Munroe and Stanka

by Daniela Jackson

  A light knocking on the front door diverts my attention as Hilde hurries to open it. A man in his late forties walks in and sweeps his eyes over us. He stops for a moment then closes his fingers around the strap of his bag and puts it on the wooden floor.

  “Good evening,” he says in perfect German then locks his eyes on Munroe. “Just a hungry traveller asking for a slice of bread and some straw to sleep on.”

  My heart freezes, but his clothes evoke my curiosity. He’s wearing an expensive jacket very similar to one my father used to wear. He has knee-high boots and brown narrow trousers on. A wide belt with an ornate buckle encircles his waist. He’s not a peasant, not even a simple soldier. He’s from a higher background.

  Anselm waves his hand to him, giving an encouraging nod, and the man settles himself beside me.

  An icy silence layers the kitchen. The air thickens as though it’s going to explode.

  “Are you a refugee?” Munroe asks in German, his face stripped of emotions.

  “Yes, from Poland,” the man says in a wry voice. “But I’m German.”

  Munroe nods as though he knows everything about the man. “I heard some rumours. Sit down, my friend.”

  I can’t believe it. Munroe is talking to that German like they are friends. They shake hands and the man introduces himself as Franz Rosenfeld. I say my fake name and steel myself like an animal facing a predator, my nails digging into my palms. Yet, Franz and Munroe continue the conversation like there was never a war between us and them.

  “I supported Polish partisans,” Franz says, his blue eyes full of sadness. “My whole family did. My son died in the uprising against the Nazis. Russians came.” His voice falters then he curses. “I fought against my own compatriots. I fought for freedom. Yet, the Russians came and treated me like a traitor. I had to leave the land my family has owned for generations.”

  “You had to escape like my dandy,” Munroe says and points his finger to me. “An aristocrat like you.”

  Franz glances at me and narrows his eyes as his fingers thread through his ash brown hair. “I had to escape from the country I fought for because of my origins. The Germans like me have lived in that part of Poland for centuries. We helped to free this country.” There is more and more bitterness in his voice. “But still I’m an enemy for the communist regime.”

  “Don’t envy you your fucking aristocratic roots now,” Munroe says. “It’s better to be a gangster in Eastern Europe these days.”

  “You might be right,” Franz says.

  “Not to mention that women of all backgrounds eagerly spread their legs for gangsters.” Munroe pats his chest.

  Franz erupts into laughter as Hilde serves him in mortal silence.

  “For aristocrats as well,” Franz says with humour. “If those aristocrats have enough money and if they live in a good part of Europe, of course.” He sips his ale. “Where did you find that miserable piece of mush?” He glances at me, pity in his eyes.

  Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I’m not a piece of mush.” No German will offend me, ally or not. “I come from a very respectable noble family. I can fight.”

  “You look like a girl, Herr Mattias,” Franz says with a pinch of sarcasm.

  Breath stops in my throat. “I was sickly in childhood.”

  “Too sickly to even have facial hair?” Franz looks at me with suspicion.

  “It was a very rare condition,” I say and rise to my feet. “Excuse me, I need to piss.” I give both men the most masculine nod I can manage and leave the house before Franz floods me with questions I can’t answer.

  Hilde follows me with an oil lamp in one hand and a blanket in the other, passing it on to me in silence.

  “Thank you,” I mumble.

  “Be careful,” Hilde says, “or they’ll discover your secret.”

  “I—“

  “You should talk less and wave your arms more. Spread your feet wider.”

  “I will, I promise.” My heart races like mad and blood thumps in my ears.

  “The Scot is a decent man but he looks like he loves beautiful women,” Hilde continues. “And he’s a criminal. You know that, don’t you?”

  No, I thought Munroe was joking. Hilde has just made me aware that I’ve been travelling with a real gangster.

  Hilde corrects the low bun of her grey hair. “The German is a better companion for you. He’s a good man. He has good eyes.”

  “Never,” I hiss.

  I fucking don’t care whether Franz has good eyes or not. Every German is an enemy. Always.

