"As Napoleon once issued to Goethe, ‘You should write about the death of Caesar in a full worthy manner, grander than Voltaire's. It could be the greatest task of your life. The world would be shown how happy Caesar would have made it, how different everything would have been, had he been given time to bring his lofty designs to fruition."
Thomas was strongly tempted here to insert a quote of his own into the discussion, from Goethe ("We have become too humane not to be repelled by Caesar's triumphs") - but he decided against it. Not only did the guest not wish to antagonise his host, but equally so Thomas was unsure whether he actually believed in the poet's sentiments, especially in light of recent history.
"Now, Walter, as you so desired to take part in the discussion, rather than adjudicate, I imagine that you have a considered or pre-prepared candidate for us also," Christian exclaimed.
"Well, if it is aut Caesar, aur nihil then in some ways I choose nihil. I dare say my candidate would not have called himself great, for he would have rightly questioned the criteria - though perhaps more than most he knew what this quality entailed. If nothing else I'd deem him great for making me feel good about myself - and less alone in the world. For I too must confess that all I know is that I know nothing, partly in thanks to his teaching."
"But who is it Walter?" a slightly bemused, mildly curious Captain Strasser asked.
"I'm not sure Thomas, would you call that a piece of Socratic ignorance?" Fest asked, amused.
"But what did Socrates achieve in terms of making History?" Lieutenant Rinser inserted, annoyed that the flippant Farben parasite was turning a civilised discussion about History into a cryptic, pseudo-philosophical debate.
"I don't know is the only answer I can rightly give you Lieutenant. Would you call that a piece of Socratic wisdom?" he said smiling and turning to the Wehrmacht Corporal. "Socrates enlightens individuals. And I would like to believe that History is made up of individuals Erwin."
"Gentlemen, if you would excuse me for a second or so," Christian remarked, after the host appeared to be distracted by something - or someone - from across the other side of the room. The abruptness of the Lieutenant's departure also acted as a full-stop somewhat in regards to the group's debate as well.
Putting on a blue woollen jumper over a white cotton blouse - and also wearing a pair of beige trousers from one of her mother's summer suits - Jessica stood before the door, her slim fingers upon the curtain. Her heart was beating powerfully, like a galloping mare, spurring her on. Jessica bit her lip in one last act of hesitancy but then finally pulled the curtain aside.
A startled Adam already stood before her. Desperate, ardent, he had just wanted to look upon her. His mind's eye could dwell upon a silhouette of the real thing for only so long before he gave way to such close temptation. Adam at first blushed and then looked guilty, vulnerable.
Jessica smiled, amused by his shock, touched by his shyness. Still somewhat dumb as to what to do Jessica took the lead. She took his rough, cold hand in hers (soon it would warm and soften). Her other hand instinctively reached up to his sad stubbled face, cupping it in care. Without a word spoken she raised her mouth to his. Adam lowered his head upon her to meet in the middle for a yearnful, tender kiss - friends becoming lovers.
He was still a little unsure of himself as Jessica led Adam by the hand back into her moonlit room. They kissed again, this time more hungrily. She sighed, hummed, in pleasure. Tongues fought in harmony with each other in blissful kisses. Happy chemicals were released into bloodstreams. They no longer felt the cold night air - their hearts and pink flesh flushed, invigorated. Jessica first ran her hand up and down upon his groin and then nimbly undid the buttons upon his worn, corduroy trousers.
Christian Kleist and Herbert Klum were in conspiratory conference. A silence had temporarily descended upon some guests in the room when the Gestapo officer had entered. They chatted for a couple of minutes before Christian Kleist led his distinguished guest over to where Thomas and his small discussion group were still loosely gathered.
"Now gentlemen, as much as I'd love to continue our previous conversation, I have to stop you. It's time for some sport so to speak. Now please do not be upset with me Corporal but in some ways I invited you here tonight on false pretences - though I would have invited you regardless. But I was thinking about you Thomas the other evening and I thought to myself how very much I would have liked to see you fence."
