June, 1942

June was lush outside the window. All those months with women’s names were no good. May, June, July… August? Was there anything like “Augusta”? Was he to expect more shit even in August? He knew he wouldn’t make it even through June, so why bother… June was lush outside the window but his room was filled with death. All those clean sheets, all those whispers, all those grim and pale faces that made him feel like shouting at the top of his voice: Why are you here, you, useless fucks?! Find them, find them, find those fucking bastards responsible for THAT! Shouting seemed impossible and useless. Even eating now was too hard to bother. He got company. His boss visited him and started crying. His wife visited him. She didn’t cry but her lips were visibly trembling. His secretary visited him. That’s when he officially understood that the hope was nowhere to be seen. But she… she didn’t visit him. Where was she? The other woman… laughable. His lips twisted in an attempt of a smile. The other woman who was not a woman but a girl. “She smelled of lavender”, he murmured. The nurse rushed to him just to find the most important patient asleep. That February she hadn’t yet become “Rip”. She still had her name and surname. But it was the name that made him smile amusedly. She thought he liked it. It was only later that she realized the reason for that smile. It was convenient. That February he took her with him to parties where women wore more jewelry she could imagine and more scorn on their faces than make-up. That February wasn’t cold but his eyes were. His eyes and a smile. “I love your hair”, he’d say playing with black strands, twisting them in his long and skillful fingers. “I love your skin”, he’d say leaving marks that looked like tiny poppies, the marks of his lips and teeth. “I love your voice”, he’d say leaning to her closer, so that her lips would touch his ear. He was a tall man, after all. He never said he loved her. But that didn’t matter. “I don’t know how to dance to this kind of music”, she blushed, averting her eyes from him. “I don’t want to look stupid… I don’t want you to look stupid with me” He seemed to be amused with these words. “Come on, we danced back then, Liebling. You had those terrible boots on, and still danced well” “It was different. Nobody was staring… nobody would have thought less of you back then” “Liebling. I could put on that vase with flowers on my head and hop on the table dancing cancan. And NO ONE would think less of me” “Because they respect you?” “Because they are terrified of me. And that’s much harder to lose than respect”, he took her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips. “Come on, dance with me… to the end of the world” Morphine made it easier. And it was good she didn’t visit him. She wouldn’t be able to, of course, but still. He wanted to be remembered the other way. Not a dying man trying to look as tough in his death as he looked in his life. She smelled of lavender even though liked that stupid song about edelweiss. About a guy who married his Mägdelein and lived happily ever after. At least… They had danced to the end of the world.