Warsaw (33 page)

"A hit, a palpable hit!" Walter Fest ejaculated,
shattering the shocked and incoherent atmosphere. He clapped his hands and then
joyfully beamed at an appalled Herbert Klum. The aesthete's eyes, deep set in
his round face, twinkled with humour and triumph. Fest turned his gaze next
upon Thomas, pride and fondness welling in his expression like tears.

Kleist, fired by fury and ungraciousness, was close to
ordering a re-match - or calling the dishonourable Corporal a cheat. Yet
Schiller himself seemed to be acknowledging the legality of the defeat - and
pockets of applause and praise were beginning to seep out from the party to
congratulate the "damnably clever" and "wonderfully
skilful" Abendroth. Even Barkmann nodded his head in approval of the
Wehrmacht Corporal's show, Christian grimly observed out of the corner of his
eye.

Thomas sat back down with a sigh - exhaling in exhaustion
and relief. Before he had time to catch his breath however he felt the ring of
spectators begin to close upon him, either to quiz or congratulate him. Before
they got the chance to do so though the Corporal excused himself, expressing
his desire to freshen himself up. As he got up Thomas fleetingly saw his
opponent through the gaggle of guests between them. The Lieutenant appeared to
be neither as crestfallen or angry about his defeat as he could have been
Thomas judged. Respect, as well as resentment, inhabited the officer's
handsome, but cold features.

His armpits were still wet with sweat from the contest and
his thoughts still lagged behind events it seems. Thomas hid himself away in
the washroom to garner some peace and quiet and freshen himself up. He promised
himself that he would but return to the party in order to thank and say goodbye
to the Farben Director - and then he would leave. Upon returning however Thomas
noticed that the party had again taken a turn in another direction - and he was
unsurprised by the lack of attention he received in contrast to when he had
last occupied the room.

The Polish waitress who had first served Thomas champagne
upon arriving at the party had now quite literally let down her auburn hair.
She was sitting upon the lap of a half-soused staff officer. A suggestive smile
shone from her girlish features as he ran his palm up and down her leg. She
giggled as his hand foraged up her skirt.

Christian, ever the efficient host despite his ire at the
outcome of the fencing contest, made sure the girls had served a drink again to
every guest before he had given his instruction for them to socialise with the
officers. As if from out of nowhere - the Lieutenant might have even clapped his
hands to summon them like some magician or master of a harem - another dozen or
so women lit up the room and paired themselves up with various lusty party
guests.

Cheap perfume mixed, like oil and water, with cirrus and
cumulus clouds of cigar smoke to make Thomas feel even more nauseous. He
already had a burgeoning headache as a result of the drink and exertions.
Thomas felt repulsed, disgusted, at some of the scenes: grunting men groping
girls half their age and pouring champagne down their throats - licking it off
like puppies as it dribbled down their necks; a man slapped the rump and then
unbuttoned a blouse in front of everyone - and then played with the girl's
nipple, fingering it like it was tassel. At the same time however an open-eyed
Thomas couldn't help but stare at the women, tempting and glistening like fruit
upon the bough - their inviting expressions (moist scarlet lips, gleaming
teeth). He was naturally aroused by the lissom, roseate figures.

Awkwardness and desire were etched into Thomas' expression
as a woman, rather than one of the girls, caught his eye. She sexily leered,
beckoning the captivated Corporal. He found himself smiling back. Thomas told
himself that he was but humouring the woman and himself. She was sitting
astride a high-backed chair and the eczema-afflicted civilian who sat upon it.
Her sinuous arms were entwined around his neck. Her practised fingers stroked
his balding scalp, although Thomas could barely see the man as he was often
shrouded under the woman's open black satin blouse - his mouth slavering over
the prostitute's powdered breasts. Thomas voyeur-like observed her fish-netted
thighs and high-heeled feet gently move as she rubbed herself up around upon
his groin. As much as the feline woman grinned when she looked at the man and
kissed him Thomas couldn't fail to observe a bored, distasteful expression upon
her face when out of the odious gentleman's view. She smiled seductively
(routinely) at the handsome Corporal. She made both a movement of her head and
husky eyes, inviting and indicating to Thomas to go into one of the side rooms
and wait for her there (if indeed they weren't already all occupied, as more
than a few officers and their companions had retreated into the adjoining rooms
out of a desire for privacy). Thomas, more tempted than one might have
imagined, politely declined the attractive offer with a somewhat pained shake
of the head.

