Chapter 3: All is Hell

"Papa?"

She remained motionless on the mat, replaying the events of her dream over and over. How quickly she had abandoned her father in the dream, in the face of danger! Kristina shivered slightly at the notion. She, who had bad-mouthed her father and his acquaintances only several hours before for lacking a spine, could not even handle the threat of a single man!

I must become stronger.

With the newfound resolve, she found the strength to finally arise from the mat. The entire house was silent, with only her soft footsteps echoing throughout. She quickly noticed, however, that one of Raoul's letters was on the mantel atop of the fireplace. As she got closer, she noted that holding the letter in place was the brass key that her father was to return to Mr. Larsen today.

He must have moved the key up there, Kristina thought. Perhaps he has written something for me?

Kristina reached up to get the letter, as the mantle was a good foot taller than she. As she predicted, the back of Raoul's letter contained handwriting-most definitely her father's, she could recognize how he wrote his g's anywhere- and almost greedily read the contents.

There was not much content to begin with.

Kristina;

I am off on an errand of utmost importance right now. I may not return for a couple of days. Can you return this key to Mr. Larsen? I do not care too much of what you do while I am gone, but I do hope you make the right choices.

I love you,

Papa

Kristina was instantly put off by her father's word choices.

I do not care too much of what you do? Papa, you don't really care what happens to me, do you not? She thought glumly. It has always been about Georg and Otto. She shook her head. No! I must not think like that. Of course Papa is going to worry more about them when they are away at war! But what about me? Why am I not fighting with them?

Of course, even Kristina knew why she could not. As a woman, it would not seem proper to be in actual service. And, quite frankly, her father needed her more than ever as an emotional rock more than ever, now with the twins gone.

With her conscious cleared, Kristina got dressed and headed to Mr. Larsen's bar. She met him at the front door, waiting for her expectedly.

"Herr Larsen! How have you been?" Kristina tried her hardest to keep up her facade of a smile as she handed the brass key over. "I hope I did not arrive too late. My Papa and I do not have a clock at home, and it has always been he who kept track of time." It was not that much of a lie; they did own a clock, albeit it had long since run dry on battery.

"It is no big deal," Larsen sighed, taking the key and unlocking the front door. "Just so you know, it is only 10:00, so you are hardly late. However, I do not mean to be rude, but where is your father today?"

She shrugged. "I do not know myself. He left me a note that simply told me to return that key to you. Do you have anything to eat, by any chance? I have not eaten anything this morning."

"I'll see what I can make," Larsen replied, opening the door. "However, I do not think we will have any customers today, seeing as the tyskerne will most likely begin posting their men here in the upcoming days."

Kristina frowned. This did not sound good at all. "The tyskerne will be posted here? In Alesund? Why here? Why not Oslo? Or one of the bigger cities that are surely of much more use to them?" She inwardly noted that this was the exact same argument she posed to her father just the night before.

" Don't ask me." Larsen's voice had become slightly harsh. "Kristina, I must insist that we stop talking about this and just go along with our daily lives and hope for the best!"

xxx

It was just as Larsen predicted. There was not a single customer who came to the bar that week. Every day, Kristina would trek up to Larsen's bar and be expecting customers. Larsen would always welcome her with open arms, but the open door to the bar would otherwise remain untouched. People were going about their daily lives in Alesund; it was just that everyone avoided the bar. Each night, Kristina would return to her cottage, every time expecting her father or a letter from the Norwegian army about her brothers, and always being disappointed when neither failed to materialize.

On the eighth day, they finally had a customer; a tysk.

"Good day, Herr-" Kristina began, as the soldier burst into the room.

"Heil Hitler!" he more or less shouted, raising his arm in a salute.

"Uh… God morgen," Larsen hastily wiped the bar table before him clean. "How may I help you today? Would you care for som-"

"Nein, nein!" he barked. "Ich bin hier, um diese Broschüre zu veröffentlichen. Das ist alles!" Kristina looked at Larsen and shrugged; they had no idea what he said. He tacked a leaflet onto the bar's wall with a small nail, saluted once more, and left, slamming the door behind him.

