Chapter 23
Faith Leap
It was hard to tell who could be trusted and who could not.
Especially in this part of the land, so far east of Brno, and so close to the border of Russia, where everyone walked around with thick coats and fur hats and with shifty looks, and Gilbert felt horribly out of place on these streets, where hardly anyone spoke German, and knowing that the final border was so close was almost overwhelming.
He could barely breathe.
As he pushed through the crowds, he kept his eyes straight ahead, so that he would not lose track of his guide.
He never thought he would say it, ever, but thank god for Roderich. If he had had to repeat the last horrendous border crossing, he was not sure that he would have had the resolve to go through with it. Woulda choked, and turned tail. But now there was someone helping him, and when the man before him slipped down a side street and into a waiting car, Gilbert followed. There was no conversation. No small talk. All business.
When the car stopped hours later at the edge of a great, dark forest, he was passed from one guide to another, an exchange of money was made, and then they started walking.
The car left.
Only trees.
Gilbert had known all along that it would be hard to get across, but he hadn't anticipated that it would take four days of continuous walking through undergrowth and trees and snow and ice to get there.
Christ.
His legs were sore, his heels ached, his wounded arm and hand hurt, his head was pounding, and his stomach churned, but still he walked behind them, and sometimes they had to stop and wait for him to catch up. He was so tired. Looked pathetic, no doubt, because sometimes they shook their heads and slapped him on the back to spur him onward. They allowed him to sleep only in the middle of the afternoon, when the sun was the brightest, and they walked under cover of darkness and evening and cloud fronts.
Ludwig was waiting.
With every burning, agonizing step, he was getting closer.
That was the thought that sustained him those horrible days, and he did not even realized that he had entered Ukrainian lands, leaving the forest for fields, until one of the men in front of him had cried out, cheerily, "Look, there! See the lights? We're almost there!"
Gilbert raised his head, dumbly, and sure enough, far out on the dark horizon, there was a faint, dull glow of a city.
Kyiv.
He had walked so many days, and he was only in Kyiv. No, not yet. Kyiv was hours away. That dull glow was so far. A road suddenly jutted up from out of the snow, and they walked along it, as quickly as possible, and after half an hour a car slowed to halt in front of them. His next pass off. Another exchanging of money, he leapt into the car, and the men left behind waved him farewell.
Such an intricate web that Roderich had woven. Roderich was brilliant.
The road zoomed by, the snow started to fall again, and as he leaned his head against the window, Gilbert regretted terribly that he had missed yet another Christmas with Ludwig, having spent it walking through foreign lands in despair. Alone.
Did Ludwig look the same as he always had? Was he still the same person?
...did it matter?
Maybe he wouldn't ever see him again.
"Hey, you listenin'?"
Gilbert sat upright, and when he wrenched his head over, the driver was staring at him in annoyance. It was obvious that he had been speaking, but Gilbert, out in space, had not heard a single word.
"Sorry," he grunted, awkwardly. "Sorry, I'm a little... What were you saying?"
A gentle glare, and the man shook his head.
"I was saying, that I'm gonna drop you off at the train station. I think you can manage to buy a ticket on your own. From there—hey, are you listening?"
Gilbert could only nod, dumbly, even though the words were distant in his ears.
"You better pay attention if you wanna make it! Look, the train leaves Kyiv, and you're gonna be on it for a few hours, and then, and this really important, you're gonna look for a town called Oryol. Hear me? Oryol! And when you see the first signs that its coming up, you're gonna go the back, and you're gonna jump off the train, because right when you're about to pull into Oryol is when they do a passport check on the train cars. When you jump, just make sure you remember to follow the railroad tracks. You'll get into town in a hour or so, and someone will be waiting there to take you to Moscow by car."
"How will I know who?" he asked, weakly, and the man sent him a stern look.
"Don't worry about it. He'll find you. Just walk into town. Don't go far. He'll be there. And don't forget to jump before you get to Oryol!"
