Sunlit oak tree

1945. Austria. Augustine could see little in the light of the small table lamp that illuminated the entire basement. He realized that he was in the basement by the characteristic smell of cement that penetrated into his lungs, tickling his nose, irritating his mucous membranes so much that he wanted to sneeze, and by the cold that made its way even through his coat. The cold mockingly enveloped him everywhere, not allowing him to warm up even a little, although perhaps it was for the better. What did he remember? He remembered that there was a bombing, and that he ran into the first building he came across, stumbling over someone’s dead bodies and clothes, trying to the last to save his life. And judging by the fact that Augustine can still feel all his limbs, he succeeded. Yes, it seems that he pushed away the person who wanted to go to this refuge with him. I wonder if that poor fellow was able to escape? “There’s no point in this, you’ve always been selfish, you’ve always lived for yourself,” flashes through his head. Augustine slowly opens his eyes, he has no strength. He lies on his back, tasting blood in his mouth. “So, after all, I was thrown into the wall by the shock wave…”. He rolls over onto his side and pulls his legs towards him. He felt that he was on the verge of death. If he is found here, he will be finished. Augustine pulls off the helmet he found on the corpse of a soldier; My head is about to burst, my mouth is dry. — I know that you are alive. — A voice is heard directly above his head. Augustine turns onto his back slowly and stiffly, afraid that this man will betray him. He’s wearing a military uniform, but who doesn’t turn everyone in now, no matter whether you’re involved in death or not? — Say something. You are alive, I know that for sure. — The voice is demanding and strict, female. Augustine is silent, not believing his luck — it is apparently with his own people, and not with civilians. But who is she? This kind soul who wanted to know whether he was alive or not. Augustine breathes quickly and tries to focus his gaze; everything floats before my eyes. “Yes, I’m alive,” the man says quietly, more so that he won’t be left here to die and so that they will leave him alone; all he wanted now was peace and quiet. “Then why didn’t you respond the first time?” — The voice did not stop. “I’m wounded, I apparently have a head injury.” If you want me to die sooner, then let me do it in silence! “Raising his voice a little, he said and immediately regretted it. Hammers are immediately beating in my head. He swallows his saliva, but it doesn’t help. I want to drink so much that my tongue hurts. He was looking somewhere into emptiness, as it seemed to him, because of the surrounding darkness, but little by little he began to peer into the twilight and saw that the silhouette was still next to him. Footsteps were heard in the silence, and the lamp was moved somewhere; the light began to jump across the ceiling and came closer and closer to Augustine, until the lamp was directly above him, blinding him with its light. He closed his eyes. — Wow, you have a wound here. Yes, we need to wash it and bandage it, we don’t need corpses here. “The voice surprisingly became calm, and even softer—maybe it was compassion for him, or simply the realization that the corpse would be of no use. Putting the lamp on the floor, the stranger sits down next to him and takes out bandages. Carefully taking out a flask, he wets the bandage and, quietly telling him to be patient, wipes the wound and bandages Augustine’s head. He lies there, staring into nowhere with empty eyes. “How long have I been stuck here? How long do I have left? Lord, I wish I didn’t die in the basement. They won’t be able to find it. Oh yes, and who will look for me? However, maybe it’s for the better. Sometimes all you need is the dirtiest, darkest place on earth to just lie there and die.” “Thank you,” Augustine said in a half-whisper. The woman carefully placed his head on the helmet that lay nearby. — My pleasure. Tell me, how is it up there? “She puts the lamp between them, and he can finally see her face. Neat facial features and large cornflower blue eyes. She freezes for a second or two and, gasping, pronounces her name. Augustine doesn’t hear her. — Sorry, I didn’t hear. — My name is Agatha. — She sits down, leaning against the wall. — So what’s it like up there? All the same? — she asks, smiling a bitter smile. “I don’t know when you came here.” But yes, they still bomb there. — Augustine He holds his gaze, the girl seems so alive to him. For the first time he saw at least some human emotions. How he missed them… It was like in the distant, distant past, which now seemed almost ghostly to him, lying behind a veil of thick fog. — It’s a pity. I thought I could go out and get the newspapers. But, apparently, it’s not fate,” Agatha says with slight resentment. Not with disappointment, not with anger, but with the ordinary everyday resentment that people face every day in life. “As if you could read anything worthwhile from there.” They write all sorts of rubbish there. — Augustine rises and slowly crawls towards the wall so that, leaning on it, he can take a closer look at Agatha. “Do you think it’s better to sit in silence and ignorance?” “Agatha doesn’t take her eyes off him. He slightly bends his knees under him and only now can he see what she is wearing. The same coat as he is wearing. A helmet, a skirt and a turtleneck sweater. “No,” he hesitated a little. “It’s just that if you and I are destined to die, is there any point in knowing what’s going on outside?” — Shrugging his shoulders, he smiled nervously and closed his eyes; the pain has subsided a little. The walls shake and plaster falls from the ceiling as the shelling continues. “I’m sure you hid here for a reason.” — Yes you are right. “Agatha also clung to the wall, her heart skipped a beat every time a bomb fell nearby. She took a cigarette and lighter out of her pocket, then looked at her interlocutor and put them back. He won’t be happy sitting in the smoke. He closed his eyes and sat relaxed, leaning against the wall; perhaps he had already fallen asleep, or perhaps he was still on his way to sleep. Agatha was suddenly overcome by enormous fatigue, with which she struggled for several hours in a row. She had been sitting in this damned shelter for four hours, maybe more. She lost her wristwatch, and not knowing how long she had been stuck here made her very sad. She wanted to know what was going on in the world, find out what