It was only steps away. It seem ironic to be so incredibly near and yet entirely absent at the same instance.

You had to get past the bricks. The bricks were the problem. Perhaps the chain linked fence on the either side wouldn't be such an enormous deal; if one could cut through it. But the guards and the bricks.

Gilbert listened as those gigantic trucks moved out of the area, going on patrol. Their engines roared like lions and their bodies shook with power.

Then, the brick was again considered.

How strong could it possibly be?

Strong enough to halt the momentum of a vehicle weighing several thousand pounds? Who knows? Depends on how fast you went.

Now there's an idea.

The sun beat down.

And the Russian, making his rounds, landed at the side of that enraged Weillschmidt. That gun was grasped as though it had morphed to a club.

"Hello, Gilbert."

"Again? I just saw you yesterday."

"I know. I figured you were missing me."

"I wasn't."

"I see." Again, Ivan was eating a loaf of tender and warm bread. Where in the hell did he get those loaves? Did he buy them from someone and bring them back to base? Much less, how was it that they were always warm and so very fragrant? It was a conundrum that troubled the soldier more and more every time it reared its ugly Slavic head.

"Hey, Braginski. Why do you always carry around a gun? Aren't you just supervising the supervisors?"

"Oh? I'm not supposed to carry a gun, then?"

"No."

"Well, it's the duty of every citizen to protect the wall. If a civilian came here with a gun to make sure no trespassers got through, I'd let him or her stay. After all, it's only the right thing to do."

Gilbert could have puked.

The silence following helped eat up the sickness gathering inside his stomach.

"Gil, can I ask you a question?"

"Don't you call me Gil. My brother is the only one allowed to call me by that name, you got that you son of a bitch?"

"Да, Да. I'm sorry Gilbert. Anyway. I just wanted to ask you how you felt about communism."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I'm simply curious. You look like a guy with an interesting view on things. You're not as young as the kids running around here."

"The kids don't know shit."

"No, I suppose they don't. But how about an answer?"

"Yeah. Communism s great. It's just wonderful. I'm so glad to be a part of it."

"You don't believe that."

"You took me away from my brother."

"Excuse me?"

"You took me away from my brother. That's what I said."

"Well, I personally didn't do that, Gilbert. That Soviet Union did. But it was for the better. The East Germans are happier now than they've ever been."

Gilbert's gun was shaking. "Is that the reason why we're stationed here? To shoot down our own people? Because they're happy?"

"Well, there's always going to be a few bad eggs, don't you think? Not everyone can be perfectly alright with such a drastic change. A lot of people need to adjust. And some simply can't. Some have to break laws that were meant to keep the whole of the population safe. There's nothing wrong with shooting criminals."

"But they're not criminals." The smaller was speaking through clenching teeth.

"What now?"

"Nothing. Just nothing. I don't have a damn thing to say."

"I don't think that's true. Everyone has something to say above the Berlin Wall, don't they?"

"Of course they do, but they're certainly not allowed to say it. If that was the case, I'm sure you wouldn't think us East Germans as all too happy." Gilbert spit his hatred into the dirt. "I used to be proud, but being proud in East Germany doesn't mean the same thing anymore."

"Well, I don't know, Gilbert. I think a lot of people are happy with the very fair changes being made. The women are working; new buildings are coming up. It's a real improvement if you ask me." That supervisor took his final bite of bread. "Oh, excuse me comrade. How rude. I ate all my bread without even asking you if wanted any. But listen-I have these great cigars. Do you want one of those?"

"No."

He would love one.

"Oh, not even just an isty-bitsy cigar? You know, I probably shouldn't let you smoke on duty, but hey, we're just standing around out here in happy little East Berlin. No one's going to cross the wall today, my friend. It's too damn hot." A pair of fat rolls was claimed from Ivan's pocket. One was handed to the one on duty and the other sat between Ivan's lips after being subjected to a lighter's flame. "Did you know, Gilbert, that some people don't light cigars at all? Some people just chew them up and swallow them. Can you even believe that? And I know because I watched it happen once. I knew this man-"

"Why are you telling me this? Do you want me to eat this fucking cigar? Is that it? You Russians don't seem to mind using Germans to entertain you anyway."

"'You Russians'? Oh, Gilbert. You hurt my feelings. I would never ask you to eat a cigar. I was just telling an interesting story I happened to remember, you understand? And really, we Soviets aren't such bad guys. I think that the lovely people of East Germany are just as good as the lovely people living in the Soviet Union. That is, if they're good communists. I don't think any capitalist, regardless of where he lives, should be allowed to choose whether or not he'd like to eat a cigar. However, Gilbert, if you would like to eat your cigar, I certainly won't look down on you. It's probably healthier that way, don't you think?"

"Healthier? Who gives a shit about healthier? You're smoking."

Boiling laughter. "You're very right, comrade." That gargantuan palm sat upon Gilbert's shoulder a moment. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but I didn't come over here to just make nice conversation. One of the guys working the night shift got sick, and he's at home at the moment. Would you mind covering for him?"

Before Gilbert could sigh, his counterpart continued on speaking. "I know I'm asking a lot, but you're one of the best, Weillschmidt. You scored the highest with your rifle and we both know nothing bad ever goes down during the day. They always try to escape at night. And tell you what- I'll give you all of tomorrow off. You don't even have to think of this place for the next twenty-four hours."

"Will you be here?"

"No, no. I'll be at home."

"Then I'll do it."

"Wonderful! Thanks, Gilbert. Here." Another cigar was given to the man. "You really saved my ass. I'll see you later."

And as quickly as he came, Ivan Braginski vanished, running into someone else's life with his intrusive presence and obnoxious anecdotes.

Like a car crashing into a wall, you could say.

Gilbert tucked the tobacco away and clutched that heavy rifle. Oh he'd give just about anything to pop that Russian right between the eyes. Anything. Just so he'd never had to deal with another, "Hello Gilbert" and an uncomfortable conversation to chase it down.

And the man stayed, certain Ludwig would forgive him for missing a night. After all, this was not the first time something like this had occurred.

Gilbert wasn't sure he had the strength today; to glance at the pearls he had allowed into the sewer.

Or perhaps he was in the sewer.