Promises and Zusagen

Jan Reißer choked on the smoke of his cigarette. He had nobody to call. All of his friends - even the once-trusted Franz, were Nazis. His father was long dead, and his mother slept under the red-white-and-black banner. He coughed, which was painful. He clutched his chest with his right hand. It felt as if his lungs and heart had decided to give up simultaneously. Eliora lay on the bedroom floor, wrapped up in a white sheet. He set his cigarette down on the table, leaving a hissing mark, then reached for her pack of cigarettes. He'd always hated the taste, and they were much more potent, but, after all, strength was what he needed. He lit the cigarette, dropped the match onto the table, and deeply inhaled. Her smell, which surrounded him, now flowed into him, tickling his lungs with her painted nails and soft kisses.

He didn't have many choices. He couldn't honor her with a Jewish burial; most of the cemeteries had been destroyed, wiped clear off German ground, and he couldn't give Charlotte Reißer a Christian funeral either. She wasn't pregnant, they would see that: it would lead to his capture and...he didn't want to think about where they might dump her body.

He lay his head in his hands and cried, the cigarette poked out from between his pinkie and ring finger. "Drop ashes onto my hands, darling." He murmured. His heart broke all over again. He couldn't even give the woman he'd loved most in the entire world a proper send-off. He'd sworn he'd protect her in life, yet even in death, she remained on her own.

"Do you want me to kill myself, Eliora?" He whispered and took another drag of his cigarette. The corpse didn't answer; neither did the stuffy air or the grey smoke.

Eliora Drexel had been unpredictable. He never knew if she'd agree to something, even if she'd agreed to many similar things. She loved pink roses but despised red ones, though she found every other type alright. She loved it when chocolates had liquor in them but hated it when cake did. She'd been completely convinced that he should join the SS to make their cover more secure, but whenever he signed up for not compulsory events, she'd cuss him out for it. Once, a long time ago, when they'd been taking a walk through the forest, sometime in Autumn in 1931, she'd turned to him and said: "if I died, and we had no children, would you kill yourself?" To which he'd answered: "Neither of us will die, and I'm sure we'll have several children." Now he wished he'd asked her if he should, if such a thing were to occur, commit suicide.

Then, at least, neither of their bodies would be given a peaceful resting space. They'd probably be cremated or just tossed into a mass grave. The thought of Eliora's body on top of many other naked and crudely positioned corpses made him sob.

***

Only mere seconds after Marlene and Franz got out of the bath they'd enjoyed together, Franz received a telegram from Wolfram Schneider.

Dear Franz!

Forgive me for writing this so unprofessionally, but the matter is, on the whole, festive and not professional. Would you care to join me at the premiere of the show "Under the Umbrella (Unter dem Schirm)" on the 21st of this month in Berlin?

I will be bringing my wife along with me, we wed most recently! and I encourage you to bring along Marlene! That is if you can find someone to care for the children for several days.

Naturally, Jan and Charlotte Reißer will be going with us. Nobody could give us a better tour of the theater or the play than Charlotte, she worked there for many years, wrote the piece and has even acted in it several times. What a wonderful woman! August H. and his wife Frieda will attend the show as well. I believe it's best we keep our morals up. We will win despite Stalingrad.

Ich erwarte deine Zusage! (I await your commitment)

Wolfram S.

"Marlene," Franz said as he stepped back into the bedroom where his wife was dressing. "You're going to need your best dress. We're going to Berlin."

"But the children-."

"The Maihöfers will be able to take care of them."

"I don't doubt that they'll take great care of them but Franz," she said his name fearfully, "what if there's a bombing? I would kill myself if I weren't with them if that happened!"

"It won't happen, Marlene," he promised, "it's very important to me that we go."

"But why?"

And Franz didn't really know why it was so important. He rather enjoyed theater but had always loved the opera much more. And she was right, leaving the children alone, without even their mother was almost unthinkable. Before he could realize what was happening to him the wheels in his head turned and Martin regained the upper hand again. He had to go. And he had to report Reißer first.

"Why, Fanz?"

"Because..." Not even Martin could give her a reason.