Word count; 2,425
Valentina
"It does seem that way."
"How come?"
I sat next to him on the parapet, dragging my skirt beneath my hamstrings. We would drop the subject then and there.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
I stared at him - at the white stripe on his bicep which carried a red cross, at the circles around his eyes, his dry lips. My eyes dropped, realising I was gaping, to his hands. He held them in front of him, clasped together. His nailbeds were crammed with dirt, his fingers stained from grime. And then, amongst the filth, the dry reminences of blood. Once upon a time, I could picture him washing his palms vigorously, trying to destroy the horrific evidence of what he had been through, but now it leaves him with no bother. To wash them would mean to witness them become dirty once more; there wasn't a point in it anymore; it would only add to the dry, raw, calloused skin that the weather left behind.
I don't know what propelled me to say it: "Liebgott."
"Liebgott?" His brows furrowed. "What has he done?"
"More what have I done." I smiled gently. "But it does not matter. It only reminds me."
"Of?"
I was staring at him again, examining his dark eyes which, at this angle, were pools of even darker honey.
"Nothing." I breathed, my heart pounding against my chest. "You are the doctor?"
He cleared his throat, "I'm going to need you to tell me why you need morphine."
There was silence between us, a hesitation. My eyes wandered and landed on Teo, who was eating a slice of bread with some type of sauce on it - although most likely bitter and tasteless, the variety was welcomed.
"It's very strong." He cleared his throat again. "I normally give it to men who have limbs blown off or those lucky enough to be pierced by a bullet."
"I cannot tell you."
Eugene saw how my stare remained on Teo and I shook my head. Despite the many, many nights he would lay awake in torturing agony, nothing of which he experienced needed morphine.
"Forget it."
He sighed, digging his hands into his pockets, "Are you sure? I will give you some, but I just need you to tell me."
"I..."
"Or show me. Then maybe I can find something better. Morphine doesn't help everything."
I couldn't speak and he assumed I was confused, overwhelmed perhaps.
Eugene brought his palms to his eyelids, "Sorry. I'm so tired."
"Why do you not go and find a bed?"
He chuckled, "All the good ones are gone. And, orders to be here."
I hummed in agreement, my view travelling to the clusters of men wrestling on the ground. Liebgott was a part of it now, fumbling between the commotion like he was trying to stop it yet propell it too. My heart wouldn't stop falling, the urge to throw up becoming ever so more present.
"Hey, hey-" Eugene leant forward so our views could collide.
I didn't realise I had started to cry until he spoke. Swiftly, I rubbed away my eyes.
"Ain't no need for that."
"Liebgott said to talk to you." I spoke quickly, sniffing every now and then. "But I can't."
"Come here." He was standing now, directing his hand away.
I stood, and soon we were around the side of the patio where no-one could reach us, only the distant echo of voices. Only once we were alone did I register the fact I, there, was by myself with him, the very definition of foolishness I had never fell for before. My breaths were coming and going in waves, short bursts which I wanted to hold in but couldn't. He waited in front of me, arms crossed. Something about him brought tranquility to the air - maybe it was just because he was a doctor, one who had seen parts of the world not many could admit to.
"Here."
Previously, I was staring up at the mountains behind the house, trying to hide the streaks of my cheeks. I faced him, wiping away my cheekbones and standing straight. He held out a small handkerchief and I took it, keeping it in my hands instead of bringing it to my eyelids. Distantly, someone struck up a sturdy song, and soon everyone was indulging in it, no care for the hoarseness in their voices or the horrific melody of the tune.
"Doc."
I looked up to see Major Winters stood with his hands behind his back, the man purposely not finding my gaze. An act of courtesy, really.
"Sir."
"Everything all right here?"
"Yes, Sir." Eugene swallowed. "She was feeling a lil' sick, just getting some clear air."
"Oh, okay." said the Major. "You seen Nixon?"
"'Round back."
Soon, the officer disappeared, aware of the shortness in Eugene's tone. The feeling in my stomach dissapated, the tears on my face flat with motionless meaning.
