Author's Note: Okay, well, here's chapter two! Enjoy...In the meantime, I'll be working on chapter three. If you find any errors, please disregard them...I will go over them later.
Disclaimer - I don't own Hans Landa.
Late Winter of 1939...
It was quite a glorious day in Hans Landa's opinion.
Of course, it was always a beautiful day when opportunity came knocking on his door. Today, it was in the form of a nervous little man with a manila folder in his grasp, a manila folder which contained everything Hans Landa needed to turn his rather tedious situation around and give him the leverage he needed to make it into the SS regiment.
Ah yes…the sun had never shone so bright. The colors of the streets of Berlin had never been so stark and arresting as they were that morning. And never had the sight of such a mangy little schwein of a man been so welcomed in his eyes.
Yes, life was simply one wonderful segment of good fortune after the other.
"Ah, is that you dear Klaus?" Hans offered his most winning smile as he opened the door for the man to step inside.
The aforementioned Klaus, knowing all too well the underlying viciousness of his current employer, stepped through the frame of the door without having to be coaxed twice. For when Hans was forced to reiterate himself, it was never quite so pleasant to pay witness to as it was the first time around.
"Goodness, have you already found it? You are a slick devil, aren't you?" Hans shook with a victorious bout of laughter, leading his quiet companion into the painfully small living room, with hole-infested carpets and the torn red drapes which twisted and sashayed in the late morning breeze.
A mismatched tea set was arranged on a tin tray over the span of the makeshift coffee table (which looked hand-made by the looks of the dissimilar types of wood that it was fashioned out of) upon which two porcelain cups and a pot of brewed tea were placed. Landa had known already, before he'd even put on his attire for the day, that he'd be expecting a guest, though he did not receive many into his decidedly humble abode.
Mostly because he was not well liked amongst his peers.
Which was mostly because he made their skin crawl.
But this was one visitor in particular that would either be the highlight of a rather uneventful start of the morning or the source of a foul mood.
Landa could only hope, for the man's sake, that he valued his life enough not to be the cause of the latter.
He made a grand gesture toward the monochrome, age-worn settee across from where he stood and only after his guest had made himself comfortable (as comfortable as a mouse could be in the clutches of a rather hungry cat) did Landa finally sit down and begin pouring the tea. Klaus appraised the surroundings, compared them to Landa's strange aura of regality…
He did not seem to fit in such derelict settings.
"Sugar?" Landa offered mildly.
"No thank you, Herr Landa.-"
"Nonsense!" Landa cried, a sound which verged quite dangerously on a domineering, irritated tone of voice. "There will be no opposition here, amongst friends. Coffee then? It is not as nice as an espresso, I suppose. What do poor men like me know of espresso? Such comforts are reserved for the rich, of course. But it will ward off the chill…"
"Chill, sir?" Klaus swallowed nervously at the lump growing in the back of his throat. "It is a very mild day…"
"My dear Klaus…I know the state of the weather as well as you do, let me assure you of that straight away," Landa smiled wolfishly. "Now, look at you. You are trembling. Surely you are cold?"
Klaus' eyes wandered toward the open window, picking up on Landa's discreet accusation. The man knew all too well that he was being swindled into confessing, gently of course because the gentleman was nothing if not tender when he lulled his prey into a very false sense of security, as a gentleman ought to with his ill-fated guests (especially the ill-fated, for it would be their last earthly enjoyment) …had he the necessary information or did he not?
That was the question that would decide for him which outcome he would be awarded or, on the contrary, suffer…both at Landa's terrifyingly competent hands.
"A little, yes," Klaus replied, blinking away any traces of lying tell in his eyes. He attempted another shiver, just to keep the façade authentic enough for Landa to be satisfied and move on (out of boredom, out of irrelevance, whichever he preferred).
Just as he hoped, the monster abruptly switched subjects. "Now, Klaus…I know you did not come here without the documents I requested?"
"Of course not, herr. I made sure not to forget them," the man replied, shaking his head when Landa offered a pitcher of water. He could detect the nearly undetectable fall of Landa's expression then (though his eyes never, ever changed from their penetrating circumspection), as if a plan had been thwarted.
Klaus was immediately relieved that he had followed his gut on that count, certain that he had only just cheated death's hand by an inch.
A silence ensued as both men had nothing to say, one just barely enduring the awkwardness of the quiet and the other inflicting the pain of discomfiture himself. Landa did not seem to move or blink or even move as he allowed his guest a moment to read into him, perhaps find the hint he was sure he was so blatantly advertising. If you have them, then where in the hell are they?
Alas, there was no reaction to his offer. The man was either a simpleton or Landa was even more so adept at concealing his true self from the world than he thought (he simply loved to underestimate himself at times…to always know oneself and one's capabilities got to be so very tedious if exhausted too early in the game).
