Author's note: If you've never heard the speech at the end of « The Great Dictator », you should make sure you do; Charlie Chaplin could make you cry listening to it, it is that beautiful. And Tumblr had gifs of the line this title comes from so it was a perfect time to post this. :D
This fic drew inspiration between that film and an OFC in another Ludwig story I've been working on (« Interview » also relates back to that story), combined with a reference in « Stars and Triangles » (France + Germany) where Ludwig says he took a course in the US on WWII. If you like the chick in this let me know (and why you like her, I'm always curious as to why you guys favorite my stories and that one's still in-progress).
I kind of based this college on my uni, and getting smacked in the face with my own experiences of getting smacked in the face. Also, spoiler alert: I grew up by NYC. Now you all know. Enjoy!
Update: Apparently the website keeps removing a whole sentence (thanks for pointing it out Kitty-Kat Allie!) which it keeps doing over and over, but I've managed to kind of get it back in. That's annoying.
We think too much and feel too little.
"If no one has any more questions," the professor starts, his voice trailing off as he looks around the room. When no one makes to say anything he finishes with an, "Alright then, I'll see you all on Tuesday; class dismissed!"
From his seat in the back row Ludwig finishes up his typing, saving his notes and making to put his laptop away. Normally he would have sat front and center but had decided that for numerous reasons, bumming in the back the way Gilbert liked to was probably for the better.
Yet as he stands to leave someone does notice him. "Bell- biel- Bei-"
"Beilschmidt," Ludwig corrects, approaching the professor's desk. Around him the other American students are filtering out of the classroom, most likely to take advantage of the rest of the warm Friday afternoon. Soon it will be getting cold, and from what he knows, this part of the United States can get pretty bitter in the winter.
"One more time," the professor sighs, smiling.
"Beilschmidt," the German nation repeats.
"Beilschmidt," the man copies. "Mind if I call you Ludwig to make this easier?" He nods his head. "Alright. Well I just wanted to check because my notes indicate you're from…"
"Germany," Ludwig interrupts without thinking. He had enrolled at the university for a semester without telling anyone who he really was, the perks of being forever twenty-something and in love with learning.
"Right. Well, mainly, I just wanted to check that you were getting along fine with our American university, and to make sure you could understand my English since I don't have the best accent." The professor laughs while Ludwig fights hard to keep his face straight; the man's accent is, indeed, God-awful.
"Thank you," the set German says, "for your concern. I am used to conducting myself in English however, so it is not a problem for me."
The professor laughs again. "Your English is probably way better than my German. I apologize in advance if I butcher any of your language in my speech."
"Quite alright," Ludwig answers a bit too quickly, wanting to end this conversation before it takes a turn for the worst. Luckily the professor's attention is suddenly moved to someone just behind Ludwig coming to stand beside him. Turning he sees a thin woman, neither tall nor short, with dark hair that falls carelessly over her shoulders. Her face is obscured by large plastic glasses that amplify her green eyes. She's clutching her books to her chest as she readjusts her purse, the word « PARIS » written across it with various other large cities in France.
"Yes Lucy?" the professor starts before seeming to think of something. "Right, right! Hold on and I'll find your note."
"Thank you," the woman smiles, coming to stand fully beside Ludwig at the desk, resting her books on the surface. While the professor searches for something the woman looks up at Ludwig and smiles. "German, huh?" she asks. "Be nice to have someone else backing me up when I correct this one's-" she throws her head towards the professor "-pronunciation of everything."
"We can't all be native German speakers," the professor mutters before looking up. "No, you're not German. You're-"
"Yiddish," the woman named Lucy says. "So this one might better know how to pronounce the words." She grins once more at the tall blond.
"Found it!" the professor exclaims, a yellow slip of paper in hand.
As Ludwig makes his way out of the building, pausing to pull out his phone and trying to decide where to go next, he hears a voice yell out behind him. "Wait!" Normally Ludwig would have keep walking, but the female voice had yelled the word in German. Turning he finds it's the woman from before, Lucy, grinning as she comes to stand before him.
"Um…." Ludwig isn't used to being stopped by classmates; his other three classes had allowed him to go by unnoticed, which was nice since he was new to those topics. This one, however, was the one he had really wanted to take because it was about a piece of him.
