A/N: Hello there. This is a dramatic change from Numbers From Poland - it's based on real life things. It was written for the Mumford and Sons song of the same name, and I highly suggest listening to it. Perhaps even listening to it as you read this.
Just to alert you, Sebastian in this story is Kugelmugel.
Also, if you're a nerd like me, you might catch some of the references.
Without further ado, I present my first oneshot, For Those Below.
Eighteen
Was this really the man she married?
Elizabeta wanted to help him. She wanted to do something to stop this all, but would her husband even listen? Attempting to help in the past had only lead to a huge disaster – screaming, crying, a new hole in the bathroom wall. So she'd just taken to staying nearby and waiting until he snapped out of it. That could take minutes or hours, depending on the variety of fit he was throwing. But this one couldn't even be described as a fit. He wasn't expressing any violent behaviour, he wasn't trying to cut the cat open with a kitchen knife; all he was doing was lying there calmly. Nothing aggressive or potentially dangerous about that at all.
Could she step away? Surely he'd be fine for another ten minutes or so while she finished the chocolate cake and put it in the oven.
Still, she was always afraid to leave him alone now. Months ago, she wouldn't have cared at all. But any solitude could quickly go south with her husband. Last time she'd looked away for a moment – just a split second – and he tried to go back to his military days and snipe pigeons from the window. Needless to say, the neighbors were not in a compassionate mood that day and threatened to get the police involved.
"Roddy, darling," Elizabeta said in her gentlest voice possible, kneeling down by the bottom of the stairs. Roderich didn't register that she was talking to him or even that his wife was there, he just continued on staring up blankly into the ceiling. Elizabeta tried to get his attention by waving a hand in front of his face, repeating his name, and using idle threats, but he wouldn't even glance at her. His lavender eyes were empty, void of any signs that he was actually in there. He looked like he was dead, and if it wasn't for the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest, she would've been in completely hysteria.
His eyes snapped to Elizabeta rather abruptly, startling her enough to make her lose her balance. She caught herself before she could fall, leaning up against the banister for support. For a second they just looked at each other, Elizabeta trying to get her heart rate back to normal.
"I lost count," Roderich said in the palest voice Elizabeta had ever heard from him. Where did all that emotion go? He used to be so fiery, so excited, so alive, so…
There.
"I'm so sorry you lost count." She ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to keep him calm. "But are you really comfortable like that?"
Roderich looked up at his feet, as he was laying on the floor with the bottom half of his body up on the staircase and the upper half on the Oriental rug. "Oh, yes, I'm quite fine like this."
"Well, if you say so. May I ask what you were counting?"
Elizabeta knew this was a potentially lethal question, but she wanted to try and have a little bit of conversation with her husband. If it was about counting something or politics, it didn't matter anymore. All of their talks now mostly consisted of Elizabeta rambling on about something while Roderich gazed out the window and complete silence. But on the other side, he had also responded quite angrily to questions in the past – she was playing a sick game to even talk to the man she loved.
"Ceiling tiles." Roderich broke his stare with her, going back to counting. He pointed at each tile as he counted quietly, his hand trembling. His hands used to be so steady, from drifting over piano keys with the grace of a master to pulling the trigger on his rifle. But now he couldn't stop the shaking, his tapered finger jolting as it moved along the ceiling.
"Are you sure that is comfortable?" Surely his position couldn't be. A while ago he was complaining of back pains, and lying like that could not helping. "Do you want to sit upright?"
"I'm fine."
Elizabeta gave up. She stood up again, wordlessly returning to the kitchen. Taking a few deep breaths to calm down, she prayed that there wouldn't be a loud shatter or shouting in the next few minutes. That was all she seemed to do now – pray. Roderich ate up all of her energy, and all she could do for him was pray. Every night she asked for him to suddenly revert back to that charming boy she lived next to in Vienna, the man who grew into a beautiful soldier. Wherever that man had gone off to, she wanted him back. The Roderich from so long ago haunted her, especially when she looked at her husband now and thought of what he'd become. Often times she was moved to tears while praying, and then Roderich would finally wander in to the bedroom and ask why she was crying. All she could answer was that she accidentally hurt herself. And then he would kiss her forehead and tell her everything would be alright.
Nothing was ever going to be alright again. Couldn't he see that?
She wiped at her eyes, refusing to get this upset. After all, she had to finish the cake. Focusing all of her energy and frustration into the chocolate batter, Elizabeta forgot about the world around her. Being busy with something was possibly the best thing for her right now – she could ignore everything that was going on and put all of her anger to good use. Just this week she'd nearly filled up a sketchbook, finished a quilt, and cleaned the whole house top to bottom, all while keeping a close eye on Roderich.
Crash!
Why didn't she stay in there with him?
Elizabeta dropped the whisk, running out into the main hall. Roderich had moved from his place on the floor. Even worse, there was no sign of where he could've gone off to. Wherever he was now, she had to find him, fast.