He shuddered a little, feeling so overwhelmed, and the man thrust a slip of paper into his hand. Gilbert looked down at it, dumbly, and saw letters he couldn't read.
"That's what it will look like. Oryol. Just make sure you keep an eye out for it. If you don't get off the train before they start the check, then you're done for."
There was a silence, and Gilbert tucked the paper safely in his pocket. A horrible gnawing of fear in his chest, because suddenly it was real, and the thought of leaping from a steaming locomotive was absolutely terrifying. Back in the day, before he had lost Ludwig, such an adventure would have been amazing (maybe just not inside the USSR), and maybe he would have leapt headlong into the challenge with bravado, confident in his ability to reign supreme, but it was different now.
He had lost Ludwig. With Ludwig, he had lost his confidence too. His self-assurance. If he couldn't even protect Ludwig, then what good was he?
The dull glow on the horizon became steadily brighter, and then there was the hazy outline of Kyiv, looming pale against the breaking dawn.
The sun steadily rose above the line of the forest, and the buildings of Kyiv lit up like an ominous inferno, and when the train station stood before them, it was far too soon.
Too soon. He was not ready.
Whether he was ready or not, the car lurched to a halt, and he stepped out into the freezing air, and then he was alone again in the train station. He bought his ticket to Moscow, lamented that Roderich's money was already dwindling, and it was with a heavy heart and equally heavy feet that he trudged into the train and took a seat.
He leaned his head against the window, and even though he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go straight to sleep, he did not dare, because if he fell asleep then maybe he would miss his jump off, and the only thing waking him up would be a hand on his shoulder, and then a voice asking to see his passport.
He couldn't sleep.
Hanging his head, he pulled out the piece of paper with the odd letters and clenched it in his fist, and let his mind wander.
Ludwig. Dumb Ludwig. If he could have just listened in the first place, he would be safe back at home in Berlin, watching television with Alfred in the evenings and studying with Roderich in the afternoons and chatting with Erzsébet in the mornings.
If he could just listen...
A whistle in the distance, and the train began to push forward on the tracks, and Gilbert turned his gaze to the window, watching the foggy windows with halfhearted interest. He folded the paper over and over again in his cold hands, putting his fingers to work so that he would not go crazy. He wanted to stand up and pace, but he did not want to draw unwanted attention to himself.
An old woman sat down on the seat across the aisle from him, sending him an occasional glance from the corner of her eye, and he shifted his weight anxiously. He was in the USSR now. No one here could be trusted.
His paper folding intensified, and as the time passed and the snow fell and the train chugged along, he could feel himself falling further and further into exhaustion. His eyelids were much too heavy, and if he could just hang his head, just for a second...
His fingers fell still, the air was warm and heavy, and he nodded off.
Wait for me.
Sleep wasn't always welcome.
His vision blurred. His head dropped. His dreams were not as pleasant as before.
The atmosphere was strange. Whispering.
Dreaming.
When he looked back up, with bleary eyes, he was just back in Berlin, in that old living room from years past, and his relief was doubled when the door swung open and Ludwig ran in, cheeks red and pale hair gleaming white in the sunlight. Ludwig, smiling breathlessly, backpack on his shoulders and covered with sweat from the summer heat, fifteen or sixteen, tall and bright and amicable, and when he saw Gilbert sitting there, he said, eagerly, 'It's a pretty day! Won't you come out for a while? We can go the park.'
The static crackled in his ears.
Gilbert stood up, elated and breathless, and took a step forward.
The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Nothing on earth like Ludwig.
He reached out.
'I'm waiting.'
Before he could grab Ludwig's hand up within his own, there was someone else standing in the sunlight. Someone taller than even Ludwig, and broader, and their shoulders blocked all of the sunlight from the doorframe, and Ludwig was cast in shadows.