"Is that what I am?"
"Winters is a good man. People come to me for everything. You think I tell him all of their issues? The man would have a never-ending list."
"As do you, then. The burden of it all."
"It is not a burden. I chose to be a medic. There's three of us left in this company, one for each platoon, but everyone still comes to me. Maybe it's because I actually give a shit - the rest lost theirs back in France."
"France." I muttered, the image of Liebgott's cigarettes entering my mind.
Almost as if he read my thoughts, he said, his eyes lowered, "And Liebgott told me what he was tasked with by Winters."
"And are you included in that narrative?"
"No doubt I will be now." He raised his brows to the direction the Major and vanished off to. "I bet it must be intrusive. Us."
"I have been around men my whole life." I answered plainly. "Nothing is intrusive, anymore."
A shadow focused in his eyes, a doubt. Not in me, not in his friends, in him.
"I am sick no longer." I dusted off my skirts, holding out the handkerchief, only to be told to keep hold of it. "You can leave."
He sighed. Liebgott's words played in my head, a repetition of that same sardonic-laced voice.
"Look, I-" Eugene struggled to find the words. "I'm going to be here a while."
"Orders." I jested back to his previous statement.
"And I don't want to walk away from you only to be interrogated by a bunch of soldiers drunk on who-knows-what by this point."
"So what do you want me to do?"
"Come with me."
I scoffed, "I cannot."
"Why not?"
"Look at me." I smiled, scrunching on the handkerchief. "What if I start to cry again?"
"Then, I don't know." He was grinning. "Make an excuse, say you heard something funny and that's why, lean into my shoulder - whatever works. C'mon."
Together, we walked forward, back around the patio and to the men who were still singing with nothing better to do. Eugene directed us through the small gatherings, to a table filled with bottles of every alcoholic beverage you could think of. Some were open, the corks lying on the ground below, and others were smashed at the neck, like the person who cracked it couldn't be asked to unbolt it sensibly.
Eugene picked up a dark maroon bottle, reading out the label, to which I translated: "Brandy."
He prompted his brows, as if to say, interested?
"Why not."
He glanced around for glasses.
"I know." I said. "Follow me."
I headed back through the French doors, the three men formerly in the gallery now joined by another. Martin was sat next to Perconte, both chatting like vintage, upmarket men, with Luz and Malarkey still battling between each other. I halted behind a pillar absent-mindedly, causing Eugene to nearly bash into me. He held my shoulders to regain his ground and let go.
"Valentina?"
"Forgive me." I faced him, stepping back when I realised how close we were. "Sorry, I don't know what happened."
"It's okay."
I continued on, my arms folded over my torso. I dug deep into my mind to recall which direction the kitchen was in, only having attended a ball by Herr Dietrich once in the past three years, and before I knew it we were stood in one, everything whiter than bone and sparkling like the lake on a sunny day. In the far corner was a cabinet, and from it I pulled out two wine glasses. When I turned, the cork of the bottle shot up towards the ceiling and bounced back down.
"Eugene!"
"What?" He laughed. "Did you want to do it?"
I thought of the sheer amount of money spent into making these cabinets, the marble tiles, but shook the idea away - those who owned the house no-longer existed on this side of the world. As Eugene poured the brandy into the two glasses, I hoisted myself onto the counter of the kitchen island, dangling my legs over the side. Someone hurried past the room but came back, having glimpsed inside and realised we were within.
"Oh hey, Doc." The soldier showed his teeth, clearly out of breath. "Have you seen John?"
"Martin?" Eugene didn't glance up from his pouring.
"Yeah." He confirmed, regarding me. "He promised me some cigars."
"Ain't he in the gallery, Heffron? I was just there."
"Oh, sure." Heffron bobbed his head. "And Winters is looking for you. Liebgott too."
Eugene looked at me, an expression of non-chalant boredom. Heffron followed his stare, his cheeks turning red at the embarrassment of not having asked for my name.
