This fic is being written for fabulous-prussia for the 2017 Germancest Secret Santa Tumblr event.
Warnings: incest (not sexually explicit), tobacco use
A Winter Story
Chapter 1
The sun was a slab of butter melting over the hilltops, but the air was the kind of cold that makes your teeth hurt when you breathe in through an open mouth. Ludwig Beilschmidt therefore kept mouth—and for good measure, nose—buried deep under a thick tartan scarf, wrapped twice round his head. He peered over its edge through the thinning light down the road in either direction, unsure from which way the vehicle would come.
The bus had supposedly dropped him off in the town of West Stenton, but no signs of a town were discernible to Ludwig as he glanced up and down the road. Directly behind him stood a general store advertising full gas service, and in one direction he could make out the white vinyl siding of a house through snow-covered fir trees, but those were the only signs of civilization.
He pulled his phone from his back pocket and checked the screen: no bars. He hadn't expected any—Gilbert had prepared him for as much—but had felt the urge to look just in case. He sighed, the warm puff of breath moistening the fibers that hugged his lips and cheeks.
He waited. His toes started to tingle painfully, and he regretted not wearing a second layer of socks as Gilbert had suggested. He stomped his feet on the slushy pavement and curled his fingers into his palms inside his gloves.
Ludwig checked his phone again. He had been standing there fifteen minutes, and the bus had arrived ten minutes late, so Gilbert was twenty-five minutes late. He wondered if Gilbert's adopted rural lifestyle had broken him of his punctual ways.
He glanced through the windows of the general store. There was no sign of an attendant, but their sign proclaimed them "open 24/7," so he tugged the handle of his suitcase up and ventured inside. Immediately upon feeling the gust of warm air that enveloped him, he wished he'd done so sooner.
The tinkling of the bell above the door caught the attention of the attendant, who appeared from a back room.
"Hi. Can I help you?" she asked, voice as flat as the limp hair on her head as she sauntered behind the counter.
Ludwig pulled his scarf down to free his mouth. "Uh, do you have a phone I could use?"
She pointed to a payphone on the opposite wall. It occurred to Ludwig he had never used a payphone in his life. He hoped he could find a quarter.
He dragged his suitcase over to the phone and removed his gloves with his teeth so he could dig his wallet out and rummage for the right coin. With relief he located a quarter, and read the directions for making a call. He had to pull up his contacts on his iPhone to find Gilbert's number.
He held the clunky phone to his ear with his shoulder and removed the gloves from his teeth. He had the vague sense of being in a movie from the nineties; that was what using a payphone brought to mind.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang. No answer. Ludwig sighed and hung up, feeling cheated of the full experience of speaking on a payphone. At least the machine returned his 25 cents.
He was hopeful that the lack of answer meant Gilbert was already on his way. He debated internally for a moment whether to wait inside in the warmth or outside, where he had a better view of the road. Eventually his impulse to be aware of his surroundings won out; he braced himself and stepped out into the cold to survey the road again. His resolve was fortified by the thought that if Gilbert saw him waiting out there, perhaps he would feel an appropriate amount of guilt for his tardiness.
Ten minutes later he was doubting his decision. The sun had slipped beneath the treetops and he could swear the temperature had dropped a further twenty degrees. He was contemplating going back inside to try calling again when finally he heard the stutter of an old engine rounding the bend. The next moment headlights flickered through the trees and swung around towards the general store. Ludwig squinted hopefully; sure enough, the two-door pickup rumbled to a stop in front of him and a familiar face grinned through the windshield.
Gilbert rolled down the passenger window. "Throw your bag in back and hop in!"
Ludwig eyed the bed of the truck dubiously, wondering about the chances of his suitcase being thrown over the side if they hit a particularly bumpy patch of road. If Gilbert wasn't concerned, though, perhaps he shouldn't be either. He lifted his bag and placed it down gingerly on its back before climbing up into the passenger side of the cab.
"What took you so long?" asked Ludwig, not bothering to disguise his disgruntled tone.
"Aw, sorry 'bout that, Lutz." Gilbert had the decency to look at least a bit sheepish as he swung the truck back around. "The turkeys were playing chicken with the dog again. Didn't end well for one of 'em."