"And might where these documents be? I assume they are not invisible, or else how would they serve their purpose?" Landa chuckled softly, but the edge of steely irritation to its musicality did not go unnoticed by Klaus. He knew he was breaching dangerous territory…if the charm was beginning to falter and the insistence pushing through, it was only a matter of time before he ceased to be useful.
"Of course, herr. How terribly foolish of me," Klaus offered an appeasing smile, which Landa duly disregarded. All he wanted was that folder, or whatever sort of case the papers arrived in, and he'd allow a little flexibility on his part…spare the man his outward cruelty and redress the disguise, as it was a little less terrifying than the former.
The folder was handed over an untouched tray of tea. "Here. All of it is there, you can check for yourself."
It was checked and with a slight arch of the brow, a nondescript expression much to Klaus' dismay, Landa put the papers aside.
He heaved a great sigh and the side of his mouth quirked.
The poor boy didn't know whether to say his last prayers to his beloved God or thank the heavens for being spared at the Devil's hands.
Landa's eyes fixed themselves unswervingly on the man sitting across from him. "Won't you at the very least have a little tea, Klaus?" He asked gently. "You look so very cold. Now, you are a young man and may very well be immune to the precariousness of a strong chill, but in your ruffled state, you are at risk for catching your death in here! I do insist as a host…I will not have any of my guests allowing themselves to put their lives in jeopardy when they are here."
He gave a sultry little chortle and poured a cup of the brew.
All Klaus could think at that moment was that his host was right…even in his long-term state of unemployment, it was so obviously Landa's job to put his life in jeopardy, not his own at all.
"Please, herr, I couldn't."
Landa did not say anything at all, only fixed his mouth in the vaguest form of a villainous scowl.
Klaus reached over the tray and took the cup farthest away from him, hoping it would be his last chance for survival. All the while, as he brought the chipped china to his lips, his mind whirred with a jumble of last prayers…just in case.
He felt a little better concerning his choice when the other cup was taken without even a pause for consideration. Landa sipped noisily at his tea, watching his guest over the rim of his cup, as if to make sure his hospitality was not rudely rejected.
The man smiled offhandedly when Klaus finally tilted his head back and downed the entire contents of the cup in one massive gulp. It was hard to swallow, but he managed…anything to detain Landa's plan. If that meant drinking the damned drink, so be it.
Klaus nearly flew out of his skins when Landa suddenly leaped into conversation without warning (and was not at all gentle about it either). "Do you want to know what I find so very interesting about men and their prayers?" He laughed, still clutching the fine china. "Most do not even know who, or what in some cases, they are praying to."
"I was not praying, herr." The man insisted.
Landa inclined his head, his countenance unflinching. "Weren't you?" he asked.
"I solemnly vow, herr, that I was not. I do not believe prayer has any influence on life or death at all."
"Oh, Klaus…do not solemnly do anything. Life is much too solemn without adding to the desperation and the misery and…well, you understand my meaning, I'm sure."
Landa's smile did not dissipate. "Besides! You do not fool me at all! You need not hide behind pretenses. Why, we're both gentlemen of opinion here, perhaps even spirituality on your part."
Klaus did not say anything.
He was much too distracted by the fact that the world was beginning to spin beneath him.
"Why, it's plain to see that a man who participates in praying may boast an agreeable level of faithfulness, if not the sweetness of naiveté that most women adore in a potential beau. But I do believe that perhaps, by hailing the sky as if it were some otherworldly savior, humanity underestimates its own ability to salvage, to thrive without some sort of faith to rely on. Don't you agree, Klaus?"
"I cannot breathe." Klaus gasped, clutching at his throat.
Landa's mouth turned up at the corners in a cruel little smile. "Of course you don't agree. That is quite all right…all men must…what is that saying? Have their two cents? Come now, you've been to America… isn't that how they say it?"
One last gurgle burst forth from Klaus' throat as he staggered forward in a pitiful attempt to catch his stolen breath. His head slammed against the corner of the coffee table and the body was still. Landa inclined his head, studying the corpse for a moment, then moved to kneel beside it. He plunged one ungloved hand into the breast pocket of the jacket and pulled out the passport and wallet that he had asked him to bring.
Loyal to disloyalty to the end, no matter how truly terrified he'd been of his employer.
The name did not read Klaus Etzel at all, but Reginald Abbott. Certainly not German at all, but British!
Why, the nerve.
Landa's austere gaze lifted from the incriminating belongings. His victorious smirk unfurled like a wisp of smoke. "A penny for your thoughts?"
A bout of nonchalant laughter filled the tiny room (which was a kitchen, a dining room and a living room all rolled up in one substandard package) as Hans Landa rose to his feet once again.
And he permitted himself a little room for indulgence in his own droll jest.