day it was, or hear at least some interesting news. The vacuum and silence that was happening here began to put pressure on her. Perhaps the shelling will end soon and she will be able to go out for a while. After listening, Agatha did not hear any sounds. She stood up and walked to the door. Silence. Apparently, sunset came after all, and they flew away. “Everything seemed to be quiet there.” — Agatha turned to Augustine. He opened his eyes slightly and, straightening up, was silent for a moment or two, then he carefully stood up and, staggering slightly, began to walk towards the exit. — Do you want to go out? Agatha shook her head. “I just wanted to get some air and stock up on food.” You can sit here, I think they won’t arrive today. “You cannot say this with such confidence,” Augustine interrupted her. — However, I will go with you. It’s even more scary for me to sit here alone. If I fail, then only death awaits me, but this way I will have a way out and a chance. — Yes you are right. The presence of at least some chance is always better than its absence. — Agatha smiled. Augustine carefully opened the door, looked around and was the first to leave, followed by Agatha. They walked carefully through the rubble and burning buildings, coughing from the dust. Walking through the dilapidated city, they stopped every now and then, looking around. Agatha was heading home, although now this dilapidated, abandoned building could hardly be called home. Augustine simply walked next to her. He had no home, and he simply had nowhere to go. — How can you not remember anything? — She was surprised, walking up the staircase of the house. “It’s better for you not to know why I have nowhere to go and why I followed you like an abandoned puppy.” — Augustine jerked open the charred and jammed doors for her. — Believe me, I saw a lot in that life. You can’t scare me. — Agatha looked at the table where the newspapers lay. Latest release. In a neat pile. Apparently, a neighbor brought them today. — Oh, your newspapers! I think that now you will sit down to read them first. — Augustine sat down on a chair that lay in the ashes. His head began to be supported again. — No, I won’t do that. You were right,” he became embarrassed, “well, about the fact that they don’t write anything correctly here.” This is truly a lie. About England and America. — The man waved his hand. He read all these headlines while in service. “They blame us again,” he stated. — I wonder if their memory has been lost? — Probably… I don’t know. You know, I think they won’t arrive today. And to brighten up the evening, let’s chat — Agatha goes to the cabinet and takes out wine from there. — About what? We barely know each other. “It doesn’t matter,” she waves her hands. — Let’s just tell each other stories, that’s all. I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I don’t really care. Believe me, I have something to tell you. “I’m not a person who has nothing behind my soul,” she said pleadingly. Augustine agreed; his whole life lay behind him. She was something like a huge pit where all his fears and all his dark past lay. And he couldn’t bury it. — Well, a person who has experience is already a person with something in his soul. What do you actually want to hear? — Anything you want to tell. Let’s just talk without goals or desire. To tell the truth, the image you see now is not exactly my image. It’s more like what’s left of him. — What do you have in mind? — he immediately asked again. Taking the bottle, Augustine realized there was a corkscrew and discovered that there was none. Agatha kindly handed it over. “I mean, there’s not much left of the me I was and the me I loved.” You know, when you live life and then remember what you were like, you realize that you have lost many parts of yourself. Of course, they are replaceable, but sometimes I regret that these parts were lost. I think I would have been better with them. “She closed her eyes for a moment. Augustine opened the wine. They didn’t have any glasses or anything. The kitchen was torn apart. All that was left of it were scraps. — Who were you? Were you a famous actress or were you someone who basked in people’s love? Agatha shook her head. — I was… but, however, you will find out everything yourself. I think I know you too. — A lot of people know me. I was famous in my circles. I am a killer. “Don’t guess,” Augustine said bitterly. Agatha leaned her elbows on the chair. — Have you killed a lot of people? — Enough to go to hell. Although… depending on who you consider. If there are murderers, then this is a holy cause. Its thieves and criminals, too. And if ordinary people… — What do you mean simple? What do you mean by this word? — Well, people who lead a quiet life, a calm life. — There is no such. I’ll tell you a secret. All people are bad in some way. — Agatha took a sip from the bottle and put it on the table. The moon illuminated the room. The windows were broken, but this did not prevent them from sitting. — Are you a killer too? — Augustine hit the bull’s eye. As he spoke these words, Agatha slowly lowered her eyes, and all her false mood subsided, and Augustine understood. She just needed to tell and understand that she was not the only one. “Don’t think anything of the sort, it’s just…” She paused. — Oh, I don’t think anything. If you remember, I had a head injury. They don’t think about such and such problems. Do not worry. — Augustine put his hands forward to show that he had no intentions. Agatha sighed heavily, and then stood up and, going to the closet, turned to Augustine; he still sat in place. She opened the closet doors, took out a cap, put it on herself and stood in front of him. Augustine sat for about five minutes, then grinned and shook his head, looked away and spread his hands, as if acknowledging what she had confessed to him. — Who are you? — her quiet voice rang out in the silence of the apartment. “I…” He stood up and took off his coat, where under it were two SD awards that were given out only to them. They stood in the silence of the apartment for fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. Evening fell on the city, the streetlights did not turn on, but rare cars drove by. It was spring outside. The month of March, the snow had already melted, but cold winds were still blowing through the streets. “You start,” said Agatha. She, embarrassed, looked at him point-blank. — Fine. Then I’ll start like this,” said Augustine with severity and cruelty. “I’ll probably start from the moment when I just realized that I have a life.”