness.

She had not realized when her feet had led her outdoors, for so blinded with rage was she that for the time she needed to storm quietly out of the hospital without waking anyone it seemed as if a mere second had passed even though it had certainly been considerably more than that before she had found the back door leading to the open space of the building’s premises. She growled in consuming indignation and momentarily stopped, not knowing what to do or where to go, her bare feet touching against the ground much to her unconcern, but then it was impossible to remain at the same spot for more than seconds and thus she instinctively let her own self lead her several metres in the distance, her fists clenched and her teeth gritted, releasing raw instinct from its barren cage and allowing it to roam free, for she, creature of the wild, could best find peace of mind out in the nature where no human samples could taint her with the stains of their own absurdity and arrogance. She circled around the area for a moment or two, fuming and progressively arriving at the end of her wits knowing she had no more cigarettes to smoke. It was then that she stirred her face to the side and saw him approaching her – her eyes narrowed and she stormed back towards his direction with a determined stride, quick enough to lash out at him before he could even react.

“Sie denken dass Sie alles wissen, stimmt dass?” she barked, storming in front of him until she stood only a few steps away from his frame, her eyes widened to exhibit her tantrum, the disbelief clearly written in her furious eyes over what assertions he had dared to conclude, how untrue they were, how absurd he was, and always how self-righteous and complacent with his opinions. Throughout her life she had insulted and been insulted an innumerable amount of times; her family’s name had been spoiled by those who considered themselves to be superior to someone of her class, insults that were grave indeed and which mostly drove her out of her wits unlike no other, but this – this was the most awful offense that had ever been pronounced to her, and in such an alarmingly casual tone no less. “Denken Sie dass Sie alles verstehen können, dass Sie allein denken können, dass Sie allein intelligent genug sind um eine Situation zu verhandeln mit der Sie nicht kaum sogar vertraut sind? Wer im Namen des Teufels sollen Sie klassifizieren was das Bumsen ich bin, und was ich nicht bin? Kennen Sie mich?” she shouted at him. “Kennen Sie mich?” she cried the question with a demanding growl, but she never really expected a response. “Wer zum Teufel Sie einen Schiedsrichter meines Lebens machte und was lässt Sie denken dass Sie für einen Moment die Vorstellung eines Lebens ergreifen können Sie konnten sich nicht jemals vorstellen zu leben? Sie, egoistisch im Anschluss an beliebige spontane Laune treiben Ihre Fantasie, solange Sie zufrieden sind, mich sagend, dasselbe zu machen? Sie, alle Ihre Jahre in Ihrem Schnürsenkel und Satin ausgebend, auf goldenen Löffeln und Porzellan, beschränkt in der Bequemlichkeit Ihres unfruchtbaren Herrenhauses und in der Gesellschaft von Leuten speisend, die ihre Zeit versuchend vergeuden, zu verderben und irgendjemanden auszunutzen, der in ihrem Weg gerade kommt, so können sie genug Geld gewinnen, um mehr Kalbfleisch zu essen und mehr Huren, Leute zu bumsen, die Ihnen nichts geben!” she spat at him, her eyebrows violently curved over the eyes that were with such manic frenzy glaring at him, her chest rising and falling like the tidal waves at sea during a stormy weather as her breath came out in a rapid rhythm, though she paid no attention to such an insignificant matter, for she had other things to say to him, and the truth must be delivered – truth he needed to know and which he, like a child, was too immature and undeveloped to be able to conceive.

“Sie geben Ihnen nichts als Hochmut und Leere, weil ich es sah, Jäger!” she breathed, narrowing her eyes as she slightly shook her head. “Ich sah Sie auf die einfachste menschliche Note, Sie, der große Schiedsrichter von allem, erschrocken des menschlichen Kontakts reagieren. Oh Ja, sind Sie erschrocken, Jäger, Sie sind erschrocken, weil zum ersten Mal in Ihrem Leben Sie über eine wahre Person gestolpert sind und Sie nicht wissen, wie man reagiert, sind Sie einem erschrockenen Welpen ähnlich, der nichts abgesehen davon jemals gelernt hat, durch Ihr sehr eigenes System unterworfen zu werden – Sie wissen nicht, wie man mit mir kommuniziert, Sie wissen nicht, wie man reagiert, weil das gegen alles geht, dass Sie jemals so das einzige Ding unterrichtet worden sind, auf das Sie am besten wissen, wie man antwortet, ist Versuch, mich zu unterwerfen, weil Sie zu befangen und erschrocken sind, um irgendetwas Tieferes mit einer anderen Person zu erforschen, die sich auf die Ausnutzung und Vorrichtung nicht verlässt!” she spat, and then took one step closer to him, panting breathlessly, her forehead ablaze and her lips agape as she glared at him.

“Oh, ich weiß sehr gut was Sie nach mir woollen, Jäger,” she whispered hoarsely at him, her eyes bright with a glint of recognition, as though the former contact had allowed her a small, brief passage into his soul, as though she had, even for a moment, been able to decipher his intentions and draw along from his essence to best understand his motives. “Huren können an jeder Ecke der Stadt gefunden werden, aber diese Hure ist etwas wer bestritt Sie, nicht wahr? Die anderen werden für Sie einfach bitten, nach ihnen zu gehen, sinnlose Wörter zu schreien und Ihren Kopf mit dem leeren Quatsch weil zu befriedigen, was sorgen sie sich? Sie werden bezahlt, sie werden nicht verschwendet werden eine Sekunde dachte darauf was Sie denken, wie Sie sich fühlen. Aber Ihre Arroganz, Ihr Stolz, Ihr aufgeblähter Selbstachtungsschrei für diese Hure, die nie ein Bumsen gab, ob Sie lebendig oder tief unter dem Grund begraben sind. Sie sind prancing zusammen mit schwachsinnigen Prominenten Ihr ganzes Leben gewesen, Überlegenheit wird eine natürliche Gewohnheit, tut nicht es, Sie lernen schnappen, was Sie denken, ist Ihrig, verwüstete jedes Wesen, das Hälfte, wie erfüllt, ist, als Sie jemals weil Ihr Ressentiment ihrer Freiheitsrolläden Sie sein werden!” she growled, her glare unblinking, unyielding as she held onto him throughout her words – there was no sign of malice in her tone but only furious perception, conceivable enough even through the brisk nature and the touch of asperity that resurfaced in her voice.

“Das ist das was Sie danach, Jäger, das und nichts mehr sind,” she assured him. “Sie wollen mir zu meinen Knien bringen, weil es schmerzt, um zu wissen, dass es etwas gibt, dass Sie nicht zerknittern können, es gibt etwas, was stolz höher steht als Sie. Sie denken, dass ich eingesperrt werde? Ich habe mehr Freiheit, als Sie jemals hoffen werden zu besitzen, bin ich der Master meiner eigenen Handlungen, ich denke für mich selbst und, verschieden von Ihnen, ich werde zur Herkunft nicht gebunden; Leute entwickelten nie, wie mein eigenes Leben, welche Ausbildung sein würde, zu folgen, welche Begriffe wen behilflich zu sein, zu halten, wie man mein Leben führte. Um Himmels willen, Jäger,” she said, and suddenly laughed in front of his face, and although the nature of this rather humourless, cold laugh was not exclusively mocking, her derision was more than palpable through the face, now distorted into an expression of amused disbelief, “sind Sie wahrscheinlich sogar gezwungen worden sich mit einem kleinen aristokratischen Scheißmädchen zu verheiraten!” she told him, her shoulders lightly shaking from this abrupt source of amusement, her eyes jeering at him. “Oh, sie muss so unverdorben und ursprünglich werden ich bin sicher, dass Sie genießen werden, jedes Stückchen ihrer vollkommenen weißen Haut zu verwüsten, die Unschuld zerstören und sie Ihrig gerade fordern, so können Sie über sie lachen und sie verlachen. So dort scheint es, dass Sie mich mehr nicht brauchen, sie so gerade bumsen und mich allein lassen!” she barked at him feverishly, and at this point all trace of laughter had been forever vanished, her face reduced to an anguished expression of slowly churning resentment, until she abruptly raised an arm, prepared to strike hard against his face for his nonsensical obstinacy to search her out for a reason she knew would not come to pass –

The palm of her hand softly touched against the side of his face and remained there, the control in this motion almost remarkable as she was left in a breathless state, panting, her lips parted to allow more air to enter through her lungs. She swallowed down the knot in her throat, and allowed herself to slowly calm down as she spent the next few moments in utter, unbroken silence, merely gazing up at him with a hardened face which, at this very moment, expressed neither derision nor hatred, but pain. “Ihre Meinung dachte an mich sofort eingesperrt werden Sie wissen warum?” she finally asked him softly. “Weil Sie Ihr eigenes selbst widergespiegelt in mir sehen. Es schmerzt, stimmt dass?” She frowned. “Ohne Ihre Freiheit geboren zu sein. Das ist, warum Sie ein Pilot wurden, ist nicht es in einem eitlen Versuch, Ihre eigene Freiheit zu finden, wann auch immer Sie durch die Himmel wandern, weil in diesem Moment Sie alles vergessen lässt, dass Sie dazu gebunden werden, aber tief unten wissen Sie dass Sie ebenso gebunden werden wie immer,” she told him slowly with a glint of recognition as her fingers remained unmoving by his face. “Tief unten sind Sie erschrocken, erschrocken, um zu wissen, was es Lust hat zu fühlen; die Arroganz und Geringschätzung sind nichts mehr außer Ihrer eigenen verwirrten Meinung, die Sie blendet, um gerade zu verbergen, wie unsicher Sie wirklich, wie einsam sind. Wer würde Sie jemals verantwortlich für irgendetwas, Sie hoffnungsloser Mann bringen? Wer würde jemals dumm genug sein, um Ihnen irgendwelche Verantwortung zu geben, wenn Sie zu Ihrem eigenen selbst nicht sogar verantwortlich sein können? Ich habe mich dem Besten meiner geistigen Anlagen gemüht, meine Aufgaben durchzuführen - manchmal kann ich versagt haben, manchmal schwöre ich, dass ich nichts mehr gewollt haben kann aber aufzugeben, weil ich gerade menschlich bin, aber ich sie nie aufgab. Ich tat es mit meinem ganzen Herzen, und ich hätte es wieder, und wieder getan, wenn ich muss. Selbst wenn ich viele Dinge opfern musste, die ich statt dessen getan haben könnte ich war noch glücklich, Jäger. Ich war glücklich, weil es nichts in dieser Welt gibt um die edelste Aufgabe zu entgegnen, und das sieht dass diejenigen die am meisten für Sie von Bedeutung sind, gedeihen. Und das ist warum ich mich nie eingesperrt fühlte. Es hat Liebe genannt, Jäger,” she spoke softly, a pained edge to her voice, her tone tolerant and her face only telling him of fatigue as combined by the true sentiment of her genuine intentions, unadulterated as they had been and eyebrows curved over her eyes in a way to suggest no longer the iron claws of her untamed outrage, but only placid sorrow and forlorn honesty – the voice was etched with a gentle touch of melancholy: addressed to her, but melancholy for him also, for he knew not, he could not know and perceive the sheer magnitude of what she was telling him, and for this, she felt sorry for him.

“Ich liebte meine Familie in einer Art, wie Sie nicht zugreifen können. Ich sorgte mich um sie zu viel, weil sie mehr - mehr bedeuten, als die menschliche Meinung jemals zugreifen kann,” she said, and something heavy and tight came to rest on her chest once more as she spoke of her family. Her voice faltered once, but there was strength of will as she explained to him – as she attempted to explain – the sentiments with which he could not be acquainted. It had been a task, a duty, but not one taken as a mechanical call of instinctual self-preservation; it was the product of her own nature, her affection, the comportment of character that refused to allow the ship to sink, that still barked at the sailors never to surrender at the tidal waves even when the prospects of survival were minimal, but that would go to the bottom along with the others. “Und das ist etwas dass Sie etwas nie verstanden haben, dass Sie nicht verstehen können. Wie es sich fühlt um sich zu sorgen was es bedeutet, Ihrem eigenen Blut gewidmet zu werden. Und Es tut mir leid, dass zu sagen dass aber Sie nie verstehen werden,” she whispered, and her voice was understanding, almost affectionate, as she gazed up at him, close enough to feel his breath tingling her nose, her hand softly touching upon the side of his face and her green eyes telling only of her regret and sympathy over his inability to know, the curse he had carried along since childhood buried deeply in the dark corners of his mind, the oblivion he had been living in, the cold, mechanized human contact that condemned him to a life of wretched vanity and meaningless grandeur. Through the thundering silence, the strengthened wind that shifted past their frozen faces, through the unspoken words, and the sudden stillness of the moment, she knew not what invisible force goaded her, which unspeakable power consumed her mind and rendered her helpless, once more, to her sentiments, but every thought or inner defiance was numbed from within into a state of determined unconsciousness as her fingers slithered to the rear of his neck and, with a driving force overpowering enough to conquer even the most hostile of lands thus far untamable to human cultivation, closed the distance between them in one simple, uncomplicated motion – her other hand easily moved to rest upon his face, and she breathed into his very being shreds of her soul, her motion fervid, unwavering and purposeful, firmly holding him close to her, to lead him through this very human contact she knew he was ignorant to and guide through his essence the merest touch of awareness. She could not tell the moments that it lasted, perhaps it was only a few seconds, perhaps it existed for the course of a century, or eternities on end, or perhaps it may have only been in their imagination, perhaps it may have never happened at all – but when she slowly pulled back with a last, lingering feel her eyes silently bore onto his, until her fingers softly found their way to his lips, covering his mouth lest he should break the silence.

She remained there quietly, her gaze unblinking and perpetual, and let the moments pass, as the warmth travelled from her hands to his face, and his face warmed the evening air, until she slowly pulled her hand away and stepped backwards and, with a last glance, she turned around and walked away from him, into the wilderness.


Translation

You know what, Jäger? Go fuck a horse.

You think you know everything, don’t you? Think you can understand everything, that you alone can think, that you alone are intelligent enough to judge a situation you’re not barely even familiar with? Who in the devil’s name are you to classify what the fuck I am and what I’m not? Do you know me? Do you know me? Who the hell made you an arbitrator of my life and what makes you think you can for a moment grasp the concept of a life you could not ever imagine living? You, selfishly following whatever spontaneous whim drives your fancy as long as you’re pleased, telling me to do the same? You, spending all your years in your lace and satin, dining on golden spoons and porcelain, confined in the comfort of your barren mansion and in the company of people who waste their time trying to corrupt and exploit anyone who comes in their way just so they can gain enough money to eat more veal and fuck more whores, people who give you nothing!

They give you nothing but vanity and emptiness, because I saw it, Jäger! I saw you react to the simplest human touch, you, the great arbitrator of everything, scared of human contact. Oh yes, you’re scared, Jäger, you’re scared because for the first time in your life you have stumbled across a true individual and you don’t know how to react, you’re like a frightened whelp that hasn’t ever learned anything except for being subdued by your very own system – you don’t know how to communicate with me, you don’t know how to react because this goes against everything you’ve ever been taught so the only thing you best know how to respond to is try to subdue me because you are too self-conscious and scared to explore anything deeper with another person that doesn’t rely on exploitation and contrivance!

Oh, I know very well what you want after me, Jäger. Whores can be found in every corner of the city but this whore is something who denied you, isn’t it? The others will simply beg for you to go after them, cry meaningless words and satisfy your head with empty nonsense because what do they care? They will be paid, they won’t waste a second thought on what you think, how you feel. But your arrogance, your pride, your bloated self-esteem cry for that whore who never gave a fuck whether you’re alive or buried deep under the ground. You’ve been prancing along with feebleminded socialites all your life, dominance becomes a natural habit, doesn’t it, you learn to snatch what you think is yours, ravage any being that is half as fulfilled than you will ever be because your resentment of their freedom blinds you!

