Forever Fleeting

by Bret Kissinger

  The gifts were fine to bring to a holiday dinner, but after Wilhelm had gotten a gift that took both money and hours to make, his gifts seemed tacky and cheap.

  “Wilhelm, your gifts were thoughtful and appreciated. And I know you arranged the bouquet yourself. You did a wonderful job,” Emma reassured.

  The red roses were surrounded by noble fir and variegated holly to make heavy use of the traditional colors of Christmas. But they celebrated Hanukkah, not Christmas. Wilhelm had given her nothing more than weeds.

  “I, for one, appreciate the chocolates and, in fact, will appreciate one right now,” Josef added.

  He opened the box and hovered his finger over it.

  “There is a key as to what is in each space,” Wilhelm said, trying to make the gift sound better than it was.

  “I prefer a little excitement. Embrace the unknown, my good young Sir,” Josef said.

  But their kind words did little to stifle the embarrassment he felt.

  “Is it okay if Hannah and I go for a walk?” Wilhelm asked.

  Josef nodded as Emma sat beside him.

  “Dress warm,” Emma said.

  Hannah reached for her coat and put on a knit hat her mother had made and her gloves. Wilhelm pulled his hat and gloves from the pockets of his jacket and grabbed the gift from beside the lamp. As they stepped outside, they were greeted by snowfall. The roads were blanketed with it, but there were no cars on them. It seemed all of Berlin was nestled beside fires and at dinner tables. The entire city was theirs.

  “I love the snow,” Hannah declared, spinning around with her head tilted back.

  They walked without purpose, Hannah’s eyes darting to the present in his hand every few minutes.

  “Do you have a destination in mind? Or are we walking to Frankfurt?” Hannah joked.

  “Maybe,” Wilhelm said.

  But, of course, he did. Nothing was spontaneous when it came to their dates. Even when he let Hannah choose, she knew he had every possible option planned.

  Hannah and Wilhelm continued to cross block after block until the Brandenburg Gates opened before them. The Nazi flag hung between each column, and the gate was cast in a golden light.

  “They are beautiful,” Hannah said.

  “I love the chariot above. Do you know what it is?” Wilhelm asked.

  Hannah shook her head.

  “It is the quadriga—the chariot used by the Greek Gods. It is a symbol of triumph, victory, and fame.”

  “I see why the Nazis hang their flag here.”

  “I passed through this on my first day in the city. It seemed to welcome me—made me feel like I belonged here. I know you feel like this city hates you, Hannah. But it isn’t the city. Someday, you will look upon these gates and feel the city calling you to come home.”

  He held out the wrapped present. Hannah took it and unwrapped it as delicately as her excitement allowed her. She opened it and pulled a camera from the box.

  “Wilhelm … how did you get this?” Hannah asked. Her eyes opened wide, and the smile she flashed was brighter than any camera.

  “I sold a lot of cars.”

  “This must have cost you a fortune. I can’t accept this,” Hannah said and held it out for Wilhelm to take.

  “No. It is yours. It comes with one stipulation. The first photograph you take must be of us.”

  Hannah examined the camera in her hand. It was black with two silver nobs on top and an adjustable silver lens in the front. She had held it before in different shops only to have to put it back. But she had asked enough questions to know how the camera worked and how to develop film. She leaned in close to Wilhelm and extended her arm as far as she could.

  “Smile,” Hannah said.

  Wilhelm kissed her cheek, and the camera flashed. She took six more photos, and though she wanted them only of Wilhelm, he refused. He had said every photo was better with her in it.

  “I love it,” Hannah said, looking the camera over.

  “I thought you could take photographs and then draw and paint them later,” Wilhelm said.

  Hannah pressed her lips against his. He pulled her close.

  “We should get back,” Hannah said.

  “We should,” he agreed, but he pulled her back for another kiss.

  The walk back took twice as long because every street they crossed, they paused to kiss. When they arrived, their fingertips were icicles, and their noses were dripping. The heat inside the shop was minimal but increased with each step up the stairs. Josef and Emma were asleep on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder.

  “After twenty years, they are still madly in love,” Hannah said.