"Valentina Fritz." I introduced for what felt like the millionth time that evening.
"Babe Heffron." He came forward and took my hand. "How's it going?"
I nodded as an answer.
"I tell y', Eugene, this place is so massive. Can't find anything. You said the gallery?"
"Straight, Heffron. If you can't find it, there's a Luz and Malarkey practising trench warfare nearby. Take that as your sign to continue forward."
Babe laughed, "Right. Luz, Malarkey, warfare, continue forward. Got it."
Soon, the man was off, returning on his search for Martin and cigars. Eugene handed me a glass, clinking his against it. I expected him to drink but instead he stood back, leaning against another kitchen counter.
"Hey, Eugene."
"Mm?" He had been staring at the floor, but at this looked upwards.
"Why do they call you Doc?"
"Short for doctor."
"What do you think Winters wants?"
"Probably curious on what you were sick on." He swirled the brandy in his glass. "He is a good man. One of the best we've had in this company. You don't have anything to fear with him."
"So what will you say?"
His voice drifted. "What do you think?"
"I don't know." I said, my voice a croak. "How should I know."
I sat on the stone parapet, observing Sascha enchant some soldiers by singing along to the gramophone in the corner. Night had crept in sooner than we'd like to believe, leaving us with small pits of fire in brass cooking pots for light. Shorty after our time in the kitchen, Eugene answered Winters' beckon and remained there ever since, surrounded by a small gaggle of officers and their chatter. Every now and then, he would look at me, almost to check everything was okay, to which I'd find the eyes of someone else, too frightened to contend with the medic.
Sascha was singing a song I hadn't heard in a while, that none of us had, thus leading to everyone halting their previous fun-and-games to stand and observe the concert. A pace or so to the right of me stood Martin, Liebgott sat on the picnic table next to him, and to the left was Perconte and Luz, both chewing on salted, boiled potatoes. Everyone else had a bottle or cup in hand, a rifle over their shoulder - unless they were an officer, that was. Officers never deserved that burden, not in leisure like these. A curtain flapped in my head, realising Teo was no-where to be seen.
"Teo?" I called the second I re-entered the house.
Nothing.
"Teo?" I repeated. "My sweet, where are you?"
Before I knew it, I was back in the foyer, ascending the stairs. There was something strange in the wooden handrail beneath my palm; in a second I imagined a previous time, stood on the same platform, the air filled with tobacco and whiskey and all other kinds of perfumes used by the upper-class women here. In this imagination, I saw Herr Weinder, his suit crisply pressed and hair properly combed. My dress was dark purple, so dark it looked black. I flinched at the recollection of the following scenes, and when I returned to reality, I nearly fell to the floor.
"Valentina!" Teo caught onto me. "Valentina, are you all right?"
"Teo," I gathered my thoughts. "Yes, yes, I am okay."
My hands were on his cheeks, his palms on my waist.
"What are you doing up here?" I questioned, my tone harsh and rushed.
"I-I-" He stuttered, choking on the words. "I was just looking."
"Are you okay?" My fingers traced the streaks of tears that tore apart his face.
"I'm-" Teo moved his hands to my shoulders. "It just- It still hurts. Even though he is gone, it hurts. I feel like I cannot breathe."
I hugged him like he was air, like he was the freshest of air and I had been drowing all this time. There and then, I found wariness in this whole operation and the future of it. We were luckly to not be slaughtered, more numbers to the dictators in charge, I'd like to think. But every day, every hour, every minute, every second, I had trouble believing it.
I told Teo to wash his face, that we should leave, and after watching him run up the staircase, collapsed. I sat on the stairs, knees to my chest, my mind heavier than my heart could ever be. A face appeared and followed up the steps, sitting beside me. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, slid one out, ignited it, sucked in a breath and handed it over.
"You spoke to the medic."
It was more a statement, despite how he phrased it like a question. I nodded, releasing a puff of smoke from my lips and passing the burn back. Joe let the cigarette sit between his fingers, tapping the ash onto the carpet below.