"Hey-sorry-I-just-really-wanted-to-catch-you-before-you-got-too-far," the American says in one go; Ludwig cocks an eyebrow. "If I speak like this," she starts in German, "is that fine? We don't have a lot of native Germans for me to speak with."
"Ja." Somehow the nation finds himself walking beside the dark-haired woman, following to wherever it is she's leading him which seems to be towards the science complex he had seen but never entered.
"I'm Lucretia, by the way," she states, "but you can call me Lucy."
"Lucy," he repeats. "Italian American?"
"Ja ja!" she grins. "And you're…?"
"Ludwig, from Germany."
"Well," she laughs, "it is a pleasure to meet you, Ludwig from Germany."
The complex is beautiful inside, surrounded all around by the brick building. The inner courtyard is filled with flowering trees, a large fountain in the middle running, rounded patches of grass following the circle it makes. Lucy makes to sit on one of the patches in the sun, Ludwig following.
"You liking the school so far?" Lucy asks, a twinkle in her eyes. It takes Ludwig a moment to realize she's no longer wearing her ridiculous glasses, her face unobstructed for him now. Her nose is cute, small, straight, her eyes just as bright as they were before. Her whole face has a softness to it that Ludwig knows his lacks, being all lines and angles, as they place their bags down. "Got a good schedule?"
Around them students happily speak in American English, Ludwig reveling in it all. Reveling in how little the students seem to appreciate the ease with which they understand their shared language, reveling in how much he takes in of what they say, reveling in the spray of water that the wind blows off the fountain, reveling in the way the sun warms his skin and makes Lucy's glow, one of her hands running through her hair effortlessly.
"I hope so," Ludwig finally mutters, eyes still on the fountain. After the silence continues he looks to Lucy, happily taking him in.
"Mind if I ask what you're taking?"
"Nein, here." Manicured nails a swirling blue reach out, slender fingers brushing Ludwig's hand, as the American takes his offered schedule, carefully written in English with German notes after each course:
AFA280 T 1400-1750 Photography I
GER371 TF 1230-1400 Topics in German (in English): Propaganda in WWII
HBR101 MW 1000-1120 Modern Hebrew I
HIS327 MR 1230-1400 European Social History
At some point Lucy laughs, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. "Sorry," she says to him, "but your note for German made me laugh. « Topics in German in English- what? » Yeah," she nods, handing back over the schedule, "those classes have interesting titles."
"Is it a good schedule?" Ludwig asks, partially for something to say, partially because he is curious. Lucy takes a moment before answering.
"Yeah, actually, it's pretty well spaced out. And I love your courses, I've done a bunch of those. The photography one kind of threw me though, in that set."
The German nation shrugs. "I needed a fourth course and in my family I've sort of become the designated photographer."
"Have you now?" Her eyes twinkle something sweet. "Do you miss your family? I presume they're still in Germany."
"Oh?" Thrown for a moment Ludwig quickly recomposes himself. "Ja, ja, they're… well, my brother lives in Germany, our cousin and his girlfriend live in Austria." The normal lie comes more easily each time he says it.
There's a pause while Lucy shuffles through her purse, looking for something intently, her tongue between her teeth. Ludwig takes the moment to look at all the students around him, so happy, so carefree. It's incredible to think they will lead peaceful lives like Ludwig was never destined to have.
"Here!" the girl announces, holding something out. "Fair is fair;" it's her schedule. It takes Ludwig a moment to work out the coded way she's written it down, perfected from multiple semesters spent at her American college:
French 322 (MR 08h30-09h50) Cultural Aspects/Contemporary France (FR)
History 323 (MR 10h00-11h20) Eastern Europe/1939-on (EN)
German 371 (TF 12h30-14h00) Propaganda in WWII (EN)
Italian 351 (W 08h00-12h00) Italian Cinema/1945-on (IT)
"You have," Ludwig starts, slightly confused. Lucy raises an eyebrow. "You have classes in, three languages?"
"Record," she says, "for all-time low. I had one semester where it was five languages, since my classes were in four different ones plus what I still had to do other things in English."
The thing Ludwig often finds most annoying about Americans is how they didn't speak multiple languages the way he's used to, the way he found normal having grown up surrounded by so many. The thing Ludwig finds most intriguing about this American is how she seemingly bucks that trend at every turn.