"That wa rather rude," Larsen remarked, his face frowning in disgust. "And how he has nicked my wall too! The nerve of those tysks!"

However, Kristina was overcome with curiosity on what was tacked onto the wall. "What do you think the flyer is for?"

"I don't know. Take it down now, won't you?" Larsen replied. "And be sure to take that nail out too. I'm going to have to patch that hole…" He knelt down to the cupboards underneath the bar table as Kristina came up to the flyer and removed it.

"Huh…" she murmured. "It is an advertisement by the Tysks. Women of eligible race can sign up and be paid to be carriers for the master race." Heat began rushing to her ears. "They are currently establishing a maternity home at that old brothel house… The nerve of them!" she exclaimed. She crumbled the paper. "As if it weren't already enough that they have taken over Norway, and now they want to take away our dignity as well?"

Larsen popped his head from underneath the bar table, a rolled-up poster in hand. "Well, that is the ways of war, Kristina. Say, I cannot seem to find my repair kit anywhere. This will have to do. Can you tack this on the wall?" He held the poster out like a stick.

"I suppose," she replied grudgingly. No sooner had she pinned the poster to the wall, the front door opened once again.

It was another tysk. And this one brought company.

Five more, to be specific.

"Gib mir einen Tisch und eine Runde Getränke!" he barked.

Larsen looked at the tysk in confusion. Kristina, petrified, did the same. Neither one knew the German language; and it became even clearer, based on how the tysk's face contorted angrily and was turning more and more red, he didn't know theirs.

"Can we get a table and a round of drinks?" one of his companions spoke out in an attempt to be useful.

French! Kristina almost exhaled rapidly in relief. "Yes, yes, of course," she answered gratefully in French. "Here, let me prepare this table first." She hastily stuffed the flyer into the pocket of her apron and began to remove the table cover from one of the booths.

She could feel the six pairs of eyes staring daggers into her back and inwardly gulped. This was not what I was expecting, she thought. They are so intimidating, even outside of battle. How do Georg and Otto stand this?

"Kris… Kristina," Larsen's low voice whimpered. "What… What do they want?"

"They just want drinks."

"Oh! Quick, ask them what they want!"

When Kristina finished dusting the table and chairs, she turned to the six men. "It is ready, you can come sit now. What do you all want to drink?"

These men, in stark contrast to the flyer man's stance, were much more casual and laid back, almost sauntering their way into the booth.

"The finest quality beer you have, thank you," the French-speaking soldier replied as all six took their seats. He was looking at Kristina as a child would with the wings of an insect.

Kristina nodded and pranced over to Larsen's direction, shivering slightly. "They just want the best beer we have," she translated. She shivered again. "Please be quick. I want them to have their fill and leave as soon as possible."

"Of course," Larsen turned around and began pouring out the six glasses. With nothing better to do, Kristina watched the six men begin to talk about… something. It was clearly funny; even without drinks, all of them were smiling and laughing. It seemed as though one of them had cracked a joke. It completely countered her initial thoughts. How merry they seem outside of battle! So vulnerable… She inwardly recoiled at her thoughts. And yet I can do nothing against them even now. How useless.

The French-speaking soldier, however… although he had joined in on his comrades' fun, he was mostly keeping his eyes in her direction… at her. And that unnerved her.

"Here we are," Larsen grunted, placing the sixth and last glass on the tray and pushing them in Kristina's direction. "Go ahead and serve them. And perhaps sing for them a tune or so. Tell me if they want anything else."

When Kristina got to the table and gave them the drinks, she again noted how the French-speaker was again looking at her, making no effort to be subtle.

"Would you like for me to sing?" she offered, trying very hard to talk to the other five men. They looked at her for a brief moment, then reached out for a drink and turned back to talking.

"Thank you, mademoiselle. But I think we do not need you to exhaust your voice when my comrades have no desire," he answered, winking slightly.