Ludwig raised his eyebrows.
Gilbert shrugged. "Turkeys aren't chicken enough, I guess." He chortled at his own joke. Ludwig frowned skeptically, but snorted despite himself.
"Still don't get what you're doing with a bunch of dumb birds," he grumbled, rubbing his toes together in his shoes to try to regain feeling.
"Hey, give 'em a chance. Just wait till you meet 'em," chided Gilbert lightly.
"Hmm. Can't wait."
The drive to Gilbert's house was long. The snow reflected the lingering twilight, casting a surreal glow over the dense trees and intermittent fields of pristine white. They passed a couple houses and barns and the occasional church as Gilbert pointed out the few noteworthy landmarks; the farm where he picked up his weekly CSA share, the home of a woman who'd recently won a national quilting prize, the turnoff for the woods where he liked to take Blackie for long hikes into the mountains.
Ludwig was vaguely aware of Gilbert fumbling with something next to him but didn't pay any attention until he heard him open his window. He glanced over and was surprised to see Gilbert lighting a cigarette. He took a long draw and blew the smoke out the window.
"Didn't know you smoked," Ludwig commented mildly.
Gilbert's hand went back to the wheel, cigarette perched delicately between his long fingers. "Winters up here are cold. Helps keep warm."
"Not when you have to crack the window like that. As if I didn't freeze enough while I was waiting for you." Ludwig huddled further into his seat.
Gilbert shrugged. "Want me to put it out? I can wait till we get home."
Ludwig paused, watching him take another careful puff. He sighed. "No, it's fine."
The sky darkened, leaving the landscape a dim, ghostly white. Gilbert asked him unimportant questions about the bus ride, his job, his apartment. Ludwig gave equally unimportant answers, and eventually silence reigned. Ludwig thought of saying something like, "Jesus, you're really in the middle of nowhere, aren't you?" or "what, are we driving to Canada or something?" But he didn't say anything.
Finally, Gilbert pulled off onto an unpaved driveway that one would only be able to detect by the tire tracks in the snow. They followed them a ways and rounded the base of a tree-covered knoll.
Suddenly, there appeared in the headlights what looked to Ludwig like a herd of poultry. Four-foot turkeys and chickens of every shape, pattern, and size rushed towards the approaching truck, making such a clamor Ludwig could hear their clucking and gobbling loud and clear through the glass windows.
"Aw, fuck!" exclaimed Gilbert. "Who opened the damn gate?" he muttered, slowing to a crawl to avoid running over any of his precious fowl.
"They're not supposed to be out?" Ludwig asked. "I thought you were doing free-range or something."
"Yeah, but not at night. There's predators, plus it's too damn cold for them out here. Actually, I'm surprised they're all out in this weather. Something must've spooked them."
The headlights swung around to face a small, single-story house. Gilbert put the truck in park.
"Hang tight, Lutz. Gotta check out the damage and get them back in the run."
"Uh, need help?" Ludwig asked uncertainly.
Gilbert hesitated. "Well, not sure you could help much. But, you can come if you want."
Ludwig shrugged and got out of the truck.
Outside, the din of the chickens was even louder, and now Ludwig could hear Blackie's frenzied barking from inside the house. Beyond the beam of the headlights the flurry of birds in motion made Ludwig's head spin. He eyed an approaching turkey warily as it stalked around him with an appraising gaze. When it decided to peck at his pant leg, Ludwig jumped back and attempted to shoo it off.
Gilbert laughed. "That one's a little fresh. Don't let him bully you. Come on, follow me."
Gilbert used his phone flashlight to guide their way to a chicken coop and run of considerable size. He examined the lock of the open door with a sigh and shone the light inside. It fell on two bloodied piles of feathers, which Ludwig realized were dead chickens.
"Dammit," muttered Gilbert, approaching the corpses and crouching down.
"What happened?" asked Ludwig.
"Probably a raccoon. They're the only ones clever enough to open doors. Got in, killed a few, scared the others out of the run. Been meaning to get a better lock, but I kept putting it off. Stupid." He shook his head and placed a hand on one of the bodies. "She's still warm. Little devil must've run off when he heard the car. Would've killed more otherwise." He stood with a sigh. "Wait here."
