Kapitel Seiben.

1952. A town 64 kilometers outside of Paris.

The bar scene was getting old. Each day came the same faces, worn down and haggard from the poor economy that had settled over the town since the war had ended. Enough money was made to feed the wives and children with just enough left over at the end of the day to drink it all away. The dingy, dim lights flickered overhead, but no one seemed to notice. Long lost were the days where people laughed and made light conversation about the weather or the local gossip, the only thing vocalized now was the harsh grunt every now and then asking for another drink.

This bar in particular was spread out to feature a rotting oak bar and a few mismatched chairs and tables spread out on uneven tile floor. The establishment offered food, but it was often days old and not many but the piss poor drunk dared to eat it.

"Gimme jus' one more, will ya?"

The barkeep gave a tired glance towards the patron, a man he knew well for he easily was his best customer. "Sorry Beilschmidt, Ms. Elizaveta has told me no more for you tonight."

"Ey?" The glossy eyed Gilbert picked his head up from the table. "No, ignore the wom'n, I'm gonna be-" he hiccuped. "Jus' fine."

"Actually," a woman's stern voice emerged from the kitchen doors. "He'll be going home now, won't you?"

Gilbert turned on his stool and gave a weary, unfocused look to his fiance. Her long brown hair was dull and pulled back and her face was smudged with kitchen grease and sweat, despite the chill that lingered in and around the bar. "You aren't gettin' off for another two hours," he argued, as if that were reason enough to keep his drunken stupor going.

"And what happened last night, and the night before that? You aren't going to be allowed here anymore, you start fights and drink too much, I can't afford to lose this job, Gil. Please, come on, go home and rest up." She came over and placed a soft hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly as if to reassure him that she wasn't embarrassed as often as she was by his presence. "Come on, I'll walk with you outside." Despite the mumbling effort he was making, he slid off his stool with the grace of one who had three too many drinks in his system. Wearily, he buttoned up his coat, two buttons off, and stumbled out the door behind Elizaveta into the cold winter night.

"What am I supposed to do by myself?" He slurred.

"Go to sleep, read a book, sober up." She crossed her arms. Now that they were safely out of the bar, she felt the words she'd been wanting to say all night well up inside of her. "Or better yet, prepare yourself to start looking for work-" Gilbert scoffed at her and lit a cigarette. "I'm tired of moving around, Gil! I'm tired of switching jobs to support you, and I'm tired of your damn drinking."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Gilbert mocked, quoting the words Elizaveta had once spoken in regards to his nightly drinking. She scowled.

"That was before you started causing problems and spending more on alcohol than we do on rent."

Gilbert pulled the cigarette from his mouth and pointed it at her with an accusatory glare. His vision was slightly blurry and he knew he wasn't being taken seriously as he lurched forward slightly and she side stepped away from him. "What? Did you think I'd just come back from the war feeling alright and good? Did you think I'd come home feeling just fucking fine after what I did, and saw? You haven't a single-" He coughed. "I-idea. It's not fair of you to blame me or to limit me, you privileged little girl," he sneered.

"Get on home," she shook her head and turned away, his words had long since stopped stinging. "I've got to get back to work." She ignored his rude stammering as she walked back inside. The sudden wash of warm air overcame her, mixed with the heavy odor of mildew and cigarette smoke, her stomach turned. She stood for a second, head in hands.

"He's no good for you, Lizzy." Elizaveta pulled herself upright, not arguing for or against the statement, only staring at the stocky blonde woman that worked next to her six days out of the week. "I don't know why you put up with him every night like that."

The young Hungarian girl looked away, out the window into the flurry of snow. She wasn't worried if Gil made it home, she hardly cared and that worried her more than anything. "He wasn't always like this, Milly. You should have seen him before, he was such a breath of fresh air. And as much as he got on my nerves even then, he knew how to make me smile more than anyone else ever did. But now..." she trailed off and sighed. "Now I don't even recognize him, isn't that sad?" Elizaveta took a seat at the closest table, feeling drained.