Lucy leans in, grinning like a cat, as she takes her planner back. "Which languages? I presume that's the next question." Ludwig nods. "English," she starts, counting off on her hand, "and French, I'm fluent in those. Italian I grew up with though mine isn't perfect, just native, and German I can manage though I'm awful at the spelling. Hebrew and Yiddish I tend to consider hand in hand written wise, though spoken the Yiddish I tend to clump with the German. How many is that?"
"Six," Ludwig says.
"Six!" Lucy seems proud, as if she had never counted the languages herself. "And I know a little bit of Russian, because why not? How many languages do you speak?"
Without thinking Ludwig blurts out, "What the hell do you study?" That makes his companion chuckle.
"Europe," she says defiantly, laying down in the grass. "Europe in all its wonderful craziness. You guys are crazy," she adds, turning her head to him, "in case you didn't know. Europeans I mean."
"Oh I know," Ludwig sighs, "I know."
Three Mondays later and Ludwig gets a text while he's on his way to Hebrew. "Meet you outside your classroom when you're done?"
When class is dismissed, Ludwig once more the last one in the room writing everything down, he hears a familiar laugh as someone enters the room, speaking quickly with the professor. Looking up it's Lucy talking in rapid Hebrew with the man who had all but given up on the German by this point.
"Waiting for my friend," Lucy says suddenly in English, gesturing to Ludwig who's still trying to figure out if that's a mem on the board or a samekh, he can't remember. "I hope you're treating him alright," she teases. "I'm sure if we had Yiddish classes he'd do fantastically in those."
"Native German speaker right?" the professor asks and both Lucy and Ludwig nod as the German nation finally decides he'll just ask his female companion later, putting his books away. "Maybe I'll start throwing in some Yiddish, for the cultural value."
As they leave the room, walking slowly down the hall and pulling on scarves as the weather turns cold, Ludwig sighs. "I don't think I'm cut out for Hebrew." The letters, and the sentence structures, and the way everyone else seems to instantly understand what he never does….
"You're overthinking it is all," Lucy says as they go down a flight of stairs, waving a hand over her shoulder. "You have to remember most of the people in class learned the basics in Hebrew school. While they probably promptly forgot it after their bar mitzvahs, it's still in their mind somewhere."
"Bar-" Ludwig starts to repeat, making a mental note of just one more thing to look up.
Lucy stops suddenly, looking at him. "You really don't know a lot about Judaism do you?" Ludwig shrugs.
"I was never… encouraged, growing up, to learn about it." He was encouraged instead to persecute it, to try to kill all its followers. "I'm trying now but I guess I'm just... late to the game, as you would say."
At this words the American's face softens, smiling up at him with green eyes that are loving. "Yeah," she sighs. "Maybe."
As the leaves fall and the calendar rolls forward into October Ludwig helps Lucy study for her French exam; though his accent is no where near as good as hers he's still proud of how well he's doing.
Her room is quite large by the college's standard. Ludwig has a room in the international house on the other side of campus, but Lucy's house is a real house, her room bigger than his. She paces the floor as he sits at her desk, checking off what she says against her written answers on the study guide.
It's become part of their routine, to do work together. Normally Ludwig does his work in her room; they trade off using the desk, the other on the computer or reading, Lucy on her bed and Ludwig in her reading chair. She does come with him to the international student events but he much prefers it here with her, where it's quiet because she doesn't constantly remind him that he is a foreigner.
With Lucy Ludwig forgets that he is a nation and not just any other man.
"That's it," he tells her and Lucy throws herself on her bed in relief. "You'll do fine Lucy;" he switches back to German.
"I hope so," she moans. "I just need to make it to Fall Break."
"What is that again?" he inquires. They've explained it to him before but normally Lucy's explanations make the most sense.
"We get a Monday and Tuesday off," she says bluntly. "I love it though; it's our only break where you don't have to leave campus. Most people do and it is glorious, glorious I say, to be here when there are so few people. I presume you're staying?"
"Ja," Ludwig agrees. "Not sure what I'm doing yet."
"Oh believe me," Lucy grins, "I can give you some things to do."
"Not Mari-" he starts.