Just because it was all too tantalizingly funny.
It was not long after Herr Standartenführer Kessler arrived in his office that morning that he received a letter. He'd been shuffling a few important documents regarding the registry of one Herr Armon Strom into the organization that would have occupied the entirety of his afternoon with going through the particulars.
But the papers he had planned on pouring over for hours and using as an excuse to escape the constant interruptions were roughly, and quickly, shoved aside when he discovered the contents of the letter. Kessler reached for the phone and was very adamantly dialing for someone, anyone, he didn't care who, to fetch the author of such a disgusting allegation in no time at all.
Before the line had even been connected, there was a polite, but firm knock at the door.
"What is it?! Oh, just come in!" Kessler shouted from behind his desk, slamming the phone back down as he realized the advantageous opportunity.
A young Private opened the door slightly so that only his upper body was visible to the Colonel. "There is a man here to see you, Herr Standartenführer. His name is Hans Landa...have you an appointment with him?"
Hans Landa. Exactly the repugnant character Kessler had been meaning to summon (or, in his case, have someone summon for him).
Kessler waved his hand harshly, sending the rather confused Private away. "Let him in and then promptly leave."
The Private did as he was asked, murmuring behind the door for the man in question to step in before departing from the hall altogether. He left two men in his wake, one very flustered Colonel with a reputation for furious outbursts and the other a mere specter in comparison…no one of consequence at all.
When Hans Landa walked in, however, the atmosphere of the room began to swiftly alter. It was colder somehow, though Kessler had the wrought iron stove in the corner simply blazing with a steady heat that encompassed the entirety of the small office and the windows were all tightly sealed.
It was almost as if the Devil himself had walked in.
But it was most certainly not the Devil at all. Only a man, who was decidedly short and poor by the look of him and his poor apparel. His clothes were shabby, the most significant sign of his poverty and of the economical state of the outside world, with holes decorating the gray, wool jacket he wore and a torn cap drawn over his pale forehead. He looked boyishly handsome, if anything, despite the gauntness of his figure that revealed, perhaps, long-term starvation from his lack of employment and funds. All that seemed unsettling about him, which Kessler took note of right away, was his eyes...cold, they were, and a sort of plain gray that, regardless of their common, unassuming color, spoke volumes of self-proclaimed authority.
Kessler pointed to the chair positioned before his desk. "Sit down. Now."
Most of the men under his command, Kessler had always remember to notice, would have looked as if they suffered from the all-consuming thought that they could not reach the chair fast enough for the Colonel's taste. It had become a bit of a game for him, to see which pair of legs could move the swiftest across the stretch of the long room.
But this one…he lingered, looking unfazed by the domineering tone, and took his time in approaching the desk. He gestured inquiringly to the only chair in the room, arching his brows as if to ask if that was the Colonel's preference.
A blatant confrontation of power if Kessler had ever seen one before.
As if it were rightfully his, no matter what political title proved superior over him, and he wanted the Colonel to know that he knew it too.
"I'm to expect you're the man who penned this letter?" The Colonel lifted the paper as Hans settled into the chair. "It's a remarkable story, I'll give you that, but not a single damn word of it is true."
Hans was not at all deterred by this news. "I do apologize, Colonel Kessler, for sending such a dreadful letter at all and regret having to write it!" Hans sighed mournfully, fastening his hands in his lap. "But in light of the situation, it was necessary. As you have already read, I am one of the few who are privy to the circulation of a distressing rumor about your wife."
"How do you know of my wife? You are no man of title and you are obviously not in the same league as our standard of living. Therefore you have never met her." Kessler gestured to Hans' clothes. "Therefore, you must not know what you are talking about. You want some money? Is that what you want? Here…"
He dug around in his pocket for a moment before taking out his hand and revealing a small gold coin. After checking its worth, he tossed it toward Hans. "Go back to that watering hole you stumbled out of and leave a man to his work, won't you?"
The man's jaw seemed to harden as he looked up from the coin, his eyes narrowing slightly, at the Colonel's accentuation of Hans' social inferiority and poverty.
But it did not seem that he was all that slighted by the Colonel's irreverent stereotyping (or if he was, he did not show it).
A vastly charming and conciliatory smile appeared on the man's face. "Herr Colonel, you betray your reputation as a man of observation. Simply because I do not own a lavish apartment and wear fine clothes as you do does not mean I am any less able to know of the world's goings-on and the importance of the people in it. Berlin has many districts and a variety of people…not only the affluent who have escaped the wrath of Germany's Depression."
"All right, you've made your point…you can read and write and you've obviously heard of me." Colonel Kessler paused for a moment, studying the impassive face before him. "This letter here, it states that the rumors involve my wife Hannelore. They say she is a Juden. Is this true?"
"I have heard them myself, Herr Colonel," Hans replied.