That is what you are after, Jäger, that and nothing more. You want to bring me to my knees because it hurts to know there is something you cannot crush, there is something that proudly stands higher than you. You think I’m caged? I have more freedom than you will ever hope to possess, I am the master of my own actions, I think for myself and, unlike you, I am not bound to ancestry; people never designed how my own life would be, what education to follow, whom to befriend, what notions to hold, how to lead my life. For God’s sake, Jäger, you’ve probably even been forced to get married to a fucking blue-blooded little girl! Oh, she must be so untainted and pristine, I’m sure you’ll enjoy ravaging every little piece of her perfect white skin, destroy the innocence and claim her yours just so you can laugh at her and deride her. So there, it seems like you don’t need me anymore, so just fuck her and leave me alone!

Your mind instantly thought of me being caged, you know why? Because you see your own self mirrored in me. It hurts, doesn’t it? Being born without your freedom. This is why you became a pilot, isn’t it, in a vain attempt to find your own freedom whenever you roam through the skies, because that moment makes you forget everything you’re bound to, but deep down you know you’re just as bound as always. Deep down you’re scared, scared to know what it feels like to feel; the arrogance and contempt is nothing more but your own confused mind blinding you to conceal just how insecure you really are, how lonely. Who would ever put you in charge of anything, you hopeless man? Who would ever be stupid enough to give you any responsibility when you cannot even be responsible to your own self? I have strived to the best of my abilities to perform my duties – sometimes I may have failed, sometimes I swear I may have wanted nothing more but to give up because I’m just human, but I never abandoned them. I did it with all my heart, and I would have done it again, and again if I must. Even if I had to sacrifice a lot of things I could have done instead, I was still happy, Jäger. I was happy because there is nothing in this world to counter the most noble duty, and that is seeing those who matter most to you prosper. And this is why I never felt caged. It’s called love, Jäger. I loved my family in a way you cannot grasp. I cared for them too much, because they mean more – more than the human mind can ever grasp. And this is something you have never understood, something you cannot understand. How it feels to care, what it means to be devoted to your own blood. And I’m sorry to say that, but you will never understand.

[Rolf Jäger]

The sheer exhilaration and lingering feeling of mischief that had been dominating Rolf's mind just earlier seemed to melt somewhere into the darkness surrounding the room, lost in the vast wastes of a cold sea of curious neutrality and displacement. Even though he could plainly feel the feverish heat of her skin reflecting upon his and discern the warm dryness of her lips, she might as well been existing in an entirely different dimension, so unresponsive did she feel. Rolf had not been expecting her to return to the action in a particularly positive manner to begin with, but he had not expected her to be so entirely passive, either. Having her lay there silent was not an entirely pleasant feeling, yet Rolf refused to give up and he only pressed more closely against her, imagining that she would find the right mindset soon enough. He had not the time to regain control of his own thoughts before the woman suddenly reacted, her hand pushing against his mouth and prodding him further away from her, Rolf releasing an irritated, muffled grunt that might have been the beginning of a sentence, but the words had been hopelessly obscured by the strong and decisive hand that pushed him back. The man frowned and growled, meeting Riedel's hatefully burning eyes after she had withdrawn her hands and the irritated words were already waiting upon his tongue, ready to scold her for such an uncalled action. Riedel raised herself up on the bed and, even through the darkness, Rolf could see her moonlit face distorted in sudden anger. The man prepared to meet the sentiment with equal force, his eyes already narrowing and his lips parting, ready to spit out sharp words to counter hers. A sharp slap caught him across the right side of his face and Rolf completely forgot what he had been planning to say when he felt the sharp waves of pain skittering across his skin, inflaming his nerves and finally hammering a ruthless blow somewhere within his brain, the old injuries flaring up from the strike. Rolf blinked and raised a hand to his cheek, his mouth hanging open and some slow sense of irritation and confusion slowly creeping to his features when the woman brought her head closer, wishing Rolf away with some rather strong words.

The bed creaked when Riedel shifted her weight and rose from it, already striding towards the door in angry, irritated steps, while Rolf still lay on his side and held a hand to his face, his eyebrows knitted together in an expression of utter disbelief. Rolf forced his muscles to move and he clambered up from the bed with haste, grunting and cursing, desperately trying to find his way around in the darkness. His knee bumped against the side of the bed as he reached under his pillow, pulling out the packet of cigarettes and promptly hurrying after the woman, nearly stumbling on a hastily discarded boot in the process. The man came to a sharp stop in the silent corridor, only barely catching the outlines of a shadowy figure moving along in the hall in a hurried manner. Rolf growled low in his throat with irritation as he started after her, stuffing the packet of cigarettes into his pocket as he did so. He found himself holding his breath and eyeing each passing corridor and door with suspicion, just waiting for someone to stop him on his path, yet as if in a dream, the corridors remained empty besides the two fast figures moving through the hallways with the silence of shadows. Not knowing where Riedel was headed to, Rolf merely stalked after her, occasionally losing her figure behind a wall just to catch a glimpse of it once again after the had circled around the corner.

Rolf's hand pushed open the door in front of him and he felt the cool nightly air caressing skin when he stepped outside, flinching slightly when the sharp edges of stones suddenly bit into his bare feet. The man came to a slow, bewildered stop, breathing evenly as he blinked and wondered whether the woman was planning on just walking into the desert in her anger, ready to risk her own health on the account of her hatred. He could spot her now, her blonde hair glowing almost white in the soft light of the moon while she paced in the sand like an irritated wild animal, trying to defuse her anger in such a simple physical process. Rolf remained standing still in front of the door, allowing his feet to get used to the strange sensation of having small rocks push against them and observing the angry gait of the female before he finally moved towards her, his hand already snaking into the pocket to pull out the cigarettes and offer one of them to Riedel. Instead of feeling any anger, he only felt a renewed sense of curiosity and he wanted to examine her further, just to see what would happen and what kind of things she would say, but all of this would have required her to calm down first - something that cigarettes seemed to manage very effectively.

Before he had time to say anything or even offer her the smokes, she was already storming towards him and her eyes burned with such a dark, ominous fire as to make the man freeze in his spot completely, his lips parting in a forethought of defence, yet not having the time to voice out so much as one word. Riedel struck as rapidly as an attacking viper and her words were coated with liquid fire when she spoke, stopping just a few steps away from the confused pilot to ask Rolf whether he was under the assumption that he knew everything. The man arched an eyebrow at her, a small, confused chortle forming in his throat before he opened his mouth to answer, yet the woman gave him no chance to utter any words of defence as she already went on and her voice rose louder and sharper. The stern edge of her voice rang from the nearby walls, bouncing back and attacking Rolf from all directions when she asked if he knew her - a question which Rolf would have answered in a negative manner, further adding that he had some ideas on how to get to know her better, yet he had no time for such jeering comebacks as Riedel's verbal assault went on. She stabbed at his kin next, claiming that Rolf's company consisted of shallow people with very crude aspirations, that he dwelled among luxuries and could not even hope to grasp the basics of a life different from his own. Her words made Rolf only snort in a curious mixture of amusement and ever-growing irritation as he pulled his hand from his pocket, leaving the packet of cigarettes laying inside and the man's mouth hung slightly open as he waited for a reprieve in the battle, for Riedel to at least breathe and give him the time to answer her completely ludicrous observations.

There was no pause in the burning tempest of her anger and instead the woman stared at him, her eyes searing him with their unadulterated revulsion, the sentiment not pointed only at him but towards all of his kind, all of those that had more than her, the ones who need not worry over the meal of the next day. Of course she should spout such words at him; Rolf had experienced jealousy before and he had learned to consider it only amusing, a true commendation of his superiority and a feeling kindled in others due to nothing more but pure spitefulness over his possessions. A small, autocratic smirk crinkled the corner of the man's mouth and he looked down on her, ready to voice out the truth, but her next words were spoken too fast and they choked the sentence in his throat while he could only stare and frown. She claimed that he had, truly, been afraid of human touch and that he was scared of human contact - a notion which in all of its vast absurdity would have made the man laugh, had she not carried on to say that he was confused for having met a true person, an individual, and that he was trying to subdue her only because he possessed no other means of interaction with others. To claim that he, that Rolf Jäger, was afraid; afraid of something as ludicrous as other people, no less? The man blinked and a mixed expression of amusement and confusion appeared over his features, yet the laughter died in his throat and he merely stared, the left corner of his mouth having withdrawn into a confused half-smile while his lips remained parted in a vain attempt to bring forth words. The mere claim that he had fear of something was ludicrous at best, but to assert that his grandest fear was that of other people seemed completely otherworldly at best - how would he have been afraid of other people? He dwelled among them, he commanded their respect and if they attempted to cross him, he would strike first and quench any resistance and derision that might have blossomed within the simple minds of his opponents. Him? Afraid? If she was referring to the earlier incident of Rolf flinching away from her, he could not remember it even being related to fear and the only thing he remembered was suspicion and carefulness, things which certainly had little to do with the sentiment she was now speaking of. It was the other people who should be afraid of him; they should run, they should beg, they should cower before him. He would have laughed at her had he still possessed the ability, but for some reason he had been robbed of his words and the man only stood there, completely unable to voice his sentiments while he continued gaping at her in complete silence.

The woman took one step closer to him, her chest heaving with angry draws of breath and Rolf felt the curious need to grow the distance between them, yet it would have been a sign of weakness and he stood in front of her, his back rigid and his fingers slowly curling into loose fists as his expression hardened and yet, he allowed her to go on and his ears carefully picked up each one of her words when she claimed that he still only thought her a whore, one that had managed to evade and fight against his grasp. Whores cared not for his sentiments and, talented actresses as they could be, they only cared for the payment, begging to follow him merely in desperate hope of coin. According to her it had been his wounded pride that had so angered him, that it was her rejection and complete disinterest which had made him chase after her, for he had become accustomed to getting everything he wanted, that he hated others for their freedom. A small sneer appeared on Rolf's lips over these words and hatred grew inside him in fast, predatory gaits, while another part of him filled with utter confusion. What could she possibly even mean with claiming that Rolf somehow resented the freedom of others? What freedom could the common serf possibly have, forever chained to their duties, to their daily toiling that eventually made them grow tired and weak, after which they died in poverty, never having achieved anything meaningful in their lives? To even suggest that Rolf in some absurd way was jealous of them..! Surely the woman was talking in the throes of her fever only, for he had never heard anything quite as ridiculous as what was now presented before him in such a burning, angry clarity.

Still, these were not the words that made Rolf's insides churn with wrath, but it was what she was to say next that made the blood run hot in his veins, the poison of offence rushing through them. How she claimed that she, indeed, stood proud above him, how she suggested that she was the one with a freedom such pure and perfect as he could never hope to possess. The man's features distorted with hatred and his muscles prepared themselves for an attack, yet as if cold water had been thrown over a bonfire, the feeling suddenly died down just on the account of her words, ones that now struck too close to a mark. His was a cage of his heritage, of the requirements placed upon him, of a dead-end future with no aspirations of his own and with a single path lined by such steep walls, there was no hope in even trying to see past them. It was true... in a way, although Rolf had never seen it as a cage, but as set of responsibilities that he was to be proud of, for that was how it had always been presented to him. A line of dusty photographs and portraits on the wall, each presenting a head of the family from ages past; and how they all had upheld the family traditions and followed the path already well-tread, decorating it with some great deed once performed, of respect earned and of battles fought. He had imagined his own picture on that wall one day, in the dark corridors of the family mansion where the spirits of the past still lingered in shades of their former glory, watching upon those that followed after them. It was an honour, it was something to aim for, so why should he have ever seen that as a cage?

Her mocking laughter made the man blink and stare more intently at her, his fingers curling into a tighter fist and his teeth gritting together, yet his body still failed to find those traces of adrenaline that had for a moment dominated his system in a very familiar and welcome way. She laughed at him; she laughed imagining that Rolf was forced to marry a female carefully chosen for him, one properly schooled and preserved only for his own, raw desires. And how close she was to the truth, for at once an image of just such a woman flashed in front of his eyes, filling Rolf's insides with cold disgust when he knew she was right and that the only measure of free will he had been allowed to display was to choose among the candidates. And for that singular moment he knew she was right, that his life had been designed with careful standards and that there was no way out for him, the man not even attempting to consider just how she could realize all these things when Rolf had not even attempted to dismantle them himself. The final traces of anger were drained from him and the empty spaces remained unfilled, leaving the man suddenly hollow and silent. Rolf only stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open and his eyes reflecting some sense of confusion while the only thing he could feel was the burning of her rage, one lonely sensation of a relentless sun in a desert filled with nothing but endless mountains of sand.

Even though he could see her hand raising in to strike him, he was far too stunned to even make the effort of trying to divert himself from its path. He even had enough time to think on her action, realizing that he was ready to welcome the pain, for at least it would have woken up from his stupor and forced him back into the reality. Instead of the sharp sting of a slap he felt the palm of her hand suddenly pressing on his cheek, against the rough stubble and the dark relics of his bruises. He wanted to recoil away from the touch, to dismiss it and grasp at the dwindling traces of anger that could not be too far away, yet he might have just as well attempted to find one singular grain of sand in the midst of a desert. The silence between them was heavy with sentiments well known to her and with feelings completely foreign to the man, making the air feel almost heavy, as if the air was suddenly running out. Rolf waited for her touch to twist into something violent, his natural mistrust still not allowing his mind to rest and he found himself holding his breath in expectation of the pain. Only her softly spoken words pierced through the darkness, carrying over to him like gentle wisps of smoke, all too sympathetic and benign. Rolf could only listen to her, his silver eyes staring at her silently while his expression remained frozen in confusion and inner turmoil. Even though he knew her hand rested upon his face, he could not feel it, for his skin was rendered ever number with each calmly spoken word. In a tone that neither attempted to deride or insult him, she told him how he was the one born in captivity, seeking a momentary reprieve from it in the open skies, yet still always remaining chained by the same shackles that had kept his ancestors. She had seen through him, past the heavy shell of arrogance and narcissism, just to find someone scared of any deeper sentiments, a person shirking away from others just in order to feel confident in the things he was at least familiar with. Rolf would have answered her words with open laughter, he would have challenged them with angry remarks when she suggested that he was not even fit to take charge of any matters, hopeless as he was. He would have, had he still possessed the ability to do so and instead, a relentless weight suddenly appeared inside his ribs, pushing his increasingly quickly beating heart somewhere below, while a strange, icy feeling constrained his throat, as if death himself had suddenly decided to grasp at Rolf with his cold talons.

Riedel spoke fondly of her family, of love, of fear and of happiness, all things which seemed absurdly abstract to Rolf now and he wanted to embrace her knowledge as furiously as he wanted to simply shove it away; it all made him feel nothing but uncomfortable and confused and who in their right mind would have chosen to feel like that if there was another way out? Just the mere concept of love had always appeared ridiculous to him and he had never figured out why so many songs, stories and plays had been composed around the subject. What was love but a fancy way of describing something as simple as lust or duty - the love between a man and a woman only springing from a natural desire to breed, the love between a parent and a child that of obligation to make sure that the bloodline would be preserved, the love between friends that based on practical gain - all of them fleeting and easily betrayed by other emotions and as quickly scattered as the placidity of a lake on the smallest breeze. His parents had ever sheltered him with what had seemed like the love of a mother and father, yet Rolf had always known that he was the only heir and hence important enough to be carefully preserved. He could not understand to which sentiment Riedel was referring to, for it carried the same name, yet appeared completely different from the one he was familiar with. Even speaking of it seemed to make the woman choke up for a small moment, yet she still claimed that her love had somehow brought her happiness. Rolf only stared at her in stunned silence, realizing just how deep the sentiment must have ran within the woman, yet still failing to understand how all of it was supposed to work and what would bring forth such strong emotions not born out of competition and conflict. His grey eyes tried to search for the answers within hers, but they could only read the devotion and the earnestness behind her words, failing to understand the reasons attached to them.