  The coffee table in front of Josef and Emma was covered with playing cards. Josef’s had fallen onto his lap, revealing a hand that would have been pathetic no matter the game.

  The holidays had always been harder than any other time. Wilhelm’s mother had loved Christmas, and she would make it a truly magical time. Christmas was not a day, but a month-long celebration that included building snowmen, baking cookies, and drinking hot chocolate. Every branch of their Christmas tree would be covered in ornaments and tinsel. If the Ghost of Christmas Past ever visited, Wilhelm would have been able to see the man his father used to be—the man his mother had loved. But he quickly scrapped that desire. If the white-robed ghost with its blazing head of candlelight did visit him, he would want to go back to Christmas in his kitchen with the smells of ginger and molasses and a Christmas ham in the oven and his mother humming Christmas music.

  Hannah stared fondly at her parents before she raised her camera and snapped a photograph.

  “How was your first Hanukkah?” she asked.

  “Perfect,” Wilhelm said.

  Emma had made two glasses of hot buttered rum, garnished with a sprinkle of nutmeg. It was still warm, yet cool enough to drink. It was remarkably creamy from the melted butter with the perfect amount of spice and sugar.

  “Stay with me,” Hannah whispered.

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her bedroom, both setting their cups on the table. She slowly closed the door. A soft click came when the latch locked. She waited with her ear pressed to the door for any sound.

  “Are you certain?” Wilhelm asked.

  Hannah only nodded and bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. The darkness outside the bedroom ended, as a bright light from underneath the crack of the door flooded the room. The kitchen faucet turned on. Hannah and Wilhelm froze, each expecting the bedroom door to open. But the faucet shut off and, seconds later, the darkness returned.

  Hannah stepped toward Wilhelm and unbuttoned his shirt. Electricity surged through his veins, and his breathing escalated. Her fingertips were ice, sending shivers when she ran them across his chest and took his shirt off.

  “Unzip my dress?” Hannah asked, turning her back to him.

  Wilhelm’s thumb and pointer finger shook, but he steadied them enough to pull the zipper down. The dress fell to the floor. Goosebumps spread across her back and arms. She turned to face him, somehow self-conscious. They stared at each other, both vulnerable yet strong. They kissed softly and innocently at first, but their passion increased with each kiss.

  Their hands traveled the length of their bodies and explored each other in the dark. They clumsily moved to the bed, their lips never separating. She squeezed his hand during moments of heightened pleasure, and Wilhelm only continued when she nodded. She traced her hands across his back as he kissed her neck. When it was over, they lay in bed, breathing heavily. It was only natural to feel awkward, but both smiled. The room was hot like an August day and contradicted the snow falling past the bedroom window.

  Wilhelm had intended to wake up early and leave before Emma and Josef woke, but when he opened the door, Emma was in the kitchen while Josef futzed with the record player.

  “Merry Christmas, Wilhelm,” Emma greeted.

  “Merry Christmas,” Wilhelm greeted back.

  “Do I get chocola
tes or was that box a two bird, one named Hanukkah and the other named Christmas, one stone kind of a thing?” Josef asked.

  Hannah stepped out of her bedroom, a worried look on her face, but it was not needed, for there was no mention of Wilhelm staying the night. Hannah helped her mother in the kitchen, and Josef and Wilhelm played a game of chess that had to be paused so they could eat. The game lasted nearly an hour and a half but never truly ended. Josef was in check and in denial of a checkmate.

  Each week became routine. Wilhelm and Hannah would spend the evenings together from Monday to Thursday, and Fridays were the weekly dinner at Wilhelm and Erich’s with Lena, Heinrich, and one of his mystery dates. Hannah had secretly photographed a tender moment between Lena and Erich and had it framed. She gave it to Lena as a late Christmas gift.

  On one particular Saturday, Wilhelm borrowed a car from the dealership, and he and Hannah simply drove north with no heading. They pulled over to walk the snow-covered trails or to eat before getting back in the car and driving off. They took turns driving until the once-peaceful snow turned into a white-out blizzard. They parked the car off the road, the winds whipping violent clouds of snow all around. It looked like the entire world had been wiped clean of all color but white.