He left the run and disappeared into a shack next door. After a few seconds he returned with a pail and couple of trash bags.
Ludwig grimaced as Gilbert unceremoniously dumped the corpses into the doubled up bags and left the run again, gesturing for Ludwig to follow. He held out the sack.
"Hold this."
Ludwig reluctantly took it, keeping it at arm's length.
Gilbert picked up the pail and banged it against one of the posts of the run.
"Okay you glorious bastards, get back in here. No more raccoons tonight, I promise." He tossed a couple handfuls of something from the pail into the run. "C'mon, it's your favorite. Mealworms, yummy yummy."
"Everything about this situation is gross," commented Ludwig miserably, eyeing the bag of dead chickens in his hand.
"Toughen up, city boy." Gilbert elbowed him in the side.
One by one, the chickens and turkeys made their cautious way back towards the coop, lured by the promise of dried bug treats. Gilbert counted them as they walked by. Satisfied, he finally closed the door.
He took the bag from Ludwig and rummaged in his pocket for a keychain, which he handed over. "Go ahead and take your stuff inside. I'll be in in a sec—gotta put some extra security on this gate."
Ludwig gladly obeyed; he was nearly as cold as he'd been at the gas station. He retrieved his suitcase from the truck bed and, finding it difficult to roll in the shallow snow, carried it to the front door of the house.
As soon as he was inside, he was pounced upon by a large black German Shepherd.
"Woah, down Blackie," he commanded. He rewarded the animal with vigorous ear scratching when he obeyed. "Good boy. Good to see you, too."
Ludwig flicked on a few lights and looked around. The tiny entryway adjoined the kitchen, which opened into a living area with a couch, wood stove, and a computer desk in the corner. One wall was covered from floor to ceiling with bookcases. He peeked behind two more doors to find the bathroom and Gilbert's modest bedroom.
The wood stove was giving off a welcoming heat in the main room, so Ludwig shed his coat and scarf. He'd made himself comfortable on the couch when Gilbert came in, pink-faced from the cold.
"Hungry?" he asked, pulling off his jacket.
Ludwig nodded and rose to help with dinner.
"No, sit, I'll get it," Gilbert insisted, gesturing for him to remain where he was. "Nothing fancy tonight."
Ludwig didn't argue.
Gilbert warmed up a pot of leftover soup for their dinner. They ate sitting on the couch, mostly in silence. Blackie curled up on the rug before them.
Ludwig thought he should ask Gilbert about his life here; perhaps the chickens would be a good place to start. He wasn't sure what to ask, though. Finally, he settled on, "What did you do with the chickens? The ones the raccoon got, I mean."
"Trash," said Gilbert simply, taking another slurp of soup.
"Oh."
"Ground's frozen," he clarified. "Otherwise I'd bury 'em."
"Oh."
Ludwig didn't ask any more questions.
After they'd finished eating, Gilbert took the bowls to the sink. He returned to the couch with a solemn look on his face.
After a second, he asked, "Ludwig, have you heard from Mom or Dad recently?"
Ludwig tensed. He shook his head.
Gilbert sighed. "Me neither."
There was silence. Then, "they send you anything for Christmas?"
Ludwig pursed his lips. "Mom sent a check. No note. Dad…" He simply shrugged.
"Hmm," was Gilbert's response.
"You?"
"Nothing." Gilbert rubbed his face. "I wonder how they're doing."
Ludwig frowned. "Why? They clearly don't wonder how we're doing. Mom didn't even send you anything. Why do you care?"
Gilbert looked at him a moment, then away. "All I said is I wonder. Didn't say I care."
"Hmph."
After another pause, Gilbert rose with a sigh. "I'll get you some bed linens."
They arranged a bed on the couch and Gilbert stocked the stove with more wood before turning in. Blackie apparently liked to sleep in front of the stove, so he stayed where he was.
It was early for Ludwig to go to sleep, but he tried nevertheless; Gilbert had warned him he got up early, and if that didn't wake him, the rooster surely would. Despite his best efforts, the last time Ludwig checked his phone before drifting off, it read one eighteen.