"Mario Party!" He regrets so many things in that moment.
Friday night Ludwig is the only one in the library. He revels in the silence.
Saturday morning he goes for a jog, several of the local women with their dogs stopping to watch him go by. It makes Ludwig smirk.
Saturday afternoon he uses the key Lucy left with him to let himself into her empty house, a duffle bag with clothing over his shoulder. He gets a little too into House Hunters International and practices some of the Mario Party 6 minigames.
Saturday night when Lucy's returned home they make schnitzel and drink beer. Ludwig teaches her drinking songs Gil had taught him, her legs over his as they lay on the couch. He crashes there for the night.
Sunday morning Ludwig is subjected to crêpes for breakfast and while he'd never admit it to anyone else, they are absolutely delicious. They clear the table to do work on it once they've run out of chocolate chips.
Sunday afternoon Lucy needs eggs. It's the first time Ludwig's been to a real American supermarket; Lucy laughs at him the whole time he pushes the cart, taking it all in. He buys an American candy bar on the way out.
Sunday night they make a complicated Italian dish Lucy's grandfather had taught her, French wine breathing on the table. Ludwig doesn't so much as crash on the couch after they finish downing the second bottle of wine as much as crash into the floor beside Lucy's bed, staying there and holding the sleeping woman's hand throughout the night.
Monday morning Ludwig has a hangover like he hasn't had in years; Gil would be proud. Lucy's laughter hurts both their heads.
Monday afternoon, Ludwig a week ahead in all his classes now, Lucy two weeks ahead, they play Mario Party 6. The American punches his arm when he beats her, laughing at her angry face.
Monday night they sit on the floor leaning against Lucy's bed, watching her laptop between their legs. It's Ludwig's favorite TV program, "Der 90. Geburtstag", Dinner for One. He's glad Lucy laughs the whole time, her small body tucked in under one of his arms. Not everyone loves it the way he does.
Monday becomes Tuesday as he inhales deeply the smell of her hair, one of her hands on his thigh.
"Luce?" Ludwig says quietly as the program finishes, the room going dark.
"Yeah Lutz?" There's just enough light to see her turn her face up towards his, smiling that big American smile she always has.
Without thinking, his heart racing in his chest, Ludwig lets one hand cup her face as he leans in, pressing his lips to hers. It's not the first time he's ever kissed a woman, but it is the first time he's kissed one he has feelings for. And Lucy presses up into him, demanding more, her arms wrapping around his chest as they slide sideways. German arms pull the lithe Italian to his chest, a hand sweeping in through her hair to feel the soft curls give under his fingers.
Tuesday morning Lucy finds him sitting by the lake, immediately resting her head on his shoulder as she sits beside him. He pulls her instinctively to him and is glad when she doesn't try to say anything. Sometimes there are no words.
Tuesday afternoon it's quiet in the house. Most of Lucy's housemates won't be back until late or the next day, so they work at the dinning room table.
Tuesday night after dinner they continue working at the table. Lucy slips her hand into his and they stay like that until he finally returns to his room.
"Good break?" the Polish girl asks in English as he heads out for another jog.
"Ja," Ludwig admits, smiling to himself, "it was."
For Halloween Ludwig lets Lucy pick the costumes: she's an Italian film star straight out of a 1950's black and white film, while the German does his best to look posh in a smart suit. His photography professor, over-appreciative of Ludwig's perceived love of Italian cinema, spends the whole lab trying to talk to him about his favorite films. It makes Lucy laugh like a hyena when he tells her.
They'd decided not to go out for the night; everyone else in the house was, but they both much preferred to stay in and get drunk at home. By the time Ludwig gets out of photography and arrives at Lucy's house she has the draft email for his Hebrew professor explaining why he'll be absent tomorrow written, having already emailed her Italian cinema professor about how her boyfriend had gotten her sick. Her efficiency is commendable.
They have takeaway for dinner with the best onion rings Ludwig's ever had and milkshakes Lucy had been raving about for weeks. "What did you get in yours again, Miss Expert?" he asks as they munch away.
"Vanilla ice cream, peanut butter, and Snickers," Lucy says. "I wish it was a Mars Bars though."
"Tell me about it."
"What did you get?"
"Birthday cake," Ludwig starts, pushing around the drink to try and remember what exactly he'd ordered, "and fudge I think?"
