Chapter 2: Tragedy in the East
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Tag um Tag, Jahr um Jahr,
Wenn ich durch diese Straßen geh',
Seh ich wie die Ruinen dieser Stadt
Wieder zu Häusern auferstehen...
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Germany had had enough. He would not sit idly and hope time would undo the injustice he and his people had suffered. He swore to travel to the Communist Eastern Bloc and demand justice from Russia himself. It was a desperate tactic, but he was too conscious of his country's image to attempt an aggressive attack as he wanted. Better to be civil and prove to the world that Germany still maintained its dignity and rationale. As he strapped his gun in its leather holster, checking his grim expression in the mirror as he donned his military cap, Germany mused on the fact he had resolved to take his adoptive daughter along with him. Not that he did not trust her alone in the house, but because, alone, she was vulnerable to those rampaging Russian POWs and rogue soldiers. And if they caught her…
Germany's insides boiled and he furiously shoved the notion away. He couldn't bear it.
Standing upright, the tall man made his way to the door of his room. Glancing round wistfully, he wondered when he would see its familiar interior again. Germany steeled his resolve, nodded firmly, and shut the door behind him.
Making his way down the corridor (painstakingly furnished to suit Germany's clean-cut taste), black boots thudding methodically on the gleaming wood floorboards, he stopped before a familiar door to his left, and knocked twice.
'Bavaria, are you ready?' he asked.
'Yes, Vatti!' came the cheerful little voice behind it. Moments later the blond-haired girl, clad in a modest velvet blue dress and hat, and white shoes, stepped out.
She smiled up at him, but Germany could easily detect her nervousness in her unusually pale skin and the strained contours of her face.
'Right then,' he said, forcing confidence, and taking his daughter's hand in his gloved one, 'Let's go.'
Bavaria nodded, and together they made their solitary way down the corridor, left into the main hall, and out of the great doors into the unknown.
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Bavaria. His daughter, Bavaria. As Germany walked with her hand-in-hand down the concrete steps and towards the iron gates at the far end of the garden path, he reflected on how they had not always been like this.
Old Bavaria was her true father—the remnants of the time when his country had been its own, before it had joined Prussia, along with his fellow southern brothers Baden and Wüttemberg, to be included in the North German Federation in order to escape the invading French forces. After this, Old Bavaria had become fully part of the German Empire in 1871. Soon after, Old Bavaria died, leaving behind his only daughter, the new heir to the once-independent nation, in his place. She had been born only months beforehand, and Germany himself was a youngster in his mid-teens. But this did not stop Germany from adopting Bavaria and fashioning himself as her father-figure, to protect her as part of himself (as she was, in all respect), and to love her for all her similarities and differences from himself.
As part of her father's final wishes, Germany had let Bavaria keep all her old traditions; clothing, events and all, educated her in all of them (having been too young to remember any), and included her among his family and all its drama. Although...Germany thought Old Bavaria would not object to his keeping her away from the region's famous beer festivals until she came of age. Well...make that early twenties, if Germany and all his over-protectiveness had his way. Ultimately, as far as he was concerned, she was family too. Bavaria and all her happy-go-lucky charm. Prussia had not been too thrilled (although as of late he had not been able to tell if his feelings had altered), but Germany had refused to debate the matter, and so he had begrudgingly held his tongue.
And so, here they were, a hundred or so years later, waking together to face the enemy that had broken their beloved land apart, to put things right again.
Watching the rising concrete wall steadily revealing itself in their vision, ugly and hateful, the symbol of all their misery, standing stubbornly beyond the Brandenburg Gate, Germany's grip on his daughter's hand tightened.
Do not worry, Bavaria. Vatti will unite us all again. Everything shall be well.
They walked silently under the great concrete edifice that was the Brandenburg Gate, on which the famous quadriga(1) stood. Germany snorted bitterly as he considered that the horse-drawn chariot was driven by Victory, and her olive wreath was meant to symbolise peace. Peace! In this war-broken land! Victory, riding ever in the face of utter defeat that now plagued the lives of his people. The irony was almost too much.
Approaching the odious Berlin Wall, a shape in the watchtower nearby moved and threw a sniper rifle out at their heads.
'Halt!(2)' the guard bellowed. 'Wer bist Sie?(3)'
'DEUTSCHLAND!' Germany yelled in reply, glaring up at the man with hate in his fierce cobalt-blue eyes. 'I want to speak to Russia!'
The guard started back, aghast. Then, after seeming to consider, motioned over the other side of the wall with a free hand.
'Climb over our little wall, then, and pass!' he challenged spitefully, laughing.
Germany seethed with rage, face reddening. He wanted to rip this traitor to shreds!
Bavaria tugged at his military overall, shaking her head.
The blonde regarded her, sighed, and cooled down somewhat.
Defiantly, Germany guided the girl to the nearby storage shed—a huge steel building, in which they stored their resources and armaments—and took out the longest ladder they owned, carrying it back together and placing it firmly against the wall at a 90 degree angle.
The man in the tower watched, amused.