If Rolf Jäger had ever appeared silent and lost, this was the very moment; his hands hung limply by his sides and his fingers had long since unfurled as the anger had been replaced with bewilderment. The man's mouth gaped slightly open while his silver eyes stared at her from under eyebrows curved in silent confusion, his sandy hair standing upright in an unkempt mess after the sleeplessly spent nights, with the dark shadow of his stubble just further contributing to an image of someone who simply had stopped caring about his appearance. Rolf could see her moving towards him before he had even the time to completely process the notion, yet through the numbness of his skin he could not feel her hands upon his face, could not discern the texture of her lips against his own, only managing to register the things he could actually see until the deadness of his nerves slowly left him, releasing his his skin to feel the outside influences once again. It was as if his skin had been covered by a thin frost of ice that melted away under her touch, starting from his lips as they slowly warmed, the warmth carrying over to his face and skin and slowly allowing him to feel the hand upon his neck and the other one pressed against the side of his face. Her breath tingled his skin now and there was a certain feeling of closeness associated to the exchange, a notion that made it all feel all the more foreign to him. It felt surprisingly easy to fall into that single feeling and for that moment his mind was silent, the tips of his fingers curling slightly even when he remained unable to so much as move his hands. He breathed into her very soul, pulling in the warmth that resided within, that was kept alive by the flames she called love and devotion; for a small moment he could almost imagine what it must have felt like, to always have such a source of eternal warmth to return to when the rest of the world grew too cold. It was nothing but a brief flicker within his own frame, but one that made the world seem very different for a simple, fleeting second before the flame soon trembled and vanished, darkness reclaiming his thoughts once again. When he felt her pulling away from him, he allowed his lips to briefly brush against hers one more time before he shifted his head away and gazed into her eyes, his expression as full of confusion as before. Even if he had managed to find some words to say, she pressed her fingers against his lips, wanting to preserve the silence in all of its calm lucidity - a request which Rolf could nothing but comply to, for he had seemed to lost his ability to so much as utter one intelligent word, his mind numbed by her words, and even more so, by her actions.

She stared at him, the nature of her emotions remaining a complete mystery to the stunned man who could have not hoped to perform such elaborate thinking as trying to discern someone else's thoughts when his own mind was in such a complete disarray. He could still feel her warm hands pressing upon his face before her fingers finally slipped away and the small breeze on his skin felt strangely cold the moment she did so. Riedel stepped away from him, her gaze remaining on the man in some silent contemplation before she finally turned around, a few tangles of her blonde hair falling slowly from her shoulder to her back as she walked towards the darkness that loomed ahead, becoming nothing but a faint, luminous figure in the shadows before disappearing completely. Rolf still stood in his place, his feet as heavy as lead before he finally breathed out, blinking and glancing around as if to remind himself of where he was. A sharp stone poked against the sole of his foot and Rolf stepped away from it on an instinct, after which the rest of his senses came flooding to him. Suddenly his heart was beating faster and his breathing became heavier with it while his fingers curled into tight fists and the man forced himself to move, pacing first towards the building before pivoting around and walking to the opposite direction. Several feelings were swarming inside him like malicious parasites, turning his stomach upside-down and setting his lungs on fire. He could not tell why he felt so strongly and just what sentiment had brought such profound physical discomfort upon him, but it made him want to rip at his insides to carve out the illness, to discard it and to bury it beneath the desert sands.

As if in a dream, at some point he simply noticed that he was walking in the hospital corridor, stumbling along while maintaining his balance only by steadying himself against the wall every now and then, the real physical injuries mixing with the more freshly received mental ones. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to growl and shout and simply tear apart whatever would chance upon his path just in the hopes of destroying the dreadful feeling in the process, yet the hospital remained irritatingly silent and unresponsive. He found himself falling upon a mattress - whether it was his own or not, he simply did not care - where he remained passive, his heart beating fast against his ribcage while several sentiments tried to make themselves known, but they all of them were fleeting by so fast, he could not hope to focus on even one of them. He closed his eyes, interlocking his arms in front of his chest, the skin at the corner of his eye twitching involuntarily and his lips drawing into a sneer as he attempted to threaten his inner turmoil and scare it into hiding with the familiar antidote of anger. It was of little use and Riedel's words continued ringing through his mind with an undeniable existence, each truth accompanied by her ever sincere and calm expression and by the gentle, warm touch of her hands and he lay there, tormented by the visions that were neither violent or intimidating, but terrifyingly heartfelt and foreign.

[Dirk Riedel]

The wind stroked against her face as she breathed the evening air, her forehead ablaze and the fever washing through every fibre of her body with the force of the tempestuous waves at the thunderstorm sweeping across the Mediterranean Sea, her bare feet touching against the cold sand and strands of golden hair flying around her frowning face as she tilted her head upwards, glinting eyes looking at the moon’s silver gown lovingly embracing the wide, dark blue firmament in that moment’s silence, her arms crossed as the palm of her hands slowly touched up and down in an effort to warm herself as she felt the fever worsening with each breath she took, the outdoor temperature having reached very low levels; though she had always been accustomed to the very cold temperature in Germany over wintertime, the nights spent shivering under the bed covers and wearing double socks to warm up her frozen feet, the snowy mornings she would wake up to and the time elapsing over the early hours of the evening in her father’s storeroom to assist in his craftsmanship whenever he needed to repair the damaged agricultural tools of neighbouring families or build iron wrought gates to be transported in the city for those affluent residences that required to surround their large yards with them. Exposing herself to such extreme weather, however, such as the African sun was had almost made her forget how coldness felt, so that the slightest feel of the evening breeze, and especially over her present situation, gave her a shivering sensation through the febrile organism. She knew not for how many moments she had been staring up at the sky or what time it was, but at some point, when the cold began to pierce through her defences and slap against her face, she turned around with a weary sigh and walked back to the hospital.

The quietude was almost tangible within the white-washed walls of the edifice, and even the anguished breathing of the soldiers who were heavily sleeping within the confines of their rooms were not enough to break the stillness of the pitch-blackness as imposed around the area with its nearly ominous veil, for illness and the inescapability of war intertwined into one ultimate eventuality = that of prolonged suffering and fatality of the human condition. She let the door softly click closed behind her and turned around, finding him lying upon the mattress which had already been warm enough for him to seek refuge into its temperate embrace, and still, an embrace that appeared to be very cold and hostile for him, breathing heavily as he was, his face shifting from one side to the other in sudden, sharp movements, the tips of his fingers twitching ever so often as though he amongst monsters lived, in a vain attempt to drive them away with such a significantly insufficient force, struggle against odds to survive through the horrors that were only thoughts, fight through the brutal reality that was only ever a carefully devised fantasy. Her back rested against the windowsill and her neck slightly tilted backwards against the glass as tendrils of moonlight danced around her head, in unbroken silence, dark shadows covering parts of her face whilst the moonglow illuminating the depth of her viridian eyes, the thoughtful quality of that appearance as she merely stood there, peacefully, and quietly watched him sleep, through the disturbances of his mind, through the serene calmness of her unmoving countenance, his incoherent mumbling whispering words into the air, words which made no sense and easily dissolved into the surrounding atmosphere, words which bore the secret passage to his soul but as though wrought with iron could never be pervaded, never be revealed.

She could not tell for how many moments, minutes, or hours she had been standing against the window and silently watching him through his turbulence of mind, contemplating, her arms hanging down each by her side and with her eyes transfixed upon his frame, her gaze unyielding, almost unblinking, but soon enough the tips of her fingers hesitated, and before they could touch they formerly drew backwards as she looked down at him, a moment or two of unspoken reluctance, but then they slowly moved to stroke his hair with a softness of movement such as was highly unlikely to be attributed to the same fingers that strongly and ruthlessly looped around the deadly weapon with the intention to eliminate and bring destruction. With her legs bent up to her stomach she only occupied a very small space in the corner of her mattress as she lay by his side, gazing at him through her tranquil disposition, supporting herself against the wall as her fingers traced a small, maiden journey across the upper rim of his forehead, through his hair and across the sides of his face, watching as the incoherent mumbling slowly evaporated into thin air and became nothing more but the merest deep breathing in one’s sleep. She leaned her head against the wall and her gaze moved first at the ceiling, diverting to the dark shadows lingering on the wall, to finally rest upon the window’s moonlight whence silver rays arose to adorn thin layers of the sill in its mystical glow. The hours passed, yet time appeared to have frozen in the stillness of that silence, vanished somewhere between her fingers and his untidy hair, between her gaze and the moonglow, and as green pierced into grey there was but inner understanding through her face.

It was in the early hours of the morning when her arms spread to embrace the pillow, lying face down across his mattress to rest her weary form upon the sheets, too consumed to think of pulling the covers from underneath, as she breathed in from his scent and allowed herself to slowly drown in a sea throughout which only his heavy essence dominated. With the side of her face resting on top of the pillow, his figure was the last thing her fatigued eyes gazed at for long before they slowly closed, absorbed into a state of numbness, tidal waves of a conversation long past, shadowy figures in the dark, and then silence – her eyes sharply blinked, and when she opened them again rays of sunlight were heavily poking at her face. She groaned under her breath and buried her face into the pillow at the same time as the door clicked open and a young nurse walked in.

“Ich muss Ihren überprüfen –” she began, but then stopped in her track as she stared at the patients, blinking for a few moments in confusion. “Was geht hier weiter? Warum haben Sie Betten geändert?” she inquired, her eyebrows furrowed, to which Dirk could only respond by further embracing the pillow and pulling it closer to her face as the slightest sound of contentment escaped her throat.

“Aber das ist hier so warm,” she mumbled, not quite attuned to what she was saying, but she inhaled deeply as she breathed in from the pillow, her eyes closed, on the point to resume her sleep.

The nurse, who was still as confused as one could be, scoffed such notions and simply walked to the bed and stopped right by its side, stretching out her hand towards the other woman. “Gestellt dieses Thermometer und –”

“Ziehen Sie gerade die Vorhänge,” Dirk complained in her guttural, hoarse voice as she pressed her eyes together fiercely, feeling as though she was standing right next to an active volcano, the blood rushing through her veins with the force of lava as she was sweating profusely. “Die Vorhänge!”

The nurse frowned and pressed her hand on her forehead, only to withdraw it immediately. “Der liebe Herr, Sie brennen!” she exclaimed.

“Ich mag denken dass ich eine herzerfreuende Person bin,” Dirk mumbled in an unaffected tone, her mind still addled from her sleep, and, following a large yawn, shifted her head to the opposite direction where the strong sunlight could no longer poke her in the eyes, even if she could still feel them burning on the back of her head. “Die Vorhänge!” And without another word, she buried her head deeper into the pillow and, with a weary sigh, fell into a dreamless sleep.


Translation

I need to check your – what is going on here? Why have you changed beds?

But it’s so warm here.

Put this thermometer and –

Just pull the curtains. The curtains!

Dear Lord, you’re burning!

I like to think I’m a heart-warming person. The curtains!

[Rolf Jäger]

The hospital stood quiet and uniform in the midst of the dark Libyan night, the silence in the rooms only occasionally broken by a suppressed cough or a groan of pain, a soldier crying over a comrade or a limb lost, the sounds easily consumed by the long, dark corridors that would slowly start waking up at the first signs of the daybreak. For Rolf the room was full of nothing but noise, filled with voices that struck at his nerves like sharp claws and which he could not shut out, no matter how hard he concentrated. The man gritted his teeth together and growled low in his throat like some wounded beast and he did, indeed, carry injuries that were far worse than the ones decorating his skin; a silver bullet lodged within his chest burned at his viscera and so rooted was the toxic projectile that he could have not hoped to dig it out without killing himself in the process. The only thing he could do was to let the wound close and leave the painful missile within, hoping that it would eventually stop scorching him and allow him to forget it, even if a scar would remain. Right now the agony was all too real and piercing and Riedel's strangely soft voice filled his entire perception, the calmly and insightfully spoken words attacking his vulnerable interior and decorating it with little thorns that stung him viciously. Never had such words been spoken to him and never had he even considered things in the manner the woman had; he would have rejected each absurd little notion with nothing but a scoff as he always did had the words not been so carefully aimed towards the very core of his heart. Rolf was silently assuring himself that he would forget what she had said, and that he would go back to his simple and uncomplicated life, but it did not make the turmoil inside him grow any lesser or silence the voices within.

It took him a good, long while to finally push the words away, each effort taking just a little less strength than the one before it, until the voices had become nothing but a steady mumble, like that of city traffic just barely carrying inside a penthouse apartment. Only then was he finally allowed to spiral down the dark tunnel of slumber, the world around him growing silent and empty. He existed in that black nothingness only for a very fleeting moment before a sharp coldness bit at his skin and suddenly he found himself standing at the edge of a frozen pond. He blinked, first noticing the white cloud appearing in front of him as he breathed out and the small wisps vanished to reveal a dark line of forest surrounding the area, the branches carrying heavy burdens of white snow, sharply contrasted against the sapphire sky and the bright pinpoints of stars sprawled all over the vast horizon. The air was clear and freezing, painting the whole scene in front of him with crystal clarity but also quickly numbing his fingers and the tips of his ears, causing the man to clasp his hands together as he shivered. He was suddenly aware of a presence behind him and the man turned around slowly, already dreading to uncover some horrific vision waiting for him. His silver eyes fell upon a familiar figure and he realized it was his father standing at the edge of the pond in a thick coat, a neat, short beard outlining the edges of his jaw and chin, the man's expression as severe and unreadable as always. Rolf opened his mouth to greet him, transparent clouds of mist forming in the air in front of him, but instead his father pointed a gloved hand towards the pond, saying nothing and still managing to appear commanding enough to silence Rolf with such a simple gesture.

Rolf turned his head around, his gaze travelling across the glassy, clear sheen of the frozen pond to the edge of the tree line that loomed dark behind it, just now noticing how far the opposite shore seemed to be despite the small size of the pond. Rolf frowned when he considered having to cross it, imagining slipping on the treacherous cover of frozen water and not knowing when the ice might fail under his feet. He returned his eyes back at his father to tell him that he did not want to walk across, but the moment he did so he could make out several dark figures behind the older man, all of them blocking the easier way out. Rolf's mouth hung open and his frown became more severe at the unexpected and strange turn of events; he could not recognize their faces, although on a fleeting thought he realized he could not quite make out the details, either. He suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to battle against the crowd rather than crossing the pond, so he started towards them, meaning to push past the mass of strangers. He had not taken more than two steps towards them when several hands already grasped at him, pushing him back while he struggled against their hold, cursing and growling angry threats at the faceless figures, pushing a hand away and freeing his arm from the grasp of another the next moment. Still, no matter how furiously he resisted against them, he found himself being pushed towards the middle of the pond, his shoes slipping on the sleek surface of the ice.

The struggle seemed to last for minutes, yet it only brought him further away from the safety of the shore and soon he could hear the distinct, low sound of ice cracking beneath his bulk, the sound travelling through the black mirror of ice like thunder rumbling within the clouds. He was fighting against emptiness now, the figures having suddenly disappeared and leaving him standing in the midst of the cold winter night, trapped in the middle of the dead pond and watching as small fissures crawled beneath his feet and across the ice with the simple certainty of death. When the ice finally gave up under him, he felt their sharp edges biting into his skin and drawing blood, the feeling only further enhanced by the piercing chill of the black water. He felt himself sinking no matter how much he struggled, his lungs burning when he knew he could not hold his breath for much longer. The glint of the stars became more distant as he sunk lower and panic gripped at his insides when he knew he would drown, forever lost in the cold and dark confines of the isolated pond. Just when he was certain he could hold his breath no longer, he felt a sudden warmth spreading from the top of his head to his face, travelling further down his throat and lungs, down to the pit of his stomach and still downwards to the very tips of his toes. When Rolf raised his head to glance up, he saw a pale face looking down at him, clear eyes of viridian almost smiling at him while blonde strands of hair floated in the water all around the woman. The constantly changing textures of water and ice danced upon Riedel's face and her hair was glowing even in the almost nonexistent lighting of the stars that still managed to pierce through the broken ice. Rolf found he needed not think about breathing anymore and her hand pressed gently against his hair, not to bring him back to the surface but to make him sink ever lower within the seemingly endless depths of the water. He gave in to that feeling and it filled him with a welcome serenity; he no longer noticed the biting coldness of the water or the ever growing darkness around him, only allowing her to coax him disappearing further into the unknown and strangely warm obscurity until it was the only thing that he knew.