"Can I try?" Lucy demands and maybe if he'd been paying more attention to her and not his drink he would have noticed her leaning in, kissing him deeply, her tongue sweeping into his mouth before they break the kiss. "Delicious," she says in such a deviously mischievous tone that Ludwig lets her have seconds.
Ludwig's never wanted someone so badly in his life, their bodies rolling on the small bed so that Lucy could straddle him, her hands quickly pushing aside his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. Their lips crash together, over and over, and the German knows this isn't just because of the alcohol; they've been waiting for this moment for weeks now. Her hands pull at his undershirt.
He shouldn't, she's everything he loves but shouldn't. She's Italian, her grandparents having fled Italy during the war. She's Jewish, the reason they'd fled. She's part-Austrian and speaks French and is American, has lived a safe life in her country. And Ludwig, he's everything she shouldn't want: not because he's German but because he's Germany, because he was the one her grandparents were fleeing, was split in two, has caused two world wars and is a monster.
The German had tried to think of a way to tell her but the truth was he couldn't; Lucy was perfect and they were perfect and he didn't want to ruin that the way he's ruined so much. So instead he runs his hands up her back, thrusting up against her hips and groaning with her.
They lay in bed exhausted. He's down to just his boxers, Lucy in her panties and his undershirt. She's laying under his arm, her chin on his chest so she can watch him. And Ludwig strokes the side of her face, his blue eyes taking her in as if this was his last night on earth, Lucy the last woman.
Leaning forward he kisses her lips gently, her nose running along his, before whispering in Yiddish, "Ikh hob dikh lieb," I love you.
"Ani ohevet otcha," she whispers in Hebrew, kissing him again.
Words he'd never thought he'd hear himself say in a language he'd never thought he'd come to love.
Mid-November there's a light dusting of snow on the ground as Ludwig enters the library holding hands with Lucy, leading the way to the auditorium. Most of the seats are already filled but there are two in the front set aside for them. Ludwig puts their coats down while Lucy speaks with her Italian Cinema professor; she comes back cheerfully and Ludwig hands her her notecards.
"I love this movie," she whispers for the hundredth time that day. Ludwig wraps an arm around her, kissing her head. That's when the professor gets up to speak, the room going quiet for the respected man.
"The movie we are about to see," the man says with the faintest of suave Italian accents, "won three Academy Awards in 1999, most memorably Best Foreign Language Film. La vita è bella, literally Life is Beautiful, tells the story of a Jewish Italian father in a Nazi concentration camp. To give us some historical background before we start the film, I present our very own Lucretia Pontecorvo."
There's a warm round of applause as Lucy stands, taking her place at the podium, clearing her throat, then smiling at Ludwig who smiles back. "When we speak of Jews in Italy," she starts in a strong voice and immediately a greater hush falls over the room; all attention is devoted to his girlfriend. "When we speak of them we must recognize that there have been, historically, four distinct groups of Italian Jews: the Italkim, from Roman times; Sephardim, from the heavy Spanish influence; Ashkenazi, normally in the north-" there's a moment's applause at the word. Ludwig shifts to try and make out who's clapping, but when he turns back he can see Lucy trying to suppress a smirk. "Calm yourself," she says and there's a soft laugh. "And finally, the Appam from France….."
As she speaks Ludwig tries to absorb as much as he can. She's mentioned these things before, when speaking of her grandparents: her father's parents were from Rome but her mother's parents were from the north, Austrian and French. The German nation had tried his best to take it all in but in the end Lucy had laughed and said they could discuss something else.
But watching her there, speaking about the history of Jews in Italy just before World War II, of what happened during the war leading up to the film, it moves him in a way he's not sure he likes. Lucy is passionate as she continues, growing stronger, and the crowd responds positively until she finishes, cheers throughout the room as she goes back to her seat, the room going dark to start the film. She snuggles in under one of her boyfriend's arms happily and his heart almost breaks at that because she's so proud of her family, of what they had survived back in Italy.
What they'd survived was him. Ludwig hasn't been so disgusted with himself as he is watching that movie since the war itself.
The next morning Ludwig gets back his second Hebrew exam. The first one he had bombed as Lucy'd put it lightly, the meaning not lost on him. The professor stops as he hands the German the paper this time.
