Let him send me to the infantry for all I care, as he turned the engine on and glided the Mercedes out of the driveway and onto the road leading towards the city, where the Goddess was expecting him.
Brigitte, a gray feline shadow in her apartment shrouded in black-out drapes, threw her nimble limbs around Willi’s neck as soon as he stepped through the door. He loved French women; loved their “painted” faces and extravagant clothes; loved how they kissed easily, always full mouth; loved how they made love, freely and in different ways. France, despite the occupation, was breathing freedom which Willi cherished above all. How odd it was that his own country with its constant laws, doctrines, rules, and regulations, appeared so enslaved, in contrast.
An ideal German woman, according to the “Volkischer Beobachter” guidelines, should not work for a living. Should not wear trousers. Should not wear make-up. Should not wear high-heeled shoes. Should not dye or perm her hair. Should not go on slimming diets…
Willi closed his eyes and bit into his lip as she took him into her mouth right there in the hallway, while he leaned against the wall in his full uniform. He didn’t want “an ideal German woman.” He wanted a liberal French one.
As he lay in her bed later that night, with Goddess sprawled across his chest and stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette, Wilhelm realized, with some strange clarity, that he didn’t want to go back home.
“Do you believe that a person can be born in the wrong place?” He asked Johann the following day, after promptly returning the car to its regular place and slipping into his quarters thirty minutes before the wake-up call.
“What do you mean, the wrong place?”
“Well… in the wrong country, let’s say.”
Johann screwed up his face. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“Do you love Germany?”
“I do,” Johann replied without hesitation.
“Well, you do because you’re so correct. You do everything by the book and you like order. I hate order. I despise the rules and I despise any imposition of authority. I should have been born in France or America, for that matter. I want to listen to my jazz without my Staffelkapitän threatening me with court-martial every time he catches me. I want to fall in love with a girl who is as much a freethinker as I am and I want to go with her to the beach, swim naked and make love. I want for us to come home and not know what we’re going to eat. I want us to take off and not know where we’re going to end up. I want to be free and for her to be free and for my country to be free… Do you even understand what I’m trying to say?”
“I understand that you want to find a girl who agrees to swim naked with you.” Johann laughed and caught Willi’s sleeve when the latter tried to walk out in a huff of being misunderstood. “Oh, quit sulking, I was only teasing! Yes, I do understand what you’re trying to say. You’re a free spirit and you feel the happiest here in France. Are you in love with some girl?”
“No, I’m not in love with someone. But I am happy. Yes, very much so. And I hope that the war will never end, so I don’t have to go back to Germany.” He merely whispered the last words, a shameful admission of some innate guilt that he couldn’t explain even to himself.
TEN
Germany, December 1940
Johann’s stunned gaze roved around the room taking in the sheer opulence of it. Next to him, General von Sielaff was hiding a grin. Even Willi expressed his approval with a whistle. The father of the bride certainly spared no expense when he had booked this venue for the wedding.
“It’s not every day that I give away my daughter, so don’t worry about the money,” he only remarked in a mild voice to Johann’s suggestion to foot at least part of the bill. “You worry about the courthouse, your marriage license, and all the other necessary documentation. Let me worry about the reception.”
In his usual, efficient manner, Johann secured all the necessary papers and signatures in a matter of days. The entire unit was given leave for such a joyous occasion and therefore they had some time to spare. His comrades mostly occupied that “spare time” with pretty girls, who appeared to be flocking towards them at the mere sight of their pilots’ uniforms, and with drinking, and therefore didn’t distract Johann from his organizational duties in the slightest. Willi, much to his surprise, followed him everywhere and offered his help even before Johann had a chance to ask for it.
“Well, I’m your wingman, aren’t I?” He grinned to Johann’s suggestion that he too, should join the rest of the pilots in their festivities. “If not me, who else is going to watch your back?”
On the morning of the fateful day, Johann awoke, feeling thoroughly nauseated. Painfully aware of his wildly beating heart, he lay in his bed with his arm across his chest, his eyes riveted to the shadows on the ceiling in that mother-of-pearl, pre-dawn hour. He discovered that he didn’t worry so much even during his very first dogfight. But this was not a question of surviving the fight, this was something much more grand and eternal, something that was bigger than life and death, something that would change the face of the world the way he knew it. Today, he would forever cease to be alone. Today, he would give his name to the girl whom he felt that he’d loved long before he met her; when she was nothing more than an abstract dream of a blissfully distant future and who was brought into his life by some twist of fate that suddenly decided to take pity on him and give him a wife to keep him alive. To be sure, he couldn’t die now, solely because from now on Mina would be looking at the sky with those wonderful, frank eyes of hers and pleading with it to keep him safe. The very idea of it nearly choked Johann with a sudden romantic joy.
They both agreed on a simple civil ceremony, with a military Chaplain conducting it. With unfathomable delight he watched his bride, in her white dress, with an overflowing bouquet in her hands, being led to him by her father. General von Sielaff, too, also couldn’t contain his emotions and quickly brushed away a tear, very unseemly for a military man of his rank, before taking his place next to his estranged wife. Johann smiled at the two with profound gratitude for making this little sacrifice for their daughter’s sake. His own parents, beaming with joy, held hands in the front row on the bridegroom’s side. Even Harald was given a short leave for the occasion and presented Johann with a copy of “Mein Kampf” embossed in gold, the day before the wedding. “From the Napola and all the instructors, with their best wishes. They expressed the hope that this edition will inspire you even more to future victories in the name of the Fatherland.” To Johann’s utterly confused look and knitted brows, his brother only made an evasive motion with his hand. Don’t ask.
Willi, his best man and a new proud brother-in-law, broke into the wildest applause as soon as the couple was pronounced man and wife, before pulling both into the tightest embrace. Soon, it was a sea of arms around them, with countless hugs, back pats, kisses, and handshakes. At the exit, a customary arch of dress daggers held by Johann’s grinning brothers-in-arms, more frantic cheers of the crowd that had gathered outside as though half of the city itself decided to celebrate along with them, and his wife’s hand in his◦– just where it belonged, till death do us part.