Grasping the wooden hilts, Germany shook it to test it was firmly and safely grounded. It stubbornly resisted his touch, and was thus stable. Satisfied, he motioned to Bavaria that he was going up first, and that she was to follow after.
With that, he began to climb. As he ascended, Germany glanced at the guard and his weapon, but dismissed the idea that he would so much as dare to shoot the embodiment of the country he had once been part of and loved, nor the defenceless child of the region which was both no threat or in their control. Germany also considered the sheer absurdity of the whole situation. He was climbing a wall into his own homeland! Those bastards...
Gritting his teeth, Germany eased himself onto the narrow top of the wall, positioning himself so that one leg hung on either side of the great stone barrier. He took the opportunity to look towards the ruins of the East, standing stubborn and depleted amidst the grand house in which his sworn enemy basked in his people's slow demise.
The sky above was ash grey.
Coming back to himself, Germany down to motion Bavaria upwards, but found she had already begun her ascent in one of her moments of single-minded decisiveness.
'Careful, now!' he warned, uneasy. His unease throbbed up a notch as she stumbled and fell down one step, gasping and steadying herself before continuing upwards. Germany sighed and rubbed his forehead in relief.
Finally, she reached the top and extended a hand, which he took to pull her up. Both of them lifted up the ladder and lowered it down the other side to repeat the process in reverse. Germany once again went first on account of Bavaria's safety, and again she followed.
They landed, and turned to face the house erected by the Soviet Union—the intrusive embodiment of their claim on German soil; their right to sustain or destroy it as they so pleased.
Germany hated it with all his being, and that hatred intensified as he looked around at his once familiar eastern territory.
Bavaria also stared, wide-eyed and stunned. This was the East. Boarded-up houses near the Wall, desolate and decaying, a safety measure to prevent further escapes; streets ridden with rubble, remnants of the bloody battles that had once tore through them; gardens neglected and dying, and the people who roamed the cobbled roads trying to maintain the lives that had been stolen from them, resigning and in despair.
Suddenly, she noticed something shaking near her, and looked to see Germany, overcome with passion, barely able to contain himself.
'That bastard...' he snarled, face twisted with a righteous fury. 'I'll kill him...I'll KILL HIM!' almost shouting the last two words, Germany stormed forwards with the savage intent of raging through those iron doors and strangling Russia with his own bare hands.
Bavaria grabbed him round the middle and held him back with every ounce of strength.
'Vatti, no! You can't!' she insisted fiercely. 'What will come of that? You can't kill Russia himself—if you do, what will happen to his people who rely upon him for their very existence? Kill Russia and his boss will kill you, and then we really will be damned! And I...I don't want to lose you, Vatti!'
Germany gazed down at his adoptive daughter's shining sapphire eyes, and saw the truth. She was right, that he could not deny. Russia himself was ultimately blameless for the carnage of war that his leader had forced upon his shoulders, just as he himself was. All he could hope for was that Russia was strong enough to defy his own leader and listen to reason, if he was rational enough as this point to do so. War could destroy the mind, he knew. And Russia had seen and felt the agony of countless bloodshed. This recent one may have driven him well and truly over the edge.
He could only hope -pray- that Russia had managed to hold on.
Silently, he nodded, and squeezed Bavaria's hand.
'I don't want to lose you either,' he admitted solemnly. He would not lose anyone to those scumbags again.
She smiled in relief, and returned the gesture as they made their way towards the great iron doors to the home of the Communist East.
Two East German guards stood on either side, immaculate and threatening in their long grey coats and rigid stance, and regarded him with blank eyes. They had lost their souls, just as any who served Germany's enemy had.
'Was ist Ihr Abeit hier?(4)' the left guard inquired.
Germany looked the man straight in the eyes, unflinching.
'Verhandlung. Mit Sowjetischenrussland,(5)' Germany replied firmly.
The two guards looked at one another, nodded, and one stepped forward to confiscate Germany's gun, before both stepped aside to let him pass.
They remained silent, regarding Germany from the corner of their eye with emotions flickering inside them that Germany could not fully comprehend. Was it yearning? Hope? He could not tell.
Regardless, he had no time to waste. He pushed open the doors with both hands, and stepped into the Great Hall.
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They could only stare. It was truly a grimly spectacular sight. Straight-forward yet powerful, the simple yet bold designs of the walls, black marble floors gleaming in the glow of the brass chandelier overhead. Red flags bearing the hammer and sickle emblem shouted out their dominance as they hung huge and glaring from the ceiling and the banister of the great staircase leading to the top floor, on which Germany knew Russia would be.
Resolutely, he made his way forwards, flanked instantly by Russian guards with their rifles, Bavaria clinging to his leg in fear as they marched across the marble hall, up the steps, and left along the banister towards the door, behind which the embodiment of the world's largest and second most powerful nation sat.
The guard motioned him to stop, and went forward to knock on the door.
'Кто - там(6)?' inquired a familiar soft Russian voice.
'Германия - здесь. Он желания, чтобы говорить(7),' replied the soldier.
'Пожалуйста, впустите его,(8)' bade his country's personification pleasantly.