Glancing back at the front door, she was relieved to find that it was locked. Occasionally she'd forget, and Roderich would walk outside without her knowing. So she started on a frantic search of the first story. Every room proved itself fruitless, but she checked the windows just to be sure he hadn't found a way out. She looked in every closet, under every sink, behind the curtains, wherever a man his size could possibly hide. Soon she'd searched everywhere he could've gone off to, and went upstairs.
Oh, God, she thought, tearing apart the guest bedroom. What if he got out onto the roof? Or what if he found his rifle or the uniform? Did I lock up everything? Dear Lord, please keep Roderich safe wherever he is right now. Please, don't let him hurt himself. I can't afford to pay for another hospital bill. If he keeps this up for much longer, he'll be dead and I'll be in debt.
Elizabeta realized she'd been staring into the closet for a long time while she was praying. With a frustrated sigh, she slammed the door and moved on. She went down the hall, calling out Roderich's name. Throwing open their bedroom door, she walked right into a scene she was not expecting.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." Roderich looked up at Elizabeta shamefully, nearly in tears. In his trembling hands were the shattered remains of a table lamp, long cuts running across his palm from the broken glass. Her wedding veil sat next to him, the white lace speckled with little drops of red.
Elizabeta forced back an ecstatic cheer – he hadn't actually done anything that horrible this time. Sure, this was a very odd setting, but what did it matter? No one was severely injured, screaming, or in tears. Slowly as to not startle him, she went over to the shaking man.
"I really didn't mean to. I was just trying to show you something…" he started, picking up the rest of the pieces quickly. They cut into his hand, the red streaks running down his arm growing thicker.
"Shh, it's alright." Elizabeta grabbed his hand, taking all the broken glass from him. He didn't try to stop her, wiping his bleeding hand off on his pants. She cringed a bit at the stain that was going to leave, but didn't say anything. "You don't need to apologize."
Roderich looked at her for a long time, studying her face closely. It was almost like this was his first time seeing Elizabeta – like he'd forgotten about their nine years of marriage. He reached out and touched her face, looking absolutely confounded. Elizabeta could feel the wet smears of blood on her face as he ran his hand down her cheekbone; quite a mortifying moment. She wanted to remove his hand, but was afraid of what his reaction would be. So she waited for what seemed like an eternity. And then the puzzled look went away, the blankness in his eyes returning. Grabbing the wedding veil, he very daintily placed it on Elizabeta's head.
"There were eighteen tiles. Just like our wedding. June 18th, 1918. I was home on furlough, remember?" He gave her the faintest hint of a smile, making her heart skip a beat. "And we got married in your mother's backyard. The church was booked up with other weddings."
Elizabeta touched the lace, the memory of the miserably hot afternoon coming to mind. Her mother and Roderich's mother fussed with Elizabeta's dress and hair for hours, while Roderich's father and father-in-law were fighting in the trenches in France. Roderich didn't have the money for a suit, and his proportions weren't anywhere close to his father-in-law's size, so he ended up cleaning up his best uniform and wearing that. Finally the soldier and the girl no one ever thought would have a husband were married. He'd danced with her beneath the stars that night, the two laughing for hours. They were so happy, the strangest couple anyone had ever seen.
How had it ever come to this? Roderich had returned from the war safe and in one piece, went back to work, and hadn't ever had any nightmares or episodes. He'd just been a normal man for nine years. What did they ever do to deserve this?
"Thank you," Elizabeta whispered, taking the veil off. She stood up, putting the veil back in the closet. The wedding dress was shoved far in the back, put far away from memory. It was kept that way for a reason. "Will you come downstairs and help me with the cake?"
"But what about the lamp?"
"Never mind that, I'll get it later. Oh, we need to get you patched up." Elizabeta almost forgot about his hand, until she saw him wipe at his eyes and leave red streaks across his face.
Roderich slowly got to his feet, stepping carefully around the glass. Together they walked downstairs, Elizabeta counting the ceiling tiles as they went.
There were thirty-one.
Sebastian
Elizabeta awoke to a beautiful rendition of Bach's The Well-Tempered Clavier. For a moment she lay in bed, listening to the beautiful tune weave its way through the house. And then she realized that Roderich was not next to her. Almost immediately the mood was ruined, as she quickly threw off the covers and ran downstairs. Hopefully he'd just turned on the radio and was reading one of the worn books about medieval times that he loved. Those were the one thing he could seem to focus on, as he'd always been fascinated with stories of knights and kingdoms.
She stopped right outside of the entryway of the living room. Something was wrong – the music was all too clear to be playing from a radio. Roderich never touched the piano anymore, and Elizabeta had hidden most of the sheet music far from him, afraid it could bring up bad memories. If this really was him playing, had he found the music? Warily, she peeked into the living room where the grand piano stood.