  “Your choice,” Hilde says, unconcerned by my outburst, and she shoves me towards the barn behind the house.

  I stop and turn to her. “Germans killed my brother.”

  “Germans have just fed you, little girl.”

  “I—“

  “A German woman has just given you an honest piece of advice.” Hilde snorts and her face wrinkles for a moment. “Go have some rest. The Scot and the German will get drunk so you can have some peace.”

  “Thank you,” I say with hesitation and walk towards the barn.

  Munroe

  Franz is a good companion. He’s German but he fought against the Nazis so his nationality doesn’t bother me. He’s a refugee like my dandy. We’re talking using a mixture of English and German and it gets easier and easier with each sip of ale. Anselm joins us, but doesn’t talk to us. Instead, he makes sure that our glasses are never empty and watches us carefully.

  “Where are you heading to?” I ask Franz as the caramel taste of ale laced with subtle bitterness rolls down my throat.

  “To Essen,” Franz says. “I’m going to join my family if they’re still alive.” His eyes cloud with melancholy edged with resignation. “You?”

  “To Edinburgh where I come from. Dandy’s distant family lives there too.”

  Franz puts his elbows on the table. “Which family?”

  “What?”

  “Which family? The Krizs, von Haseks, Santiagos, Brzezickis?”

  “Why do you care?” I growl, raising my hands as a wide grin crosses Franz’s tired face. “The Krizs if you must know.”

  “The Krizs?” Franz scratches his head. “They’re connected to the Tesariks as far as I remember. I met Natalia Tesarik once. A beautiful woman, but died many years ago.”

  “Dandy’s mother?”

  “Her son’s name is Sasha not Mattias. She also had a daughter.”

  “None of my business.” I take two sips of my ale.

  I don’t intend to marry Dandy so I don’t need to know his family tree. I’ll keep the boy alive and teach him, that’s all. I don’t care about his real name, origins, or siblings. I don’t want to care. I don’t need more fucking splinters in my dirty gangster heart.

  Franz bites into a slice of bread. “Anyway, Dalimil will put a bullet into the boy’s skull. Things would be different if he were a girl. But the boy will only be a nuisance for that motherfucker. They’ve got money, but they’re ruthless. They think they’re above the law.”

  Anselm moves on his chair at Franz’s words as Hilde freezes by the cupboard. I heard some rumours about Kriz. He likes leaving his whores covered in bruises and cuts. He killed a few people. There was no evidence though.

  “I thought so,” I say. “Dandy is probably penniless and Kriz won’t welcome him to his house. I actually have an idea what to do with the boy. I need an apprentice.”

  Hilde shivers and clears her throat. “Maybe you, Herr Rosenfeld, can take care of the boy?” She drops her eyes as her husband scolds her silently with his glance.

  Franz sinks into his own thoughts. “I lost a son. He was the boy’s age.”

  “The boy looks like he’s eager to learn things,” Hilde says.

  Our glances meet and I have the impression that the woman doesn’t like me. I like her. She’s offered me her hospitality. She’s a good German woman.

  “Let’s leave it for the boy to decide,” I say and empty my glass.

 
It’s kind of annoying to me that my companion may choose to leave me. Dandy is a very smart student. I can see a bright future in thievery for him. We could form a two-person gang and he’d be my second in command.

  Chapter 5

  Stanka

  A massive frame falling down beside me tears me out of my nap on the straw in the barn. A cold heavy shape lands in my hand and I recognise a gun.

  “Wake me up in four hours,” a masculine voice mutters.

  It’s Munroe. A drunken Munroe to be precise. His breath tells me everything about his evening with Franz.

  “Yes, sir,” I say, moving aside, as my eyes adjust to the perfectly black darkness inside the barn.

  I take a deep breath and my body shivers with cold. I can’t feel my toes so I massage them with my free hand and scramble to my feet. Munroe’s snoring settles in my ears as I trip over the brink separating two compartments of the barn and my hand finds support against the wall. Splinters scratch my palm but I don’t allow myself to pay attention. The gun in my hand is all that I can focus on. Walking out of the barn, I glance up at the cloudless sky when a rustle diverts my attention. I turn my face to the side and I notice a flicker of fire illuminating Franz’s face for an instant. The smell of tobacco invades my nostrils. I steel myself and raise the gun.