Kessler did not at all like such an ambiguous answer. "You have participated in these rumors?"
"On the contrary, my dear Standartenführer…I find them crude and ignorant and I do not take pleasure in hearing of them at all. Anyone with a right mind and an astute eye would see that Frau Kessler is not only a woman devoted to Germany, but a native as well! Why, it's absurd to consider such gossip to be true…how could a Jew love our country so adamantly, with their race being so very removed from us in every way?"
Everything the man said seemed to be refuting the rumors, but something in his air provided enough vague insinuations to have the Colonel reeling over many possibilities. It was almost haughty, assured…as if he knew something the Colonel didn't. Or rather, something the Colonel did.
"What are you saying, Herr Landa? That it is possible or that it is impossible? Pick a damn side and stick to it! None of this…pulling me into these circles as you parade around your true endeavors, what you really came here to say. Say them forthright, god damn it, or do not dare to tell me at all!"
Again, Hans did not appear to be at all threatened by the ferocious display. "Standartenführer Kessler…you must not anger yourself. They are merely rumors…" He laughed dismissively, inclining his head in a way that suggested he was finding a way into the Colonel's head. Or had already found it. Now he was just playing his game, counting the minutes before he could proclaim victory and call the shots.
Kessler did not like anyone calling the shots but him and that was all there was to it.
"Oh? Is that so? Tell me then, good Herr Landa…what is your view of these tall tales. Do you believe them?"
Landa could not restrain his crooked smirk. If Kessler had known him any better, then he would have paid witness to the fact that, through that small quirk of the mouth, Kessler had been defeated in the first part of the game. His voice lowered as he looked up at the Colonel across from him through a curtain of thick lashes, "Why, herr…what does one tend to think in a country like ours…with such circumstances to be considered?"
Kessler shot up from his seat, his face turning a hazardous sort of reddish-purple as his hands slammed on the table. Landa was barely able to hide his own overwhelming amusement at such a pathetic sort of spectacle, watching with quiet complacency, his hands still folded contently in his lap in the most genteel manner while the Colonel before him began to unfold like a moth caught in a flame. "That is not an answer!"
"A simple refutation would suffice, my good Standartenführer." Landa offered placidly.
The man's rage seemed to only swell even further in the face of such arrogant equanimity. "Do you intend to blackmail me you impudent little schwein?!"
"Blackmail, herr? Now, now…let us not assign what are so obviously good intentions to such a foul choice of language, hmm? Why, it would be akin to me calling your wife a whore. Now, that is certainly not at all what she is. In fact, I hear she is the most pleasant and faithful woman a man could ever wish to have in a wife, that much I may ascertain by measuring the lengths you will go to protect her and her reputation as a wife of Germany. Your loyalty commends her, Standartenführer! But where were we? Forgive me and my terrible habit of longwinded conversation…" He inhaled sharply and shifted his gaze, meeting the Colonel's dead on. For once, Kessler wanted to look away.
But Hans then waved his hand as if to catch an escaping thought and broke his concentrated state, that same smug smile still locked in place. How simple it all was, to trap a man in his own four walls of truth and lies and watch him squirm in his abstract prison.
Kessler watched as something ominous began to reflect in the man's unreadable face.
"Enough of this dance," Kessler managed to breathe out, horrified. "Once and for all, quiet my suspicions. What do you think you know of my wife? What lies have you uncovered?"
The intensity of the formidable shadow stretched his hand over Hans Landa's countenance, leaving all but his eyes, which smoldered in comparison to such vacuity, completely devoid of all emotion.
But even in his silence, the man spoke volumes. Hans knew Wilhelm Kessler's deepest, darkest secret…he knew and yet he'd never met him before in his life.
"I see." Kessler stated simply, his expression turning to stone as he tried to retain the last of his masquerade. He was at a loss as to what to say in such a condemning situation as he found himself then.
Should he surrender?
Or comply?
Shoot the man and claim self-defense?
What to do?
Hans continued as if he had not just caused the upheaval of one man's entire comfortable world. "In all sincerity, I am merely proving my abilities to you. That I am, in every aspect of the word, a most skilled detective. It is a shame to waste such dexterity and such a sharp eye as I have on the simple and boring task of rounding up the ones that we can find, even if I could successfully apply into the SS without hesitation on your organization's behalf. But, as it is, I am not purely German. I have a touch of Russian in my blood. Can you see it, my Cossack blush?" He laughed at the droll witticism.
Kessler's fists gathered beneath his desk, staying his desire to kill the impudent bastard sitting before him, laughing not at his joke, but at the Colonel's situation. Oh, how he wanted to kill him. Tear him to pieces!
