Chapter 5
SERGEI VOLKOV
6th February 1933
Dear Diary,
Germany is horrible. They’ve introduced a whole load of censorship.
I didn’t think this would happen this quickly. I need to act faster; they need revolution. Now.
“Sergei, you've been writing all morning. Get off your ass and go outside. You don’t have Erik’s excuse.” Klaus stood at the door, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. His thick eyebrows pushed down against his cold eyes.
“Yes, yes, I know, I was just finishing something… You were going to take me to the river, right? What time is it?” I piled up my writings onto one side of the desk, blowing out a candle – a wave of dust with it, too.
“It’s 10 past 9. Hurry up.”
I wrapped my father’s coat around my torso, taking a deep breath, the smell of home still lingered. The smell of firewood, borscht and sweet berry juice. Once I made my way to the landing, Erik hobbled along, coughing into his scarf and leaning on Klaus’ arm. His fingers dug into the fabric of Klaus' sleeve, his eyes locked on his face.
“Are you sure you’re coming, Erik? We’re not going back if you decide you’ve had enough.” Klaus’ hand lingered on Erik’s back, holding him up.
Erik nodded quickly, following along as warm, bright ceiling turned into dark, heavy cloud. Dribbles of water danced on the grey pavement. Klaus paused and held both of us back, then shoved the umbrella into Erik’s hand, who almost stumbled, before running off towards a young woman in a burgundy dress standing in the gentle shower, watching as the water pressed the fabric against her skin. She seemed to embrace the rain and its hold on her.
Erik involuntarily gasped and his eyes widened to mimic those of a kicked puppy. His fingers tightened around the handle and gently trembled.
Erik shifted his weight onto my shoulder, grumbling, “That’s the girl. Ida Künstler.”
Her soft blonde hair rested on her shoulders, large curls flattening out as the rain punched them down. Klaus rested a hand on Ida’s hip and kissed her red lips. The girl giggled at the affection and wrapped her slim arms around his neck.
“I think he has more than just eyes for her, Erik…”
“Don’t tell me that, I already know.” He turned away, hiding his scrunched face in my shoulder.
“I’m sorry.” I wrapped an arm around him and sighed. Erik melted into me and sniffled, when I felt his own rain pouring onto my shoulder. “Do you want to go back…?”
Erik quickly shook his head, “No, no… I need to accept it,” He scoffed, turning to the couple and back to me, “Sergei, why is it so hard to accept it? I knew he loved her.”
I had no answer for him. He looked into my eyes with desperation and all I could do was rub his back.
“I’m sorry...”
“Stop being sorry! It’s not about you!” Erik burst into more tears, then dropped to his knees in the rain, where his tears were disguised. I didn’t know what else to do, so I stared at both parties with wide, cat eyes.
“I’m sorry he doesn’t love you...”
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Blood is often overlooked:
In art rooms, seas, nature.
Dreams, hopes, wash away
Crimson red, rushes through,
Please don’t lie to me,
Unless it’s “I love you”