Germany clenched his free fist. Russia's almost insincere joviality rubbed him the wrong way, as it always had.
Presently, the guard nodded to him, stood on one side of the entrance along with his comrade, the former opening the door for him.
On the other side of the room, Russia sat, smiling all over his mask-like face as he patiently sat at his desk, awaiting them both.
'Well well,' the light-haired Russian exclaimed. 'I expected you would eventually come here, da. Please, sit, and we will talk.'
He motioned to the two seats placed in front of him.
Germany and Bavaria did as they were bid. Germany never took his eyes off Russia's violet ones.
'Now,' Russia resumed, smiling despite the pressure of Germany's piercing gaze. 'To business. What do you want from me?'
'Freedom of the Eastern region from your hands,' Germany insisted firmly, eyes blazing.
Russia stared at the blonde blankly for a moment. Then laughed loudly.
'What's so damn funny?' Germany snarled, ready to stand up, but held down by Bavaria's desperate hands.
Russia proceeded to giggle slightly as he wiped his eyes.
'Aaah, Germany, Germany...' he sighed, as if recalling a fond memory. 'So naive. So impossible obstinate. You know that request is impossible, given by current boss's determination to keep all his acquired territories. Just as you could not defy your own leader, so I cannot defy mine. I have to obey his wishes, if only for the stability of my homeland.'
Russia's eyes dimmed as he looked vacantly into the distance.
'As you are aware, my homeland has been anything but stable in the recent years, and now that there is a semblance of peace—at least, in my country—I will do anything to keep it for as long as it will last. Even if it means keeping this eastern territory under my iron grip.'
Germany slammed his fist on Russia's desk, fuming.
'Then you're a coward!' he seethed. 'A coward and a hypocrite! How dare you inflict the same poverty and misery on others that you have experienced yourself all these years! How DARE you?'
'I would be careful with your words if I were you,' Russia said quietly, expression deadly calm. 'You wouldn't want me to extend by borders any further inland, do you? Perhaps to take a bit of the south? You know...the region called Bavaria...'
Germany paled, and Bavaria clung to him in terror.
'You wouldn't—!'
'Oh, believe me, I would,' Russia cut in softly, eyes like ice. 'And you know the Western powers would rather die than create another world war crossing me on your behalf.'
Germany was shaking with rage—rage and despair, knowing that all the taller man said was true.
Russia smiled again, all traces of cold malice gone.
'So, with that cleared up, I'm afraid all I can do is send you home again, Germany. I am sorry, but until another more lenient boss takes over power, I can't help you.'
He waved them away.
'Until then.'
Stunned and numb with the shock of complete and final dismissal, and the failure of all his desperate hopes, Germany lifted himself and Bavaria up, turned, and walked out of Russia's office without a word.
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As they exited the house, stricken, a passing stranger in eastern military uniform caught their eye. The man looked up from the ground and regarded them.
Red eyes. Shock of silver hair...
'B—Bruder?(9)' Germany stammered hoarsely.
The two divided brothers, East and West, gazed at each other as if they had never thought to set eyes on each other again, strangers to all intents and purposes, but bound by those unseverable threads of brotherhood that still remained between them despite everything.
Prussia's crimson eyes, dull with despair, narrowed grimly as he frowned.
'Ich wünschte, ich hätte dich nie unter diesen Umständen angetroffen,' he admitted, his usual brash voice slow and doleful. 'Tja. Das Schicksal ist eine Schlampe, oder?(10)'
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Day by day, year by year
When I walk through the streets
I see the ruins of this city
Arise to houses again...
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Footnotes/Translations:
1: Quadriga on the Brandenburg Gate: The Berlin Quadriga was designed by Johann Gottfried Schadow in 1793 as the Quadriga of Victory, as a symbol of peace (represented by the olive wreath carried by Victory). Located atop the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, Germany, it was seized by Napoleon during his occupation of Berlin in 1806, and taken to Paris. It was returned to Berlin by Field Marshal Gebhard von Blücher in 1814. Her olive wreath was subsequently replaced by an Iron Cross. The statue suffered severe damage during the Second World War, and the association of the Iron Cross with Prussian militarism convinced the Communist government of East Germany to remove this aspect of the statue after the war. The iron cross was restored after German reunification in 1990.
2: 'Halt!'—'Stop there/halt.'
3: 'Wer sind Sie?'—formal, 'Who are you?'
4: Was ist Ihr Arbeit hier?'—‚What is your business here?'
5: 'Verhandlung. Mit Sowjetischenrussland'—'Negotiation. With Soviet Russia.'
6: 'Кто – там?'—'Who is it?'
7: 'Германия - здесь. Он желания, чтобы говорить.'—Germany is here. He wants to talk.'
8: 'Пожалуйста, впустите его.'—'Please, let him in.'
9: Bruder—Brother.
10: Ich wünschte, ich hätte dich nie unter diesen Umständen angetroffen. Tja. Das Schicksal ist eine Schlampe, oder?—'I wished never to see you under the circumstances. Ah well. Fate's a bitch, isn't she?'