Already Walter Fest's sober face expressed the suspicion in Thomas Abendroth's heart.
"I can assure you that you didn't miss much Lieutenant," Thomas self-effacingly remarked.
"You are being too modest again Corporal."
"I only wish for once that I could afford to be arrogant, but my record and abilities won't permit me I'm afraid."
"If you are as unpractised as you say you are Thomas then what I have planned will take but little time, which is reason to indulge us even more wouldn't you say? I have taken the liberty of arranging a match. Of course if you do not want to take part I can't force you, but the demonstration will be less than half the entertainment if one of the participants is not up to the contest."
"Who am I to face?"
"You should be either honoured, or scared, Thomas..."
Jessica's skin glistened in the silvery beams of the moon and golden glow of the burning candles - her wiry body electrified. Adam cupped one of his hands onto her hardening, soft breasts. Squeezing, arousing, in rhythm with their heartfelt lovemaking. Jessica herself then placed her hand over his, to keep it there. The fingers of his other hand were placed in her mouth, as she lovingly sucked and kissed them. Partly Adam did this to also quieten Jessica's increasingly audible gasps of pleasure. Whilst Jessica sometimes closed her eyes or looked up to heaven in ecstasy Adam appeared serene as he gazed up at the ethereal woman on top of him. So much of his happiness was for her.
There were uncomfortable instances when Thomas could remember the fateful afternoon as if it were yesterday. What should have proved to be a routine fencing practise changed Thomas Abendroth's life forever, though he little dwelled upon about what could have been nowadays.
The fencing class in the university's gymnasium was winding down as with a couple of semi-serious matches between classmates. Most students however were standing around chatting. It was the second lesson to have been taken by the new teacher - the old fencing master, who Thomas had an uncommon affection for from introducing him to the sport, having recently retired.
It was surprising, as it ultimately proved unfortunate, that Joseph Hirsch attended the fencing class that day. Usually he produced some sort of note, produced by his uncle/doctor that exempted him from sports. However, having misplaced his note this day the new fencing master refused to excuse the youth - despite or because of his feeble protests. "The exercise will do you good, it might even help deflate that tyre around your waist," the teacher exclaimed, much to the amusement of the class. Lothar Spitz, a former cavalry officer in the First World War, owned a two inch scar which ran down his cheek, from his left eye, and gave the harsh tutor a somewhat intimidating expression. Suffice to say despite the odd muttering and sullen look Joseph Hirsch kept his head down and eventually took part in the class.
An unpopular loner, due to an attitude of snobbishness, the youth was often a target for being bullied - and not just because of his Jewishness. He had heard a couple of instances of sniggering behind his back from early on in the lesson but when someone finally pointed at him and laughed Joseph finally put a hand to his back to check if someone had stuck a note upon his person. Discovering none to be there the aggravated student nevertheless then checked himself in one of the gymnasium's mirrors. He knew little of how and when it could have been put there but Joseph was shocked and upset to find that someone had drawn, in coloured chalk, a large Star of David upon the back of his fencing whites.
"Sir, look what someone has done," Hirsch exclaimed, marching up to the teacher. Indignant. Whining.
&nbs
p; "What do you want now boy?" Spitz curtly replied, already irritated by the disruptive Jew.
"Look!" Joseph pronounced, comically twirling around in front of the teacher in order that he could see.
The fencing master did indeed look, but then merely shook his head at the immaturity of it all - albeit he was also a little amused by the practical joke and the womanish state of being that it had put the bleating boy into.
"It's nothing. Don't be such a child boy. It'll come out in the wash. And if it doesn't at least you'll now recognise your kit."
In reply to this a few of the students chuckled. Joseph was speechless. Hirsch sniffed, or even snivelled. All eyes were now upon him. There were a couple of other Jewish students in the class who felt something of Joseph's frustration and injustice, but they bowed their heads and kept quiet whilst doing so. Thomas, as well as a couple of others, also felt sympathy for Joseph - experiencing a sense of regret and resentment at having their favourite teacher replaced by the authoritarian Spitz. Reddening, hollow-stomached, a brief embarrassing silence ensued. Joseph had no choice but to just turn around and retreat back to his place. As he walked along the row of students however, as some were lining up to be given a fencing partner, the culprit goaded his victim.