"It's only just enough to deny me my rightful place in the SS ranks, you see," Hans sighed wistfully. "But! Let us venture into the possibility that the regiment hired a man, however impure he was in regards to ancestry, who could unearth the men who have escaped our country's well deserved fury. The prisoners hiding in the gutters, underneath the floors of the common traitor, which, may I remind you, would be catching two birds with one stone. Is that how you say it?"
The Colonel narrowed his eyes to the slightest degree. Ah yes, Landa thought…that telltale battle between confusion and rage. To look a fool and not understand? Or to ignore the treacherous brute before him and resort to the most primal urges – carnage.
Hans would applaud him for incorporating both, but he was not quite sure whether or not the man was capable of such a merging. In fact, the Standartenführer was a bit of a puzzle to him…what on earth were his intentions? Did he love the Jewish whore? Or was it his own good title he was so steadfastly devoted to?
So many possibilities to attend to. It was so very exhausting to consider them all at once, in the midst of such an exhilarating sport of catching swindlers in their useless acts of cloak and daggers!
He watched as Kessler's muscles snapped beneath their skins as Hans lifted his hands to his collar, straightening it just a little with a small clearing of his throat. Yes, he was quite ready for a good threat. That would earn the Colonel's complete submission. But to uncover the man's design…it was imperative that he found it or else the entire operation would be ruined.
"Now, it is in the countryside that we must go, my good Colonel…those are the rats worth catching!" Landa chuckled wholeheartedly. "That, my dear herr, is a true game of cat and mouse! Don't you agree, Standartenführer?"
Kessler's throat gave an aggressive rumble, quite the contrast against Hans' silent, wolfish grin. "Damn the prisoners of war! They do not matter!" His fist pounded against the desk once again.
An exhibitionist…the man wanted to be sure it was seen that he had the advantage in size as he knew he did not have it in wiles.
But what was he so afraid of losing? He kept his heart well guarded, that was for certain.
"Why do you dig into my personal life?" Kessler raged, subduing his voice, with great difficulty, as it trembled with uncontrollable anger so that only the man across from him could hear it. "It is none of your concern what sort of wife I have, who I assure you is not a Jew at all! Why, if I ever found that my wife was a piece of filth, I'd throw her into the gutters without delay! You are very dangerously close, Herr Landa, of making an ass of yourself quite quickly!"
"And the daughter, sir? She is not a Juden as well?"
"You're either thick or hard of hearing, herr. But since you seem so intent on receiving your answer, I will tell you the truth..." He sat down at his desk again, trying to calm himself in the midst of so much exasperation. "Both Hanne and Hannelore are of pure German ancestry."
Ah, so it was the wife. A strange partiality…Landa would have guessed, at first, that the man preferred the daughter instead. From what he had picked up in aimless conversation, the wife was quite the petty, ignorant little burden…it was a strange occurrence indeed that a man abundant in intelligence and importance could fall in love with such inferiority.
"Standartenführer, please, you must forgive my curiosity. It was born of good intentions, I assure you! You see, if I wished to prove to you that I was, in fact, as astounding in my ability to find that which cannot be found, then how on earth might I have convinced you otherwise to help me into your organization and ensure that I received the occupation that I was vying for? You are the sole proprietor of the whole truth of your situation and since it was, in fact, you I was hoping to impress, it would be only natural that I choose you as, and please excuse my choice of analogy herr, the scapegoat. Now if I had chosen a different man and a different past to exercise my talents on, how would you have known if I was reporting false evidence to you? Surely you would not."
Landa emitted a soft, placatory sort of laugh at the silliness of it all, as if to put to rest all of the Colonel Kessler's worries on the subject of his possible ruination.
But indeed, to Kessler, that was not the impression at all.
Kessler's dread, however amiable Landa's gesture was, could not be alleviated so easily. If every condemning secret he had wished to tuck away from the suspicious world had not been suddenly unearthed by a man he was certain was capable of treachery, he might have joined in on the expressive mirth.
But he could hardly laugh when his stomach turned in on itself as the secrets unfolded from the darkest, deepest caverns of his insides. Not to mention his lungs, which were utterly choked with an insatiable fear, and he felt like he would scream from such incredible pressure.
Unraveling inside like some great, unsolved mystery, he merely watched as his accuser chuckled, dismissing his unrest with an unabashed charm…as if it were all one enormous joke.
As if Kessler were the butt of the jest and Hans could simply not get enough of it.
At last, the big man would topple over, leaving room for the undiscovered, the rejected, to slip right in and infiltrate his former superiority. It was all very sickening, how utterly composed and agreeable and attractive Hans appeared to the unsuspecting eye, but beneath all those layers of façade there was a blatant cruelty.
A monster that, if only someone would look, would be as plain to see as the day which seeped through Standartenführer Kessler's windows.
Like the night swallowed whole by a tyrannical sun.