"Well, well," he tuts haughtily and all of the class turns to watch him. The nation incarnate braces himself for the insult to his dignity and is surprised when it doesn't come. "Well done Mr. Beilschmidt; perhaps you've got a little Ashkenazi in you after all."
Ludwig had gotten a near-perfect mark at 98%, the highest in the class. When he see Lucy outside after they're let out he immediately picks her up, spinning her around and kissing her like he's never kissed her in public.
"I told you," she says against his lips, "you were always meant for Hebrew."
Ludwig's pretty sure he's never seen so many Italian flags in his life. "You should have seen this place after we won the World Cup," Lucy assures him, her arm linked with his. She whistles in memory as they walk down the quiet sidewalk under the large sign. She had explained while they drove up to Manhattan that Little Italy was less a place for Italian residents nowadays and more a place of nostalgia and restaurants, Chinatown next door expanding each year as the immigrant population shifts.
"My father was born in that building," Lucy remarks, pointing to a nondescript townhouse. "My grandparents lived there for over fifty years before finally moving in with my parents." The love in her voice indicates how strong her affection for the building is.
The German can only nod, trying to imagine the Italian refugees arriving in this foreign land. All he sees is a little Jewish boy he once saw in Italy sitting on that stoop, sad and hungry but hopeful. Ludwig had given him the little money he'd had on him that day; somehow the imagine of Lucy's father melds together with that little boy he hopes so much survived the Holocaust.
His chest is tight as they move past the house.
Mr. Pontecorvo is anything but a little boy: he's not as tall as Ludwig but he's just as broad, a large man with dark skin and darker hair, near-black eyes and a gruffy looking beard. Lucy's scream of "Tatti!" does nothing to detract from the scary looking man.
Mrs. Pontecorvo seems just as formidable in a different way: lean, tall, Lucy's pale skin with lighter hair. There's an air to her that's distinctively different from her husband who is all Roman.
"Welcome to our house," she says stiffly in German, slight Austrian accent.
"Mamma, stop it!" Lucy chides in Italian, laughing and hugging her mother.
Ludwig is quite sure he's in too deep this weekend.
Thanksgiving Day dinner is the worst; Ludwig never wants to see another Italian again. So far he's been slapped in the face no less than three times by over-excited cousins speaking, the neighbor Mr. Pontecorvo had grown up with keeps giving him dirty looks while the man's wife flirts with him, and Lucy it turns out is traditionally passed around the table so that everyone can sit and talk with her. Which means Ludwig is left to fend for himself most of the meal.
Eventually he escapes outside for a breath of fresh air, the neighbor and wife arguing giving him a breka. The street is relatively quiet, everyone inside to spend the American holiday with their family. Turning the glow of the window seems to beckon Ludwig back in, framing a happy family with friends and food and everything they hadn't had in the Old World when they'd left.
Lucy rounds the end of the table, pausing when she sees her boyfriend's empty seat. He watches her eyes search the room before someone says something and her eyes go out the window. It's dark out, probably hard to see him, but she still smiles and waves. Her black hair falls over her shoulders in waves, eyes bright and skin pale as she fixes her skirt to sit in his seat.
For all that it makes him uncomfortable, there is something familiar and comforting to the holiday; it's nothing like quiet nights spent with his brother and cousin and almost-sister, but it is just as loving.
"This film!" she hisses, slouching towards him as their professor fights the projector at his desk before them. Another student in the class stands to take over and within thirty seconds everything is set.
"Alright class," the professor starts. "Today I thought we'd do something a little different and perhaps a little less depressing." A sigh goes around the room, Ludwig included in it; Nazi propaganda was not exactly how they wanted to spend their last week of classes before the semester's end. "And as Lucy has rightly identify from the case-" the Italian beside Ludwig chuckles as the professor smiles at her "-we'll be watching The Great Dictator. Now, before we begin let me say a few things on this wonderful movie…."
The final speech is what makes it for Ludwig, the German nation leaning forward as the film draws to a conclusion, the main character speaking passionately to all of humanity.
"The way of life can be free and beautiful. But we have lost the way."
Lucy had mentioned the film in passing when discussing Charlie Chaplin; she had said they'd be watching it in class and that she hoped he'd enjoy it.
"Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery, we need humanity."
It's like something clicks in him, everything life has given him and everything he's taken and everything Ludwig's learned this semester in America. It all comes together hearing the speech and he cannot ignore it, cannot deny it.
"Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don't hate; only the unloved hate, the unloved and the unnatural."
He can feel Lucy watching him, her mouth slightly open, as if she is seeing him for the first time. His heart aches and his chest aches and his hands clutch into fists as he wills this to be it, this to set the world back on its rightful path. Ludwig can feel her watching but does nothing to stop her.
"You the people have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure."
For years he has carried guilt and memories he could never process, could never reflect on nor work through. Ludwig had had Roderich but he'd needed Gil and Erzsi too, to work through it all. Everything the German has done, everything he has never done: this semester was meant to try and help, just a little bit, to bring it all together to help him work through it.
"Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men's happiness. Soldiers: In the name of democracy, let us all unite!"
Suddenly Ludwig finds a peace within himself; he smiles.
"You'll do fine," Lucy coos as she wraps her arms around his neck from behind, her hands slipping under the bottom of his shirt to feel the hard muscle beneath. "You need to relax."
"You have only papers," he says angrily; Ludwig wishes he had only papers instead of written exams to sit. What if he trips over an English word? What if he spaces on a Hebrew letter? What if forgets something? For Photography he's done, has all his prints, and Propaganda has a paper, but that leaves two exams to sit that he's convinced he'll fail.
"Lutz," she whispers in his ear, her breasts pressing lightly into the top of his back. "Lutz, come to bed. It's late and I'm cold."
Sighing the computer is closed, Lucy happily throwing herself under the sheets and watching as Ludwig changes, turning off the light before joining her in bed. Ever since Thanksgiving they've shared a bed, more nights than not Lucy's though there was that weekend where her housemates were in a fight and so she slept with him in the international house. It's nothing sexual, not really; it just feels right, natural, as if they were always meant to do this, to sleep in each other's arms. Lucy snuggles closer, kissing his lips gently, and Ludwig reciprocates before taking a deep breath and surrendering to the night.
They both know their days left together are numbered.
Some things Ludwig knows he just doesn't need anymore; most of that is given to the Polish girl who lives below him, a sweet little thing who's always nice to her even though she shouldn't be. Ludwig will miss her.
He finishes packing after his Hebrew exam, rolling his two suitcases to Lucy's where she sadly smiles and lets him in. Her room is mostly packed but she has a paper to finish writing; while she writes he packs what he can for her. Then they lay in bed and hold each other.
Till the last day they'd decided, they're staying till the last day even though they should leave earlier. After the semester ends Ludwig has one night before his flight back to Berlin; for once in his life the thought of returning to Germany is nothing more than awful.
"This is it," Lucy sighs against his chest and there's no point denying it. He has a life he never let her in on, in Germany, one that will go on for at least a century more, probably longer. He has an immortal brother he misses and an immortal cousin he kind of misses too. He has an immortal woman who will cry big tears when she sees him in the airport and immortal acquaintances to see at the next world meeting in January and a country to look after.
And Lucy, she has mortal parents and mortal grandparents to take care of, a mortal life to lead in search of a mortal soulmate to spend her days with until it all, inevitably, comes to an end.
She knows. Or, at least, she knows something. She knows he's different, she knows there's something there, that he can describe things he shouldn't be able to, can say with certainty facts no one can verify because he's the only one who made it out alive. Lucy knows there's something different but she's never asked Ludwig what it was and he is grateful for that. If she'd asked he would have had to leave, and the thought of living a life without spending as much time with her as possible is heartbreaking.
Exams finish on Tuesday; Lucy skips going to religious services Friday night to spend it with Ludwig instead.
The inevitable: he watches her walk to him slowly wearing his shirt before she straddles him on the bed, kissing him. Above him her body starts to move and so he matches her, his hands feeling her and freeing her of clothing. Cool air sets their skin on edge but Lucy had insisted that she wanted this, wanted Ludwig to be her first. His fingers thread through her hair as he kisses her deeply.
They roll over and he lavishes her the best he can because he understands that this is something she is giving to him, something that he is not worthy of but that she is surrendering as a gift to her first love. He takes it without hesitation.