"You're not married quite yet," Milly said, taking a seat across from Elizaveta and lighting a cigarette. "You can still leave."

"He wouldn't know what to do without me. He hasn't any family and he has no money to call his own, he'd end up another soldier dead on the streets."

Milly grimaced and exhaled, shaking her head. "You can't think of it like that. You're too young to be takin' care of him like that, to be working this hard and having naught to show for it." When Elizaveta didn't respond, Milly took that as her cue to reach across the table and lay a weathered hand on Elizaveta's. "How about you think about it, at my house. Come stay with me tonight, I've got some spiced mead waiting for us back at the house and you can have the bed. Just think about what I'm saying and maybe getting away from him for the night will do you some good."

The snow flared up in a rush, momentarily blocking out the black view from outside. Elizaveta stared, willing herself to feel an ounce of concern, but it never came and she slowly withdrew into the hard chair. "Alright, but just for one night, I wouldn't feel right staying any longer and y'know, Gilbert needs me."

Down the road, Gilbert shuddered to a halt. He was feeling sick and he swore his face was beginning to blacken from the cold. "F-fuck," he stammered, running his gloved hands across his cheeks, slapping a few times. "Fuck, fuck." His mouth filled with saliva and suddenly he lurched to his left, emptying the warm fluids of his stomach into the freshly fallen snow. He heaved a few more times before he wiped his mouth and stumbled backwards. Another swear left him and without a warning, he burst into tears. They were a warm relief on his face until they became just another part of the cold around him. "Oh, fuck, I can't do this."

His knees hit the ground and his head fell into his hands, and he wailed in the way lonely drunk men often did.

1940, October 3. Ludwig's Birthday.

This is what it feels like to float in an ink bottle. Or deep, unexplored space. Or hell, cold and dark and painfully alone. That must be it, this is hell. Ludwig had put himself into a corner, shielding himself behind towering racks of cargo boxes and spare mechanical freight. His eyes refused to adjust and his skin just kept crawling, no matter how many times his numb fingers rubbed and pinched. The hum of the train had become so constant it felt permanent and he could no longer tell if they were moving or not. He's probably forgotten about me. I'll die in here, but maybe it's for the best.

Hours had gone by, but Ludwig had long since stopped trying to count. His mind had been speeding through wild emotions since the door had been clamped down and he now sat emotionally exhausted and physically sore. For the first few hours of the trip he had done nothing but hate everyone. He hated his mother for forcing him to the countryside, he hated his grandfather (whom he had never even met) for agreeing to steal him away from home. He even hated Gilbert a little bit, just for being away. But those feelings subsided and a heavy wave of loneliness swept over him. It felt like a lead blanket and no thought or memory could seem to shake it. So Ludwig thought to himself and came to the conclusion that this was probably one of his better birthdays anyways.

Everything had blurred together in the cargo hold so much that he felt like he'd slept for days when he was roused by the train coming to a stop. Ludwig stiffened and sat up fully, his joints painfully stretching and tightening. It seemed like eons until the train shuddered to a complete stop and even longer till he heard a heavy tinkering outside the cargo hold door, then it opened. "You off, kid."

Ludwig grabbed at his suitcase and clambered upwards. The chill of the air grabbed at his bare skin and he shakily left the cargo hold. It was dark outside, whether that be in the middle of the night or not, Ludwig had no idea. "Where am I again?"

"Wesermarsch station," the man said lazily as he closed the door.

"And the nearest city?"

"Bremen, about 64 kilometers east."

Ludwig opened his mouth to ask another question but the man stalked off, not looking back. Slightly defeated, Ludwig squeezed the handle on his bag and looked around. Only four other people had gotten off the train, two of them met family in what appeared to be an endless embrace and the other two meandered off into the darkness to wherever they were to be. Ludwig though, stood absolutely still. No one had told him what to do once he arrived and the empty platform told him plenty enough that no one had come to receive him. He stood for ten or so minutes before deciding to sit on the closest bench and wait. He waited and waited but nothing came of it and soon, despite feeling the cold of the night deep in his bones, he drifted off into a rocky slumber that shook him with bad dreams.