As melancholic, frustrated, as Thomas was growing he still
retained the semblance of a kind and pleasing face, which meant that more than
one of the women tried to attract his attention. He also wasn't SS. Many of the
girls were now wary of some of the SS officers, both because of their violent
streaks and also false promises. No sooner did he take his eye off the
courtesan upon the chair, who was now asking her enamoured patron for a
cigarette, when another beauty, no older perhaps than twenty-one, approached
the lonely soldier. She was wearing a maroon silk night dress and matching
dressing gown, with white fur trimming and a shocking pink feather sticking out
of her long permed red hair (a wig).

"Hi there. Do you have a date for the evening?"
the slightly nervous girl issued in diffident German, dimples forming upon her
cheeks as she prettily smiled afterwards. She seemed a sweet girl, new and
still somewhat innocent in her profession. There were still the remnants of a
teenager beneath her vampish make-up.

"No. I am not sure whether to say "sorry"
now, as in I haven't - or "thank you" in that I now maybe do,"
Thomas replied in Polish. Was he flirting? Was he flattered by the nubile
girl's attentions? Thomas was only human after all, or rather a red-blooded
man.

"You speak Polish," the giddy girl suddenly
squealed in excitement, her bright eyes peering up at him. She ran her hand up
and down Thomas' arm in friendly affection as she did so.

"What's your name?" the Corporal courteously
asked, still somewhat high from the drinks and victory.

"Bella, what's yours?" the girl, whose real name
was Olga Sipowitz, answered. She quite literally batted her eyelids and twirled
a couple of ringlets of her long red hair as she spoke to the soldier.

"Thomas. I suppose that's a bit of a dull anti-climax
after your pretty name."

Again she laughed. Simpering.

"You're sweet. And funny," she gaily replied,
lightly and playfully touching Thomas on the chest with the long pink feather
which the girl had retrieved from her hair.

"It must be the drink talking, because I'm not normally
like this." Thomas tried to maintain his dry and sarcastic delivery, wanting
to play it cool whilst also wanting to impress and make the girl laugh. But he
couldn't help but smile attractively. Bella bit her lip but then giggled again
at the funny, charming, decent German. She ended by leaning into the soldier,
putting her arm around his waist and cocking her leg, the virile contours of
her figure slotting up to his perfectly. He felt the arousing sensation of her
soft breast press upon his chest, with but a slip of silk and his uniform
between them. The married Corporal would temporarily permit the girl's
forwardness. It would have been rude to have abruptly unhooked the girl from
around his waist. She wasn't doing any harm. And Thomas still told himself that
he felt he was in control of the situation.

"Would you like a drink?"

"I'm fine for now. Thank you."

"Do you mind if I get one? I'll come straight
back". The girl intended to keep her promise for it was one of those
nights where business was a pleasure. She felt she had landed one of the
catches of the evening. The Wehrmacht Corporal may not have been as wealthy or
flashy as some of the SS officers. But he was courteous, funny and far more
attractive looking than most of them. She would be the envy of the girls when
she would meet up with a few of them tomorrow afternoon over a coffee in the
plaza. Playing the innocent had also worked (Olga had been a hostess since she
was seventeen and was far more worldly and cynical than her angelic features
might have suggested). If she had been too forward or physical straightaway she
might have scared the married man away. But she would use his decency to her
advantage; she would try and work it so it was an almost moral proposition for
him to look after the poor Polish girl (for even now Olga would be have been
happy for Thomas to become one of her regular patrons, so long as he could
afford her).

"It would be both rude, and stupid, of me not to
wait," Thomas charmingly issued, and then winked.

"You're not going to talk to anyone else while I'm away
are you?" Bella replied,
 
doe-eyed.