Rolf twitched awake with a sudden, unexpected jolt, breathing out as he clambered into a sitting position and his hand shot to the side to search for the table, his fingers trying to grasp at something that wasn't there to begin with. "..Ich bin wach..! Alarmieren die Piloten, Kronberg," the man rasped while he was still opening his eyes, soon blinking and staring at the baffled nurse in a state of confusion almost similar to hers. Of course the very moment he could see his surroundings he could once again recall where he was and the man withdrew his hand, glancing to his side and trying to appear as unaffected as possible. He was far too used to being suddenly woken up to an air alarm and to mustering and organizing his sleepily groaning pilots into a respectable fighter force of the Luftwaffe - the habit of searching for his gun belt right upon waking up had become an instinct. The man narrowed his grey eyes and frowned when the light attacked them, slowly noticing that something was still slightly different about the situation. Only after a second glance around the room did he notice that he had been sleeping in the wrong bed, but it seemed to matter little to Riedel who was slumbering on the other mattress, crushing the pillow against her face to keep the sunlight at bay.

Rolf's gaze fixed upon the young nurse once again and the man sat upon the bed, blinking and squinting his eyes while he attempted to gather his bearings once again. His mouth was horribly dry and he felt disoriented after having slept for such a long time - a curious notion, seeing how such disturbing thoughts had haunted him before he had finally fallen asleep, yet he was sure he had enjoyed a longer period of sleep than he had in the last two weeks. The man grimaced when the sharp voice of the nurse pierced through his brain, waking up the dull headache once more and making him feel like the entire Hitlerjugend was having a parade inside his skull. The nurse had by now moved to test Riedel's temperature, her shrill voice only further coaxing the pain inside the Hauptmann's head and his thoughts further darkened when the words from the previous night happily announced that they refused to leave him in peace and would continue torment him from this moment on. An angry snarl appeared on the man's lips and he growled low in his throat like an attacking dog while Riedel only attempted to bury herself into the pillow to escape the inquiries of the nurse.

"Woher zum Teufel nahmen die Patienten jeden Rest in diesem Scheißinstitut zu haben, wenn Sie in Frieden nicht sogar schlafen können," Rolf snapped, his voice even hoarser than normally after having just woken up. "Die Tür setzt fort wie in einem französischen Bordell am Tag des halben Preises aufzufliegen. Zum Teufel noch mal, sperren Sie die Vorhänge und verpiss dich!" the man growled, his silver eyes hatefully boring into the stunned nurse who had naturally done nothing wrong and had simply presented the sullen pilot with a convenient target to burn his irritation on. Rolf had become quite skilled with snapping his teeth at people crossing his path, so it was only natural to see the nurse's expression turn from that of surprise to one of dismay, her bright eyes almost gleaming with tears. Instead of closing the curtains, she pursed her lips into a thin line and strode out of the room with angry, determined steps, the door promptly swinging shut after her. A small, self-satisfied smirk appeared on Rolf's features over the enjoyment of transferring some of his ill mood upon someone else and his gaze soon fell on Riedel, the woman having turned her back at the relentless sun in an effort to continue her disrupted slumber. Rolf's eyebrows curved over his eyes slightly as small flashes of the previous events played through his mind, all of them far too surreal to be even considered part of reality. The memories were such a confusing mix of several sentiments, he felt his headache only growing worse upon trying to make sense of it all and he closed his eyes, falling back upon the bed with a deep sigh.

One thing was for sure; he wasn't going to spend another night in the hospital, not even if he had to crawl back to the barracks on his stomach.

Rolf spent the rest of the day trying to fall asleep, attempting to ignore the nurses and the doctor that visited the room, the staff mostly checking on Riedel who had developed an even more serious fever over the night. It wasn't any wonder, Rolf was not sure how long the woman had remained outside after their encounter and he wasn't going to ask, either. He remained silent all day, choosing to keep his back turned at the woman who had somehow managed to cause such an inner turmoil within him. He would have not known what to say to her, anyway, so it was only easier to pretend as if he was sleeping, and the man stirred only to snap at any members of the staff that might have reluctantly visited the room. When they were offered food, Rolf had trouble finding his appetite and he chose to sulk quietly upon the bed, trying to ignore the outside world completely. Riedel's words kept running through his mind, the man's thoughts sometimes curiously both soothed and tormented by her unexpectedly gentle actions and by the sincere compassion that had reflected within her green irises, until he was simply too tired to fight against the confusion and he merely allowed it to break havoc inside his head. He was sure that once the hospital had been left far behind him, the uncomfortable feelings would be locked somewhere within its confines, ridding him of their constant uproar. His eyes kept observing the way the shadows moved upon the walls and only occasionally did he secretly glance at his watch, his time devoted to watching shadows growing longer and the sky slowly drawing darker.

It wasn't until the nurses had made their final rounds and the lights had snapped shut that Rolf shifted decisively on his bed, feeling like a stalking predator in a deep, nightly forest, all of his senses suddenly peaking into a state of acute sharpness. He breathed out slowly and an exhilarating shiver of impending freedom travelled through his frame when his bare feet finally touched the floor, the man rising up from the mattress and allowing his eyes to get properly accustomed to the darkness. Once he could clearly see the outlines of the furniture even in the quickly fading light of the twilight, he turned around and walked to the other bed, the man leaning down to collect his boots very carefully as not to stir Riedel's attention. His silver eyes sparked with enthusiasm as he sat upon the empty bed, starting to pull the boots into his feet while he was already planning the most direct route to the Heer garage situated not too far from the hospital.


Translations:

"..Ich bin wach..! Alarmieren die Piloten, Kronberg."
"..I'm awake..! Alert the pilots, Kronberg."

"Woher zum Teufel nahmen die Patienten jeden Rest in diesem Scheißinstitut zu haben, wenn Sie in Frieden nicht sogar schlafen können."
"How the hell are the patients supposed to have any rest in this fucking institute when you can't even sleep in peace."

"Die Tür setzt fort wie in einem französischen Bordell am Tag des halben Preises aufzufliegen. Zum Teufel noch mal, sperren Sie die Vorhänge und verpiss dich!"
"The door keeps swinging open like in a French whorehouse on a half-price day. For fuck's sake, close the curtains and piss off!"

[Dirk Riedel]

What had began as a mere rising of the organism’s temperature from the wound infection had quickly escalated into a high fever which had reduced the woman into a state of numb consciousness, limited perception of her surroundings and a continuous feeling she was lying too close, too close to the sun, and she was burning from within. Instead of passing from one world to another, the former being comprised of the undeniable reality and the latter existing only in the sphere of cerebral make-believe delusions in the form of dreams, she effortlessly succumbed into the realm of nothingness, in which only the overwhelming febrility dominated each one of her senses, rendering her heedless of anything near her most of the time except for those few moments of confused lucidity. Unlike her brother, she had not often been prone to such high temperature throughout her childhood and it was more likely Julian would be spending several days lying on his mattress while she would be standing next to his bed and tending to him, her illness by contrast traditionally involving a small fever which lasted for a day or two which she would, much to her mother’s displeasure, consider as ‘insignificant.’ It had been a few years since she had last caught a bad cold that had demanded of her to stay in bed, but the present condition was brought about as a reaction to the infection in a body otherwise built to resist the very low temperatures of the northern land to which she had been born. At one point she felt something particularly cool soothing her forehead, and only barely realized through her feverish state, with her eyes almost closed but for the smallest crevice which allowed her to peek at the person hovering above her, that a piece of wet white linen had been placed on top of it, sending a wave of refreshing chillness through every fibre of her fatigued frame and the smell of vinegar piercing through her senses. At first she assumed it had been one of the nurses who had come to tend to her, but then as the woman sat down on the edge of the mattress and softly pressed her hand upon the cloth before she pulled it away to fold it from the other side Dirk could notice the sharp, stern lines of her face, the rough texture of her fingers as the tips barely touched the forehead, how her lips were pressed together and the austere concern shown through those eyes, and wondered for a second whether Lara Wolterman was indeed there. Her lips parted only slightly, as if to say something, call out for her, reach for a mother she long wished to see, a mother who had for long been craving to see her daughter, and yet how wearisome this simple little action was, and how it drained her of every bit of strength she might have still possessed. Though the drapes which had been pulled over the windows and let the sunlight filter the room through the glass had reduced the atmosphere to a more darkened appearance, she still felt the eyelids heavily falling on her and could do nothing more but succumb, Lara’s face being the last image she beheld before she closed her eyes.

She was silent throughout her fever sleep, and only the slow, deep breathing served to exhibit to which state she was presently in, as time ceased to matter and hours may have elapsed whilst she was looking at the scorching sun, her dreamlike vision rendered as nothing more but a curious bright texture of orange and yellow shades. The glow began to slowly fade away into the abyss as a chilling sensation swept throughout her body, and her eyes snapped open. The headache had subsided and she could now distinctly detect the strong smell of vinegar on her face, by now able to properly push herself upwards as a nurse she had not seen before came to the room to bring them their meals, beans and roast potatoes for him, a steaming hot soup for her. Dirk merely looked at the nurse with a fatigued expression as she proceeded to inform her the Ward Sister herself had taken the trouble to make the soup for her. The woman would not have had the strength of will to protest against it at any rate, and even contentedly let the nurse set the tray upon her lap. The following few hours were spent lying on the mattress, underneath the bed sheets and having to endure the small pools of sweat which had dried on her skin, a fact that, albeit aggravating, was no longer bothersome – she never removed her uniform during leave or at night, come heat or thunderstorm, and had thus become more than accustomed to the stench and essence of perspiration. The Ward Sister may have done her best in applying towel sheets to absorb as much sweat as she could, yet Dirk could distinctly smell its dried texture on her chest against the fabric of her shirt, or the wet hair on her neck. Nevertheless, the moment came when a sudden, weary smirk crossed her lips and her eyes glinted with something familiar, the smile still etched across her face as she made her way out in the corridor once she had gained her balance and strength of movement, the fever having weakened considerably, even if it still remained as an underlying threat that simply waited for the right moment to re-manifest itself. The sun was slowly tracing its known pathway behind the mountains of sand as a soft glowing light embraced the wide blue firmament that danced in shades of orange and magenta, and the next few minutes passed as the woman found herself in the front yard, with her hands crossed and wearing her jackboots, talking with the Ward Sister.

Gerda Ruberg, as she was called, was a nurse in her late forties and who, as her wrinkled, fatigued features could reveal, used to be a woman of considerable beauty before the toil in this far away land had eaten away her youth and freshness. Dirk learned she had a son back in Germany living with her parents, Georg, who had enrolled in the Hitlerjugend and was dedicated to the Reich’s regime while her husband was serving under the Wehrmacht. The nurse, who had first refused to assist Dirk in changing rooms, quarrelled with her over smoking within the hospital and later took particular care of her, appeared to be the type of woman with stern outward characteristics but endowed with a golden heart, treating Dirk with almost motherly concern glinting beneath those aging, bright blue eyes as she looked at her with genuine interest and even shared a cigarette with her as they stood alone in the yard and talked quietly. But before they could part she stopped Dirk, holding her hand tightly as the younger woman had turned around to leave, and passed her a small pouch, her fingers closing Dirk’s hand tightly in a desperate, keen movement, her blue eyes moved with sentiment and anticipation as she asked of her to pass this very unimportant yet so significant item to her brother, Martin Ruberg, Unterfeldwebel in the Wehrmacht. With a slow nod Dirk silently agreed to the request, and turned around, leaving behind the woman with a heavy heart.

Dusk had spread its wide veil upon the region as the hospital’s lights were turned off, and the building surrendered to the call of darkness, silence slowly prevailing through the halls and only ever violated by the anguished breathing and groaning of the patients. The woman was quietly lying on the mattress and staring at the ceiling, her mind meandering around thoughts, thoughts and memories and sentiments circling around her very being – when she suddenly picked up the small noises from the nearby bed, and she turned over her shoulder, only able to distinguish the familiar lines of the man’s figure as he pulled along his jackboots and wore them over his feet. Her eyebrows curved over her narrowed eyes in confusion as she observed him in silence, and any assumption that he might have simply wished to visit the bathroom soon vanished as she heard the sound of the jackboots being pulled on. “Was tun Sie?” she inquired quietly but she did not have any time to further understand his inexplicable action when she suddenly felt him moving towards the door. Her body shot immediately upwards and she stormed to his direction still in her jackboots, within a few short steps reaching him as she covered the door with her weight, allowing her body to lean against it as she stared back at him through the pitch-blackness surrounding them. She felt his hand move to the door’s latch but she quickly shifted to stop him from turning it over, her fingers circled around his wrist in a clear, decisive manner such as made certain that even through her fever she had regained enough strength to withstand his resistance, whichever that may have been. She could not visibly make out his facial features and yet the cold glint of his silver eyes was enough to let her know of his present sentiments over this rather unseemly situation. “Wo denken Sie dass Sie gehen?” she asked him in a firm, stern tone, her green eyes piercing through his own in the consuming darkness, refusing to let him pass. “Sie haben vor ohne …” – she pulled out something from her pocket with her free hand, and she could only smirk as the flask’s metallic glint broke through the shadows – “… das zu verlassen?” And before he could retrieve it she shoved it back into her pocket, looking up to meet his eyes with a satisfied, decisive look.


Translation

What are you doing?

Where do you think you’re going?

You intend to leave ... without this?

[Rolf Jäger]

Something shifted in the shadows the moment Rolf had managed to pull both of his jackboots on and he held his breath momentarily, his silver eyes trying to better discern the shadowy figure resting on the other bed. He did not want to spend time answering Riedel's questions or become responsible for a woman who clearly needed to stay in the hospital to begin with. Another hidden reason lingered in the dark reaches of his mind and for a small moment he was reminded of the woman's words, their biting force suddenly becoming alive once more and causing his insides to squirm uncomfortably. He chased the thoughts away with an angry force, focusing his mind on the present moment and on his escape from the confines of the dreary hospital, but the moment he rose from the bed he heard her speak and Riedel's quiet voice broke the silence as she inquired about the nature of his actions. Rolf had no desire to answer her and instead he pushed himself up from the bed, the sound of his boots hitting the floor accompanying him as he briskly headed for the door.

An agile, obscure shade rushed past him when he was only two steps away from the door and as his hand was already reaching towards it to turn the latch, he could see the faint light from outside illuminating Riedel's pale skin, the woman now pushing her back against the door to prevent him from leaving. Rolf came to a prompt stop just a step away from her and his lips drew slightly to reveal his teeth while a low, irritated growl rumbled deep within his chest. He had been hoping that the woman would have still been deep in her fever-induced sleep and hence would have not notice him sneaking out, but she stood in front of him as steadfast and determined as always, her emerald eyes glinting briefly in the darkness and already letting the man know that she wasn't going to yield easily. Rolf eyed her dark figure contrasted against the soft white glow of the door, considering his current options. He could have forced her to move, but he wasn't feeling like wrestling the feverish woman aside; his initial thought was that of not wanting to cause a commotion, although he also felt that fighting against her just wouldn't have been... right. She could easily ruin his plans of escape just by alerting the nurses to it, but he had the feeling that it was not what she was after - Riedel must have hated the institution as much as he did and the woman would not disrupt his plans as long as she was included in them.