"Hey. Wake up." Ludwig was nudged awake and he jolted upright remembering instantly that he had been alone just seemingly moments before. Or so he had thought. It was daylight out now and the sinister looking platform now looked clean (though just as empty) and lively with birds and trees and humming insects. Ludwig snapped his attention to the man before him and took in a sharp breath to yell. The air deflated out of him quickly however. The man before him was tall and thin, he looked a lot like his mother, just older with faint lines like rivers mapped out on his narrow face. His pale hair was long but pulled back, and even though he'd never met the man, he knew instantly this is who he'd been looking for. He spoke with an unnatural elegance, appearing both feminine and intimidatingly masculine in nature all at the same time. "When'd your train come?"

Ludwig rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn. "Sometime last night, I don't remember."

"You okay?"

"Well enough, I guess." His grandfather gave a small grunt then turned away.

"Ludwig, isn't it?"

"Yes sir."

"You look a lot like your mother when she was a child. Haven't seen her for many years though, I'm sure she's changed a lot. I might not be able to pick her out in the crowd, but you, I'd be able to spot a mile away. You've got the family nature, you do." Ludwig wasn't quite sure what to say, but it was evident Gisilbert didn't expect anything as he began to walk away without so much as a word of warning. Hastily, Ludwig followed. They walked in silence until they reached a barren lot, the only thing in it was a dangerously old car that looked torn to pieces. Ludwig grimaced, surely he'd die before they made it home.

Reluctantly, he stowed himself and his belongings in the backseat and awkwardly looked out the window until his grandfather spoke again. "I owe your mother quite the favor, that's the only reason I'm taking you in. I don't have a lot of room but there's a lot of work to be done that you'll make good use of in your spare time. There's no schooling out here, not unless you'd like to find a way into the city, but as far as I know, you're not even supposed to be here. So we've got a few books you can look through. I'll teach you what you need to know, and when you're eighteen, you can go your own way. We have two meals a day, tend to the sheep in the morning, cows around ten, and pigs at night. It won't be easy but it's better than being shipped off to a Nazi camp like your mother said you'd be otherwise. Questions?" Ludwig glanced up into the rear view mirror where he matched for only a second the steely blue eyes of his grandfather. It was the only thing about him that hadn't faded with time, that and his sharp mind.

"No, sir."

Gisilbert nodded but didn't say another word.

The plains seemed to stretch out for miles, much like the sea did, the end was never in sight. This time of year the plant life was all beginning to yellow, spare for a few spots that still held tight to the green of summer. Everything seemed so big and empty, except for the clouds above whose great mass swelled throughout the entire skyscape. For a very long time Ludwig sat towards the window, his eyes unfocused as the landscape swept by him, never changing. Every once in a while Ludwig would catch his own reflection, looking sickly and pale and sad. He avoided it the best he could. Soon the scenery started to melt together and Ludwig could no longer bare to watch. He leaned back in the seat and again met the short gaze of his grandfather looking back to check on him wordlessly. Enough of that, thought Ludwig, and he reluctantly averted his gaze back to the barren wastelands around him.

It wasn't long then that the car turned down a very thin dirt road, and only a few minutes of that until they pulled into a house big enough for three small people. The land around it dwarfed the space, most of it occupied with animal pens and various gardens that Ludwig would be spending the next few years of his life intimately getting to know. When the car pulled to a shuddering stop, Ludwig grabbed his bag and slunk out after his grandfather. The inside of the house was worn, clean but piled around with various knick-knacks from years of a life well lived. Remnants of an old war sat on shelves and the occasional touch of a woman was scattered around, though he didn't dare ask about his grandmother, it seemed she hadn't been around for some time judging by the fine layer of dust on her things. They walked down a narrow hall and Gisilbert opened a squeaking door. "This'll be your room."