"Now that our meeting is complete, I am not at all opposed to allowing you one small favor, since you are such a gentleman to allow me to put you in such a state of unease. Oh, but please...make it an interesting request. I am not at all pleasant or tolerant when I am bored...if you take my meaning."
"I offer you my daughter."
Hans' brow rose quizzically. "In exchange for what?"
"Keeping my personal secret out of public scrutiny."
"And this is to include my first demand?"
"Yes. I will have the papers drawn up. You will have your place in the SS."
The man nodded his head in agreement, but Kessler knew all too well that his attempt to have the upper hand in the situation had failed. He might have had the official superiority, the corporeal dominance, but Hans Landa was, in all aspects of the word, the prevailing victor.
Hans sighed, contemplative. "Oh, all right. I suppose that will do. But your daughter, if she is a bore, I must warn you...my fingers are quite restless when I am not entertained." The man patted on the breast pocket of his threadbare overcoat where the unmistakable hiding place of a pistol could be found as a cold sweat broke out across Kessler's forehead.
"I assure you..." Said the Colonel. "She's the most intriguing young woman I know."
"Oh, but sir…you may be biased. How on earth should I trust your judgment?"
"I give you my word."
A painful silence followed in which Hans studied the Colonel and, in turn, Kessler began to fidget under the man's empty, cold gaze.
"Hm, it really is too bad..." Hans chuckled amiably, folding his hands before him and leaning in, so that the light overhead threw shadows over his eyes. He looked like Death himself leaning over Kessler like a great black veil; he could almost feel the inhuman chill settle over the darkened room.
"I do believe we've struck a deal, Herr Standartenführer Kessler." Hans offered his hand.
Kessler reluctantly took it.
Knowing he was sriking a deal with the Devil himself.
"Well, I really should be off! There are things to put in order, people to see." Hans rose from his perch, pausing in the midst of straightening his coat as another thought occurred to him. "Oh, and do be careful with what you say to your peers, my dear Standartenführer. We wouldn't want anymore nasty rumors spreading throughout Germany, now would we? What would we do without our fine Colonel Kessler to mingle with? I'll say it'd be quite a dull world indeed if anything...tragic were to happen to you and your dear, beautiful family."
Hans smiled wolfishly and gently slid a portrait of the Kessler family toward the Colonel. Kessler swallowed hard and took it under his palm, guarding it from the monster before him.
"Think of the world around you, if it were to lose such an asset as you are!" Hans reminded him. "And do not forget that we are such good friends now, Wilhelm...you may divulge anything you like in me." He put his fingers up to his lips, shushing him quietly and raising a comical brow.
"For I am the soul of discretion in the presence of good friends," Hans assured him…
"I will never, ever tell."
Late Spring of 1939…
"Mama, really." I fussed, tearing her hands away from the collar of my jacket. She'd been fretting over it for the past five minutes, since I'd put it on.
"For God's sake, Hanne! Sit still! There is still a wrinkle there in that blouse that refuses to come out! You cannot go there to meet him looking as if you've had a tussle with the neighborhood whore, now can you? Of course not! And your father agrees with me, don't you Wilhelm?"
I cast a pleading look over at my father, who was sitting quietly by the fireplace with a glass of brandy resting on his lap, balanced there by a lax grip. He did not move, even when my mother's shrill voice filled the living room. It was strange, seeing him so utterly consumed by his own musing.
As a creature of habit, my father was usually much too busy sharing his thoughts to take the time to sort through them.
My mother didn't seem to notice.
"Wilhelm!" She shrieked.
He looked over at last, his hand falling away from his temple as the trance was broken.
"Damn you….can't you ever leave me in peace?" He growled.
My mother squealed with delight, ignoring my father's complaint. "You see, Hanne? We only want the best for you. And there is certainly no winning this man by going there looking like an utter tramp! You must impress him…you must be the picture of elegance, but not too forthright with your wiles as men like to learn of them by themselves. You must be mysterious! Do you understand, Hanne? Or all will be ruined and we will never see Hans again!"
"What a tragedy that would be!" My father exhaled loudly as he stood from the cream-colored armchair he'd been lounging in and placed the half-full brandy glass on the empty mantle.
Rest and relaxation were nearly impossible to attain in the presence of my mother, especially when she was flustered as she was at the moment. He probably abandoned all hope for rumination entirely.
"Of course it would be a tragedy, Wilhelm!" Mother exclaimed, put out by his statement. "For Hanne to be refused because she is a stupid girl and cannot listen to her mother? Especially when I know so much about men, have so much knowledge of their workings and such! You are a simpleton, really, Wilhelm if you think that Hanne can survive this Depression without a husband to support her!"