  “No need to be so nervous,” Franz says.

  “I’m just trying to do my job properly,” I say. “Munroe—“

  “I met your mother,” he interrupts, his voice soft.

  My heart skips a beat then starts racing. He might have met her. Aristocratic families are connected in many ways, by marriages for example. Vilma tested my memory of all the names of European noble families once a week. I know the Rosenfelds. They’re a very old family originating from one of German kings, but neither very wealthy nor influential.

  “Natalia was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues as dread seeps into my veins. “I proposed to her, but she chose your father.”

  “I don’t—“

  “She didn’t want a German.”

  “I—“

  “Hilde and I had a chat. The woman is really observant and concerned about your safety. She was even more concerned when I offered her a piece of gold in return for her hospitality.”

  The gun in my hand sways and I suck in a breath. “I can shoot you, sir.”

  “You should have been my daughter,” Franz says like he hasn’t heard my warning at all. There is a subtle vibe of longing in his voice. “I would have carried that woman in my arms my whole life. I wouldn’t have let her die.”

  Every muscle in my body becomes as hard as a rock, my senses sharp. I can see the black shape of his frame against the surroundings, clouds of smoke and the ardent ashes of his cigarette. The world around me turns quiet like we’re standing in a void. A shooting pain courses through my chest as the meaning of his words reaches my mind.

  “I don’t have much,” Franz says. “Only my origins and my honour. A few pieces of gold. Memories.”

  “I’m staying with Munroe,” I snap.

  “I just want to help. You look like her. I can give you safety, shelter.”

  “Thank you for your offer, Herr Rosenfeld, but I prefer Munroe’s company.”

  “A Scottish gangster is better than a German aristocrat?” His voice is laced with humour.

  “Yes.”

  I will never trust any German no matter what. A Scot from a lower background is far safer for me than any other German.

  A clinking sound makes me shudder as Franz leans towards me and a cold oval shape settles in my free hand.

  “Good luck then,” Franz says. “Your secret is safe with me but if I can give you a piece of advice-don’t go to the Krizs. No one will welcome you there. They’re not good people.”

  “I will think about it,” I say, closing my fingers around the coin from him.

  “The Scot is a bit rough around the edges, but he has a heart of gold.”

  Bullshit. Munroe is a born killer though less repulsive to me than Franz. “I will think about it.”

  Franz chuckles. “You have a lot to think about.” He strokes my hair then moves back.

  I can hear the sound of his heavy footsteps for a moment then I’m alone. Doubts enter my head about my decision. Maybe Franz is a good man who just wanted to help. I will never know.

  I sigh as an eerie sadness envelops me. Franz was in love with my mother and I don’t even remember her. She’s never been so alive for me, so close to me, as just after his revelation. He gave me a piece of her and I feel grateful. My papa was a good man, but he never talked about my mother. I think it was too painful for him.

  Another thought whips through me. It seems like not all the Germans are evil monsters. Still, Munroe is like the embodiment of safety compared to them.

  For the first time since my voyage with Munroe started, I think I can make it to Edinburgh. I am a perfect boy, so perfect I’ve tricked Munroe and Franz. A sense of pride surges through me. I’m really good. I will make it to Edinburgh.

  I’ve been blessed with a good luck so far. I’ve met a lot of good people.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  Munroe

  Dandy wakes me up just after the sun rises. He seems disturbed by something, but I don’t ask any questions. He needs to deal with whatever comes to him like a man. I’m not his nanny. I’m his leader. I’m helping him to harden.

  Hilde serves us breakfast, her eyes shooting snaps of lightning towards me. I can’t grasp that woman. The more I try to compliment her, the more anger radiates from her to me. Anselm, on the other hand, manages a few nice words towards me.