Gilbert froze still, and the static in his ears turned into an unbearable screeching, because it was the Russian that stood back there behind Ludwig, and when he placed two large hands upon Ludwig's shoulders, something horrible happened :
Ludwig smiled, and twisted around, looking up at the Russian and asking, as he had asked Gilbert, 'Won't you go walking with me?'
Gilbert stood frozen in horror, as the Russian's pale eyes pinned him down, holding him in place just like they had before, and he could only open his mouth helplessly when the Russian tightened his grip on Ludwig's shoulders, and returned Ludwig's smile. The Russian took Ludwig's hand within his own and pulled him back through the door, Ludwig walked with him of his own accord, and as he went, he never even cast a single glance over his shoulder at Gilbert, not even just to say that everything would be alright, or not to worry because he would come back.
Come back? Ludwig wouldn't ever come back.
We couldn't be together...
The Russian had won.
Forever.
He suddenly came back to earth with a terrible crash, and he raced to the door just as it slammed shut, and no matter how hard he turned the handle, the door just wouldn't open. It was stuck. He started screaming, then, words that even he did not understand, and he couldn't bear to lose Ludwig again—
A hand on his shoulder.
With a cry, Gilbert leapt up to his feet in horror, heart racing and chest heaving, and for a moment all he could see was black.
Ludwig was gone.
A pale light broke through his haze, a flash of white at his side, and he realized that he was back on the train.
His forehead was damp.
For a moment, he looked around, dumbly, and then he saw the old woman, standing there beside him, and she was gazing up at him with a look of alarm. She had shaken him awake, no doubt, and was probably surprised at his reaction. He opened his mouth, but found no words, and then he could see that she held a piece of paper in her hand.
He had dropped it in his sleep. She held the paper up, and he took it with a weak smile, and she said something to him in Russian, and pointed to the window. Even though he could not understand her words, he got the idea. She had seen the paper on the floor. She had picked it up. She had seen the town name. And she had awoken him, because his destination was near.
He would have said, 'thank you', had he not been so nervous to speak German around her, and instead inclined his head, politely. She smiled at him and resumed her seat.
He did not.
He felt sick all of a sudden, knowing now what he had to do, and as he strode unsteadily to the back of the train, the twisting in his stomach was not just from the anticipation of his jump.
That horrible dream.
A dream? He shuddered as he approached the last car, and took up the door handle in his hand. Maybe it was an ill omen. A premonition. Ripping the door open, he stepped back out into the winter air, and his mood was worse than ever before. That image seemed burned in his mind, of that Russian, with his hands upon Ludwig's shoulders. No time to lose. Ludwig was always in danger.
The snow was going by with dizzying speed, and as he slunk down and grabbed the railing in his hands, he hesitated. He was scared.
...oh god, that smile on Ludwig's face.
Fueled by adrenaline and something else that he could not put his finger on, he pushed the latch and opened the gate, and braced his legs.
One.
It wasn't so hard, just to jump. It would just be like jumping into a pool, and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend that it was water waiting below, and not the hard ground.
Two.
Tuck and roll. It wasn't like he hadn't hit the ground ever before. How many times had he collapsed dead drunk on the sidewalk? At least there was snow to soften the blow.
Three.
He took a deep breath, and leapt.
For a moment, there was only air. And then the ground came. Hard. It knocked the wind out of him, and the pebbles that lined the sides of the tracks dug into his skin and cut his hands as he sought to steady himself.
His head hit the edge of a rock, sending stars across his vision.
Helpless rolling, the white of snow and then the white of the sky, and when he finally fell still, on his stomach and completely limp as the coarse snow rubbed his face, he could only lie there, breathless.
His head was splitting open.
A warmth ran down the back of his neck, and when he put his fingers in it, they came back red. Dots of light. Whooshing in his ears. Dazed and distant. Pain. Had probably gone and concussed himself. The last thing he needed.
He wanted to cry suddenly, and maybe he would have, if there had not suddenly been a voice so close to his ear, coming to him through the snow and the wind and the screeching of the distant train.
'Down and out again? I'm not surprised.'
