April 8th, 1982
Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany
The uncharacteristically late snow lay thickly atop the winter-worn paving stones that led to the Hirsches' front stoop. It stood out as the only walkway on the little backstreet that had not been carefully shoveled to allow the adults out for work. As a result, their humble row house looked quite abandoned. There were no footprints in the snow, either. In truth, no one had emerged from the house in three days.
Young Eliza thought the undisturbed snow looked like smooth fondant icing, like the perfect white surface of a wedding cake. In a fevered delirium, she imagined the feeling of kneeling in that perfect pillow of snow and cramming her face into it. Surely, the sound it would make would be a perfectly satisfying "ploff" sort of sound.
Meanwhile, the birthday boy was the birthday boy once again, but this time, a gangly, pimply sixteen-year-old one. More reclusive than ever, it was entirely odd to find him on this day outside of his own house. It was even more odd to note that he was visiting the neighboring town on such a day, especially with the roads as icy and treacherous as they were. He tromped along through the frozen streets, his footsteps firm with resolve. The usual spectacles, twice as thick as before, covered his expression and he sported a bundled-up muffler made from fantastical orange wool. He didn't much care for orange. But the girl he loved had made it for him, so he wore it gladly.
Eliza, sitting up in the bed, watched the window with interest, still imagining the feeling of burying her face in a snow bank. Today was Johann's sixteenth birthday and even though she could not manage to withdraw herself from between the sheets, her mother had come early in the morning to do her hair, filling the long, long blonde curls with countless ribbons. Johann had promised to come, and receive his birthday present.
Within a few minutes, she was asleep again, dreaming that she was a soldier wearing a uniform made of marzipan and spun sugar. It was so delicate that she could not even move, but the troops around her were running and shouting and panicking in the chaos of the battlefield. She wanted to run, and save herself from getting shot by the enemy, but—
He was almost there, but quite out of breath from the cold and the long walk. Huffing and puffing, he approached the little house very much unabashedly, little clouds appearing in the air as he exhaled. Without much notice, he stepped into the fresh snow mound that covered the walkway leading to the house, his boots leaving sound imprints, ruining the perfect white shape. At the sound of his footsteps crushing against the snow, Eliza woke from her strange dream and glimpsed a mess of blond hair and a bit of orange muffler disappearing underneath the awning. There were footprints in that snowy pillow now. She no longer wanted to put her face in it.
Moments later, a bundle of coats and chilly air edged shyly into the room and Eliza fingered her hair demurely, sitting up in bed among a nest of dainty ruffled pillows. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold and it blended with the acne that dotted his teenage features, making him look all the splotchier. He was still trembling slightly. Eliza gave a small smile and beckoned him into a chair by her bed, beside the radiator.
She opened her mouth to wish him a happy birthday, but he suddenly spoke up first.
"I-I brought you a… a… uhm…" Lost for even simple words, Johann withdrew a very large stroopwafel wrapped in paper from the inside of his coat. A Dutch bakery owner two streets over made them fresh daily and if Eliza were able to get out of bed, she would have liked to eat them every day, at every meal. Fresh, they were still slightly warm and yet crisp, and the caramel filling would be so soft and chewy. Eliza's entire face lit up.
"Darling Johann," she beamed, leaning over to kiss each of his red, cold cheeks in turn. "It is your birthday, but you have brought me a present. I am a happy girl. Thank you." Her eyes shone glassily through the fever, but her smile was genuine. "And I have a thing for you," she said in a soft voice. If a feather could speak, it would likely have Eliza's voice. Young Johann leaned in to hear her better. His heart wrenched at the audible form of her weakness and he barely registered that she was trying to give him something as she pushed a small paper package into his hands. He only returned to the moment when her tiny voice started urging him to open it and silently, he pried apart the decorative twine and patterned paper.
It was a thin, fabric-bound book, notably different from the texts and tomes he never failed to receive every year from his family. A small smile appeared on his lips as he opened it. Only he and Eliza knew their secret pastime. She had taught him to play the piano and they liked to spend their afternoons playing little duets, sometimes from the piano-book and sometimes ones of their own creation. He ran his finger along the spine of the book, betraying that it had been sewn together by hand. The pages were handwritten music sheets of their favorite duets, interrupted here and there by a page or two of poems, or a blank page for diary notes to be written later. He did not know what to say in thanks for such a priceless treasure.
"Do you like it, Johann? I am sorry that I could not go out to purchase something more fashionable to give to you…" Eliza broke the silence, her voice punctuated by the crinkling of bakery paper as she raised her still-warm stroopwafel to her mouth. It was crisp and sweet on the inside and she savored it immensely.
Still lost for words, Johann wrapped his arms around Eliza's slender shoulders, placing his palm against her beribboned blonde hair. Her face pressed gently into the misshapen orange muffler she had knitted for him last Christmas. A tiny giggle escaped her as the wool tickled her nose and she blushed prettily, a little bit glad that her face was hidden. She had grown so thin that he could feel the distinct shape of her bones through the back of her dress and even her bones felt delicate as he stroked her back, half-lovingly and half-analytically. How beautiful Eliza was, even in her fragility. His fingers ran absently over the ridge where her scapulae overlapped her birdlike ribcage. Buried in his muffler still, Eliza's face had grown beet red and as Johann's thin fingers moved over her back, she felt a sudden shiver. Abruptly, his hand was gone and feeling her shiver, he pulled away. Flustered and overly aware of the heat in her cheeks, Eliza raised the thankfully large stroopwafel to her face again.
"S-Sorry," Johann stammered, suddenly unable to make eye contact. "My hands must still be cold…" His own face felt hot as well and he clutched the little book tightly to himself, feeling inspired anew to return to his studies to become a doctor.