Sure enough, Roderich was sitting at the piano. Even with his tousled hair and nightclothes, he carried himself like a professional. It stemmed from the years before the Great War, where he'd helped his father in the concert hall in Vienna, even conducting a few songs when he got old enough. And after the war he'd taken over the place, as his father hadn't returned. Roderich always had that sort of aristocracy about him after that. He practically begged for several years for a grand piano of his own, and once he got it, he hardly stepped away. The piano reminded him too much of the concert hall and he couldn't bear to leave, he said. That is, until he started to fall apart. After that, he never went back to the piano again. It sat in the corner of the room, a grim reminder of times long passed.
But there wasn't any music in front of him. Their cat, Franz, was lying on top of the piano, his tail right where the sheet music should've been.
He was playing completely from memory.
Elizabeta had to keep herself from running in there and hugging him. For so long she'd thought his memory was going along with his sanity. But he was still in there, the man she really loved. Roderich could still think, he could remember, he was aware of things that were going on around him. He remembered his days in Vienna, the way he had to sit up straight and hold his head high. The tune wasn't Bach – it was healing.
The song stopped abruptly, Roderich reaching up with his bandaged hand to pet Franz. "Do you like Bach? Or are you more of a Beethoven cat? Did you know that those Germans are trying claim Beethoven as theirs? They couldn't recognize Austrian work if it was standing right in front of them with a sign," Roderich's voice was shaky as he stroked the black and white tomcat, sounding almost scared. "I wish they would just give up and realize that they don't get to claim every good composer."
Franz purred in reply, rubbing against Roderich's hand.
"I'm glad you agree with me. I don't think Elizabeta would. She doesn't seem to be happy with me anymore. I told her there were eighteen ceiling tiles and she didn't even care. What have I done wrong, Franz? I love her just the same as I did they day we were married. Maybe she doesn't love me anymore. Do you know what went awry?"
Elizabeta put a hand up to her mouth, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Of course she loved him. It was just painstaking work to try and hide Roderich from the public eye – when had the two gone past their yard last? And then she had to avoid the family, make sure he wasn't getting into trouble, and still perform all the duties of a housewife. Roderich couldn't go back to his job at the concert hall, not in this state, so they were living off a small amount of money from war bonds, money that was supposed to be used for their trip to America, and Elizabeta's rich aunt who wanted nothing but for her only niece to be dressed in the latest fashions of Paris sent them money from Hungary. If only she knew it was being used to buy their bread and milk.
Even though Elizabeta was constantly stressed out, isolating herself from the world, and was dangerously low on money, she still loved her husband. It was for better or for worse, wasn't it?
"Perhaps it has something to do with children? I tried my hardest, but we just can't do that. Do you remember sweet little Sebastian?" Roderich asked the cat, scratching behind his ears. "He was taken away from us, so we obviously weren't meant to have children. Everything happens for a reason, as Father at church says."
Sebastian was their only son. Elizabeta had been so excited when she found out she was pregnant, and even more so when the little boy was born healthy. Everyone in her family doted on the child, Roderich's brothers playing with him in the backyard for hours while Elizabeta's mother combed Sebastian's pale hair out and read him stories late into the night. He was why Franz joined their family. Roderich finally gave in after months of pleading – much like Elizabeta had done with the piano. The little boy pretended the kitten was a fearsome lion like in the picture books, while all Franz could offer for a roar was a pitiful mew.
He was such a sweet boy, talking animatedly about school and all his new friends. Roderich and he played piano together, their fingers working in perfect harmony. Pencils and paints littered his room, drawings of his tacked up on the wall. Elizabeta and her son drew stories for hours, and then when Roderich came home Sebastian would read them to his tired father, making different voices for all the characters. Sebastian wanted to be an artist when he grew up, and he certainly got enough practice. Once, he even made Roderich take him into Vienna so he could see the Schönbrunn Palace. The two came back with a sketchbook full of Sebastian's drawings of the palace and the gardens, rather good for a seven year old. Then he went through his architect phase, designing houses and castles for his tin soldiers out of blocks.
And then one night Sebastian went to sleep and didn't wake up.
Roderich found him first; Franz snuggled into the crook of his pale arm. He tried for hours to wake him up, refusing to believe his little boy was gone. Finally he gave up, holding Elizabeta and sobbing.
No one knew why he died. They locked up his bedroom, hid anything of his from sight, almost pretended like there hadn't ever been a child here. Elizabeta couldn't even bring herself to do anything for several weeks after his funeral. She'd just sit by the window and think about her beautiful son, of his drawings and his friends. Franz was her only companion during those lonely weeks, as Roderich had to go back to work. But when he came home, he'd go right to his wife and cry with her.
Over time they healed, Sebastian's friends stop coming to the back door asking for him to come and play, people stopped visiting and trying to comfort the two. The world seemed to forget Sebastian Edelstein was ever here.
They used to go visit his grave regularly, bringing flowers and drawings Elizabeta made for him. The two would tell their little boy of what was going on in the world, how Franz was doing, what his friends were up to, and how much they loved him. But they hadn't gone for a long time, what with Roderich being how he was.
