Warsaw (34 page)

"Do you want to go somewhere quieter?" Bella
whispered and beamed articulately, sensing that Thomas was a little agitated by
the increasingly raucous and indiscreet surroundings.

"Yes, to bed. But - and I will probably regret this
more than you - I must go alone. You are very beautiful Bella, but I am also
very married."

"We could just talk then, in private," the woman,
deliberately furrowing her brow in sadness and supplication, replied. Bella had
seduced husbands who were more reluctant than Thomas in the past - all she
needed to do was ply them with drink (if indeed even that) and lead them to a
room in private.

"I wouldn't be good company. I'm tired."

"Then let me put you to bed then," she said,
siding up to the Corporal, rubbing her ivory fingers up and down the lapel of
his uniform.

"I think it'll be best if I just wake up with a
hangover tomorrow morning," Thomas replied, removing Olga's hand and displaying
a certain amusement at the woman's wiles - whilst also becoming somewhat
annoyed by her now unwelcome advances.

"At least give me five minutes in private to try and
make you change your mind. And let me kiss you good night."

"I'm sorry Bella, but you really must excuse me. Have a
lovely evening."

The bewitching girl here briefly caught the man's aspect by
the dramatic transformation in her features. Her softness hardened - coquetry
curdling. For a moment Thomas thought she was going to say something to him or
even throw her glass of champagne in his face - but thankfully the proud
seductress merely tossed her head, haughtily (so haughtily in fact that her red
wig slipped upon her head a little). A gypsy-cursing Bella then stormed off in
search of a new patron who wouldn't waste her time and play with her feelings.

It was as if Thomas had no choice but to choose to obey a
commitment to his wife - and be fresh for Adam and Jessica in the morning. The
sense of a lack of freedom felt liberating, good - Thomas rightly, or wrongly,
believed

Walter Fest's eyes were but half open yet the slits seemed
to still take everything in and exude contentment. He was sitting upon a saddle
brown leather sofa in one of the quieter corners of the room. His top button -
and several more - were undone. He had taken off his expensive new brogues,
which had pinched too much from his feet swelling in the sty-like atmosphere of
the room. In his left hand Walter cradled and warmed a glass of French brandy.
His right arm however was around - partly resting and partly cuddling - the
sweet-faced Polish waitress who had served him earlier in the evening. To
return the compliment the waitress placed her half-naked leg over the funny and
wealthy German's flabby thigh, near his groin - gently swinging the slender,
unblemished limb up and down in rhythm to the waltzing music playing in the
background.

"I've just come over to say good night Walter - and to
thank you for your company and support this evening."

"Oh you're not off already my dear chap, are you? I can
think of at least thirty reasons to stay, all of them female."

"Unfortunately I see thirty reasons why I should
leave."

"I understand. I should be leaving too - and you've
already made my evening by that dashing show you put on earlier. But I cannot
go without giving our lovely waitress here her tip. Eh, my dear?"

The girl giggled and nodded her head, barely understanding a
word of what her German patron was saying. Whether she thought he was
indicating it or not the soubrette nevertheless made her useful by reaching
over for his cigarette in the ashtray and putting it to his lips. He paused and
took a long, languid drag, closing his eyes in pleasure as if caught up in a
kiss. Walter Fest then devoted himself to his friend again (after charmingly
thanking his "dear" - calling her such because he had forgotten the
girl's name for the second time that evening).

"We should meet up again Thomas. The least I can do is
buy you lunch. Call me. Bugger, I do not have a card with me. No matter, I'll
get in contact with you," Walter amiably exclaimed, both men knowing that
it was but a half-formed intention and promise.

"I look forward to it."

"You will forgive me Thomas if I do not get up,"
the old fashioned gentleman remarked - sweetly imploring, serious, humorous.
And so Thomas, grinning once again at Walter with sentiment and disbelief,
shook his companion's hand whilst the gourmet remained reclined upon the sofa.

"I, I have friend" the Polish girl here shyly
broke in - in broken German - intimating with her eyes and a nod of her head
that she could arrange a companion for her patron's soldier friend.

"I have a friend too my dear, but unfortunately he has
to leave," Walter smilingly remarked, sharing a brief moment with the
admirable Corporal.