…
As promised, they started the next day early. Ludwig groggily followed his brother about his morning tasks, for lack of anything better to do. He soon realized that he had gotten into more than he had bargained for when he offered to help.
Ludwig had never imagined there were so many daily tasks to attend to on a small poultry farm. There was feeding the birds and letting them out into the yard, and collecting, wiping, and storing new eggs. There was cleanup in the coop from broken eggs, and strewing fresh woodchips and sand. There was checking coop security and predator deterrents around the yard. There was chopping wood for the stove and stoking the fire to warm the house after the cold night. There was cooking and baking and dishwashing; more than usual, as Gilbert insisted on preparing something nice for Christmas Eve.
It wasn't until Gilbert was occupied fixing the lock on the gate to the run that Ludwig had a moment to think. He imagined Gilbert going about all these chores on his own, every single day. Something about it unsettled him, though he wasn't sure why.
"Do you really still have time to write, living like this?" he asked.
"Hm?" Gilbert grunted, preoccupied with his tools. "Oh, yeah. More than when I was living in New York, to be honest. The daily grind there was so exhausting, I hardly had energy to write."
Ludwig scoffed. "And what about this daily grind?"
Gilbert sighed. "You'd be surprised. In a lot of ways, it gives me energy rather than draining it. Usually I write first thing in the morning, before the rooster crows, and last thing before I go to bed."
"Hmph." Ludwig frowned, skeptical.
His gaze wandered. It was a clear day, and the tops of snow-dusted trees swayed in the wind. Ludwig could just hear the creaking of their wood over the clamor of the chickens. Beyond the coop the yard slanted down to a body of water just visible through the trees, iced over and glinting in the sun. He watched as a cloud of geese rose from the surface, flowing seamlessly into their V-shaped formation, and glided overhead.
It was beautiful. It was also completely foreign to Ludwig, and a far cry from the surroundings in which he was accustomed to seeing Gilbert.
It struck him that he couldn't recall the last time he'd been outdoors without another soul in sight.
"Don't you get lonely out here?" he wondered.
Gilbert considered. "Yeah, I do. But, that's no change from before, really. If anything, I'm less lonely here than I was in the city."
"How can that be?"
Gilbert shrugged. "The animals are better company than most people you meet. They don't have too many expectations other than getting fed at a certain time. Anyway, it's not so bad, being alone. It's a lot worse to feel lonely when you're surrounded by people all the time."
Ludwig looked at his brother; his face betrayed no emotion, focused as he was on securing the lock to the gate.
Ludwig dropped his eyes to the ground. He couldn't help but wonder if Gilbert preferred animal companions to any human—including him. He didn't ask.
…
That night they ate the dinner Gilbert had so carefully prepared. Ludwig hadn't known his brother was such a gifted cook, but he had to admit the soufflé of farm-fresh eggs and homemade bread were delicious. Conversation was sparse, however. Ludwig was still wondering if Gilbert even wanted him there, or if he had felt obliged to invite him when Ludwig had said he wouldn't be spending Christmas with either their mother or father.
After dinner they retired to the couch with a couple of beers. The silence stretched on, until finally Ludwig had to break it.
"What did you do last Christmas?"
"Last Christmas? Went for a long hike up the mountain with Blackie." He leaned down to scratch the dog lying at his feet.
"Was it… nice?"
"Yeah, it's always beautiful up there this time of year. And this guy enjoyed it." He gave Blackie a pat.
"Oh." Ludwig looked down at his beer, feeling inexplicably disappointed.
"But…" Gilbert started again. Ludwig glanced over. "It didn't really feel like Christmas, you know?"
"Oh, yeah." Ludwig nodded. His chest felt suddenly lighter.
"What about you?"
"What about me what?"
"Last Christmas."
"Oh. Well, I was with Mom and Dad. You can imagine," said Ludwig flatly.
Gilbert looked away. He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I'm sorry you had to deal with all that. On your own."
Ludwig frowned. He didn't find the apology very satisfying.
"Do you want to talk about it?" offered Gilbert.