He shook his head, frustrated beyond the normal cantankerous margins of objection he expressed on a daily basis. "Hannelore, you really are the most vapid woman I know. Marrying Hanne off to some rich, well-to-do man has nothing to do with securing her economically! It has everything to do with you controlling every aspect of her life! Even her damnable marriage."
"You unforgivable arschloch! How dare you say that to me, after all I've done for Hanne?" My mother's eyes flashed in the gold-washed light. "You should be ashamed of yourself, you German schwein!"
"No, I have every reason to congratulate myself on staying out of this whole affair!" He retorted, his voice rising. "If you had any sense, woman, you would see that this man is completely wrong for Hanne and that she does not even love him!"
Sensing an ensuing argument, I decided to intervene. It was apparent that my father, who was usually much more cognizant of my emotions, had failed to realize that a twist of fate had somehow grasped a vice hold on our lives. For once, I actually agreed with my mother's choice for me, no matter how opposed I was to the match in the beginning.
If normality had been allowed to continue to reign over our household, and my mother continued to have bad taste, things would have been different.
On the contrary, they would have been the same.
"Mama is right for once, actually," I said, ignoring the insulted huff behind me. "I do have feelings for Hans and, if he happened to ask me to marry him, I would not hesitate to accept him."
Father looked at me through narrowed eyes, studying my face as to catch any conflict I was attempting to hide, any falsehood. If I was only trying to mollify my mother and her ten-year-old hopes to marry me off someday, he would have known.
But he found nothing of that sort when he looked at me.
At least, I hoped he didn't.
"Hanne," he murmured, sighing as he gently touched my cheek. "I can only hope you know what you're doing."
I frowned as I took the words in, which was hard as mother started her infernal shrieking again.
"Of course she knows! She's never been more certain of anything in her life. Isn't that right Hanne?"
My father ignored her.
"At least let me go with you, Hanne," he beseeched me, taking my hands into his and squeezing them softly. He looked down at me with such clear apprehension in his clouded blue eyes that it began to worry me as well. "I do not trust this man any further than I could throw him."
In an attempt to laugh off the tense moment, I tried my hand at a petty joke. "That would not be very far at all, I agree."
I afforded a small laugh, but I seemed to be the only one amused by it.
Mother looked furious; father was, in turn, anxious. Unsettled.
Father was never unsettled. He was the rock upon which the foundations of this family stood. He was the beacon in the east, a citadel of light which we looked to for guidance and hope when the world seemed to turn its back on us, crush every hope and dream we ever had stored away for Germany's great awakening.
"Nonsense!" My mother squawked behind him. He rolled his eyes, the delirium he had been swept into broken by her high-pitched protestations.
Some things never changed. My mother was as static as ever.
He whirled on her, a force not to be reckoned with.
"What do you mean nonsense?" He growled. "Do you honestly think it's safe for Hanne to be out there and meet this snake charmer alone? No chaperone to make sure he doesn't dishonor her or deflower her or do something infinitely worse?"
"You are a stupid man if you think Hans would do anything to harm Hanne!" My mother retorted, shoving him out of the way to reach my collar once again. "He is in love with her. I know it!"
"You know nothing, Hannelore," He shouted, his voice as rough as gravel. He raised a reproachful finger and pointed it straight at my mother, affording her no sympathy, no humility or uncertainty in his allegation. "And this will all come to nothing in the end. Just like everything else you think you are certain of, you selfish woman! This will fail and the only person it will hurt will be Hanne, not you."
"Oh, hush, you! It is you who knows nothing!" My mother smiled victoriously as she finally straightened out the infuriatingly stubborn lapel. "There! You're ready, aren't you?"
"Yes, mama," I replied, watching over my shoulder as my father left the room in a fit of indignation. This was normal for him when mother got to be too irritating, but something in him was different…something was definitely not right.
Mother took my face into her hands and patted them gently, forcing me to look straight into her eyes. They wrinkled around their weathered edges, lost in some ecstasy that I wouldn't understand until I had my own children, my own daughter to marry off or my own son to recommend to the girls of Berlin.
"Ah, my beautiful Hanne! You're going to be engaged after tonight, I am sure of it! Oh, I can hardly believe it! Can you darling? No, I'm sure you can't…you're not that observant, not as I am at least…Now, go on…put your hat on and leave my dear girl. You'll be late! And we don't want that! No, we surely don't!"
She herded me toward the door, shoving the hat into my hands as we went.
I looked toward the study one last time, where my father had disappeared, before my mother threw me out of the house altogether.
I could only hope that I would win his full approval in the end, as it seemed he was conflicted about my choice.
Perhaps I could convince him with news of an engagement and the betraying, tangible proof of a new fiancé – a solid diamond rock to boast on my ring finger.
There was a chill in the air when I stepped out of the family apartment. It might have been just my imagination, my nerves conjuring up some figment of the fear that coiled in my stomach and manifesting it as physical to warn me. Warn me of what, I was not sure.