The room was scarcely decorated, and judging by the dusty trails slithering on the floor, it had previously been used as a storage container. A small bed was pushed against the wall and a wobbling writing desk accompanied it to the left. There was a dresser big enough for his bag and a closet with no doors. He set his bag down on the floor and turned towards his grandfather. "Thank you, er, grandfather. This is very nice."

A glimmer of a warm smile crossed his old face, though one could tell he wasn't much of a smiler to begin with. "You'll get used to it. Unpack, I'm sure you're hungry." And with that, he left Ludwig to his own devices. Slowly and methodically, Ludwig unpacked his small bag. A week's worth of clothing stowed away into the dresser, a stack of books, a bundle of letters, and a few notes and slips that were stuffed deep into his schoolbag that were completely useless now. Ludwig sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, thinking about life and his brother and his future, and it wasn't all bad at that moment. I'm going into shock, that's it, he thought to himself, unsure what this would manifest itself into later when he least expected it. Better to not even consider it. He heard the clanking of pans in the kitchen and decided he might as well make himself useful, sooner rather than later.

"Would you like any help?" Ludwig inquired as he stepped around the corner. The rich smell of cooking food made his mouth water suddenly, it seemed like ages since he'd smelled something that wasn't grey and rationed. "Is that-is that meat you're cooking?"

Gisilbert turned around and gave a stiff nod. "Been a while, has it?"

"Mother said the meat they give out is going rancid, she had us eat beans instead. Is this from your animals then?"

"That's what they're for. When you're ready, I'll teach you how to slaughter them yourself. It's not as bad as it sounds." Ludwig grimaced, but it was swept away as soon as a plate full of hot food was placed in front of him. Gisilbert sat across the table, eyeing the boy. "Slow down, it's not going anywhere."

Sheepishly, Ludwig swallowed his mouthful and mumbled an apology. He hadn't felt this hungry in years. They ate in silence. When their meal was finished and the kitchen was cleaned, Gisilbert showed Ludwig around the farm and explained in short words what Ludwig would be doing from then on. Milk the cows. Feed the pigs. Let the sheep graze. Collect the chicken eggs. Tend to the garden. Cut the wood. Study your books. Go to sleep. Repeat. You'll get strong, he had said. You'll keep busy and you'll forget what things were like before you came here, Ludwig thought he heard him also say in passing, but maybe he hadn't.

The entirety of the day was spent getting to know the landscape. Ludwig wandered off by himself for a while and walked the long trails that slithered around the property. He spoke to the few animals who bothered to give him attention, and he simply stared at the ones who didn't. He walked to the edge of the property and even then some, but there wasn't anything else around for miles so he returned shortly after. Afterwards, he did some light reading in his room until his grandfather called for help in the kitchen. Evening was already rolling by. After a modest dinner of green beans, meat and gravy, Ludwig and his grandfather watched the sun set over the plains from the front porch. The skies were so much bigger here than Ludwig ever remembered them being, and brighter too, they bled like a painting did. Everything seemed so new, everything and everyone.

"Why haven't I ever met you before now?" Ludwig broke the silence timidly. He didn't look at his grandfather, but the small grunt that came from him meant Ludwig had given him something to think about. He was quiet for a long while before he stood up and turned towards the door.

"Your mother went looking for a home far away from here, and that's just how it's always been." The front door opened and the floorboards creaked beneath the lingering weight of Gisilbert. "Mornings come early, goodnight Ludwig."

"...goodnight." The door fell shut and Ludwig sat there alone, feeling smaller than he ever thought possible. He wondered if his brother was fighting somewhere right then. Or if his father was beating his mother for what she'd done. Or what the other children had learned in school that day. Then, after those thoughts came and went, he felt nothing but a deep, aching loneliness that forced his hands to his chest, as if any moment his heart were going to crumble between his fingers.

So he went inside and went to bed, because he never felt sad once he was asleep.