  “It’s like God elected for a new canvas,” Hannah remarked.

  The wind’s howl was only slightly muffled inside the car and, at times, seemed like it was strong enough to blow the car away.

  Their fingers caressed one another before they moved closer together. Wilhelm stroked her hair and stared into her eyes. He loved those eyes. The world made sense when he looked into them.

  “I love you,” Wilhelm whispered. His strong gaze remained unbroken.

  “I love you,” she whispered back.

  They brought their hands together before entwining them and succumbing to lust. They tried to remove their clothes without breaking their kiss. They laughed when Wilhelm struggled with his jacket. They climbed into the back seat and used their clothes for added warmth to the flannel blanket sprawled over them. They rubbed against one another. Their hands were explorers charting new territories. He kissed her neck, and she grabbed a handful of his wavy, dark hair.

  The windows fogged, and steam rose off their bodies. They let out sighs as they pressed against one another, moving their hips to increase the quivering-inducing pleasure. Their bodies glistened with sweat. He rested his head on her heaving chest, and she ran her fingers through his damp hair.

  He reached for the handle and rolled the window down. The cold air was opportunistic and rushed into the car with a piercing whistle. Their breathing returned to normal, and their trembling stopped.

  “Play me a song, Wilhelm,” Hannah said.

  His guitar was on the floor, hidden under Hannah’s bra and his shirt. He lifted it up and positioned it on his knee. He had learned guitar on the behest of his mother but had not played in months. But after letting it slip in a conversation, Hannah was insistent on hearing him play. He wrote his father, at Hannah’s request, for him to send him his guitar. Much to Wilhelm’s surprise, he sent it, and Wilhelm played for Hannah every Sunday morning while she painted.

  Hannah sat up against the car with the blanket clutched in front of her to keep her warm. The crack in the window had done its job, and the car quickly became too cold. Hannah’s shivers lessened when Wilhelm rolled the window back up. He took a deep breath and strummed the guitar. He had forgotten every song and some of the chords, but he did remember the major ones—G, E minor, E, A minor, C, and D. He played without direction, allowing the music to tell him which chord to play next. Music, like photography, was a magic that mesmerized Hannah. It was amazing how it could alter a mood, make someone dance, and even make someone cry.

  The snowfall was relentless, and they were stranded in the car for hours. They filled it with conversation, music, cards, snacks and, when the desire for one another consumed them, they embraced each other. At nearly four the following morning, the snow subsided, and after shoveling the car free, they drove back to Berlin albeit slowly.

  Trips like that were many and often. Sometimes, the two were joined by Erich, Lena, Heinrich, and Eva. Eva had temporarily stifled Heinrich’s desire to wander. Lena had called Heinrich a “nomad” and said he simply scavenged an area and, after having consumed all it had to offer, moved on. Their trips took them north to a cabin Lena’s family owned. It was hardly a shock to find it stocked with suitable dessert wines, dinner wines, and all other varieties of wines. The cabin made from cedar still cast its marvelous scent. It had been built nearly a hundred years earlier and had a historic aura both Wilhelm and Hannah loved.

  Hitler had an affinity for stone. He thought of it as a symbol of strength. But Hannah had always found wood to tell a story stone could never tell. Trees lived for hundreds of years, and nobody could ever know the history that occurred around them.

  The fireplace roared and heated the room to what Lena considered perfection and to what Wilhelm considered hell. The wine was imbibed, and appetizers were made. Hannah and Lena found it safe to get to know Eva a bit more and included her in on more “secret” talk. They played cards, went for walks in the snow, and had snowball fights, one of which prompted Lena to lock the men outside for nearly an hour. At night, in the privacy of their own rooms, they made love. The couple that lost the most card games the night before was forced to make breakfast for the others the following morning. After Wilhelm and Hannah had not won a single game during the thirty odd hands, a time when Wilhelm had the unfortunate misgiving of having crap hands that transcended a singular game and was crap in all the seven different games they played, it was decided they had to make breakfast the following week too.