Rolf's hand moved quickly to grasp at the latch, but the moment his fingers curled around it, he felt her decisive touch around his wrist, preventing him from turning it. Another irritated snarl escaped from the man's lips and he stared at her through the darkness, feeling as if he had been suddenly faced by a brick wall, so stubborn and uncompromising were the thoughts reflecting back at him. He found himself slightly surprised by the strength of her grasp, as he had been expecting her to suffer from nothing but utter weakness after what had appeared to be a severe bout of high fever, but her immune system must have been tempered in the same unrelenting fires as her iron will had been to allow her to recuperate so quickly. Even her tone was completely unyielding when she asked him where he was going, her next set of words leading up to something that made the man frown in confusion, at least up until the moment she pulled his silver flask from her pocket, asking whether he was going to part without it. Anger flashed briefly through the man's eyes as his free hand prepared to snatch the item from the smirking female, but by then the flask had vanished back inside her pocket and her emerald eyes observed him with a sense of amusement and triumph.

The man breathed out deeply, his mouth opening slightly and his jaw shifting to the side as he watched her through the shadows, realizing that no matter how irritating her behaviour was, he would have not expected anything less from her. A challenge, especially through her precarious state, was something to be relished and even though the man's expression was mostly hidden by the night, some sense of grudging respect lingered within his gaze. He allowed his hand remain trapped by her fingers while he closed the distance between them, pushing his chest against her and pinning the woman between himself and the door. It was not a harsh motion, but it was decisive enough even when Rolf was careful with his right side, where the cracked ribs and bruises still bothered him. "Ich verlasse das Krankenhaus," the man answered in a low, hoarse whisper, his face moving ever closer to hers until he could feel her breath tingling his skin. Her natural scent was mixed heavily with that of sweat and Rolf realized how familiar it was to him now; he had been sleeping in her bed for the entire day and being surrounded by her essence felt almost natural now, as if it had been forever known by him. There was a certain roughness to the way she smelled and her scent was very different from that of the perfume-drenched socialite women Rolf had on occasion danced with back in Germany. Still, he did not find it unpleasant at all and if anything, it only made her seem all the more natural, real and almost... feral. He breathed her in deeply, tilting his head to the side while his eyes became narrowed. "Es nützt für mich nichts, hier zu bleiben, ich kann genauso gut ein Kopfweh anderswohin haben, indem ich etwas Nützliches tue. Ich erwerben ein Auto und fahre zu den Baracken, aber Sie... Sie werden hier bleiben. Ich sah Sie auf Ihrem Bett heute schwitzen, und Sie sahen aus dass Sie in den Wehen des Todes selbst waren. Sie haben kein Recht draußen in Ihrer Bedingung," the raspy texture of the man's tone was even more evident when he spoke in such a low voice, the silence of the sleeping hospital and the closeness between them negating any need to raise his voice above that of a creeping whisper.

As the man was addressing Riedel, his fingers had been carefully etching ever closer to the woman's side and suddenly his hand shot towards her, nimbly snaking into her pocket and his fingers curling around the top of the flask within. He had not even attempted to pull his hand away when Riedel's fingers already looped around his wrist, preventing his hand from escaping with the trophy and causing the man to grimace silently in the darkness. Both of his hands were now effectively trapped by the decisive woman and his gateway to freedom further blocked by her; not quite the situation he had been expecting to find himself in and one he had not prepared for. Rolf felt the feeling of irritation within him growing, while at the same time a small, crooked mixture of a snarl and a smile appeared upon his lips, his eyes sparking with something akin to delight over her surprising agility and over the stubbornness that both infuriated and fascinated him. He still allowed his frame to push against the woman as he watched her through the darkness, an even gruffer tone dominating his next words while his face still lingered close to hers in an effort to better discern her emotions. "Mach dich nicht lächerlich, Riedel, Sie wissen, dass ich Recht habe. Sie sind geschossen worden, Sie haben ein Fieber, und das ist draußen - alles zu kalt, dass ich mich darüber sorgen muss ist eine Gehirnerschütterung, kaum genug Grund für mich, um hier zu bleiben. Na los..." the man arched an eyebrow persuasively. "Gerade gib es mir und gehen Sie wieder einschlafen," the man's lips lingered near hers while he attempted to pull the hand holding the flask from her pocket in a very slow, careful motion and although there was determination to the gesture, he found himself enjoying the closeness between them more and more. It was something she had not really asked for, but something she could hardly avoid in the current situation, either and Rolf was becoming increasingly aware of her steady breathing, of her scent surrounding him and of the warmth radiating from her body upon his. He breathed out deeply, his grey eyes skittering over her facial features, obscured by the shadows as they were. He did not have to actually see them to remember them and he imagined the small, upturned curl at the edges of her lips changing as her lips would part, as her viridian eyes would flash with irritation over his commanding actions.

It was not clear which one of them was trapped by another, but Rolf found himself not really caring about it. Even when the way in which he had addressed the woman appeared to be almost tactful and smooth, there was a lingering sense of hunger both to his words and to the tone of his voice, more than enough to make it quite clear that Rolf was not finding the situation quite as irritating as he initially had. In fact, he found it progressively more difficult to focus his thoughts on the escape and there was an unmistakable look of longing in his eyes while his fingers still remained strongly curved around the thin neck of the silver flask. "Gib es mir, Riedel," the man repeated in a hoarse whisper as he pushed the woman against the door just slightly more to show her that he wasn't one to give up quite so easily, either. His breathing was far more heavier now and his face remained only a few short centimeters away from hers, yet his fingers refused to let go of the flask, as if the small item alone would have determined the winner of their private battle of wills.


Translations:

"Ich verlasse das Krankenhaus."
"I'm leaving the hospital."

"Es nützt für mich nichts, hier zu bleiben, ich kann genauso gut ein Kopfweh anderswohin haben, indem ich etwas Nützliches tue..."
"It's no use for me to stay here, I can just as well have a headache elsewhere while doing something useful. I'm getting a car and driving back to the barracks, but you... you'll stay here. I saw you sweating on your bed today and you looked like you were in the throes of death itself. You have no business outside in your condition."

"Mach dich nicht lächerlich, Riedel, Sie wissen, dass ich Recht habe..."
"Don't be ridiculous, Riedel, you know I'm right. You've been shot, you have a fever and it's far too cold outside - all I have to worry about is a concussion, hardly enough reason for me to stay here. Come on..."

"Gerade gib es mir und gehen Sie wieder einschlafen."
"Just give it to me and go back to sleep."

"Gib es mir, Riedel."
"Give it to me, Riedel."

[Dirk Riedel]

Eyes of deepest green glanced back at him through the pitch-blackness, only ever violated by the soft moonglow that broke through the insignificant distance between them, his guttural breathing being the only source of disturbance amidst the room’s keen silence, until an almost indistinct, muffled sound was drowned in her throat as, in the next moment, he cut off any air circulation between them and pressed against her frame, trapping her so easily between himself and the door, whence there would be no escape. There was no need to re-familiarize her being with the stench of his essence as her steady, deep breathing tingled his nostrils; whenever her chest heaved to inhale she felt him moving along with the motion, his face as ridiculously close as she would have preferred otherwise even if at the time she did not exhibit any tendency to oppose such closeness. There were no lingering shades of irritation or intolerance written across her facial features, upon which confident calmness reigned to further prove she was the one to handle the situation to her own advantage much though he favoured to believe otherwise. When he spoke the rasping texture of his gravelly voice pierced through her mind with such redundant easiness, sensing his breath tingling the sides of her face as she remained silent and unmoving throughout, carefully thinking despite the febrility of her condition. She was not surprised in the slightest to have her former suspicions affirmed as to his intentions, but was more interested to discover the method of his leave – and indeed, he told her. She had to admit the plan appeared sound, yet what seemed awfully unsound was the concern etched across his ridiculous speech, or rather, for it would be foolish to think it was concern, the coldly calculated fact with which he presented her to further prove his viewpoint. A humourless smile slowly crawled along the corner of her lips, and she looked up at him in amused disbelief. He did not seize to amaze her in all of his wretched absurdity, the bloated carelessness of his thoughts, and how very little he knew her.

Though her eyes were with an unremitting gaze fixed upon his face, she felt his fingers move closer towards her side and, through instinct and through the force of habit, her free hand jerked to his in military precision before he could pull out the metallic flask, fingers coiled with an unyielding grasp around his wrist. She arched her eyebrow at him, a silent mocking jeer of hers, and slightly frowned in amusement upon his next words. He could have pushed her, thrown her aside and let her collapse onto the floor, slap and hit her to escape from her hold and drive away from the hospital, yet still chose to approach her in a less violent, more intimate way such as to violate her personal space and claim ownership of that which he could not have. She could almost feel the lingering chains of hunger winding up around his body and holding him prisoner to his own whimsicalities and primal desires, the very feelings he relished upon at the present time, submitting to his instincts and neglecting reason to sentiment, civilized conduct to untamed savagery, to an unexplored pathway leading him down to a declivity of dark enthusiasm and uncalled for determination. She sensed him breathing her in, felt his hand slowly but decisively journey on its way to freedom and out of her pocket, his heartbeat pacing against her chest, and moved not during those moments of narcotic stillness, her fingers firmly looped around his wrist and allowing his hand to go through the motion, sparing him false assurances of a victory that would never be his, letting him sink in deeply in the waves of his own self-confidence, to goad him, to fool him, to defeat him. His final words infiltrated the walls of her mind, as soft and hoarse as they were, and could only gaze at him quietly, arching her left eyebrow as though to question him whether this was the most efficient method he had as an idea to overcome her; her breathing became more weary as he further forced himself against her in an attempt to assure her of his relentlessness – or, as she perceived it, to exploit the moment for his own benefit – and for a few seconds she was left breathless until her heart became accustomed to this new level of contact, her eyes glancing to meet the face that stood not a breath’s distance away from hers, her facial features calm through their blatant inscrutability. “Ich kann nicht,” she whispered weakly as she stared up at him, her tone hoarse and matter-of-factly. “Sie hören meinen Blutumlauf auf.” A mocking smile rose in her lips as she spoke, and through her laborious breathing, through the tauntingly gleaming eyes and the soundless snicker with which her words were painted with he could easily perceive her complete unconcern as to his request.

Without a warning she snatched his hand out of her pocket before he was quite close to pulling out the flask himself, her fingers wrestling in a moment’s savage decisiveness against his grasp and took hold of the flask, moving it out his sight; assured that her frame pressed firmly against the door and he bore no chance of an exit without her former agreement, she slapped his hand away from the door’s latch in a brisk movement and moved her own to coil around her flask. “Warum Tat als ob Sie sich sorgen?” she asked him, the curious smile etched across her face as she looked at him. “Nicht als ob ich den Versuch nicht schätzen würde. Der Begriff würde fast bewundernswert sein wenn ich nicht wusste dass Ihre einzige Sorge die Tatsache herumliegt ich werde eine Last in meiner gegenwärtigen Bedingung –” she said in her knowing, low tone, and leaned forwards in that one simple movement her face needed to brush against the side of his cheek as she turned to whisper in his ear, “ – aber einem Ding sein von dem Sie besorgt sein müssen ist nicht ich, aber das Auto das sich ziemlich einsam ohne Sie fühlt.” She turned ever so slightly to glance at his side and lightly blew on to his ear, as though to accentuate how irrevocably dependent he was on her should he wish to find his way out of the building and safely into the military garage, and out of sight; he might have assumed he could have so easily walked past her defences, tread through what he believed was her febrile state of prolonged weakness and escape all by himself whilst leaving her behind, to be further tormented by the likes of the nurses. Her breath was heated, signalling the slow and casual return of the fever; one was a fool to believe she would effortlessly recover from her condition without the fever completing first its full cycle, and though it had previously subsided under the medicine administered and the nurse’s attendance, it was by now, slowly but surely, assuming its control of her body. He could feel her forehead ablaze and her warmth passed onto his face, the raw smell of dried perspiration, and drench himself in her essence. Resting her jaw on his shoulder, her right hand slowly touched against his arm, pressed softly to his heart and unhurriedly journeyed down to his thorax and across his side, until her fingers slipped inside his left pocket and clutched onto the packet of cigarettes she knew he possessed. She needed not act quickly to avoid his alertness and present him with a fait accompli; the closeness was enough to pacify him, her breath tingling the side of his face to which her lips were merely a breath’s distance away, a thin line of silver glow from the moonlight dressing part of his face in a pale coating, and yet how she never felt for the skin, determinedly, deliberately, to provoke, and to mystify. She pulled out her hand at the same time as she, with a weary sigh, moved her head back against the wall, the cigarettes held onto her grasp.

Her face was colourless as she opened the packet and found the lighter stacked inside; with quick yet skilful moves her fingers soon enough lit a cigarette – it was only ever one cigarette – before she shoved the packet back inside his pocket. “Die Wehen des Todes?” she finally broke through the aching silence, her voice calm and quiet as her eyes were illuminated by a soft orange glow before they closed momentarily to breathe in the smoke. Little clouds of fume were exhaled from her mouth as she looked back at him, both surrounded within moments by the very narcotic, deadly quality of the tobacco roll. “Sie wissen nichts über Tod um im Stande zu sein seine Wehen anzuerkennen. Ich bin in Ihrer günstigen Seite der Welt etwas ebenso unbedeutend sicher wie ein Fieber Sie Jammern der jungen Mädchen im Kummer machen würde, aber es mehr nimmt als mich der zu demütigen,” she said, and her eyes gleamed above the cigarette’s glow. And though the words that left her lips were hardly of a complimentary nature, her tone was only ever shaded with a touch of serene calmness and solid confidence as to her firmly held beliefs. “Seien Sie das, wie es kann – waren nicht Sie derjenige um zu behaupten dass ich mich kalt an erster Stelle nicht fühlen würde?” she asked him, and scoffed in amusement. “Also … dass Sie Ihre Versprechungen schließlich nicht behalten. Es ist ganz richtig, ich habe andere Mittel.” She arched her eyebrows and brought the flask closer to her lips with her other hand, her gaze unyielding upon his eyes as her lips parted and her teeth snatched at the metallic object to open it in all of her raw savagery, a gaze broken only when she had rolled open the container and tilted her head slightly backwards for one single gulp of the alcohol.

A faint smile passed through her lips and she carelessly closed the container with her hand, all the while gazing up at him, the cigarette burning as she clutched it in her fingers. “Sehen Sie auf Sie das Bitten aus, wie eine Frau bittend,” she said slowly. “Haben Sie in Ihren korrupten Kreisen nicht gelernt ergreifen was für Sie um jeden Preis können?” she asked him softly, and easily passed her arms around his neck, her gaze relentless and raw. “Wenn Sie Ihre Uniform die ganze Zeit vollgestopft haben um überzuersetzen,” she spoke next, and her smile widened, reaching up to her gleaming eyes, nothing but derision and contempt etched across her words and her face. “Oh, warten Sie,” she whispered, recollecting the memories from their previous encounter, “ – Sie taten fast.” The smile was now visible even though her words, and her gaze upon his grey eyes now turning into something that was ruthless and victorious.


Translation

I can’t. You’re stopping my blood circulation.

Why act as if you care? Not that I would not appreciate the attempt. The notion would be almost admirable if I didn’t know your only concern lies around the fact I’ll be a burden in my present condition – but the one thing you need to be worried of is not me, but the car feeling quite lonely without you. The throes of death? You don’t know anything about death to be able to recognize its throes. I’m sure in your convenient side of the world something as insignificant as a fever would make you damsels wail in agony, but it takes more than that to take me down. Be that as it may – weren’t you the one to claim I wouldn’t feel cold in the first place? Well … seems like you don’t keep your promises, after all. That’s all right, I have other means.

Look at you begging, begging like a woman. Have you not learned in your corrupt circles to seize whatever you can at all costs? Unless you’ve been stuffing up your uniform all this time to over-compensate. Oh, wait – you almost did.

