The drive is a long one, and conversation drifts to many topics. John and his son speak mostly about changing history when Thomas isn't napping, as he is now.
"Julia…" John begins quietly and with hesitation.
Juliana questions him with her sympathetic gaze.
"Why are you here?" It takes great strength to keep his voice balanced.
She is jolted by the frankness of his question. She never expected he would be so forthright, and she had thought things were going so smoothly.
"I want to see a better world." She keeps it simple, for now. It is far too soon to talk of other things, but she doesn't want to lie to him.
"I meant…" He sighs.
She wishes he would look at her, but he is driving and that would be unwise. He does turn to her momentarily, eyes sharp and serene. She finds herself enveloped in the green caverns, knowing that behind them is a keen mind that is not so easily abated. She remembers going tête-à-tête with his doppelganger, and the sudden familiarity is almost quivering but she stays the course.
"I like you and Thomas. You have been so good to me, and I don't know anyone in New York. It's… nice, to be around such a sweet family."
John doesn't respond, not immediately. He is not sure what he expects to hear. He is bad at this-courting. It has been a long time since he even wanted to attempt it.
"I'm so glad you sprained your ankle." He grips the steering wheel, fingers tightening strongly around it in his newfound sense of awkwardness.
"Me too." She smiles as she looks out the window, scanning the countryside. The sun is setting, and she knows they still have another few hours to go. A calmness settles between them.
"Me too." She repeats softly.
oOoOo
The halls of the mountain fortress are sterile as Reichsmarschall Smith heads towards the room where the new recruits are being kept. Hans has been efficient in executing a "Resistance" attack on the medical truck, retrieving these four defectives.
When Smith pushes open the door, he is astonished to see four thoroughly Aryan young men standing at attention in SS uniforms. It would have been such a waste to merely send them to incineration. He shoves away any thought of his son's similar fate.
The men click their heels and cry, "Seig Heil!"
With hands clasped in front of him, a chuckle escapes Smith's throat before he can stop. "Well done, Sturmbannführer." He reviews the young soldiers before him and knows that despite their experience with Reich law, their Nazi ideology is largely intact. Although none of them have served, they had each aspired to join the SS but either failed the cut or the medical examination. How ironic that it was their desire to serve their country that almost led them to their own demise.
Smith walks up to the tallest of them, about 6' 4. "Your name, son?"
The man stands erect instinctively and stares straight ahead. "Klaus, Reichsmarschall, sir!" He shouts fanatically.
The corners of Smith's thin lips turn up slightly, his stare unwavering. He asks in his guttural voice, "And what oath do you make?"
"I swear loyalty to the Reich's cause and obedience to the Reichsmarschall, until death, sir!"
Smith's expression is veiled though holding hollows of madness deep within.
"Very good."
oOoOo
John pulls into a motel parking lot near the main street in Birmingham. They had called ahead, but only one room is available. The city is busier than usual as people are preparing for tomorrow's events. They get the keys from the attendant and carry their bags up to the room. It's 3 a.m. and everyone is exhausted from the drive.
"Tom, you and I will be over here." He gestures to the bed nearest the door.
"Do you mind if I use the restroom first?" Juliana asks, stifling a yawn.
"Go ahead, I may just pass out." Thomas flops on the bed and puts his hands behind his head. He is clearly very excited about tomorrow but needs time to rest.
John just nods as she steps into the bathroom.
While she showers, he wonders what she looks like as the water hit her skin. His chest begins to heave with shorter, sharper breaths as his imagination wanders to the things he wishes to do to her, for her, with her. He gulps, rubbing his thumbs he feels his hands beginning to sweat.
He stands abruptly, "I'm going to take a short walk. Stretch my legs a bit." He says to Thomas, whose eyelids are drooping heavily.
"Mmhmm," his son responds.
He stands outside looking over the city in darkness, dragging slowly on a cigarette. It is a terrible habit, and he always means to kick it. But alas, desperate times.
When John returns, Juliana is in bed and he can make out the Beatles t-shirt over the covers. He is glad she still likes wearing it.
"Your turn. I promise you'll feel much better." She mutters, still reading The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.
"I imagine so." He brings his pajamas into the restroom.
He strips, revealing the body of an athletic man, not bulky but toned. He looks at himself in the mirror and realizes his beard has gotten a little shaggy. He feels slightly embarrassed that he has been looking so unkempt around her. As he gets the clippers, different muscles flex as he maneuvers them around his jaw. He is not a vain man, but he needs to see his physique and enjoy his overall appeal. He needs to be confident tomorrow because he needs to ask her on a proper date, after… after the marching. After the real reason he is here: to join with those who would speak out against segregation and all forms of government institutionalized racism. He nearly scolds himself for thinking of such frivolous things in the present dire circumstances.
He steps into the shower, keeping it icy cold. He needs his body to comply and he needs to get some sleep. Despite his exhaustion, laying with her one bed over could be quite troubling.