She could feel her cheeks turn hot and quickly backed out, bowing her head in the process.

How rude!

xxx

They stayed at the bar until well past midnight. Each man seemed to want a refill every five minutes, and by the time they finally left, Kristina was utterly exhausted carrying glasses back and forth between Larsen and the booth. How on earth could they consume so much alcohol and become only slightly drunk? Who?!

Even more, Kristina could not shake the thought of the French-speaking soldier. Unlike his companions, he did not order any more glasses, but continued watching her every move. His light blue eyes continued to stare at her even when he had left.

"That was quite a long one, eh?" Larsen chuckled nervously while wiping the last glass. "Those tysks really do love a good drink." He turned to the barrels of beer behind him and tapped them, listening to the resonating notes worriedly. "I fear that they might run me out of business soon enough. Those men didn't pay enough to keep me ready for tomorrow. No matter," he shook his head, then turned once more to Kristina. "That one tysk though… he seems to have fallen for you, did he?"

Kristina felt her cheeks turn hot again and looked away embarrassedly. I cannot believe it… already I am becoming smitten with him! She shook her head. "I… I don't know how I feel. Maybe a little uncomfortable?" She began to wrap her fingers around one of her two braids. "Larsen, I don't have much experience with men, or even love in general. However, the fact that he is a tysk," she spit the word out venomously, "makes it all the worse."

Larsen looked at her strangely. "And yet, you still blush at the thought of him. You know what? Go home. Here," he handed out some krones to her. "This is half of what they paid me with. I want you to go home and take some rest. Hopefully they don't come again tomorrow."

Kristina stared at his extended arm. "But Lars-"

"No, go home! Come again tomorrow."

xxx

They came back. And they brought company.

This is hell, she thought unconsciously, as she made round after round with the trays and orders. There were more soldiers who were barking out demands in French, and she struggled to keep up. And still, that same soldier kept his eyes on her all day.

By evening of the third day, Larsen ran out of beer.

"I'm sorry, we are all out of beer," Kristina gasped, unsure who she was talking to; her mind was a blur and still spinning, her body still unsure which direction she was facing and which particular person to focus her eyes on.

"Then bring out the wine!" a voice fired back in response. The other soldiers chimed in, roaring in laughter. She turned around and around, trying to focus on that one particular person who had given that order. More orders, some perhaps actual, some perhaps echoes, rang in her ears as she teetered her way over to Larsen's corner, unaware that he was making his way towards her.

"Hey, Kristina, are you alright?" Larsen's voice hazily reached her mind.

"I- I'm… not-"

Larsen could she her figure totter once more, before finally collapsing onto the floor.

"Kristina! KRISTINA!"

He walked with greater hace towards Kristina's figure, unaware that the group of tysks had also paused in their merry toasts and conversations and were now silently watching him. Larsen turned Kristina over; she was knocked out.

He was also unaware that one of the soldiers had gotten up and was also walking to where they were.

"As tu besoin d'aide?"

Larsen looked up. It was that French-speaking soldier again, and his glassy blue eyes reflected nothing but worry. Larsen shrugged; he still did not know the French language and cared less on what the soldier wanted from him. He tried to pick up Kristina.

"Ici, laissez-moi vous aider." The soldier knelt down and supported her other shoulder, and with effort, the two of them managed to lift her onto the chair of an adjacent booth.

"Garde-la tranquille!" he ordered, and the soldier took something out of his pocket. A small package, from what Larsen could see. He began to open it, and Larsen could see what seemed to be a powdery substance.

"NO! DON'T YOU DARE!" Larsen shielded Kristina with his body. The soldier's eyes widened as he instinctively jumped, spilling some of the substance onto the ground. "KEEP AWAY FROM HER!"

The soldier shook his head silently and recapped the substance. "Je suis désolé," he whispered.

Before Larsen could even react, he felt a stinging blow against his forehead. The soldier's image steadily came out of focus, overtaken by darkness.


I'm going to begin taking French classes this fall, so I hope to not have to depend on Google Translate soon. ;)