[Rolf Jäger]

The close presence of the woman felt all-consuming and all-encompassing in the darkness and every breath Rolf took in, seemed to be filled with her essence and with the curious untamable quality of her nature. He could feel each labored breath passing through her frame and the steady, strong heartbeats portraying only her utter calmness towards the situation and the same undisturbed neutrality rang though her words when she spoke, casually noting how the man was cutting off her blood circulation. Rolf arched an eyebrow at her words, refusing to move after he had already grown to enjoy the feeling of pushing his body against hers, knowing that she would be forced to fight him off should she choose to free herself. He could feel the cold metal of the flask against the tips of his fingers as he maneuvered the item further from her pocket, expecting nothing but a countermove from her as the silver flask slowly emerged from her pocket and Rolf's fingers curled around it more decisively. Just at that moment Riedel's hand shot towards the item and the man sneered, growling as he attempted to maintain his hold of the flask, yet feeling as it was inevitably ripped away from him and secured by the woman's surprisingly strong fingers. In the shadows it was impossible to say where the woman had hidden the flask and instead of searching for it in the darkness, the man merely forced his shoulders to relax, bringing his hand back to his side. Let her enjoy the alcohol then, for all the good it would do to her. She was still weak from the fever and Rolf possessed almost all of his strength - at least as long as he wasn't suffering from a random bout of sudden dizziness and nausea. His other hand twitched away from the door as she slapped it away and Rolf winced in the darkness, his silver eyes narrowing with irritation, yet he still did not bother countering her actions with violence. He merely rested his left hand against the door, his palm pressing against the wooden surface right next to her head to further accentuate her entrapment.

Grasping the stolen flask, Riedel asked him why Rolf acted as if he cared, rousing an amused snort from the man through the darkness; had he, indeed, acted as if he cared? He had no idea why the woman would have viewed his words in such a manner and Rolf listened closely as she went on, saying how Rolf only figured that she would slow him down - certainly a sound interpretation and one Rolf would have not bothered to dismiss. Indeed she would slow him down and force him to make a detour he did not wish to make, although there were other reason behind his reluctance to have her accompany him. Her words and actions from the previous night were still far too fresh within his mind, causing him nothing but confusion and discomfort and somehow he had figured that having her present would only further coax those unwanted feelings. He needed to create some distance between them and get back to his routines as quickly as possible to forget about the previous night and her poisonous words. Besides, she was still sick and Rolf did not want to carry the responsibility on his shoulders, so leaving her behind was nothing but a practical solution. He was sure that Riedel would have laughed at such a notion and told him that she could take care of herself just fine, but if something should happen, the outside world would certainly see things in a very different light should her condition worsen. Well, when I dragged her out of the hospital, she assured me she was perfectly fine. Yes, that wouldn't quite cut it when it came to explanations and it was really much easier for him to just stay out of it.

Whatever thoughts might have been running through Rolf's mind just seconds ago were quickly evaporated when he felt her leaning closer to him, her lips moving right next to his ear just so that she could blow air on to his ear, sending exhilarating cold shivers running down the man's spine. His fingers curled into a loose fist and a small sneer appeared on the man's lips as almost intolerable waves of lust passed through his very being, yet his mind was telling him that it was clearly nothing but a cheap ruse from her part. Rolf could feel her resting her chin against his shoulder and he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation, no matter how much his mind was screaming at him and telling him to push the woman aside, to slap her for her insolence. Rolf Jäger's mind had been ruled by nothing but his blind desires for such a long time, he had become very accustomed to shoving away the voices of reason, effortlessly drowning them beneath the dark, violent waves of raw and feral urges. He could feel her hand snaking down his arm and to his chest, further travelling down towards his pocket to draw out the cigarettes - yet still he stood quiet and unmoving, allowing the sea surfs of desire crash against him like upon some ancient, foreboding cliff that had been standing on the shore for ages, one that would slowly fade away under the force of the primal waters and one that yet still stood as proud and defiant as always. Rolf breathed out slowly, still enjoying the lingering traces of pleasure her touch had left behind, while she was already lighting her cigarette, either oblivious or simply not caring about the fervor she had set aflame inside him.

Rolf observed as the ember of the cigarette soon illuminated her pale face with its orange glow, his eyes still glinting with the hunger that dwelled within while she pushed the packet of cigarettes back inside his pocket and leaned her head against the door, watching back at him in silence. Her quiet voice broke through the stillness and through the curious wisps of smoke that snaked between their faces and even though the initial content of her mocking words passed harmlessly through his mind, Rolf's expression soon grew colder and much more attentive. There was nothing but mocking and derision in her voice now and Rolf simply could not force the meaning of her words to go away, the little insults decorated with sharp hooks that pierced his skin as she kept feeding him the line. She implied that he had no idea of death, further referring to his kind as damsels who would pitifully cry out at the slightest sign of a fever. The man's lips drew away from teeth into an increasingly ominous sneer, his voracity now mixing with the quickly travelling flames of anger ignited by her insults. She further referred to Rolf's words from earlier, mentioning them as if they had been a promise, as if the woman truly could not discern the difference between a promise and mere words. Riedel acted as if she had no real concern over angering the man and merely opened the flask with her teeth, tilting her head back to enjoy a hefty gulp of the burning alcohol contained within.

Her next set of words sent scorching flames of rage burning through his veins when she said that he was begging; begging from her! Apparently he should have learned to simply seize whatever he craved for and she was no reprimanding him for not taking such an action. What the hell could possibly please this woman to begin with? One moment she was telling him how presumptuous he was, arrogantly grasping the things he hoped to have, while the other moment she was mocking him for not doing just so. He could only faintly register the fact that she was stretching her arms over his shoulders, his mind too numbed by rage to completely understand the rest of her words and his burning grey eyes only seeing the mocking, victorious smile upon her lips. Rolf's muscles tensed with the torrents of fury and for a moment he felt the urge to simply clamp his hands upon her throat and to crush his fingers upon the pale skin until he would hear something crack or see the mocking smirk wiped from the woman's features while she gasped for air. Nothing would have brought him more pleasure than this particular sight and the tips of his fingers twitched with anticipation, already imagining how it would have felt like, feeling someone's life running out beneath his very fingers, the pulse growing weaker, the gasps for air becoming more infrequent, until nothing would remain but a home in the welcoming, dark embrace of death.

The violent imagines caressed Rolf's mind with their tempting promises and for a small moment the man felt as if he should succumb to their siren song and give in to them. At the moment it seemed nothing but the most straightforward and easiest way of solving the situation, getting rid of the woman for good and stopping the incessant torment she caused him. The man stared at her for a small moment, the pure hatred reflecting from his eyes like the purest vision from the depths of Tartarus, but then he merely slapped her arms away, taking a step back and snatching the flask from the woman in one quick movement. The anger still gleamed within his grey eyes, the image further accentuated by the ember of the cigarette, but then Rolf merely stepped away from the woman and walked towards the window in fast, angry steps. The man's chest heaved with his rapid breathing and his dark shadow was contrasted against the azure of the sky, his features hidden by the darkness, yet the mess of his hair and the silhouette of his face distinctly drawn against the blue firmament of the horizon. The man stood there for a small moment, his teeth gritted together and his eyes blazing as he stared somewhere into the darkness and the enticing images of attacking the woman still coaxed him to take action, to quench his anger in subduing the obnoxious female once and for all. Rolf allowed these thoughts to gradually exit his head with each breath, his fingers twitching upon the metallic surface of the flask. As if Riedel simply no longer existed, the man opened the flask with one angry movement and tilted his head back as he allowed the toxic essence of alcohol travel down his tongue and burn its way down his throat, filling him with the promise of lingering numbness. The man gulped down another hefty portion of the strong alcohol before slowly closing the container and turning his head around slightly, just so that he could once more regard the shadow standing in front of the door, the ember of the cigarette illuminating the woman's pale features through the darkness.

For some reason he found himself feeling almost disappointed - no, not just disappointed, but betrayed by the stubborn woman. What had all this talk about family, love and devotion been the previous night? How about all of her gestures that had not only failed to push him away, but had coaxed him to remain closer, to drown himself in the warmth that surrounded her? The skin at the corner of the man's left eye twitched as he recalled all of these moments from the previous night, of her lips pressed upon his own, of her fevered frame pressing closer against his in an effort to find security or comfort - things which Rolf did not even know he could offer to someone, things which he did not possess. He had been surprised by the sincerity that had lingered within Riedel's emerald eyes, but looking back at her mocking expression now made those images seem all the more hazy, until the jeering smile had replaced all the earlier reflections he remembered seeing of her, all of her faces now mocking him. Of course, it had been nothing but some elaborate game of hers, forcing him to drop his defences so that she could better wedge her talons into a vulnerable spot and cause him harm.

He had no idea why the realization should have caused him such frustration, for he had learned to expect nothing else from people and the change in his own demeanor made him feel all the more irritated. She was ever the same as all others, only looking for means to defeat him, to jeer at him and to injure him; he had no idea why he had allowed his guard down, but it would not happen again and he would not be defeated by her or anyone else for that matter. He knew not for what ludicrous reason he had allowed her words to carve such a painful path within him, but her jeering face was doing nothing but mending these wounds faster. Nothing was more familiar to him but betrayal and the constant battle for survival and victory, sentiments which had been engraved within each man's soul from birth. There was only one person in the entire world he could completely trust, and that was Rolf Jäger himself; everyone else was expendable, serving a purpose only if they could be of some use to him. The basic nature of each person was rotten and treacherous and he knew how to see through lies, how to step around the traps set by others and how to make them fall into snares set by him. It was clear that Riedel's sharp words had nothing but one meaning and that was to to anger him just so that she could drink on his wrath and irritation, but Rolf wasn't going to give her that satisfaction, now was he? The man's grey eyes steeled with fresh determination and he slipped the flask back into his pocket, his voice gruff and low when he spoke. "Der große Riedel..! Sie wissen, dass alles dort über andere gerade wissen soll, auf sie schauend, stimmt das? Ich kann mir nur vorstellen, was man mit Sachkenntnissen wie Ihrig tun konnte, schauen Sie gerade einfach... auf jemanden und sehen direkt durch sie, ihre Motivationen, ihre Geschichte, ihre Schulden. Natürlich kann niemand hoffen, Sie zu kennen, selbst wenn sie sich wirklich anstrengen, um einige Fragen zu stellen. Sie sind so viel mehr speziell als jeder sonst, ein großartiger... Rätsel," there was a sharp, venomous edge to the man's voice, as he bore his current injuries due to no other reason but wishing to know more about the woman and having posed questions that had displeased her brother. Of course he would have never shared this fact with Riedel, but the truth still stood, and she had never bothered to ask any questions about him unless they had to do with Rolf's reasons for pursuing her. What could she, indeed, hope to know about him and his history? Nothing but cheap presumptions based on his stature - ones that Rolf admitted, he had held towards her as well, but he had adjusted his view since then and had at least attempted to make sense of her nature. And she dared to call Rolf arrogant? Such irony!

A hoarse, surprising chuckle erupted within Rolf's chest over these sentiments and he looked at her in a different way now, while his expression was still hopelessly hidden by the shadows. "Es ist nur ein Trugbild, Riedel. Gerade wie alle anderen Dinge erlauben Sie, Ihr Leben, diese Dinge zu diktieren, die Sie... Liebe nennen. Hingabe. Nichts als Schatten und Staub, lächerliche Dinge heraufbeschworen durch Ihre eigene Einbildungskraft, gerade so dass Sie Sie fühlen einen speziellen Zweck in Ihrem Leben haben, dass Sie irgendwie wichtig sind. Aber in Ihnen sind jemals dasselbe als jeder sonst ich habe mich jemals getroffen. Gerade... dasselbe," there was raw amusement in the man's voice and he stepped slowly closer to her, his dark figure growing larger and more dominating as it blocked more and more of the twilight seeping inside through the lone window. Rolf stopped a few short steps away from the woman, his silver eyes once more gleaming in the glow of the cigarette, stern and surprisingly emotionless. "Das einzige Ding, über das ich mich sorge, kommt zu meinem Gruppe und wiederbekommend zum Fliegen so bald wie möglich zurück. Jetzt kommen entweder Sie aus meinem Weg heraus, oder Sie folgen vorwärts es ist mir egal. Gerade behält der Aufenthalt aus meinem Weg und Ihr amüsantes kleines Abstreifen zu sich selbst. Ich habe nicht die Zeit oder die Geduld dafür," there was an ominous bite to the man's low and steady voice, his eyes gleaming with promises of something unpleasant should the woman attempt to delay his escape and although Rolf's hand moved determinedly towards the latch of the door, his entire frame was ready to strike the female down at the first sign of hostility.


Translations:

"Der große Riedel..! Sie wissen, dass alles dort über andere gerade wissen soll, auf sie schauend, stimmt das..?"
"The great Riedel..! You know everything there is to know about others, just by looking at them, don't you? I can only imagine what one could do with skills such as yours, you just simply... look at someone and see right through them, their motivations, their history, their faults. Of course, nobody can hope to know you, even if they actually make the effort to ask some questions. You are so much more special than everyone else, a grand... riddle."

"Es ist nur ein Trugbild, Riedel. Gerade wie alle anderen Dinge erlauben Sie, Ihr Leben, diese Dinge zu diktieren, die Sie..."
"It's only an illusion, Riedel. Just like all the other things you allow to dictate your life, these things you call... love. Devotion. Nothing but shadows and dust, ridiculous things conjured up by your own imagination, just so that you feel you have some special purpose in your life, that you are somehow important. But inside you are ever the same as everyone else I've ever met. Just... the same."

"Das einzige Ding, über das ich mich sorge, kommt zu meinem Gruppe und wiederbekommend zum Fliegen so bald wie möglich zurück.."
"The only thing I care about is returning to my Gruppe and getting back to flying as soon as possible. Now either you get out of my way or you follow along, it's all the same to me. Just stay out of my way and keep your amusing little barking to yourself. I have not the time nor the patience for it."

[Dirk Riedel]

She leaned calmly against the door and smoked from her cigarette in silence, allowing the grey fume to surround her as she watched him closely, his enveloping rage taking a better control of him when he stormed towards the window with the flask, enshrouding himself in pitch-blackness, his dark hair almost gleaming from the crescent moon’s light as it fell upon his side, revealing a part of him to the light while condemning the other to eternal darkness. She remained unmoving and quiet throughout the steadily progressive bout of his fuming rage, her eyes looking after him with plain curiosity from her corner as he drank down from the flask, gulped down his indignation and resentment, and fumed in his own side of the room. Even as he spoke her expression retained that colourless, thoughtful texture as often characterized the woman’s facial features, through the biting sarcasm, that sardonic tone of his guttural voice, but she did not respond, merely listened to him, for they were not biting her – they were biting him instead, and he was too blind to notice and feel it, blind from his bloated self-esteem and arrogance, blind from his absolute incapacity to distinguish his organism’s very own mechanized defensive measures working around the clock against what they assumed were parasites infiltrating his body and which needed to be destroyed before long. The only difference lay in the fact this was not about a passing fever, but his very own life.