"I wish I would've now signed my work seeing as how much everyone enjoyed it."
In an uncharacteristic rush of blood from the usually timid Joseph he lunged for the callous bully, his fist coming down upon his antagonist as he did so.
"Enough! Stop!" The bellowing voice came from across the gymnasium, reverberating in the hall for a second or so afterwards. The furious, gnashing Spitz marched across the hall immediately and grabbed the troublesome Jew by the neck, pulling him off his combatant - who by now had got the better of the weaker and less pugilistic youth. The two blows which he landed upon Joseph had split his lip and caused a lump to form over his right eye.
"Right, that's it. I've had enough. It's time someone beat some discipline into you boy. You need to be taught a lesson that you're not a law unto yourself."
Corporal punishment was rife among some of the tutors at that time, particularly with ex-servicemen like Spitz. Usually there was a mock trial and judgement along with a senior member of staff as to the administering of physical punishment, but Lothar Spitz wanted to teach the unruly Jew a lesson, leave a mark picking out two students, cohorts of the pupil Joseph had attacked, he ordered them to assist him in disciplining the student.
Joseph Hirsch - frightened and slightly disorientated as events overtook him - but struggled and protested in vain as he was forcibly bent over the gymnasium's pommel horse and held in place by his two rough classmates. Some watched in astonishment, some in anticipation, a few in sadness as their fencing master - his eyes fired with vindictiveness - struck the whimpering youth. He slashed Joseph upon the buttocks twice with a pliable foil - lashing down also on the base of his spine. Blood rushed to his face, sweat soaked his temples, a vein in his temple throbbed. But as much as Lothar Spitz seemed like a man possessed, one who had blocked out the cries and the consequences of his actions from his mind, he did not get the opportunity to strike his victim a fourth time.
Thomas clasped the fencing master's wrist as he raised his arm again to thrash the sobbing, humiliated student. A mixture of confusion, effrontery and fury darkened the fencing master's features further. He quickly freed himself from Thomas's grasp and then instinctively, ferociously, went to slash the impudent pupil around the face with his foil. Not only was Thomas equal to the strike in terms of his reflexes, parrying the blow easily - but before an apoplectic Spitz had time to react Thomas punched the sadistic teacher in the face with his large fist, flooring him.
Thomas was suspended immediately. Expulsion followed. Lothar Spitz would not accept any other punishment for the violent student. He had to be made an example of. Thomas Abendroth may well have been considered a favourite son by some of staff in the faculty but that could not exempt him from university policy. For those members of staff who argued that he was being harsh on the boy, the fencing master countered that he was being anything but - for wasn't he displaying a certain amount of decency and understanding by keeping the police out of the incident and not pressing charges of assault?
One of Thomas' tutors called in a favour from a friend at another university and arranged a place for him there but the student refused the offer. The same tutor advised Thomas to write a letter of apology to the fencing master - and also submit to a bout of corporal punishment himself as a further gesture of contrition. Again the wronged student refused. It was himself, or certainly Joseph Hirsch, who should receive the letter of apology the expelled student maintained. It was not just from a feeling of pride at the way he had been treated by the institution that helped Thomas make up his mind to abandon his university career. During his suspension Thomas swiftly became attracted to his life of leisure, being answerable to no one: drinking, womanising and writing. For once in his life he felt independent, free. A month or so afterwards he received a letter from Joseph Hirsch thanking him for what he had done that afternoon. Joseph also apologised for his apparent absence in defending Thomas during the aftermath of the incident, citing that he felt there was nothing that he could do - and that he did not want to jeopardize his own place at the university. In his reply Thomas asserted that it was he who should be thanking Joseph. Half-jokingly, although wholly serious, Thomas said that the only thing he missed about his "old life" was fencing class.
