A Breach In Berlin

Six - Sechs - Findings Of The Future

For most of the day I drove round the German countryside, stopping in villages and towns at graveyards to see if any soldiers were laid there. Severely injured men or men who met their fate off the battel field would have had their bodies recovered, giving the family a choice on how to bury the body and remember. Unlike the second World War, World War one dominated the Belgium- France border, where battles like The Battle of Ypres and the Battle of the Somme took place. This brought on the construction of the most famous war memorials, such as Thiepval for The Battle of the Somme and Menin Gate in Ypres for the battles that took place there.

The furthest I drove was to Frankfurt an der Oder, on the polish border, where a small memorial had been built recently for the men who fought in The Battle of Dead Men, a German regiment attacking the Osowiec Fortress, Poland.

But, with much relief, Kurt nor Thomas had appeared, etched into the marble of stone of a memorial, coated in gold. But, not yet.

8:00 pm Vlasdlo Cemetery, Northern Ypres, Belgium.

After paying a visit to a historical archive in Berlin, the woman I had talked to told me the furthest I could go for a German cemetery was Belgium as there were none in France. I didn't care how far I went, I needed an answer and some reassurance. The woman even gave me a flask of coffee with several tea spoons of sugar as she stared at me shaken state. I didn't even realise until I finally caught my reflection in the rear view mirror. In the space of half a day my eyes looked hollow and dark shadows circled them, my eyes themselves were red and bloodshot like I'd spend an hour in a swimming pool with no goggles. Faint, tangled red lines bordered the white of my eyes like art work. It could take me seven hours to reach there, at a push and if I calculated it right, if I get there in seven hours and seven hours back, seeing Kurt would be questionable.

After all, I wasn't sure if I could face seeing him. I felt to cruel and dishonest last night and he fell quiet and sulked for the rest of the journey home, barely waving me off as I walked back to the hotel. I had looked back and he was watching me, his face contoured and disfigured in pain and heart break. The tears had stung at my eyes and only then did I really feel the cold of the Berlin night. But what was most haunting was that if felt like the cold was coming from the inside, my cold stone heart. How could I be so mean? Leading him on like that. But, I wasn't even sure if I cold say I was leading him on, I couldn't deny there was something there and Kurt didn't seem like an innocent type. I enjoyed seeing his face almost every day, I wanted to wake up to it sometimes, sometimes more than Jared's. Jared was an ugly sleeper.

On my way to Ypres, I had stopped off at Aachen, a small town bordering Belgium which I only knew off due to my brothers German exchange. I hadn't dared ask the exchange what he thought of Felix, I was worried of what war related question he had asked. But I knew there was a small memorial in the town the 'Eilendort und Atsch' memorial. It was a small platz with a commemorative stone with colourful stained glass moulded into it, shaped like a cross, for the lost and dead to rest in peace. What I was looking for wasn't here, but it never hurt a passer by to pay their respects. It was even more harrowing because this memorial was also for the lost soldiers of the Great War, the young men whose bodies were never recovered from the mud and wires of no mans land. The land their brave souls ventured into.

I flicked off the ignition, savouring the last of the heater before stepping out into the snow. Belgium got lucky, unlike Berlin which was still experiencing sleet. I sighed, unable to focus on the small white archway that lead through to the cemetery. It looked lonesome and unexpressed stood like that, vigilantly in the snow as is fell down in heavy sheets. I slowly opened the door, compressing the white powder-like drift beneath my foot as I stepped down to the ground.

The place was relinquished, silent and solitary situated away from the town. Walking through the white wash stone a small room was created, a candle lit at either end, flickering and dancing in the peaceful wind that quickstepped and twirled round the open space. I slowly made my way across the stone slabs that laid as the floor, my boots causing an echo even in such a small place.