There was sarcasm in his voice, but she could also discern bitterness. There was something entirely wrong about everything he was saying and suddenly his words adopted a new shade for her, for they no longer bore the very same essence of arrogance and self-importance she had been accustomed to, indeed there was a considerably dissimilar shade of such arrogance portrayed through his words such as to suggest he had undergone a process of reverie during the time she had been absent to witness such a significant tumult within him, but his very words inadvertently let her know of something akin to disillusionment. He had spoken to her more than once about how she was so contrastive to anyone he had come to interact with at this point, how she, unlike them, carried an amount of traits indiscernible to those human beings he had been forced to socialize with, to suddenly persist – as if he was attempting to persuade himself rather than her – that she was all the same to all those he had seen before, as though some part of him had really absorbed her words the previous night and turned them into claws snatching away at his viscera, into knives ruthlessly cutting through his flesh to torment him, to force him to question everything he had come to known as facts up to this point, as though he had wanted, even hoped, to understand and explore the small fraction of her world she had momentarily offered him access to or, at least, as though deep to his heart he had acknowledged the inescapable verity of her speech instead of condemning it to the pit of his own ignorance. And, as if disillusioned and embittered, he returned to his former set of ancient beliefs and viewpoints, assigning her the status of a mere commoner, although he knew, and she knew that it was neither true nor heartfelt. It was this very message which heftily and unknowingly to him passed from his lips to her through the air between them that held all the meaning in his words, all the rest buried somewhere in the atmosphere’s nothingness, too insignificant to be taken notice of.

It was the truth that Dirk used the carrot and the stick approach more often than not to induce behaviour: whenever someone responded to her methods of teaching in a way she deemed efficient and progressive she awarded them accordingly and valued their efforts; whenever they were to disappoint her punishment would ensue, and even more relentless and severe methods of discipline were to be established to ascertain success in her objective. This is how she had brought up Julian, and this is how she was treating the Hauptmann at the moment, for he certainly was nothing more but a little child who knew not real manners and an appropriate code of conduct by which to further promote his relationships, instead resolving to establish contacts based upon the weak cemented foundation of mistreatment and machinations. What she had spoken to him the former evening had come from the heart, and for some reason yet mysterious to her she had truly wished he would come to understand the remotest titbit of sensation she had attempted to offer him lest he should recognize the wrongness of his living, the pathetic fallacies he cherished, the inhuman contact he had so far nourished and the blindness he persisted clinging to with such desperate force as though he were too enshrouded with fear over assuming he were to be hurt, over having the reigning pyramid of his simplistic, shallow relationships shatter lest he should discover something of more depth and complicacy being in existence, over having everything he had come to build so far reduced to a hundred little shards falling down on the floor, right in front of his feet.

She did not move as his dark, threatening figure loomed closer, and her face only ever bore the same inscrutable, contemplative expression as she looked back at him, unresponsive through his final words, through the hand shooting through the air to clasp at the door’s latch, through that gaze of severe austerity as the cigarette’s glow only faintly caught the edges of his face. She remained with her body pressed against the door, to the point where even if he should turn the latch he still needed to force her out of the way to pursue the escape he so desired. Still, she did not exhibit any tendency to move away, and simply stood where she was, watching him closely with that serene, unpretentious gaze whilst she was absorbing his essence into her, solving the small puzzles that his erratic behaviour was, and calmly took a last, deep drag from the cigarette.

“Ich fühle Mitleid für Sie,” she said softly, her face solemn, through which nothing more but sincerity could be read. “Ich tue wirklich, Jäger.” And she let the cigarette drop on the floor, whence she crushed it with her boot in one simple movement. She looked back at him in the consuming darkness that immediately embraced them, her gaze unyielding still. “Schauen Sie auf Sie, wie weit Sie gehen werden um sich von der Wahrheit zu schützen weil die Wahrheit Sie tief zum Knochenmark des Knochens verletzt, stimmt dass?” she spoke in a calm, almost considerate tone, and through the darkness he could easily perceive that face no longer bore the slightest shade of mocking and derision, there was no anger to disturb her present state of inner contemplation, as her hand slowly moved to the side and covered his own; though her grasp was neither strong nor threatening, it was firm enough to prevent him from turning the latch. Her warm palm touched against his cold one, pale fingers snaking around the back of his hand, almost tenderly, her eyes never leaving the indistinct outline of his face as it bathed in pitch-blackness, but it was standing right in front of her, tall and imposing, prepared to mete out violence should she avert his escape. She knew this, but she also knew with what softness of gesture her fingers crawled and infiltrated through the small space between his own, intertwining their hands in one very simple, natural movement that felt one in motion and unity. “Lachen?” she asked quietly, and slowly shook her head. “Nein, ich werde über Sie nicht lachen, Jäger, tatsächlich denke ich dass Sie das am meisten jämmerliche Wesen in dieser Welt sind,” she said, and instead of pressing his hand away from the latch she let her fingers slip away from his, travelling on their slow journey up to the back of his hand, crawling upwards to touch his wrist, up across his forearm, her palm’s radiating warmth transmitting through to his very own skin as she traced an unexplored pathway, creating small, undistinguishing patterns alongside. “Sie müssen so unsicher und einsam sein um sich Lügen zu füttern, Gefühle wegzuschieben die Sie nicht beginnen können, die wirkliche Tatsache zu verstehen, Ihre Reaktion dazu ist nichts als eine mechanisierte Form von instinktiven Selbsterhaltungsshows wie weit gegangen Sie sind wie in eine Welt des sinnlosen Hochmuts verloren.”

But at that moment her hand shot through to his shirt’s collar and she forcefully threw him forwards to her, bringing him closer against her, her hand moving to grasp the side of his neck firmly as she looked at him in the eternal abyss of the enshrouding darkness, her breathing steady and calm, her eyes focused upon him with a severe, fiery texture to it as she held on to him firmly. “Ich meinte jedes Wort das ich sagte, Jäger. Ich glaube noch was ich gestern glaubte,” she assured him in an impassioned whisper, her green irises transfixed upon the distinct gleam of his grey eyes that was the only feature visible in a face otherwise succumbed to dark shadows. “Wenn ich Sie fragte warum Sie die Chance nicht griffen zu schnappen was Sie annehmen ist Ihrig es sollte nicht Sie ermutigen – aber dass Sie nicht ändern können was Sie sind; auf die Weise sind Sie erzogen und unterrichtet worden, wie man handelt. Es kann sich nicht ändern, und Sie werden immer dieselben Maßnahmen immer wieder aufsuchen, weil im ganzen Freimut … Sie nichts anderes sein konnten.”

She tilted her head to the side ever so slightly as she was contemplating him. “Kennen Sie Sie? Muss ich Sie wirklich kennen, Jäger?” she asked him in her earnest, tranquil tone, the smooth texture of her hoarse voice, her almost overwhelming considerate nature. “Ist es nicht offensichtlich was Sie sind, was Sie erzogen worden sind um zu werden? Ein kalter, ausdruckloser, hoffnungsloser Mensch? Das erste Mal, als ich Sie sah, dachte ich, dass Sie ein bloßer Aristokrat, arrogant und selbstverbraucht, eitel und verächtlich gerade wie die ganze Ruhe waren, die ich getroffen habe - aber jetzt weiß ich, dass Sie einfach ein eingeschüchtertes Kind, ein kleiner Hund, erzogen von anderen sind, um ihre Wünsche durchzuführen. Nein, nicht jemals geliebt - erzogen. Aber keiner erzog Sie, wie man fand, dass … sie tat? Was Sie Schatten nennen und abstauben, unterrichtete mich, wie man sich fühlte, unterrichtete mich über Leute, unterrichtete mich über das Leben. Echte Leute, mit dem Fleisch, und Blut, und Schweiß. Ich behauptete nie, dass ich speziell war, und ich nie. Das ist nicht, was ich danach bin, der nicht ist, wie ich will, dass mein Leben ist: einfach, gewöhnlich aber bedeutungsvoll. Ich bin, was Sie, ein Bauer nennen mögen, und ich damit glücklich bin. Aber das ist, wo Sie sich irren,” she spoke, and brought her face to its straight position as she gazed up at him, her nose only a few breaths away from his jaw, her hand holding its firm but soft grasp by the side of his neck throughout the entire time. “Sie sind bis dazu gebracht worden suchen Ruhm in jeder menschlichen Beziehung die Sie einsetzen, eine Form der Anerkennung erwartend, weiter Ihre Selbstüberhebung zu erhöhen, und dass Es tut mir leid, dass zu sagen, aber es gibt keine Anerkennung dazu, Jäger!” she whispered, and there was a hint of mild, controlled despair and pain ringing through the tone so that, even through the darkness, he could noticeably discern her facial features simply by her voice. “Hingabe ist nicht eine Sieg-Parade zu einem besetzten Land auf das Sie glücklich treten können, Liebe ist nicht ein freundlicher Marsch den Sie singen können, es gibt nichts Ruhmvolles dazu, nichts Poetisches! Nichts Siegreiches!” she insisted in a pained expression, her eyebrows curved over her gleaming eyes, her grasp applying further pressure on his neck. “Das ist schmerzhaft und düster, und gibt keinen speziellen Zweck in Ihrem Leben, tatsächlich nimmt es jeden Zweck weg, den Sie bereits gefunden haben können, es bietet Seelenruhe an, um nur es von Ihnen auf der ersten Chance zu entreißen, und schlägt Sie im Gesicht wie der kalte Winterregen - aber Sie fordern es noch, Sie sehnen sich noch danach, weil am Ende des Tages es das einzige Ding ist, das Sie Menschen macht. Vielleicht ist es nicht über mich, Sie nicht wollend, mich zu kennen. Vielleicht ist es über Sie zu erschreckt werden, um in der Nähe von mir zu kommen. Das ist die Wahrheit … ich will nicht Sie zum Narren halten,” she promised quietly, and brought her face a breath closer. “Ich will nicht Ihnen verletzen.” A tone of what almost resounded like anguish escaped her throat as her other hand came to press against the other side of his face, forcing him to stare at her through the overwhelming darkness surrounding them in her deadly, silent embrace. “Schauen Sie auf mich,” she whispered. “Schauen Sie auf mich!” She pressed her hands on his face with an intent firmness, her warmth radiating through to his skin.

“Es ist weil Sie erschrocken sind um mit mir zu sein, nicht wahr?” she asked him slowly. “Sie sind erschrocken, um in der Nähe von mir zu sein, Sie sind erschrocken, um mit mir zu sprechen, Sie sind erschrocken, um mich zu berühren – Sie sind zu erschrocken, um sich zu fühlen. Die Wahrheit ist, Sie wissen nicht, was Sie wollen, weil Sie nie denken und für sich selbst wollen mussten damit beginnen.” Frowning, she gazed at him for long, too long, until she let her face lean forwards, and her lips lightly touched the dark outline of his jaw, her skin indifferent to the brisk roughness of his stubble, her fingers holding his face with a firmness that very much, and oddly so, resembled bleak tranquillity, as she traced a small path up to the lower rim – as though she felt the inner necessity to teach him and assure her of the verity of her words, the clarity of her purpose, the blindness and inevitable futility of his actions, offer her hand to help him tread through the dangerous road he was too afraid to pursue on his own and finally guide him through to the opposite shore, where he could safely carry on with his way; then she could leave, knowing she had fulfilled her purpose. But there was no time to lead him through the frozen pond during the midnight sky, for she, as though in sudden recognition of the futility of her very own attempts to such guidance, and before she could properly close the distance between them in that rather heretical union, opened her eyes and gazed up at him through her unbroken serenity. She softly shook her head, and breathed out evenly once the complete and utter foolishness of her actions began to dawn on her. “Nein,” she said quietly, her hands slowly withdrawing from his face. “Sie sind es nicht wert,” she whispered. “Sie sind meine Schwierigkeiten nicht wert.”

And she pulled away from him, leaving him standing alone in the darkness, and she, without another word, retreated into the shadows, leaning against the wall next to the door, that was now left defenceless for him to leave, as so he had wished.


Translation

I feel pity for you. I really do, Jäger. Look at you, how far you’ll go to protect yourself from the truth, because the truth hurts you deep to the marrow of the bone, doesn’t it? Laugh? No, I will not laugh at you, Jäger, in fact I think you are the saddest creature in this world. You must be so insecure and lonely to feed yourself lies, to push away feelings you cannot begin to understand, the very fact your reaction to it is nothing but a mechanized form of instinctual self-preservation shows how far gone you are, how lost into a world of pointless vanity.

I meant every word I said, Jäger. I still believe what I believed yesterday. If I asked you why you didn’t seize the chance to snatch what you assume is yours it wasn’t to encourage you – but that you cannot change what you are; the way you’ve been raised and taught how to act. It cannot change, and you will always resort to the same measures again and again, because, in all sincerity … you could not be anything else.

Know you? Do I really need to know you, Jäger? Is it not obvious what you are, what you have been raised to become? A cold, emotionless, hopeless human being? The first time I saw you I thought you were a mere aristocrat, arrogant and self-consumed, vain and disdainful, just like all the rest I’ve met – but now I know you’re simply an intimidated child, a little dog, trained by others to perform their wishes. No, not ever loved – trained. But no one trained you how to feel … did they? What you call shadows and dust taught me how to feel, taught me about people, taught me about life. Real people, with flesh, and blood, and sweat. I never claimed I was special, and I never will. That is not what I am after, that is not how I want my life to be: simple, ordinary but meaningful. I am, what you like to call, a peasant, and I am happy with that. But that is where you are wrong. You have been brought up to seek glory in every human relationship you establish, expecting some form of recognition to further boost your self-importance, and I’m sorry to say that but there is no recognition to it, Jäger! Devotion is not a victory parade to an occupied country you can happily tread on, love isn’t a jovial march you can sing, there is nothing glorious to it, nothing poetic! Nothing victorious! It is painful and bleak, and gives no special purpose in your life, in fact it takes away every purpose you may have already found, it offers peace of mind only to snatch it away from you on the first chance, and slaps you in the face like the cold winter rain – but you still demand it, you still crave for it because at the end of the day it’s the only thing that makes you human. Maybe it’s not about me not wanting you to know me. Maybe it’s about you being too scared to come close to me. This is the truth … I don’t want to fool you. I don’t want to harm you.

Look at me. Look at me!

It’s because you’re scared to be with me, isn’t it? You’re scared to be near me, you’re scared to talk to me, you’re scared to touch me – you’re too scared to feel. The truth is, you don’t know what you want because you never needed to think and want for yourself to begin with.

No. You aren’t worth it. You aren’t worth my trouble.

[Rolf Jäger]

The dark confines of the cage were growing far too oppressing around Rolf and as talented as the man was in shutting out everything and everyone around him to dwell in the blissful comfort of his own thoughts, he felt tricked - viciously tortured - by having his serenity disturbed by the various savage sentiments occupying the small space with him. A rush of almost careful exhilaration ran down his spine the moment his fingers touched the latch, freedom lingering behind only a few unlocked doors and silent corridors. He could already imagine how his mind would be set free the moment he walked out of the hospital and how enraptured he would feel with each step that would distance him from the nightmarish institution. As determined as Rolf had been in simply opening the door and pushing the woman violently aside, it took nothing but her words to stop him in his tracks, his fingers freezing in their place and the gaze of his narrowed eyes shooting towards her when the woman told Rolf that she pitied him. Pitied him!

An expression of open amusement passed through the man's silver irises and his mouth already opened to better relay these sentiments to the woman, but he was effectively silenced when he felt her warm fingers intertwining with his own. His muscles tightened when he expected the touch to transform into something more violent in an attempt to force his hand away from the door, but he could only sense her fingers slipping to the back of his hand, the touch growing all the more distinct when the palm of the woman's hand covered his and trapped him in his place, the warm glow of her skin gradually transferring upon his. The man's elbow jolted backwards reactively, but still he did not manage to move his hand away from the latch, the man only remaining rooted in his spot while her fingertips travelled away from his hand and up to his wrist, drawing a curved path along his forearm. Rolf's breathing had slowed down and his eyebrows were furrowed into an expression of confusion and mistrust; he knew he was being careless and that he should have pulled his arm away, snapped his teeth at her, yet he was forceless to do so as some unexplored sentiment told him to stay put, to watch and see how the events would unfold. Her words prowled towards him in slow, almost gentle steps, first drawing circles around his head before they were slowly picked up by his ears and consumed by his brain. He could not understand the content of her words and, like some simple beast of the wild, he was mostly picking up the calm and soft serenity of her tone, reveling in the momentary gratification of listening to the soberly spoken whispers that allowed his muscles to slowly relax and to better regard the woman's almost compassionate touch.