"I promise. Should one of your friends come and talk to
me I will pretend that I can only speak German - gruff German at that."

The sun again came out in Bella's freckled face. Making her
smile had become a pleasure, to the point of being a drug.

"Be back soon darling," she said and then squeezed
his hand and kissed him, softening his rough cheek. Thomas was shocked, but not
appalled. The alcohol still in his system fuelled his placid mood. An amorous,
smoky-eyed Bella but partially drew away from the soldier though; she glanced
up at him, sensually - the woman shedding the skin of the innocent good-time
girl. He gazed down on her, drinking in her jasmine perfume. Thomas was
desirous but hesitant. Bella made up his mind for him, pulling his head down
and raising her cherry lips to his mouth.

 
His lips were
pursed at first but then Thomas duly abandoned himself to the urgeful and
immediate sensation. He opened his mouth and responded in kind. Bella happily
felt his throbbing erection on her thigh - and then stroked it. Thomas licked
his lips afterwards as the invigorating girl finally drew herself away - still
wanting to taste the woman, her lipstick, scent. It felt like an age since
Thomas had last kissed a woman so passionately, pleasurably, hungrily - and Bella
felt it too. The careworn soldier felt new, electric, forgetful and young again
with the touch of silk and a woman's lithe body on his skin. Heady. A distant,
fading voice still argued that he still hadn't done anything wrong and that he
was still in control. He hadn't committed infidelity yet.

Bella winningly smiled as she, still holding the German's
hand (their fingers laced together), drew herself away again. She smiled
satisfactorily to herself, knowing that she had all but seduced the intoxicated
Corporal. Olga walked backwards for a few steps, still devouring his attention
and proceeded to get herself a drink.

Thomas tracked the red-tressed nymph with his eyes as she
went to get a drink but then lost her in the sybaritic crowd. He was also
distracted by the stoical figure of Luke Schiller across the room. His jaw was
clenched shut to give his face an even sterner expression. Imperious.
Impervious. The ubiquitous glass of iced water in his hand. The defeat still
rankled; maybe the self-disciplinarian didn't deserve to reward himself. Many
of the girls had attempted to introduce themselves to the handsome Second
Lieutenant but - through a variety of shaking his head, saying "I am with
someone already" and glowering at the iniquitous Polish women - he
remained aloof. Maybe he loved his wife. Maybe he had been infected by that
peculiar strain of misogyny that Nazi Germany had cultivated in some sects.
Women were mothers - or temptations. Either way Thomas, in a moment of
sobriety, couldn't help but feel that his former opponent was holding up a
mirror to him - and he envied and admired the young man's restraint. And his
devotion to his wife.

Thomas felt guilty, picturing Maria and Wilhelm. So much had
changed. So much had stayed the same. He had cheated on her once before. An old
friend of his from his university days was engaged to be married and, on his
last night of freedom, the bachelor party had drunkenly ended up on the
doorsteps to a brothel. It had been just one night, it had meant nothing. Maria
had never found out. Was this any different?

Maybe Thomas was just starting to come back down from the
high of the alcohol, adrenaline and triumph. He was disappointed in himself for
acting like his fellow guests. Sounds of staccato laughter punctured his ears,
the air and his clothes reeked of stale smoke. The varnished floor was sticky
with spilt champagne and wine. Voices babbled in the background. A man started
placing olives in between a woman's bosom (which she had painted gold for some
reason) and was then retrieving them with his teeth. Thomas - undoing his
collar from feeling hot and increasingly claustrophobic - began to feel
nauseous again. His head, rather than his erection, throbbed. He rubbed his
forehead, as if massaging his brow would soothe the inner torment. It was a
natural but futile gesture. Thomas craved the peace and privacy of when he was
alone in the toilet, splashing cold water upon his perspiring face. His
intention had been to just say goodbye to Walter Fest after coming out of the
washroom and then leave the party altogether.

Just at the moment when Thomas appeared to have forgotten
about the girl she returned with two glasses of champagne in her hand. In the
interim she had also re-touched her make-up and retrieved her small handbag (in
which she kept a purse, protection, a pencil and paper for her to write her
name and address on).