Franz gave a contempt meow, leaping down onto the keys. A loud barrage of notes startled Elizabeta out of her reverie, bringing her back to the real world.
"You're right. She probably thinks I'm a failure. I try so hard with everything, and yet I can't even make her happy. God, Franz, how'd you get stuck with a terrible father like me? You know," he sighed, picking up the cat from his beloved piano and putting him down. "Maybe she's secretly filing for divorce."
Elizabeta couldn't stand this anymore. She was going to go in there and make Roderich believe that she loved him. Acting like she hadn't heard anything, she waltzed right into the living room and gave Roderich a hug. "Good morning, Roddy."
"Good morning. Listen, do you really love me?" Roderich asked, pushing her away. "You're still mad about the lamp, aren't you? Or you're mad about the ceiling tiles, or maybe Sebastian?"
"No, dear, I still love you. Please, don't think things like that, alright? I love you no matter what happens."
"Can I ask you something?" Roderich pushed up his glasses, looking away from her.
"What do you want?" Elizabeta sat down next to him on the bench.
"Can we go visit Sebastian? He told me he's lonely last night."
Elizabeta was a bit shocked, but managed to contain her surprise. "He told you?"
"I hear voices sometimes," Roderich explained like he was talking about the weather. "The two men from my company – Banner and Klemperer – they talk to me about the war. Some days they're being nice and talking about how much fun we had in Gallipoli, and others they're accusing me of killing them. They mock me and laugh, and they say that I let the enemy murder them." Roderich put his hands over his ears, screwing his eyes shut. He looked absolutely terrified, eyebrows knitted together in fear. Elizabeta held him again, trying to get him to calm down.
"It's alright, dear. They're not here anymore."
"Are you sure?" Roderich asked, opening one eye. He sounded like a frightened child during a thunderstorm, doubting Elizabeta's words.
"I'm positive."
Roderich slowly put his hands down, looking around uncertainly. "And then I hear my father, but sometimes I don't know the voice. It's a really devilish sounding voice, one that hurts my head. But I heard Sebastian last night!" Roderich said cheerfully, despite talking of such horrible things. "He said he was afraid all by himself and he wanted me to go see him."
Elizabeta swallowed hard, trying to register everything. Just when she'd thought that her husband was somewhat fine again, he started rambling on about two men who died back in 1917 talking to him. What was she supposed to answer? If she said no, there would definitely be a huge fight. And if she said yes, Elizabeta was risking Roderich being seen in public. Either choice had a terrible outcome.
"I…I don't really think so?" She answered, although it was more of an uncertain question. Deep down, she knew that was the wrong response. But she wasn't going to let the world see what her husband had become. Roderich could not be seen by anyone they knew, and that was that.
"So you'd betray your own son?" Roderich stood up quickly, glaring at Elizabeta with all the ferocity of a beast. "I thought you were better than this!"
"I'm sorry, but it just isn't going to work out." Elizabeta braced herself for what came next; she knew she'd picked the wrong choice.
Roderich didn't say anything, but rather stormed upstairs. Elizabeta trailed behind, hoping he wasn't going to try anything rash. But when she got to the top of the stairs, all those hopes were gone.
He was trying to open Sebastian's bedroom, slamming all of his weight against the door. Thankfully, the door wasn't budging. But that sense that Roderich still had kicked in, and he went into their bedroom, returning with a loop of keys. Elizabeta couldn't do anything but watch as he opened the door and went inside.
Slowly she went over to the doorway, right as Roderich collapsed onto Sebastian's bed. He was now screaming at the top of his lungs, clutching the blankets in tight fists. Elizabeta was absolutely terrified. She had no idea what to do this time. Most of the time she could at the very least pull him away from whatever upset him. But this time she couldn't bring herself to go into Sebastian's bedroom. She'd end up just like Roderich was now – screaming like a madman.
So she just walked away and let him scream. For several hours he stayed up there, going between sobbing and yelling. And Elizabeta carried on with her normal routine, like she had every day. She had to have some sort of order in her house.
Mein Bruders
"We can do this, got it?" Elizabeta put a hand on Roderich's shoulder, but he was ignoring her as always.
"Why wouldn't we?" He said in a monotone voice, not even glancing at her.
Elizabeta pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to snap. "Don't have a fit while your brothers are here. Just please, can we keep this a nice day?"
Roderich didn't reply.
Elizabeta took one more look in the mirror, and then she heard the foreboding knock at the door. Saying a quick Hail Mary, she walked out of the bedroom and went downstairs. Roderich followed behind, muttering to himself. With a hand trembling almost as bad as Roderich's did, she opened the door.
"Hello!" She managed to chirp, despite being in complete panic on the inside.
"Oh, my God, you're actually alive!" Roderich's younger brother, Gilbert, pulled Elizabeta into a tight hug. The man had always been very fond of her, joking that they should've been married instead of Roderich and Elizabeta. It was certainly a welcomed surprise to be back in someone's arms for Elizabeta, not being the one holding the other. "We've been sending you telegrams and letters for months now." He let Elizabeta go, ruffling her hair.
