Chapter 6
KLAUS SCHMIDT
8th February 1933
My house is beginning to feel like a foster home. How am I meant to bring Ida to this dump? I could get her to ignore my mother, but what would she think about me having boys sleeping in me and my dead brother’s beds?
Erik won’t talk to me. His eyes have been staring at the floor for so long I think he’s memorised every groove and crack in the wood and every speck of dust. His eyes have been redder than usual, but I haven’t seen him once cry. I don’t think he’s left my bed since 2 days ago. Maybe the rain wasn’t the best weather to walk in for him. Once we had gotten back, he was entirely soaked, I ran him a bath and gave him my clothes, but he didn’t once thank me. He’s become spoilt.
“Klaus, where’s your medicine cabinet? Erik feels sick again.” Sergei’s hands wrapped around the door frame.
“He’s never not sick. Leave him be. Let his body handle it, if he wants to ignore me.”
Sergei’s eyes widen, “But he... doesn’t want to ignore you, it’s... complicated. I’ll ask Erik to talk to you, I promise. Now can I know where the medicine is?”
“What’s complicated, Sergei? Tell me. Maybe you think so, but German brains are much smarter, I’m sure I’d understand.”
Sergei hesitated, placing his arms behind his back, “Well… Maybe... Uh... Talk to him yourself.”
I sighed, walked back to my room, slammed the door and kneeled at Erik’s bedside, “C’mon. Tell me what you’re so miserable about. It better be good.”
Erik flipped over in the bed, his eyes flashed with fear for a split second, “I uh... What?”
“Go on. Why are you ignoring me?”
“It’s selfish really... I guess I feel jealous of you and Ida being together. But… Does she make you happy? Is she kind to you?”
“Hah... Is that really it? Jealousy? I can understand, Ida’s a beautiful woman... That’s no excuse however for-”
“I don’t fancy Ida. And you didn’t answer my questions.”
“What the hell are you jealous of then? Whatever, yes, she’s a wonderful woman, in fact I think I’ll marry her.”
He suddenly perked up, big kitten eyes locked on me.
“Will you forget about me? Will I still matter to you? Please say I’ll matter to you. You’ll look after me still, won’t you?”
“What? I... guess I will, yes. Or Ida will, once we marry.”
“No. I don’t want Ida. I want you to look after me. Only you. Please. You don’t understand, but I just need it to be you looking after me. No matter what happens, whatever changes. Don’t let this change.”
What was he on about? How was I meant to reply to something like that? I stayed beside him, but I couldn’t get myself to utter a word. Look after him, forever?
“Klaus? Please, can you promise?”
“No. No I can’t, Erik.”
And with that, I left, shoving Erik’s medication into Sergei’s hands. I didn’t want to see him today anymore. Erik needed to learn to be independent. I made him too reliant on me.
*~*
Clouds hung heavily from the sky, monochromatic and gloomy. The grass was still drenched and mud clung to my boots like leeches. Like Erik. The river rushed past, sweeping up twigs and leaves. I felt a gentle hand land on my back. Quickly turning around, I noticed it was Ida. Thank God.
“You alright, schatz*?”
Her golden curls sat on her shoulders and her sapphire blue eyes looked lovingly into my own. My perfect woman.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be? What are you doing here? It’s awfully muddy, you’re happy getting your shoes dirty?”
Her black, heeled shoes snugly fitted around her feet, as muddy as my own.
“I don’t mind. It’s only mud. February is usually my most inspired month, so I need to go outside as much as possible, no matter the weather, otherwise I’ll be all cooped up inside, painting away until May!”
“You’re a strange girl, Ida.” I couldn’t deny, it did make her a lot more interesting.
My curious hand travelled down her back, before her hand quickly met my face with a loud slap. Her mouth lay agape as I latched onto the red sting on my cheek, “Jesus, Ida. Psycho.”
*~*
SERGEI VOLKOV
Ever since I met Erik, I don’t think I’ve seen him cry this much in one sitting, which says a lot, as I’ve known him for only about a week.
“He hates me Sergei, there’s no way I’m telling him the truth, ever!”
Streams trickled down his cheeks, creating splashes on the pillow in his arms.
“I know, you’ve said that five times already. But he’s going to find out one day. You know that. It’s just a matter of when.” Erik had a pure, wide-eyed look of horror in his eyes at the thought, “You know that, right?”
“I don’t have to tell him. You can’t make me. And you won’t tell him because I’ll tell him you’re a Jew! A gay Jew! His worst nightmare.”
“Quiet, Erik!” I chewed on my lower lip, nervous of someone hearing us. Perhaps it was instinct from my Russian genes. “I won’t say anything if you won’t.”
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Hyperion – Stefan George
I journeyed home: such flood of blossoms never
Had welcomed me… a throbbing in the field
And in the grove there was of sleeping powers.
I saw the river, slope and shire enthralled,
And you, my brothers, sun-heirs of the future:
Your eyes, still chase, are harboring a dream,
Once yearning thoughts in you, to blood shall alter…
My sorrow-stricken life to slumber leans,
But graciously does heaven’s promise guerdon
The fervent… who may never pace the Realm.
I shall be earth, shall be the grave of heroes,
That sacred sons approach to be fulfilled.
With them the second age comes, love engendered
The world, again shall love engender it.
I spoke the spell, the circle has been woven…
Before the darkness fall, I shall be snatched
Aloft and know: through cherished fields shall wander
On weightless soles, aglow and real, the God.
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*schatz - treasure