  I wolf down my food as my eyes search for Franz.

  “Herr Rosenfeld left before dawn,” Anselm says.

  It kind of pisses me off because I wanted to say my goodbyes to that aristocratic motherfucker. He seemed like a really decent man.

  Dandy hands me my gun, dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep, and waits for me by the bike whilst I go to piss before our journey continues.

  As I settle myself on my bike, Dandy sweeps his hand, slapping me on the back. Then he looks at me, waiting for my comment, a puppy craving a snack.

  “Not bad,” I say.

  “I can learn quickly,” Dandy says and bobs his head at me.

  He sweeps his hand again, this time hitting me hard between my shoulder blades. Breath stops in my throat as my eyes turn glassy and I stifle my urge to punch him in the face. Fucking hell, he can be strong when he tries.

  “Jump on the bike and don’t cling to me,” I order. “You stink like a wild animal. It’s fucking unpleasant to be around you so keep your distance.”

  Dandy’s face turns red and he drops his head. His hands tremble and I wonder whether I have offended him or what. Fucking hell. Who cares?

  The boy freezes, clenching his hands against his stomach.

  “Jump on that fucking bike,” I growl. I don’t have more time to waste, certainly not on some fucking dandy drama. “Has your brain evaporated or what?” I raise my hand like I’m going to slap the back of his head and Dandy regains his brain at last, taking a seat behind me. I start the engine and its hum fills my ears like music. “So, did you speak to Franz?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He was one of your kind.”

  “He was German.”

  I erupt into laughter and rev up the engine.

  Chapter 6

  Munroe

  We ride until I spot a pond surrounded by rock formations and bushes later in the afternoon. A cold breeze brushes against my cheek, as I slow down and meander among grey stones layered by moss. My eyes flick over a hole in the ground between two tree trunks. It might have been a mine.

  I park the bike and jump off.

  “Don’t move,” I say. “I need to check that there are no mines here.”

  The boy stiffens beside the bike and watches me with fearful respect as I take out a knife and kneel, clearing a
wide path towards the pond, a margin by the bank and then a square area for our camp. The sun burns in patches as the autumnal leaves layer the ground like a carpet of red, yellow, and brown colours. They scrunch under the soles of my boots, bringing a sense of serenity to my heart.

  I pick up twigs and gather them up into a pile. Dandy watches me with interest as I start the fire.

  “Sit down,” I say as I throw one of the blankets on the ground.

  “A bath,” he says.

  “Really?” I burst into laughter. “Who cares?”

  He blinks nervously a few times in a row as I open my trousers, exposing my cock and piss by a distorted tree trunk.

  Mattias lets out a low scream and uneasiness sits on my chest.

  “You don’t piss?” I growl. “Every man needs to piss.”

  He nods at me, his pupils dilated, as I button up my trousers.

  “Go have that fucking bath,” I say.

  “Don’t peep, sir.”

  “Really? You think I have nothing else to do but peep? Go and have your fucking bath. Get out of my face.”

  I clench my teeth and stifle my urge to slap the back of his head. Next time I may not be able to restrain myself though so he’d better learn quickly not to piss me off.

  The boy turns and rushes towards the pond, hiding behind the wall of bushes as I sit on the ground with one knee bent, reaching into my bag for a slice of dark bread. He’s fucking making me feel uneasy. I don’t mind his preferences or choices in life, but fucking hell, there is something really wrong with him. Something I have to fix for his own good.

  A loud splash of water diverts my attention as a girly squeal of fear follows.

  “What the fuck is he doing?” I mutter to myself.

  I hope that delicate boy hasn’t drowned or something. What a fucking circus. I am a nanny for my dandy.

  I rise to my feet and rush towards the pond, crushing the bush with my hands and feet. The boy is standing in the pond, the water reaching up to his waist. He’s naked. My heart stops beating as heat rushes through my veins. I feel stunned for an instant.

  Sweet Jesus. The boy has the most beautiful tits I’ve ever seen, large, topped with perfect areolas, wonderful. Perfect for drawing them into my mouth.