"No you haven't," Roderich said, glancing at Elizabeta almost suspiciously.
Elizabeta mentally cursed – she'd been hiding the letters and telegrams for a better time. She feared that if Roderich read them now, he'd have another outburst. So they were safely tucked away in the cellar, waiting for a time where Roderich could handle things.
"Oh, really?" Elizabeta tried not to seem too nervous. "We haven't received any of them."
"The damn postman probably keeps losing them," the second youngest brother, Basch, growled. He wasn't known for his pleasant attitude, usually making crude comments about everything.
"Why don't you all come in?" Elizabeta said.
Soon Gilbert, Basch, and Ludwig, the baby of the family, were sitting in their living room. Roderich was doing rather excellent today – actually responding to questions, making eye contact, and even laughing with his siblings. Elizabeta's earlier unease was a far away thought now as she listened to the men recall stories from their childhood. All she did was sit back and pet Franz until the tomcat fell asleep on her lap. Why couldn't every day be this peaceful?
"When did you get so big, Ludwig?" Roderich asked, looking over at his baby brother. "Last time we saw each other, you were just a little thing. Hell, you were only four when I went off to war."
"I got myself a job with a freight company," Ludwig replied. "All day I load and unload whatever they're sending into Berlin."
"Berlin? You're in Germany now?" Roderich's eyes lit up a bit, the first genuine emotion Elizabeta had seen out of him in a while.
"Ja. I wrote to you about it, but evidently the postman doesn't want you to hear of our personal lives."
Roderich looked over at Elizabeta, still seeming distrustful of her. "And you two haven't moved, right?"
"Actually, I'm working in Königsburg. Mr. Beilschmidt, your professional bartender," Gilbert said, sticking out his hand. "They had me change my last name. Obviously, Edelstein was just too feminine."
"And I'm in Bern, with a gun shop." Basch added.
"How could I ever miss all of this?" Roderich leant back, glaring at Elizabeta. He knew she was hiding the letters. But how? She hadn't been overly suspicious; she did a very good job of hiding them – a loose floorboard in the corner of the cellar, and she definitely hadn't given anything away.
"You took them, didn't you?" Roderich got up, going over to Elizabeta. Franz bolted at the sight of him, disappearing to where Elizabeta wished she could go. Dear God, she silently cried. Please don't let him snap, please don't let him snap, please don't let him snap.
"Where are they?" He asked, his voice much higher than usual. This only happened when he got extremely angry.
Elizabeta motioned for him to come closer, ignoring his brothers' concerned looks. "I will give them to you when they leave. Please, try to stay calm," she whispered.
"That won't work," Roderich whispered back. "I need them now."
"Please, Roderich. I beg you, just be good for a few more hours."
"I am not a child anymore. Give me the letters or I will be forced to tear apart this whole house for them."
Elizabeta looked up into his vacant eyes, trying to find the words to use. But she was at a complete loss. She'd never tried to deal with Roderich in the company of other people. What was she going to do if he –
"I said, give them to me!" Roderich roared, pinning his wife to the couch.
"Roderich, stop it. She hasn't taken anything." Gilbert was trying the calm approach. However, he didn't know that once Roderich was in a fit, there was no way to back out of it. Nothing was going to work now.
"Yes, she has! I know it! She took my music, she took my uniform, she took my gun – why not my letters? I know she wants to keep me away from the real world for some reason!" Roderich pushed down a bit harder on her shoulders, still managing to look dead inside while being furious.
"Get off of her," Ludwig said, going over to the man. He pulled Roderich away with ease, being several times bigger than the scrawny Austrian.
Of course, this only fed the fire.
"What would you know about this, brat?! You haven't lived in this house for months with her! She's trying to hide me! What am I," he snapped, twisting to look at Elizabeta. "Some sort of disgrace to you?"
"No! Please, I'm doing all of this for your own good," Elizabeta answered, glaring at Roderich with equal intensity.
"Lies!"
"Would I lie to you?"
Roderich smirked at her, still trying to break free from Ludwig's hold. "You lied about the letters."
"How did you even know about that?" She asked, wondering where she could've slipped up.
"Do you remember our talk about the voices? The unknown one told me. Well, not specifically, but he said you were hiding something from me! And would you look at this, he's right!" Roderich started hysterically laughing, stopping his struggle to escape from Ludwig's thick arms.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Basch grabbed Roderich's face, holding him still.
"Don't you know?" Roderich gasped in between fits of laughter. "I am a madman! I'm absolutely insane!"
"Stop it," Gilbert growled.
"What? I am mad!"
"No you're not," Ludwig said, looking over at Elizabeta for support.
She couldn't tell him the truth. Couldn't they see by his erratic actions and words that he wasn't right in the head? Or perhaps this was all because they were brothers. It would be rather hard for Elizabeta to believe that one of her own siblings was mad.