As Thomas turned around and departed he couldn't help but
overhear a final snippet of conversation from the child-like and complicated
character of Walter Fest.

"Now, my dear, you done brilliantly earlier by
second-guessing my desire for a cigarette, but can you similarly second-guess
what I am now desirous to do? I want to make love to you until I howl with
pleasure and you purr (Walter here actually purred, whilst running his hand up
the girl's silken inner thigh) with satisfaction."

Understanding only a word or two of what the German said the
girl nevertheless tittered enticingly - deliciously kissing her generous lover
for the night.
 

Thomas took his leave, not quite knowing if he'd had a
worthwhile evening or not.

25.

The morning after. The aromatic smell of a candle perfumed
the air from where it had been burning all evening. Adam and Jessica were still
awake, contentedly gazing at each other in bed, their faces a few inches apart
- so close as to occasionally be tempted to nuzzle one another with their
noses. The turquoise sky was lightening all the time but the sun had still to
stretch and spray its saffron beams over the concrete horizon. Jessica placed
her hand between her lover's thighs and made a playful, suggestive face -
prettily grinning and mischievously raising her eyebrows. Adam too was ready
again. They pleasured each other first and then made love.

Thomas Abendroth drained the rest of the canteen of water
which lay by his bed, his thirst only temporarily satisfied from the
dehydrating amount of alcohol he had imbibed the night before. When he had
returned to his billet from the party Thomas deliberately stuck his fingers
down his throat. He did not want to be sick in bed. As he hung his head over
the grotty toilet bowl the Corporal smiled to himself - recalling such scenes
from his days as a student. He had slept for a few hours as soon as his head
had hit the pillow but then Thomas abruptly woke up in the dead of the night,
sweating from a nightmare. Slaked. Intermittent bouts of sleep, gulps of water
and trips to the toilet subsequently followed with cyclical regularity.

The rowdy platoon began to stir, as did the dawn. His friend
was waiting for him, partly to see if things went okay at the party (and partly
to check if his Corporal was able to make good on his promise of swiping some
liquor and food off the SS). From the bloodshot eyes Oscar surmised that his
friend had had a good time. He had at least partaken of the Kleist's
hospitality. After questioning his Corporal immediately and hearing that a case
of inordinately strong beer was due to be sent over some time during the day
the Private happily acceded to Thomas's request to make him a cup of strong
black coffee.

Christian Kleist woke up with a fierce headache, which was
exacerbated all the more by the incandescent sunlight which shot through the
window opposite his king-size bed. Usually Kleist closed the curtains of an
evening before he went to bed, or asked Dietmar to do so, but the officer had
understandably forgotten last night. So too he came home from the party without
the adjutant. Dietmar had left after seeing his Lieutenant, lover, retreat into
a private anteroom with a brace of drunken Polish whores.

Christian sleepily resolved that he would make it up to
Dietmar. He began to compile a list of excuses or reasons which would exonerate
him from censure (not that the youth would dare speak out of turn to his
Lieutenant): he had been drunk, he had to show willing in front of his fellow
officers - and after all hadn't Dietmar ignored him all evening? For what it
was worth Kleist would truthfully confess to his young companion that he hadn't
enjoyed being with the women. He could not get an erection with them until he
became rough - and decided to make love to them from behind. He would not tell
Dietmar (partly because it might add insult to injury to the boy, albeit he
should be flattered) but Christian had pictured his lover whilst making love to
the women.

It dawned upon Christian that he felt guilty, realising how
much that he'd hurt Dietmar by his behaviour towards him last night. He didn't
want to lose him, or even imagine his life without his young companion now. To
make it up to Dietmar Christian would arrange a hunting party this evening. He
would teach Dietmar to shoot properly - and show favour to him over the rest of
his circle. The sport would help the officer forget about the smarting outcome
of last night's fencing contest.

Drunkenly putting out an arm, as if he were feeling for it
in the dark, Christian pulled the rope next to his bed which led to the bell in
the kitchen. Thankfully one of the maids had started early. He ordered her to
close the drapes and shut out the abominable sun which appeared to fix itself
outside his of window in an act of spite. Christian then instructed the woman
to make him a cup of coffee, as well as fetch him a jug of water and a couple
of aspirins. He finally ordered her to disappear from his sight and tried to go
back to sleep.