A sudden change in her demeanor made the man's hands shoot up in front of his chest, his fingers curling into tight fists when Rolf's entire frame readied itself for defence in a practiced, instinctive method, as if the man was used to pushing himself into such a mode in a mere fraction of a second. He felt strong fingers curling around his collar, the woman pulling him towards herself in a manner that was ready to incite a rather savage reaction within the cautious man - yet the violent thoughts were once more subdued by nothing more but the simplest touch as the woman's hand pressed against his neck, the gaze of her stern eyes further locking him in his place. Rolf was suddenly breathing faster with the small dose of adrenaline running through his veins, his fists still tentatively hovering in front of him, but his hostility had become very half-hearted due to his rapidly increasing confusion. Instead of experiencing the pain or agony he had prepared himself for, words were whispered to him and Rolf opened his mouth slightly, ready to protest Riedel's ever increasing offences, yet he could not find any convenient insults to say and his ears only sharpened to better hear what she was saying, so dominating was her tone in all of its hushed serenity. She assured him that she had meant every word she had uttered the previous night and there was no arguing over the sincerity of her tone - not even for Rolf who had just previously driven away any thoughts of her earnestness with the antidote of his anger. She went on, saying how Rolf was simply so set to his old habits and that he could have not hoped to change them - they were a part of him, a pattern that could not be altered and which would forever remain the same, as impossible to divert as the Earth's orbit.

Rolf attempted to answer her, but the only thing he could manage was a low, hoarse croak, his throat suddenly feeling very dry. His hateful defiance had been replaced by nothing but confusion; a feeling which seemed to have visited the man far too often during the past few days, but then again, he had never been forced to face words such as the woman had offered him, words he had not asked to hear and which he would have rather left unheard. The fists he had raised in his defence had slowly gone down to rest by his sides, his fingers unfurling carefully while the gaze of his grey eyes skipped over her shadowed features, managing only to discern the viridian glint of her eyes through the darkness. And as before, she further accentuated how there was little to know about Rolf to begin with, for he was nothing but the simplest, saddest creature, one trained to cold obedience and arrogance; an animal schooled to live on nothing but the thin rewards of pride and self-importance. Rolf's eyebrows knitted together in almost utter confusion when he tried to delve into the message of her words and to understand what he was supposed to be so sorely missing on. He knew how to feel! He could feel the soothing touch of the wind on his skin and the sunlight scorching his shoulders through his uniform; he could feel the wicked talons of pain clutching at his nerves when someone hit him and the exhilarating freedom of bringing his fighter into a steep roll. How could she even imply he did not know how to feel? If he was a beast of nothing simple emotions and feral desires, he certainly must have been living his life to its full potential, much more so than the woman was. She had admitted being bound by her duties, so what could she possibly know about living life to its fullest potential?

She brought her face closer and Rolf stood there, gaping and breathing out deeply, not even recalling his earlier thoughts about being trapped in the confines of the hospital when a much stronger chain was tightening across his chest, nearly choking him. Riedel's hand was holding him by his neck, the grasp relentless but not forcefully so, the strength of her words alone enough to hold him in place. He wanted to escape from the situation and slam the door shut in front of her face, to close out the things she kept feeding him and which he could not hope but listening to, even when he could already recognize the first uncomfortable pangs of horror and desperation within his chest. It was a feeling similar to the one he had suffered from the previous night and even though it had not yet attacked him with all of its brutal force, he was already feeling nauseous and disoriented due to nothing more but his own thoughts. As much as he was fighting against these feelings in an effort to hide them from Riedel, a lingering twinge of horror pierced through the veil of confusion when his body was telling him to get away from the situation to better expel the noxious parasites he had been exposed to. But no, he only allowed her to further poison his insides with her words, Riedel once more explaining how thankless and bleak love was, how it caused people pain and how devotion would take away all other meaning in life, filling it with nothing but these forlorn sentiments. And as agonizing and melancholy as the feelings were, people would still pursue them for the sake of feeling human, making the task of understanding the concept all the more incomprehensible to Rolf. How could someone fill their life with emptiness, yet feel content over doing so? And how they still would forever stubbornly continue going through the motions, through the torments she had just described to him, images that tried to break past the deep ice sheltering Rolf's very core.

He could hear her heart in her voice and he listened closely, for that small moment trying to absorb the knowledge she carried and to absorb it, yet he might as well been attempting to climb up a sleek wall of glass; there was nothing to grasp at and no footholds to assist him, not enough to even raise himself above the ground. He attempted to put his mind into making sense of these assessments - even if for the sake of the tone of her voice that underlined the importance of her message - but he could only stare at her in silent confusion, attentive, yet blind. His confused expression only grew in severity when she implied that he was, indeed, scared of her, slowly bringing her face closer to his, as if to prove her point, all the while she was telling him that she did not wish to fool him. The mention of treachery, even if it was one of dismissal, caused Rolf's muscles to tighten once more and a flash of apprehension passed through his eyes when he felt her other hand pressing against the side of his face, the touch gentle but decisive. He could only stare at her through the insignificant distance between them, her warm breath tingling his skin when she told him she did not mean to harm him. Rolf felt like a trapped animal, listening to the soft, well-meaning words of a human inching ever closer to him and for reasons still unknown to him, he allowed himself to believe her and the notion made something shift inside him, when he imagined that such promises could hold true.

She told him to look at her, but it was unnecessary, for he could no longer tear his eyes away from her, and he gaped, his grey eyes full of confusion and hunger, voracity for knowledge, for an explanation. The austerity of her tone suddenly dawned to him and he realized she was not just asking him to look at her, but to listen to her, to notice her with all the fibers of his being, if only for that one small moment so that she could imprint something important within his mind. And he complied to her request, his silver eyes never leaving her features as he consumed her words and she told him that in truth, Rolf was merely scared of her presence and of the alien feeling of succumbing to something not previously familiar to him. In any other situation Rolf would have laughed at her words, but this time he had actually heard them and he could almost understand what she was talking about, no matter how ridiculous the concept seemed to him. His mouth attempted to move, yet no words managed to escape his tongue and instead he only felt the warmth of her skin drawing ever closer, soft lips soon drawing a slow path over the stubble of his chin. Right then it felt surprisingly effortless to succumb to that feeling and he felt himself being pulled once more down some strange, dark tunnel where all other things simply did not exist; he did not need to know what was around him or what questions raged inside his mind. The only thing he needed to focus on were the hands pressed against his skin and the curiously feverish glow of her frame upon his, while her lips travelled ever so slowly upwards, ready to seal the moment with a kiss that would have allowed him to let go of all other things, of the prejudices and duties that kept his mind closed from influences he had deemed forever harmful. He knew it would only last for one fleeting moment, but they would be seconds spent in another world, one normally shut from him, and he would have rather enjoyed that glimpse to that strange sphere of excistence than missed the chance entirely. Rolf's eyes had closed without him even noticing it and his right hand had moved in to lightly grasp her arm, all previous confusion and mistrust now lost to the one simple moment. He might have been unable to understand the things she had been so fervently talking about, but this was something that did not require him to make sense of such complications, only compelling him to relax and to allow his instincts to guide him through the uncharted waters.

As if being rudely woken up from a dream, the man felt the woman suddenly moving away and the air around him grew colder when he could no longer feel the feverish glow of her skin upon his own, cutting short Rolf's serene descent into nothingness. The man breathed out sharply, his grey eyes snapping open just to witness her shaking her head. He wasn't worth the trouble.

The man stood stunned in his place, feeling like his innards had been just carved out and strewn all across the vast wastes of desert for the vultures to feast on. The perplexing mix on anger, disappointment and confusion had quickly replaced the serenity that had previously allowed his mind to stand so quiet and the man blinked, the left corner of his mouth withdrawing slightly. What was she doing? Why was she taking all this time to tell these things to him, to get closer and then leave him standing there without the answers, all the more confused and uncomfortable? The easiest answer would have been that she merely wished to torment him, all of her actions entwining into some grand scheme of hers, yet he still recalled how she had told him she did not wish to harm him. He had believed her - not just because she had managed to sound convincing, but also because for a few seconds he had wanted nothing more but trust her - but maybe... maybe she was just a skilled liar? Maybe it was just one of her many talents, causing a torrent of needless feelings inside him so that she could observe and mock him and finally enjoy some sweet, carefully planned triumph of hers. By now she had withdrawn into the soft embrace of the shadows and Rolf's face was momentarily set into a mask of utter and complete bewilderment before he finally shifted in his place, first signs of irritation creeping in to reclaim their rightful place once more. He still could not find anything to say and the man breathed out sharply, taking the few steps required to reach the door, his hand settling over the latch, yet failing to find enough willpower to actually turn it.

If anything, he should have been in the corridor by now, or outside the hospital making his way towards the garage, but Rolf only stood in front of the door, his dark figure only barely visible in the weak light of the moon. He could see her leaning against the wall, her expression hidden from him and her shadow bathing in nothing but complete silence. Rolf's fingertips pressed more forcefully against the latch, yet he still found himself standing frozen in his place, trying to discern her current mood, as if her sentiments might have been strong enough to carry towards him through the still darkness. He attempted to hunt down the traces of derision or amusement he was expecting to discover, to hear her holding back her laughter, but instead only silence washed back at him and the man shifted his weight when he felt nothing but utter discomfort over the situation. "Leute vergeuden Zeit mit hoffnungslosen Dingen nicht gewöhnlich, überhaupt, nicht?" Rolf suddenly asked, his hoarse voice steady, the words finding their way out of his mouth even before he had considered them. He had been only meaning to take a jab at her contradicting words, but his statement came out sounding utterly pathetic instead, only further prodding at the sleeping beast of anger.

The man sneered, the desire to escape the situation burning all the more stronger within him and his fingers curled more decisively around the latch of the door. "Ich sorge mich wirklich nicht, ob Sie mit mir kommen oder nicht. Ich habe meine Entscheidung getroffen, und ich reise hier heute Abend ab," the words came in a low growl, the man averting his eyes from the woman and masking it with finally turning the latch of the door. Like some wild beast, he fought against her, wanting, desiring the night, dreaming of running free, and there was determination to his step when he walked past her, his silver irises catching her viridian ones only momentarily, yet long enough to betray the confusion within.

And even though the predator finally walked outside, free of the bounds of his despondent prison with the nightly breeze singing him her enticing songs of salvation, the silver chains wrought just for him still held him shackled, the man nothing but a hopeless prisoner of his own mind.


Translations:

"Leute vergeuden Zeit mit hoffnungslosen Dingen nicht gewöhnlich, überhaupt, nicht?"
"People do not usually waste time with hopeless things, anyway, now do they?"

"Ich sorge mich wirklich nicht, ob Sie mit mir kommen oder nicht. Ich habe meine Entscheidung getroffen, und ich reise hier heute Abend ab."
"I really do not care whether you come with me or not. I've made my decision and I'm getting out of here tonight."

[Dirk Riedel]

She did not immediately realize it, but a shivering cold ran through her spine as she lay with her back leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and her face concealed beneath dark shadows; earlier she had watched them move across the white-washed walls of the room from a near distance as she succumbed to her febrile state of narcotic consciousness, seeking refuge against a strong, unyielding embrace over thoughts she could not quite control herself, and at this time she had become one in essence with them, embraced by their cold, infecting nature but hardly ever noticing its icy fingers grasping a firm hold of her insides. She looked at him through the enveloping darkness, and his words pierced through her mind as he spoke. For she could only remain silent. There was bitterness in that guttural tone, but she was by now reduced to an apathetic state of mere observance as her green eyes stared back into his gleaming greys for that simple moment she needed to see through his confusion, and something heavy moved to rest on her chest at such words, weighing her down when she, unable to move, unable to speak, felt her heart burdened by sentiments with the frightening force of tidal waves during a tempestuous storm, rooted to the core of her bone in that very spot, as though by staying there would provide her with the merest explanation of her actions, explain why she had in a second’s blindness assumed she could take that role – a role she very well knew was most unbefitting to her, and most distant to him.

His figure had eventually vanished in the shadows, and, quite without feeling so, her arm stretched as pale fingers touched against the door to click it closed in a simple, smooth move, before she turned to lean with her side against the wall, eyes fixed upon the latch the man had only moments ago turned. It was then that she felt the coldness enshrouding her, with her forehead ablaze as the immense extent of her fatigue caught up with her to simply laugh upon her face, jeer at her, watch as she could barely stand on her feet, although her figure never faltered as she remained steady and unresponsive against the wall, until her lips violently parted and she breathed out in anguish, her irises widening in the pitch-blackness as tendrils of the crescent moon fell upon the window’s sill with their cruel, unsatisfied beauty, until her chest heaved in all of its bludgeoning burden and her hand curled strongly into a fist she crushed on the wall. Her eyes narrowed hatefully, and she struck against the wall again. It was easy not to think about such sentiments as love and devotion when one’s fundamental agony was to secure their own survival, easy to numb oneself of any family ties that still held them clinging to the past, easy to bury emotions such as reminiscence and nostalgia deep down one’s soul when one simply had to act on the instinctual call of self-preservation, when the only sentiments explored were the inadequate hours of rest and the jackboots clicking in harmonic rhythm against the Libyan sand. But to speak of this to him, endeavour to explain to him, to describe, to force him to understand what all this could mean, how it could feel – an undertaker had set himself to the task of snatching a shovel from his small, barren house by the graveyard and seen to digging up the tomb of a long lost one, exhuming what he refused to let go of, or so she felt, as a vortex of feelings formerly concealed beneath a façade of tolerance and immunity suddenly sprang alive from their prolonged torpor and slapped her briskly on the face. There was reminiscence, but then there were emotions she had not come to face, feelings she was not ready to conquer. Guilt. Regret. They jabbed at her heart like cold, razor-sharp fangs, and she drew another strike into the wall, her knuckles whitening from the pressure as she hit against the dark surface when she, in anger and pain, could no longer tolerate, no longer muster all shreds of her patience and resilience. How strange not to be in perfect control of the situation, as she always used to be, how oddly peculiar to see her in a state of mental disarray and agony.

It was all his fault, and in her mind she kept cursing him, spitting words of loathing and revulsion, rage and intolerance, hoping he would just go and die somewhere, buried deeply under the sand, his worthless presence eradicated from the face of the earth so she would never have to see him again. Buried! Buried! She struck, and struck, until the skin grazed against the wall, until she drew blood; how odd it was that she could not feel the inconvenience of pain of her two bullet wounds, when aching thoughts occupied her mind in such a relentless form as suggested she would be crawling her own brains out in a vain attempt to rid her of this burden. She leaned her back against the wall, her lips parted as she breathed heavily, her heart racing violently against her ribcage and with her eyes wide open to stare at the glass window opposite her. There was a prickling feeling in the corner of her eyes and she stumbled towards her bed, allowing her weary body to fall down upon the mattress as she buried her head into the pillow, her arms snatching it with an almost desperate grasp, her lips emitting muffled sounds of misery and wretchedness that no one would ever hear, her mind violated with pangs of grief no one would ever know; there was an awful knot inside her stomach which disabled her body, grabbing a merciless hold of her viscera as her throat constricted, her heartbeat raced, and her eyes shut tightly against the pillow, breathing in from its scent. And its scent was the one which, at some point during the night, could calm her down; she was simply lying on her side, her fingers circled around the blood-stained pillow in cold despair, as though it was the only thing she could cling to for safety and protection, dark green eyes lifelessly gazing at the glass window, her bearing fatigued and glum, the moonlight, having shed the cruel imperiousness, faintly and almost affectionately adorning her face with a silver glow.

[Nathan Whyte]

If I could write half as good as you two, I'd have no worries for my English exam. You keep outdoing yourselves.

Dirk "Write, write, write" Riedel - 25CP

Rolfe "Write, write and write some more" Jager - 25CP