"You think this is hilarious, don't you?" Basch pulled something from his pocket, a stiletto blade appearing a moment later. "It's some kind of joke. Now, would you kindly stop?"
"Basch, stop! We can handle this without violence!" Gilbert took the blade from his hands, passing it to Elizabeta. She didn't know what to do with a knife. Carefully she tried to fold it back in without cutting herself – it looked rather sharp – but there was some sort of locking mechanism.
"Please don't hurt me." Roderich looked up at Ludwig, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He suddenly seemed a bit calmer, almost concerned for his life. "Did you know that there are eighteen ceiling tiles in the front hall? And Elizabeta and I were married on June 18th, 1918? Isn't that just the strangest thing?"
"There are thirty-one tiles."
Roderich broke his gaze with Ludwig, looking at Elizabeta. "What do you mean?"
"There are thirty-one tiles. I counted them a while ago," Elizabeta admitted shamefully, folding the blade back into place.
"No, there's only eighteen." Roderich sounded like he doubted himself, looking out the window instead of at anyone. "I can still count."
"Can we not argue about this?" Ludwig asked, his voice giving away how shaken he was.
"There's only eighteen," Roderich repeated. He was nearly crying as he stared out the window to the world he hadn't been in for months. "There's only eighteen."
"Roderich? Please stop." Gilbert was trying the gentle thing again, putting a hand on Roderich's shoulder. Roderich started crying, refusing to tear his eyes from the window. His brother tried to make him stop, but his efforts were wasted.
"There's only eighteen."
Gardens of Red
"It says here he was in the Great War. Has he ever had night terrors?" The doctor asked, looking at the paper and then up at Roderich. The Austrian had his head hung, staring down intently at his lap.
"No, sir. He's never acted out like this before," Elizabeta answered.
"And how long ago did this behaviour start?"
Elizabeta had to pause and think for a moment. "Around last November?"
"Oh, my." The doctor scribbled down some notes on the paper. "And you waited this long to bring him in?"
"I still thought it was just a phase. But now…It's like he's not even there." Elizabeta grabbed Roderich's hand, giving it a small squeeze. He didn't even curl his fingers around her hand.
The doctor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ma'am, I believe he has a case of paranoia. It's the only way all the tantrums and reports of voices add up. The best I can do is recommending a sanatorium. If he really is as bad as you describe him, well, you're a braver person than I am to live with him for this long."
"Are you sure there aren't any medicines or surgeries you could do? Please, sir, tell me there's something you can do." Elizabeta cringed at the desperation in her voice, but she was scared for her husband. She'd read the articles on institutions – the horror stories of patients being tortured and starved to death.
"The brain is a very complex thing. We use medicines to fix infections and viruses, and surgeries to fix serious injuries, but we can't just make someone think straight again." The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile, making Elizabeta want to throw up. How dare he pretend like he understood the situation. Was he married to Roderich for almost ten years? Did he grow up with him like Elizabeta had? Where was he at Sebastian's funeral? This man knew nothing of their struggles.
"Here." He handed Elizabeta a slip of paper – a request for Roderich to be admitted to an asylum. "Red Garden has a few open places. I'm sure Mr. Edelstein will –"
Elizabeta didn't give him a chance to finish. Without a word of thanks, she tore the paper from his hands and left with Roderich in tow. She'd finally gone to a professional for advice, not to be told that her husband was just a madman and was completely hopeless. She stormed right out of the office, keeping a tight grip on Roderich's wrist.
"What am I ever going to do with you?" She sighed when they got home. Roderich didn't answer as usual, but went and sat down at that same spot on the stairs. His hands were shaking badly, so much more so than they had even a week ago.
Anyone could see that he was slowly deteriorating. Roderich's dark hair was very rarely combed, only when Elizabeta got fed up with his appearance and did it herself. One of the lenses of his glasses was cracked from an episode a few days ago. Dark rings hung under his dead eyes, his jaw line much more prominent than it used to be. The clothes Elizabeta had picked out lovingly for him that day hung off his shoulders; the coat that had once been tailored to perfection was a bit too long.
Anyone but Elizabeta could see that her husband was a shell of a man.
"There's still eighteen," he announced in that same pale voice, this time much quieter.
"As there always have been."
Elizabeta hung up her coat, going off to the living room. Roderich followed her, but instead sat down at the piano bench. Hoping he was going to play, Elizabeta perked right up. But he gazed at the ivory keys, trying to make sense of them. She knew he wasn't going to do anything, so she grabbed her fifteenth sketchbook, opening to the drawing she'd started this morning. Snatching up a pencil, she began the shadowing of the feathers on Sebastian's wings. Her little boy was an angel, watching over the three of them – Elizabeta, Roderich, and Franz.
"Klemperer, they're calling me crazy now," Roderich said, talking to his old military buddy. "Well, that time we jumped the French was rather insane. But they're calling me mad mad."