He shuddered, and maybe he was just going crazy. He had hit his head damn hard. He was hearing things.
'What? Can't even talk this time?'
He was just hearing things. There wasn't anyone there.
But when he looked up, head pounding and vision blurry, he was momentarily startled.
The world stopped. He couldn't breathe. His heart soared.
Because standing above him, pale hair shining white in the winter sun, arms crossed and eyes cool and icy, was Ludwig.
Ludwig.
Dressed neatly in his perfectly clean clothes, hair slicked back and not a detail out of place, fresh-faced and pale and young and beautiful, he stared down at Gilbert with a low brow and a frown, and even though the snow fell thick around him it did not seem to touch him, and he was shaking his head in what could have been disappointment.
Ludwig always looked disappointed in him.
'Hi, Gilbert. Awake?'
Even though he knew it wasn't really Ludwig—god, had he hit his head that hard?—and even though he knew that he would just be talking to himself, still Gilbert flipped over onto his back and raised himself up onto his elbows, and asked, roughly, "Well? Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna help me up?"
Some part of him expected Ludwig to extend a hand and pull him to his feet, but Ludwig only scoffed, and his brow flew up. His voice was soft and calm, and maybe condescending as he said, coolly, 'You got down there by yourself. You can get up by yourself.'
Pfft. He'd heard that before.
Shaking his head to clear it, he threw his arms to the side and braced his palms on the ground, and it took every effort to push himself up, and when he stood, he nearly fell right back down for his dizziness. His head felt like it would explode, and Ludwig's voice was echoing eerily in his ears, and the tone of it was silvery and ghostly, like Ludwig was speaking to him through some kind of strange wind. Through a dying radio or something.
But it was still Ludwig, and even if he wasn't real, god almighty he was still beautiful to look at.
Gilbert didn't dare reach out, because if he tried to touch him, then maybe Ludwig would vanish like smoke, and he would be alone again. He could not bear this journey alone. He wouldn't make it. Not alone.
Ludwig knew the limits of his will and courage.
A thought struck him, as Ludwig stared at him unblinkingly, and he asked, voice raspy and low, "Hey! D'you come out here to help me? I've been looking for you for so long."
Ludwig's arms fell loose at his sides, and he only stood there silently, and maybe it was crazy, and certainly it didn't make sense, but he wanted to believe that some part of Ludwig, wherever he was, had somehow crossed space and time and all boundaries just to see him on his way. Almost like a guardian angel, if Gilbert had believed in such things.
'A long time. Yeah, it has been long, Gilbert. It's been a while.'
"Yeah," he managed, weakly, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Yeah it has."
It burned him suddenly, like a knife in his stomach, how much he missed Ludwig, and seeing him like this before him but not being able to touch him was almost worse somehow than any torture. He missed him.
His head was killing him.
Knew he had a concussion, knew he was seeing things, and didn't care.
He forced his arms to stay straight at his side, as the urge to leap forward and draw Ludwig into an embrace became almost overwhelming, and it was with a heavy heart that Gilbert took a step forward, and said, "Well, kiddo. Let's go."
Steadying himself, he took another step, and slowly his gait corrected itself as he went, and even though his head and chest hurt and his stomach was churning, it was alright, because Ludwig walked silently at his side, as bright as the sun could ever be.
A guide.
Trudging through the snow, he spoke to Ludwig, and now that he was not alone, it was easier to set his sights on his destination.
"I'll be there soon. Just wait for me."
Ludwig scoffed.
'You've been walking for a long time. Aren't you tired?'
"Yeah, but I can't stop. I'll have you back before long."
'Oh? So sure?' Ludwig crooned, smoothly, and Gilbert felt almost embarrassed under his brother's stern eyes.
Ludwig had lost all faith in him long ago. Rightfully so.
That smile.
Swallowing to fight off his nausea, Gilbert tried to appear brave.
"It'll take a week, maybe, to get to Moscow, if I'm really careful."
'You're never careful, Gilbert.'