When he emerges from the bathroom, she barely glances at him. Upon seeing his face, she she drops the book.
"Do you like it?" He asks almost shyly.
The beard had served as a shield, a frequent reminder that this is not the same John Smith. Now, with it completely gone, Juliana is startled by the resemblance to the Reichsmarschall. She does not hear his question as her brain is burning with a flurry of images of him shooting her, strangling her, trying to kill her a million different ways.
He coughs a little, bringing a hand subconsciously to rub the back of his neck. In his sudden bashfulness, she forces herself into the present.
"Do you, uh, like it?" He repeats.
She realizes she has been staring at him without a response, and she tries to soften her expression enough to smile.
"It's… different." She doesn't know what to say. She is uncomfortable looking at him, then she catches the sparkle in his hazel eyes and notices his slight frown.
"Good different" She adds.
His lips tug up in the corners. He sighs. "Maybe it was a bit impulsive."
He puts his things away before getting into the bed.
"It looks good." Juliana says again.
"Thanks for being nice." He replies, "Good night."
As he gets in bed, he lays on his side facing the door. He considers rolling over to see if she is looking at him still. Instead, he closes his eyes and does his best to get a good night's sleep.
oOoOo
Juliana dresses in the bathroom while the Smiths dress in the room. She hears John holler, "All clear" in a teasing tone, indicating they are decent.
She steps out, tingling with uneasiness. Although she has fought for the Resistance in her own world, never has she done anything so public in opposition to the government. Looking at John is unnerving. His features are all much softer, gentler, kinder than his other self, but something about the freshly shaven face and black jacket are all too familiar. Juliana has to constantly focus on the task at hand to contrast this John with the other.
When they leave their motel room, they see crowds are already walking to the starting point of the march. They descend the stairs and follow the dozens of people walking down the mainstreet with similar signs. Juliana looks at the ones they carry, "Voting Rights for All," "End School Segregation," "Equal Rights! Equal Education!" John's expression is somber, and a tear almost forms in Juliana's eye at the look of a man full of conviction fighting for the right cause.
She sees people of different ethnicities gathering together, talking and sharing about their journey to Birmingham. Many drove through the night just to join the march. Something about the ideology of the country at this moment, something about the people taking up the cause, opens the way for a conversation she thought impossible in her world.
Juliana isn't naive enough to believe everything will go smoothly in this world. She knows fascism and hate will continuously try to rise again, but she also sees something here she has never seen before: love of country compelling people to love one another.
They join the crowd at the starting point, and they begin to march and chant. They follow the black leaders at the front, many of them from different local religious communities.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a woman carrying a camera, filming the event.
For an hour, they march. The police stand on the edge, batons raised but otherwise not interfering, not yet. Some of the white people of Alabama shout slurs and call names at the men and women marching. Their behavior is more familiar to Juliana. At one point, her, John and Thomas are near the edge of the marchers, insulating the people of color more from the hate outside.
A man screams at her from behind a police officer, "You mother fucking cunt! Negro-loving whore!"
She keeps her head down, no reason to cause more trouble. John steps behind her, moving her more to the middle, his body acting as a shield.
"Julia, are you alright?" He asks, pausing from his shouting. His voice is scratchy and hoarse, although she remembers how it often has that raspy tone to it.
"I'm alright." Her expression is confident and she continues in stride with the marchers. She knows that despite the calls, this is not about her. She notices that when the men shout obscenities, a few of the officers smirk. Their callousness reminds her of the world she left, where hostility in the "right" direction is completely acceptable, normalized for over half the globe.
"We're nearing the church." John lifts his head trying to see over the crowd.
Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. begins to speak. A hush falls over as he condemns the hateful acts of those who wish to suppress black and poor people. Even as he challenges the social norms, he speaks with great hope for a better world, a contagious vision for the crowd gathered.
Juliana lets the tears roll down her cheeks as she listens to him. Him. She wonders what he would think if he knew the world she came from, the life she led before now.
John squeezes in closer to make way for the woman with the camera. Juliana barely notices the warmth of him as she is so enraptured by the great orator before her.
"He's brilliant." John whispers, his lips near the top of her head. He can smell her floral shampoo. He stands up a little straighter, refocusing on the speech.
Juliana leans over to the woman with the camera. "Can I get a copy? If I give you my address?" She whispers.
The woman glances at her, slightly annoyed, but seeing Juliana's genuine expression nods. "$5.00." Juliana reaches in her pocket to pull out the money from her first Friday paycheck. She hands it to the woman with a piece of paper, her new address scribbled on it.
"Thanks." Juliana bows her head graciously and continues to listen to the Reverend.
She knows he can't come back with her, and it would likely be far too dangerous. But she imagines what would happen if people in her world began to rebel, to speak up, to resist.
And she knows that she will give her life to see the resistance rise.