As anxious as Adam was to return to his own bed, before
Kolya woke up to discover him in his sister's room, he was also compelled to
keep kissing Jessica goodbye - not wanting to be removed from her sight as
though it would all be over if he was. After a dozen farewell kisses Duritz finally
bundled on his clothes, crept past a sleeping Kolya and went back to his own
bed. Separated, yet still ardently thinking about each other and last night
(and a future together), Adam and Jessica finally drifted off.

Dietmar couldn't bare it any longer. He finally had to get
up and brush his teeth, after running his tongue over the tartar caked upon
them for five minutes or so. He felt awful but his grogginess could not be
solely blamed upon the drink. The feeling of earning Christian's displeasure -
of not being loved as much by Christian as he loved him - haunted the
adjutant's unconsciousness to the extent where bubbled up and flooded the boy's
waking thoughts as well.

The secretary enjoyed the fresh taste of toothpaste in his
mouth and, in a similar obsessive way to which he ran his tongue over his teeth
in discomfort beforehand, he now done so in pleasure - feeling and polishing
the pearly enamel. While he was before the mirror Dietmar also decided to wet
and comb his hair, clean out his ears and shave again (despite having done all
these things the previous night for the party). He wanted to look his best for
when Christian would see him. He used up what little cologne was left in the
bottle - the scent that Christian had bought him - and mustered himself to go
to work as usual. He would try to act as normally - and efficiently - as
possible. Dietmar did not want to give his Lieutenant any cause for complaint -
and so vent any other pent up resentment onto his adjutant. The secretary would
act as if nothing had happened to display to his partner his maturity. If the
price of being with the ambitious officer was that of tolerating his
indiscretions, Dietmar would pay it.

Yitzhak Meisel woke up late and let out a yawn cum roar,
stretching out his hairy arms as the rose tipped dawn stretched her fingertips
across a sky filled with thin rashers of cloud, like scars. Today was the day.
A part of the policeman tried to convince himself that he should not go to the
address which Andrjez Nelkin would give him because it was likely that nothing
would come of it. But today would be the day. The business of revenge for the
treacherous ex-policeman - and also catching-up with that bastard urchin - took
his mind off certain other headaches. It had occurred to the policeman recently
that the more he helped the Germans liquidate the ghetto the sooner he would be
out of a job - and rendered non-essential.

Jessica cocooned herself in her blankets, still warmly
imagining him next to her. She still heard his words kissing her ears as their
bodies and breathing became one. She recalled how he got up from bed at one
point, grabbed a pen and carefully, sensuously, composed a line of poetry on
her stomach. Jessica closed her eyes, sighing at the lush memory of Adam
planting kisses on her thighs as he skilfully wrote the words backwards so,
when finished, he could lead her over to the mirror and she could read them
herself.

“Like a lily among thorns

    
Is my darling
among women.”

Usually he was early but for once Lieutenant Kleist decided
that he would miss the evacuation completely. He was still hung-over from the
night before and he did not wish his men to see him in such an unfit state.
Christian also wanted to see Dietmar this morning. Although he would not openly
apologise to the adjutant he promised himself he would act in a conciliatory
manner to the youth, as if he was saying sorry to him and also forgiving
Dietmar for his own incorrect behaviour the night before.

Christian left the bacon and egg upon his breakfast plate
but partook of a little toast, with the last of the English marmalade, to help
settle his stomach. He also drank a couple of cups of pungent coffee, along
with a glass or two of water.

Dietmar entered, the thin film of perspiration on his face
highlighting his delicate complexion and attractive features. He tentatively
smiled at his Lieutenant and lover. Christian smiled back.

"Morning Dietmar. Did you sleep well?"

"I've slept better, but yes. Thank you."

"I dare say you still slept better than I - and I dare
say you look better than myself this morning."

The two men here briefly shared a moment of understanding
and friendship before one of Christian's maids entered. For once the
authoritative soldier had an air of vulnerability about him, contrition.

"Sorry to disturb you Sir but there is a Lieutenant
Schiller here. He says he wishes to see you urgently."

Christian knitted his brow and even "humph" before
replying.

