Shades of Blue

by Tony Floyd

He lay on his side and stroked a strand of blonde hair away from her face and watched her chest rise and fall slowly under that baby blue top he'd bought for her. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her and the very thought of it made his stomach rise but she was sleeping and he couldn't wake her.

He shifted and lay on his back and looked at the streetlight that was shining through the blinds, and he knew that they were waiting for him outside with their machineguns and those twisted red crosses they wore on their uniforms, that represented Hitler and hell and the violated corpses of young Jewish women, the fresh bruises their husbands bore as they wept and cursed and screamed. He'd seen too many horrors like this. He turned and looked at the girl again and told himself their fate would be different.

He massaged his brow with his right hand and exhaled deeply. There would be no more of this. No more waiting. No more hiding in plain sight. Tonight he was going to take her far away from here and that was all there was to it.

The artificial light was still glowing outside the blinded window and he sat up in bed taking care not to wake her and glanced at the pocketwatch clutched in his fist. 5:24. He did the math in his head and looked across the room at the old double shotgun that was leaned against the wall, imagining his hands on the smooth wooden grips as they soon would be and sighed again and lay back down in bed.

Beside him her slow and steady breathing stopped for a moment. He turned on his side too look at her and as he did her cerulean eyes flicked open.

'Marcel?' Her voice was so soft.

'Vous devez dormir mon amour.'

'Je suis désolé.'

'Ne soyez pas.'

'Combien d'heure avons-nous ?'

'Au sujet d'une demi-heure.'

'Ok.'

She turned over so he could see her no longer and tried to sleep again. Marcel did the same but about ten minutes later he once again felt tugging on his sleeve.

'Marcel?'

'Oui, mon amour?'

'Je ne peux pas dormir.'

At this he gave a little smile. 'Je ne peux pas non plus.'

She had then asked him to hold her to which he obliged instantly and they just lay there and listened to the Germans shouting outside the window, and Marcel kept telling her that they were going to get away and that they were going to be alright, and he wondered if she believed him.

'Marcel?'

'Ce qui, Shosanna, réduisent svp votre amoureux de voix.'

'Me ferez-vous l'amour ?'

'Pourquoi maintenant ?'

'Ce qui si nous n'obtenons jamais la chance à encore ?'

She was right there. He glanced at the watch again.

'Nous n'avons pas le temps, mon amour. Et ne vous inquiétez pas. Nous le ferons.'

She nodded but propped herself up on his chest anyway and kissed his face. Ten minutes later she was throwing her coat over her shoulders and he took her beret from the dresser and placed it on her head and then he took up the shotgun and led her out of the room.

The streets were abnormally quiet, and the soldiers had long since left and the lovers moved through the night locked tight in each others arms; an abnormal, disfigured shadow casting on the walls behind them. The cobble streets seemed to shine the same shade of blue as her eyes. He was still telling her that they were going to make it but now he wasn't sure he cared if she believed him at all because he was telling it to himself too and he suddenly realized just how terrifying it would be to lose her.

He heard a clomp around the corner in front of them. The simple sound of a boot hitting gravel that was now more terrifying than anything he'd ever known, and it hinted at that death he'd dreamt of so often and the death of the beauty he safeguarded. He brought a finger to his lips and told her not to watch, and as they turned the corner he brought up the shotgun and fired and in the flash of light he could not see where he'd hit the officer, only that blood had spurted and he could still hear the sickly hiss of arterial spray. He told her they now had to run and as they did his foot kicked a severed leg out of the way.

He could hear the guard gurgling behind them and there were shouts and yells and loud footsteps approaching him and the girl whose hand he held told him she didn't want to die.

'Was ist los? '

'Dieser bastard! Töten Sie ihn! Töten Sie ihn Gottfluch es!'

He kept running with her, and machinegun fire was now igniting the streets behind him and bullets whizzed past them and he screamed louder than he ever had as he turned the corner. The girl ducked against the wall as she wept and he pressed his back to it and arched the arm which held the shotgun around the corner and fired. More shouting. More gunfire. They weren't close enough for him to have hit them.

He pried the barrels open and fumbled in his pocket for shells and as he did so she screamed and he heard a gunshot and the scream ended abruptly, and his heart went dead in his chest. He looked in front of himself and saw a German officer with a smoking pistol and the officer thumbed back the hammer again and pointed it at Marcel.

'Netter Versuch, Held.'

Marcel stumbled back against the wall with relief as the officer pulled the trigger.