Elizabeta tucked the pencil behind her ear, falling back against the couch. Roderich only talked to the voices in his head now. Communication between husband and wife was forbidden to him now. War friends and his father got all the attention. He treated Elizabeta like she was invisible, never saying much more than a simple "yes" or "no" to her questions.
"Oh, what do you know about crazy men? Banner, you know I'm not mad, right?"
"Will you stop it?" Elizabeta cried, sitting upright again.
"Your opinion is not needed here." Roderich wasn't talking to her, but to one of the voices.
Elizabeta covered her eyes with her hands, not even realizing that she was crying until she felt her tears. All she wanted was her Roderich back, and that was too much to ask for. She wanted to hold him and dance and laugh and talk. But she was stuck with this sorry excuse of a husband, a man who ranted on to dead people and his cat. Why did this have to happen to her? The woman was a good Catholic, never once thought of doing horrible things, volunteered in the Red Cross during the Great War, and yet she was being punished.
Why do bad things have to happen to good people?
"Please, just stop it," she sobbed, looking up at Roderich. "Talk to me for once!"
Roderich glanced her way – a huge victory for Elizabeta. She was being acknowledged.
"Will you stop talking? I can't hear my father," he said, pushing up his glasses.
Realizing that this was her chance, Elizabeta wiped at her tears and decided to play him right. "No, I will not stop. Once upon a time, I had a husband who would listen to me."
"Please stop."
"That won't work with me!" Elizabeta laughed. "And this husband was the dearest thing, always hugging and kissing. He brought me roses, and cakes, fancy jewelry –"
"Elizabeta." Roderich's tone was the one he used to use with Sebastian, the I-am-the-authority-here voice. Normally, she would've shrunk back, but he actually said her name. This was the best moment of today by far.
"Roderich, just talk to me for a few minutes. I want to know about what's going on in your head, so maybe I can help."
"No."
Elizabeta's hopes burned up in an instant. He went back to the "yes or no" response. There wasn't a way to get him talking again. She was doomed to repeat this cycle over and over to the point of her own insanity.
"Alright. You have fun with Klemperer and Banner. I have some business to attend to." She put her sketchbook down, walking into the kitchen. Pulling the piece of paper from her pocket, she picked up the phone.
"Hello, operator? I need you to connect me to Red Garden Institution."
Ten Years Ago
Elizabeta's mother put the final pin in her daughter's hair, finishing the elegant braid. With gentle hands, she eased the veil onto her head. Red dots still tainted the old lace, although they were a bit more brownish now.
"There. You look pretty enough to go marry that Łukasiewicz boy." Her mother handed her the bouquet of edelweiss that the two had picked, tucking a stray curl behind Elizabeta's ear.
"Mother! Feliks is not the man for me at all! Firstly, his hair is way too long. And then I'd have to get over his friends, who are all very irritating," Elizabeta snapped, remembering the annoying boy who lived across the street and all of his friends. Everyone thought Feliks and Elizabeta were going to be married someday, until Elizabeta beat Feliks up for making fun of Roderich's glasses.
"It's a joke, dear. Now, you need to get going." Her mother gave her a grin, urging her out the door.
Thankfully it wasn't raining today, as Elizabeta stepped out from her house in her wedding dress. In her arms she carried a uniform and a bouquet of edelweiss, along with a few books and a sketchpad. What a sight to behold in the streets of Vienna – a bride walking down the sidewalk with her mother holding up her train. Needless to say, they got plenty of stares and whispers. A few girls thought Elizabeta was a princess, and ran up to her asking a thousand questions about castles and princes. Elizabeta smiled politely and told them she was a bride, which only got them more riled up.
By the time they got to Red Garden, they were thirty minutes late.
"Hello, I'm here to see Mr. Edelstein," Elizabeta told the secretary. She must've been new here, because she gave Elizabeta a rather strange look. The regular secretaries wouldn't have even looked up.
"Um…what's your name?" She asked, unable to get over the fact that there was a woman in a bridal dress standing in front of her.
"Elizabeta! Oh, my God, dear, you look beautiful!" Lilli chirped, appearing from the door behind the front desk.
"Same goes for you," Elizabeta said as Lilli came up and hugged her.
"Please, I hardly spent any time on myself this morning." Lilli backed away from Elizabeta, looking her up and down. "That is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Thank you. Are his brothers here yet?"
"Ja, they arrived a little bit ago. Come on, I'll take you there. Natalia, mark off Elizabeta Edelstein's name, alright?"
"Sure." The secretary took a final worried glance at Elizabeta, and then went back to work.
Lilli led Elizabeta up to room 64001 of the lavender ward, talking the whole way. Elizabeta had grown to be quite close friends with her over the past few months, as she visited Roderich every day. When she finally got bored of a one sided conversation, she'd go down and work on something in the lobby before heading home. That's where the two met – Lilli, the head nurse, and Elizabeta, wife of a patient – and a nearly inseparable friendship was formed. Every day they laughed for hours until they were told to be quiet, which only made them laugh harder. They'd been together through thick and thin; the time when Roderich tried to strangle himself with a bed sheet, when he said a few full sentences to someone besides the voices. Without Lilli, Elizabeta would probably be insane herself.