Under sheets he shifts his hips, letting his forehead press against hers once he's ready. "This will-" he starts before she hushes him with a kiss, giving him the go ahead. She cries a little, though Ludwig's not sure if that's from pain or losing her virginity or love. He kisses her to take it away because he doesn't want to see her tears when they're doing something so beautiful.
She's rather quiet but then again, he is too. During the war the women had always been loud as if to impress him but he prefers this sort of quiet honesty, the way she gasps when he presses into her or how she sighs against his chest as he holds her tight. Fingers claw at his back as they get closer, closer: the inevitable.
Legs tangle as their breathing slows from its labored pace. In his arms Lucy cries while Ludwig kisses her.
It's too painful to say goodbye at the airport so they part in her parent's house, the family out for the day visiting her mother's brother.
Most of the morning Lucy sits quietly as Ludwig repacks to make sure everything is accounted for, no liquids in his bag, nothing left behind. In one of the pockets he pulls out a German football scarf he'd forgotten he'd brought with him. His fingers trace the letters before he sits on his knees, wrapping the black, red, and gold scarf around his once-girlfriend's neck. WIth puffy red eyes she takes in the fabric, her hands playing with the fringe on the end.
For lunch they have pappardelle and meatballs; Lucy hand copies the recipe afterward for Ludwig to put in his coat pocket. The German nation swears pasta has never tasted so good as that one simple meal.
His body warm from the food, he loads up the rental car without his coat. Back inside Lucy is waiting for him, her arms wrapped around her stomach. "I don't want you to go," she says in a weak voice, her eyes cast down. He knows she says it not to change his mind, to try and make him stay, but because part of her has to say it and part of him has to hear it. He smiles halfheartedly, kissing her.
"I will always love you," he whispers in Yiddish in her ear, trying to emphasize the always as much as he can, because he is immortal and Francis had told him once that the problem with falling for mortals was that you never forgot them, forever loved them. She buries her head in his chest; at the same time Lucy makes a gasping noise as if she's drowning. Hands clutch his chest as she sobs and for the first time in years, Ludwig too lets himself cry.
They could keep in touch. They could make promises. They could say they'll be together again. But the truth is in the end, it'll all be lies; what was is now over and they can either move on with the good memories or try to hold on to the past. Ludwig doesn't regret anything and he knows Lucy doesn't regret it either, this wonderful woman who had chased him after their first shared class to speak with him not because he was powerful, not because he was immortal, but because he was German. Being German is the most defining part of Ludwig and Lucy can both appreciate his love for it and understand his resistance to that fact. Just like being Italian or American or Jewish is both a part of Lucy and yet not what defines her, being German both is and isn't Ludwig; he's Germany but he's also Lutz with a family and dreams and a favorite football team and bad taste in films and a crying woman in his arms.
What will be will be, they'd known that from the start.
So Ludwig kisses her as deeply as he can, pulling her to his chest tightly, before there is nothing left. He hears the door lock behind him as he goes down the stoop and it breaks his heart.
On the steps as he pulls away Ludwig pictures the little Jewish Italian boy.
He sits in the fancy lounge by himself, sighing deeply over and over as he watches planes take off and land. "One of those flights?" a sweet woman asks as she passes on her way back to her husband with food.
Ludwig nods, smiling at her though he knows his face is still red and he looks like a fool. "I don't like goodbyes," he says in perfect English.
"Good," she smiles, "it means you have a heart full of love."
When the woman sits Ludwig watches his phone turning about in his hand: the way his fingerprints smudge a circle, the way dirt sticks in between some of the buttons, the weight it has in his hand when it's still versus when it's spinning. He had come to America for answers, for a different perspective to better understand what he had done as a country. Now he was leaving a different man.
And somehow, that felt right.
"Hannah, can you hear me? Wherever you are, look up, Hannah. The clouds are lifting. The sun is breaking through. We are coming out of the darkness into the light. We are coming into a new world, a kindlier world, where men will rise above their hate, their greed and brutality. Look up, Hannah. The soul of man has been given wings, and at last he is beginning to fly. He is flying into the rainbow — into the light of hope, into the future, the glorious future that belongs to you, to me and to all of us. Look up, Hannah. Look up."