"I will be. I won't get caught."
With those words, Ludwig scoffed again, and fell silent.
He glanced at Ludwig every chance he got, and it hurt not to be able to take his hand. Just wanted to grab his damn hand. Wanted to touch him. Wanted Ludwig, more than anything.
They walked through the snow, Ludwig's steps making no sound and leaving no footprints. Ludwig's eyes were golden in the pale sun.
A train horn in the distance, and Gilbert could see the beginning of a road against the white snow. Lights. He followed the road, eagerly, Ludwig at his side, and when the outline of civilization was near, he felt hopeful. He was close.
As he staggered into town, cold and tired and numb and dizzy, he kept close to Ludwig, and when he began his search for his next ride, Ludwig was suddenly leaning in and whispering words in his ear.
It was not encouragement.
'Where are you going now, Gilbert? You're always going somewhere, but you always lose, in the end. Where are you going? After him? What will you do if you find him? You'll run. You'll get scared. You always do.'
He shook his head, and tried to keep his eyes focused, because he was so close, he could feel it, and why couldn't Ludwig ever just trust him? Roderich had found someone here for him. Someone was waiting.
Ludwig didn't believe in him.
"I won't run," he grunted, as he approached a streetlamp, and then suddenly Ludwig was standing right in front of him, blocking his path.
He was smiling.
'Stop.' Gilbert did, and Ludwig cast his eyes off to the right, and, inclining his head, he asked, casually, 'Is that what you're looking for?'
He looked now too, and there, next to a tiny shop, stood a man, pacing back and forth with his hands tucked in his pockets, and his impatient air made him stand out from the other people on the street. Gilbert would have walked right past him, so inconspicuous was his appearance, but sharp-eyed Ludwig was never fooled.
Well. Ludwig wasn't real, so Gilbert knew on some level that his own subconscious had seen that man and had directed him over.
'Go to him.'
Turning in his path, Gilbert walked wearily over to the pacing man, and with every step closer, he took in his appearance. Blond hair, a little shorter than Gilbert, bespectacled, and he looked young, Ludwig's age, and above all, he looked timid. Not like a border-hopper and an expert smuggler. Maybe Ludwig was wrong. But when he saw Gilbert approaching, the man's head snapped up, and he smiled, and it was obvious that this was, after all, the man he was looking for.
Ludwig tucked his hands behind his back, and called aloud, 'Sorry we're late. He fell down.'
The words stung a bit, even though he knew that he was the only one who could hear them, and when Gilbert approached, the man didn't speak, and immediately turned on his heel and walked off into the crowded streets, and Gilbert followed behind at a short distance, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible.
Ludwig walked at his side, hands clasped behind his back and smiling easily. Confidently. This was how Ludwig had always looked when he knew that he was right and that Gilbert had done something stupid. Even though Gilbert never admitted being in the wrong.
A car loomed in the distance. The man opened the door and stepped inside, and the sound of the ignition made Gilbert's heart race. It was the sound of no return, because once this town was gone, then there was just Moscow. The heart of Russia. When Gilbert approached the car, he froze in his tracks in a horrible hesitation, because he feared Russia. Had never wanted to go there.
Terror.
Ludwig saw his sudden reluctance and his smile widened, straight white teeth visible as he laughed to himself. 'Well! Isn't this exciting! Adventure and the like. Well, I can't believe you even made it this far! Don't push yourself too hard Gilbert. You can't handle it. You know, if you ask nicely, he might even drive you all the way back to Berlin.'
Ludwig's laughter was a dagger, and it was with a stir of anger that he reached out and grabbed the door handle, and wrenched it open.
He was not going back to Berlin.
Ludwig didn't trust him.
Stepping inside, he settled down, and he had barely shut the door before the car pulled out. Gilbert tried to focus his attention on the man beside of him, who was looking at him, but Ludwig made it hard, sitting in the backseat, legs folded primly and arms crossed behind his head. He was smiling at Gilbert in the rearview mirror, pale eyes alight.