  Every Sunday afternoon was met with melancholy as they drove back to Berlin to face another week of work. But the mood would switch half-way home as they discussed their next adventure. Hannah surprised Lena with more framed pictures of Erich and her and Heinrich with group photos. Lena often teased him and said Hannah should photograph his dates and write their names on the pictures so Heinrich could remember them.

  Winter faded into spring and spring, summer. Erich had found out about a new club in Berlin called “Verdrehende Nächte” (Twisting Nights) that played American dance music. Wilhelm and Hannah both loved to dance, but Heinrich and Lena had to be coerced into going the first time. It took much convincing on Erich, Wilhelm, and Hannah’s parts but, eventually, Heinrich and Lena conceded and agreed to go for “only an hour or so.”

  As they waited outside, they were teased with glimpses of the inside when patrons of the club left with smiles and bellowing laughter. The bouncer finally nodded for them to enter. Heinrich and Lena’s complaining stopped the moment a rolling drum solo caused the walls to shake. The club was full of sweaty couples dancing, bars lined with people in conversation, and spectators watching the dancing. The lines for the bathroom were long and winding. Sporadic outbursts of laughter were frequent in response to a well-told joke or a mishap on the dance floor. The room was relatively dim, but the blue veil of cigarette smoke wafting toward the ceiling was cast in the chandelier lighting. The band pounded drums and symbols, blared trumpets and saxophones, and swayed with the music. The fun was contagious enough to be classified as a plague.

  Hannah and Wilhelm moved right to the dance floor. Heinrich’s date, Lieselotte, took his hand and, with surprising strength, nearly dragged him onto it. Erich knew better than to drag Lena, so he simply offered her his hand. She took it, and they hurried to the dance floor to claim a spot next to the others.

  “I do not know this dance,” Lena said.

  “Neither do we,” Hannah assured her.

  Hannah gave Lena an encouraging smile. It was not about knowing the dance, but enjoying it, and enjoy it they did after they realized no one was there to ridicule them. Everyone else was there for the same reason they were—to have fun. After an hour of dancing, they took their first break. The men’s room and ladies’ room w
ere on separate sides of the band stage. It was nearly a fifteen-minute wait, after which they ordered a few pitchers of beer. Any inhibitions they had had were gone after the beer buzz set in. Even when they weren’t dancing, the room spun. Their clothes were drenched from sweat and spilled beer, and the lights above them made the sweat on their skin glisten like morning dew on grass. When they stepped outside, the fresh air was welcomed, even if it was stagnant and muggy.

  “We have to go back. We just have to,” Lena insisted.

  Hannah, Wilhelm, and Erich shared smiles, as getting her to come had been like dragging a child to the dentist. Indeed, they did go back. But it was the only time they had seen Lieselotte. Heinrich had found the club to be filled with limber, long-legged women. They made a habit of going every Thursday night. At first, Heinrich and Lena needed to consume copious amounts of alcohol to make it onto the dance floor, but with each passing week, the amount needed diminished and, soon, they went right to the dance floor before their first drink. Their dancing improved, but it didn’t matter. It was simply to have a great time with great friends.

  Thursdays were spent at “Verdrehende Nächte” and Fridays and Saturdays at Lena’s cabin. Heinrich was often joined by a woman he met the night before at “Verdrehende Nächte” and sometimes, he was without a date, but he eventually began dating Eva again. They would leave Berlin at 6:30 p.m. and arrive at Lena’s cabin shortly before nine if no bathroom stops were required—a feat accomplished only once.

  16 June was a particularly important Friday. Erich had given the others the heads-up he would be proposing to Lena. Heinrich and Eva had lasted all of two weeks, so Erich relied solely on Hannah to keep Lena preoccupied. Heinrich had rekindled things with Helga Stark, and though she knew Lena and Hannah, it was different. Both had grown to like Eva but knew it was ultimately destined to end. Lena still invited Eva along if she wanted to come, but Eva had decided against it. Neither could blame her.

  The sun hung low, the weather was scolding, and the air almost too thick to swallow. The cabin was less than half a kilometer from a small lake. It had stayed hidden during the winter under ice and a blanket of snow but now sparkled like a gem, and apart from the cabin and family across the lake, it was all theirs.