"Tell Second Lieutenant Schiller that I shall be out in
a moment. I for one do not wish to see him as urgently as he desires to see
me."

The maid duly retreated out of the kitchen, hoping that the
unpredictable Lieutenant was not going to be in a black mood for the day. She
prayed that he would take things out on the unwelcome caller, rather than the
messenger.

Kleist poured out another cup of coffee for himself, as well
as one for Dietmar, and finished his toast before remarking,

"Would you be so kind Dietmar as to fetch my cheque
book from the top drawer of my office desk? I shall meet you in the hall where,
hopefully, Second Lieutenant Schiller is impatiently waiting."

Luke Schiller fidgeted in the hallway. He adjusted his
collar, which was already perfectly fixed, and rubbed his fingers over the
raised runic letters of “SS" on his immaculate uniform. He breathed
heavily through his nose, exhaling in a sigh almost. He tried to control his
breathing and pulse - with little effect - as Lieutenant Schiller felt his
self-control ebbing away; he might as well have attempted to stop the tide from
coming in. The Second Lieutenant wanted to fly back to Berlin as soon as
possible. But first he needed to collect the second half of his payment.

Schiller had pestered the Lieutenant more than once last
night for him to write him out a cheque but Christian, deeply unhappy and
ungrateful at the outcome of the would-be Olympian's services, had finally
snapped at the money-grabbing officer. He dismissed him from his sight, saying
that he was busy right now - the senior officer was occupied by two twittering
Polish houris feeding him grapes on the divan. He should come to his apartment
the following morning for the rest of his money. Kleist then instructed the
tightly-coiled Second Lieutenant to enjoy his hospitality in the meantime. But
without a word said, albeit his expression spoke volumes, the frustrated
officer stormed off and left the party. Christian Kleist had been attracted to
the young officer upon being first introduced to him in Berlin. One would have
to confess that he in part he flew the Second Lieutenant over in hope of trying
to seduce the German Adonis - but Kleist now just wanted to be rid of the
arrogant annoyance.

Both officers saluted and greeted each other cordially
enough.

"My adjutant is just fetching my cheque book. Perhaps I
should have inserted a codicil into our deal in regards to a lesser fee should
the outcome prove unfavourable. Or perhaps, rather than for personal gain, you
should have fought for the honour of the SS."

Resentment broiled underneath the Second Lieutenant's skin,
firing his countenance. But the fear of what he might say and do - and the fact
that he knew that the once so accommodating senior officer was trying to
provoke him - checked Luke Schiller's response.

"If you recall I won the competition - two hits to his
consolatory one."

"I am not sure Herr Klum took such equal consolation
from the hit. I fear you may have crossed swords and made an enemy of more than
a lowly Corporal from the Wehrmacht last night."

Trepidation could be traced in the youth's features (and
Christian inwardly smirked at the change in the man's expression). Luke
Schiller was sure he had earned Lieutenant Kleist's displeasure - and he was
ready to suffer his ire this morning so long as he ultimately collected his
money. But so pre-occupied had the youth been with Kleist's reaction he had
almost clean forgotten about Herr Klum. How high up was he in the Gestapo? How
displeased was he with him?

"Please give my sincere apologies to Herr Klum."

"I will do my best to placate him, but I fear Herbert
cannot drive your commiserations. Ah, Dietmar. You remember Second Lieutenant
Schiller from the party last night? Thank you," Christian added kindly, as
the adjutant handed him his brown leather cheque book. Dietmar politely,
somewhat timidly even, bowed to the Second Lieutenant, whose face had now been
drained of colour. The officer barely acknowledged the secretary though,
distracted as he was by his thoughts.

"It is of course up to you but it could prove a winning
token gesture - and the amount would be but a token gesture compared to the sum
Herbert lost - if you donated the money to Herr Klum. I am sure he would
appreciate the generous and honourable action. Or do you still wish me to just
write the cheque out to yourself?"

Christian glanced at a duteous looking Dietmar; he smiled
and even cocked an eyebrow at his lover - unnoticed by Herr Schiller, who had
his head bowed down in reflection.

Soon afterwards the deflated, punctured, Second Lieutenant
made his exit. He made sure however that Lieutenant Kleist would offer Herr
Klum his sincere apologies, as well as the cheque, when he next saw him.