Warsaw

by Richard Foreman

  "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).

  "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 swee
t-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.