'I haven't been on a road trip for a long time. Russia might be fun.'
Suddenly agitated, Gilbert almost said, 'Shut up, Ludwig!', but he suppressed it, because the man was already staring at him as it was and Ludwig, for all his smart comments, was not real.
The air was tense. Gilbert scratched his collar irritably.
"Well," the man suddenly began, "I'm glad you made it here safely."
"Yeah," he grumbled, still catching Ludwig's gaze in the mirror, and he could feel the man shifting his weight anxiously.
"So. You're going to Moscow, huh? What's in Moscow?"
'Yeah,' Ludwig began from behind, 'What is in Moscow, Gilbert? All the way there just for me? Since when?'
"None of your business," he snapped, as the words grated him, and the man frowned a bit at his tone, and Ludwig started laughing again.
'Gilbert, you can't ever play nice with anyone. Roderich does everything for you. All the hard work he's done, and you'll just run away in the end.'
Clamping his jaw, Gilbert averted his eyes and stared at the road ahead, and tried to keep focused.
"I'm looking for someone," Gilbert finally relented, and the man raised a brow.
Maybe better not to antagonize a man who was putting his ass on the line for Gilbert.
"Oh? All the way to Moscow?" He snorted, humorlessly, and added, "I was kinda surprised, at first. Usually when I get people past borders and passport checks, it's to get them out of the USSR, not in."
"I bet," he said monotonously, not interested in conversation, and the man shifted again.
"May I ask who you're looking for?"
Gilbert did not respond, reluctant to say the Russian's name lest he run across someone else who would freeze up in fear, and he needed this man, because he could not get to Moscow on his own.
"I'll tell you when we get there—"
'If we get there!' Ludwig called eagerly from the back, and Gilbert sent him a halfhearted glare in the mirror.
"Alright," the man said, carefully. "Fair enough. Don't worry. You're safe with me. I've been doing this for a long time."
They fell still, and Ludwig straightened up and began to drum his fingers on the edge of Gilbert's seat, resting his chin on the leather and leering at him.
'How have you been Gilbert? Life treating you okay? Say, why don't you offer him some acid? Ah ha ha, that might make the trip go by a little faster, eh?'
Trying to distract himself from Ludwig's piercing gaze, Gilbert turned his attention to the man, and asked, lowly, "So, if you're so good at this, why are you still here?"
The man shrugged a shoulder, saying, "I don't know. I like helping people, I guess. There are a lot of people that want to get out, but just don't know how. I can help them."
'I wanted to help people. Why don't you?'
"Oh."
This was so awkward.
"You're bleeding," the man observed, but Gilbert shrugged off his concern.
"It's nothing."
He glanced over then, and took in the man a little more now that they were alone.
Blue eyes. High cheeks. Straight nose. Neatly trimmed hair, shorter at the back than the front. Handsome, certainly, despite the look of exhaustion on his face. Not quite Ludwig's age, after all; a little older. Thirty, maybe, or late twenties. The most noticeable thing about him, for it all, was just how damn nice he looked. Kind. Gentle. A good man. Not a smuggler at all.
Just another damn thing to remind Gilbert of Ludwig. Ludwig had been just as kind. Ludwig had had that same air of gentleness, like this man.
He was tired.
"My name is Eduard, by the way."
Resting his head against the window, he whispered, "I'm Gilbert," and then he closed his eyes, as Ludwig leaned in from behind and whispered in his ear, and now his voice was warmer and gentler.
'I'm waiting. I missed you so much. I hate fighting with you.'
He was so close.
'Go to sleep, Gilbert. You look so tired. Remember what you said? That we'd be together...'
He smiled as he drifted into sleep, Ludwig's deep voice in his head, and tried to stay hopeful.
He would not give up.
Oh, he missed Ludwig so much. He couldn't live without him, just couldn't. Couldn't. They had to be together. Forever.
The only promise he ever intended to keep.