Ludwig sighed. "What's there to talk about? Mom was never pleased, Dad was passive aggressive, both of them tried to guilt me into taking sides and gave me the silent treatment when I wasn't sympathetic enough… The usual."
Gilbert was quiet again, before saying quietly, "Well, I guess it's for the best."
"The divorce? Yeah, no kidding."
"No, I meant—well, yeah, that. But I meant you spending Christmas here, instead of picking one of them over the other."
"Yeah, well, if I could stand either of them at the moment, I wouldn't care about hurting the other's feelings by playing favorites."
Gilbert took a sip of his beer. "How's the job hunt?"
Ludwig noted the abrupt change of subject. "On hold. I've been putting in more hours at the café."
"Have they promoted you yet?"
"No, they're pretty overstaffed as is." Ludwig didn't feel much like defending or explaining his lack of accomplishment in the career area at the moment, so he decided to hit the ball back into Gilbert's court.
"What about you? What have you been writing? I haven't heard anything about new publications recently."
"There have been a few," said Gilbert evasively. "And I had a ghost-writing gig that's still paying the bills. Anyway, I'm not too concerned about output right now. I just needed to clear my head for a while, get things flowing again."
"It's been nearly two years."
Gilbert raised his eyebrows at him. "Yeah, and things are flowing. I've got some things in the works."
"Well, what are they? Who—who are you writing for out here? Is it just for yourself? Do you even have anyone here who cares about your writing?"
Gilbert frowned. "Why are you so concerned about it?"
"Because, you—you had a whole community in Brooklyn. They loved you. You were winning prizes and getting featured and now—" Ludwig gestured to the empty air in front of him.
"Ludwig," Gilbert said gently, "You're drastically overestimating my achievements. I know there was a good group of people there, and that made me happy for a while. It would have been easy to get complacent and become a fixture of the local poetry scene. But it wasn't what I wanted forever. It wasn't a path to success."
"And chicken farming is?"
Gilbert laughed softly. "For most people, probably not. But most people I know who are trying for something more are caught in a hamster wheel. I didn't want to move around to be a visiting lecturer somewhere new every year. I don't want to teach in the first place. I just wanted somewhere I could call my own, do things for myself. And if it means I don't get as much exposure, that's fine with me for now. I'm reevaluating what success means, I guess."
Ludwig sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I just… don't get it. I would give anything to have a gift, a calling like you do. And I would do anything to make it work. I wouldn't hide myself away in the woods."
Gilbert laughed again. "I'm not hiding. It's not like I'm a hermit. I've got you here." He punched Ludwig's arm gently. "And hey, go easy on yourself. You're good at a lot of things, Lutz. You'll figure it out."
"That's just it; I'm good at a lot of things, but not great at any of them. You have to be great to get anywhere."
Gilbert shook his head. "All that stuff about being the best, the ideal employee or whatever—it's bullshit. Ludwig, you're the best at being you. Excuse the cliché, but it's true. You're smart and competent. Don't worry. There's not some deadline for getting all your shit figured out."
Ludwig ran a hand down his face. "Yeah."
Gilbert reached into his pocket for his cigarette pack. "You mind?" he asked.
Ludwig shook his head. Gilbert lit up.
"Y'know, I was feeling that pressure, too," he continued. "To get it figured out, to find a teaching position, do all the stuff every promising poet is supposed to do. But I said 'fuck it' to the pressure and the expectations. Not to mention 'fuck it' to failing subway systems and two hours spent underground every day, 'fuck it' to rising rent that ate up 70 percent of my paycheck…" He sighed. "Anyway, I don't know what's gonna happen. If a few years go by and I'm not happy where I am, I'll make a change. But for now, I am happy. I'm happy here," he emphasized, looking meaningfully at Ludwig.
Ludwig shrugged. "Alright. Good." He let the subject go, though he could still feel a tightness in his chest that he couldn't explain.
They finished their beers. Gilbert put out his cigarette. They rearranged the blankets on the couch and said their goodnights.
"Merry Christmas Eve, Lutz," said Gilbert from his doorway.
Ludwig glanced up. "You too." As Gilbert was turning away, he added in a rush, "Thanks for the meal."
Gilbert smiled. "My pleasure. Sleep tight."