The "entertainment", as the host dubbed it, would consist of three bouts. Christian Kleist dismissed the idea of selecting an official referee, for the event would be "a friendly, sporting competition between gentlemen". The Lieutenant announced however that wagers could be placed upon the various outcomes of the contest. Excitement and anticipation puffed out into the air like cigar smoke.
Four gleaming epees were brought out. Thomas amiably offered first choice to his opponent. Schiller acknowledged the gesture with a wordless nod and carefully selected his buttoned weapon, casting a clinical eye along the triangular fluted blade. He had no wish to pleasantly converse with the man who he had been employed to best. A few of the party guests gasped, a few emitted snorts of appreciation, as Lieutenant Schiller assessed the weight and balance of each sword - swishing the air in nimble, elegant figures of eight as he did so. To lengthen the reach of his lunge the officer half gripped the weapon by its pommel.
Thomas took another large swig from a glass of water, yet he gulped also out of nervousness.
"He's half my age and twice as proficient I dare say," he confided to Fest
"I wish you would have told me that before my wager with our esteemed Gestapo guest," Walter wryly replied.
"What were my odds?"
"Imagine twice what you think they might be - and then double it. Apparently the annoyingly youthful Lieutenant over there had an Olympic try out when he was all of seventeen. The good news however is that he failed to make the team."
"I'm unsure as to whether I should be thanking you for that piece information or not."
"It's not too late to call this whole show off," Fest here suggested, with an unusual amount of seriousness imbued in his tone for once.
"I wouldn't want to spoil anyone's fun. If I'm sober then I might be able to acquit myself ably - and if I'm drunk then the shame will not cut so deep."
Chairs and tables scraped along the wooden floor as a make-shift piste was created in the room. Lieutenant Schiller commenced his various stretching exercises that appeared impressive to some and comical to others.
Thomas remembered the last time that he had picked up a sword. It had been over six months ago. His opponent had been his five year old son. Wishing to impart some fatherly wisdom Thomas had oiled his old epée and practiced his strokes as Wilhelm watched on with wonder in his eyes and a birch wood gladius in his hand. The afternoon in the garden had been one of the last times that Thomas had seen his son. When would he see him again? Would he see hi
m again? An expression of pleasure had mutated itself into wistfulness - and then into dejection - all in the space of thirty seconds.
Relishing a sense of schadenfreude the formerly despondent-looking adjutant brightened up upon witnessing the distress in the Corporal's expression. Dietmar was also cheered by the fact that the fencing contest now explained - and excused - the Second Lieutenant’s presence at the party. The youth was also relieved to see a wedding band upon the attractive epeeist’s finger.
Herbert Klum, hawkish (even when he was asleep one felt that the policeman was watching you), reclined upon the leather chair behind the ring of people that had started to congregate around the combatants. The Gestapo officer was pleased to note that Kleist had ceded to his suggestion that the competitors should not be furnished with protective face guards. Face guards would ruin the aesthetic of the match - and also any opportunity of Schiller leaving Abendroth with a permanent reminder of the encounter. Receiving word that the competition was about to commence Herbert stood to attention. The congregation parted to allow the Gestapo officer a better view of the modern day gladiatorial combat.
Schiller settled into his (modified) classical stance and impersonally nodded to his opponent to convey his readiness - albeit his manners barely disguised a supercilious and combative air. As to form both competitors saluted before taking up the On Guard position.
Thomas could not quite decide whether the weapon felt familiar or alien in his left hand. The feeling conjured up various memories and additional sensations, most of which he needed now to sift and disregard.
Both his sword and body, as if the two had been welded into one, shoved themselves towards Thomas in an aggressive but smooth "Balestra" attack. As prepared as Thomas was he was still surprised by the speed and ferocity of the lunge. A couple of spectators gasped in admiration at the young Lieutenant's skill. Nevertheless Thomas brought his left arm down and parried the mercurial attack.
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