"Mr. Edelstein? Elizabeta's here to see you." Lilli knocked gently on the door, and then pushed it open. Ludwig, Basch, and Gilbert looked at them, Gilbert's eyes growing wide at the sight of Elizabeta.
Roderich glanced up from his tiny desk, making eye contact with Elizabeta. His violet eyes lit up – he recognized her. Some days he would ask one of the voices who the stranger in the room with him could be. This was already a step up from normal.
"Oh, my God, you look gorgeous."
Elizabeta had to try very hard not to cry right there. The first time in months Roderich had said something to her – an actual compliment. Everyone else was in awe too, acting like Roderich had just said his first words.
"Look what she brought for you." Lilli took the uniform from her arms, bringing it over to him. "Do you know what today is?"
"Eighteen ceiling tiles," Roderich said quietly, picking up the uniform. "Today's June 18th, isn't it? June 18th, 1929. Ten years."
"Happy anniversary!" Elizabeta cheered, wiping at her eyes.
In a matter of minutes, Roderich was in his uniform. He looked just like Elizabeta remembered on that hot summer night, getting love life advice from his bachelor brother, Gilbert, his face red with blush as his sibling described some of his adventures with women. For just a day he was that man from so long ago, that man with the perfect smile and the distinct little mole on his chin. Elizabeta couldn't stand to hold in her emotions anymore, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Don't cry." Roderich wiped at her face with a gloved hand, although he was in tears too.
"I love you, Roderich. I really, really love you."
Roderich pulled her in for a tight hug, his hands still trembling. "I love you. I'm so sorry for what I've done."
"You don't need to be."
For the first time in a long while, the two had a civilized conversation. A real, back and forth conversation, with some meaning behind the words and feelings. She gave him the books and showed him some of her new drawings, and they smiled and laughed like a real married couple did. And of course, they cried. Elizabeta prayed that the days of "yes or no" were over, that he'd finally healed and snapped out of it. But every so often he had to stop to shush Klemperer or his father – he still wasn't over the voices.
"Sebastian says you look beautiful today," Roderich said, holding Elizabeta's hand.
"Tell him thank you and that Mother loves him," Elizabeta replied, not even the slightest bit bothered that he was talking to a dead person again.
"Mother loves you, Sebastian. Father does too."
No one seemed to be scared of Roderich's voices anymore. They all just accepted them as part of who he was. Roderich Edelstein – composer, conductor, war hero, father, madman, and Elizabeta's husband. She finally was alright with him talking to no one, with the trembling in his hands, with his monotone voice. Marriage was for better or for worse, and she was determined to make this time better.
Nobody Knows
"Franz died a few days ago. He got out the front door, and got hit by one of those new cars. Well, I guess that's life. He was a rather old cat. Buried him under the tree in the backyard," Elizabeta sighed, twirling a strand of hair.
As always, there was no response.
"You know, maybe I should get a new cat. Name it something nice, like Lilli. Speaking of Lilli, she ended up marrying Basch. How strange is that? Of all the people in this ridiculous world, Basch and Lilli got together. Their wedding was lovely, by the way. She looked gorgeous, and I saw Basch cry for the second time ever. I wish I could get a photograph of that."
Elizabeta laughed to herself, standing up from the patch of grass between the two markers. Sebastian Edelstein and Roderich Edelstein rested side by side, son and father. Nobody knew how either died. Both passed in their sleep, found peaceful the next morning. Poor Lilli, though. She was hysterical for weeks afterwards, thinking she'd somehow killed Roderich.
But Elizabeta wasn't that distraught. Sure, she did sob and wish he was still here, but maybe it was for the better. He didn't have anything left here in this world, besides her. And in reality, she wasn't that much.
So, Elizabeta sat between them when she came to visit, talking to both loved ones. She always brought flowers for the two, sharing stories of what the day was like or who she overheard on the train. Several hours were spent in her little patch of grass every trip, where she spoke to the dead while she ate her lunch.
She was just as mad as Roderich was. They were nearly identical now – she didn't talk to long gone war friends, but she talked to her dead family all day in her lonely house, and she always counted the ceiling tiles when she came in the front door. There were eighteen exactly, never anymore, never any less. Her mind was just like his; just as broken, just as crippled, just as burned.
"Oh, wait, I forgot to tell you." She sat down again, putting a hand to Roderich's tombstone. "Ludwig found a girlfriend. All I know is she's a lovely little doll nicknamed Feli. Big eyes and dark hair, wants to be a chef in Berlin. And Gilbert, well, he's still alone. Probably going to die that way. He can't stand to think of marrying me anymore. Guess we solved that problem. "
She traced the letters of his name, giving the stone a kiss.
"Goodbye, Roderich. Say hello to Sebastian for me."