The severity of my rash decision? A foretelling of the near future?
A girl like me, who was always young and impressionable no matter how learned she was and what kind of worldly family she could possess, could only know so much.
Especially when most of what I accomplished and loved was related to and rooted in the body of the earth and not its inhabitants at all.
It occupied my mind as I walked down the streets of Berlin, the weight of my choice to marry Hans (if marriage was what he was proposing). Most of my thoughts turned to my mother, who might shoot me if I decided to refuse him, but this was only a small part of my acceptance of him.
I could admit readily to anyone that I was smitten with him.
Who couldn't be? Despite his age, which usually turned a man's appearance sour and smothered all former ability to woo any sort of female (whether young or old), he had stunned me in the best sense with not only his refreshing personality, but also his forbearance with my mother and her less than desirable traits.
It had seemed that my father agreed with my choice when my mother had read the letter to him, although that shadow of doubt had crossed his mind and reflected in his face as clearly as if he had spoken the fear aloud.
It was not his way, to worry for me. He'd raised me as an independent woman, to take care of myself, though in the past I did tell him many times that I believe he'd failed me on at least that part. He'd always took it as a reflection on myself as opposed to his parenting, which was what it was, but always believed that I had the Kessler strength in me.
Despite his being wrong, I did not want to deter what little faith he had in me…
I stopped bringing the subject up long ago.
And in all of this, my feelings for Hans were the foundation for my nervousness. My father's approval and my mother's adamancy were only added layers to my basest emotions, and even if they were to voice their opposition to the marriage, I'd have married him anyway in a heartbeat.
Perhaps half of one, if he'd have me.
If he'd have me.
The biggest if of them all as it would determine the lasting effect on all three of us if all this turned out to be some sort of trick or I had assumed too much from the start.
My mother would be devastated.
My father, perhaps relieved.
Contrary to how certain I was of my parents' reactions, I did not know what I would do in the event that things did not go according to plain. I had never been connected with a man so closely before…
What would happen, I asked myself as I traipsed the bustle of the city corridors, if I did not receive the proposal I was expecting?
Besides, it was silly to rest all of one's hopes on the meaning of a flower.
Even I, being so utterly devoted to them as I was, could see that.
I had to sidestep a distracted woman, her unruly child and the whistling, seemingly happy man that I assumed was her husband to enter the café, pulling me out of my thoughts entirely. For a moment, I watched them pass, looking as happy as any family ought to be even in the shadow of national Depression.
Still, their happiness thrived. Their spirits remained. They couldn't be robbed of their inherent contentment if the world had ripped it from underneath their feet and torn it in front of their eyes.
We Germans were a strong people.
No one could deny us for at least that victory over them.
The family disappeared around a corner, leaving me all alone, standing in the window of the dimly lit café, the watery yellow lights spilling over the walks and casting gold shadows across them. I turned and looked inside, only to find myself recognizing a pair of sober gray eyes and a stubborn little smirk marking the corners of a familiar mouth among the few that occupied the small restaurant. The man in question, good, dear Hans, was sitting at a small place in a private corner of the eatery, plainly dressed in a dark tweed coat and a white dress shirt like a stark shock of white beneath it. Peeking out from beneath the beige-colored tablecloth was the slightly tattered hem of gray trousers and a pair of simple black shoes that looked scuffed and dull in the light. There was a gray cap on his head, pulled back as to not risk shadowing his distinguished features, but it was just enough to give him a sliver of anonymity.
However small the sliver was.
He nodded toward the seat across from him, a steaming cup of tea and something infinitely more appealing lying on my side of the table.
A Casablanca lily.
My favorite flower.
I matched his smirk and lowered my eyes to my shoes as I entered the bistro, listening to each click of my heels against the hard floor and a quick, throbbing heartbeat.
When I looked up, he was there. Still smirking. Still as handsome and enigmatic in his appearance as ever.
After a moment of silence, I cleared my throat. "I would ask how you knew, but I would be much too afraid to discredit you and your knack for close observation."
He glanced transiently at the Casablanca Lily, glowing a sort of ghostly white as it lay there, waiting for me to take it, to inhale its soft, sweet fragrance and feel the petals beneath my fingertips where it definitely belonged.
"Why, the very same way I know everything, Hanne!" He exclaimed pleasantly, and then motioned toward the empty seat with a grand, yet small wave of his hand.
I obliged and sat down rather quickly. "Don't tell me you're a magician, too."
"You know how the conjurer makes his magic so enchanting?" He asked, folding his hands in that pensive sort of way before him, his elbows leaning on the table. "He leaves his methods to imagination. People, they go to great lengths to convince the mind that it is not just a worldly trick. No, they indulge the mystery, the chance that perhaps there is more out there than what meets the eye…if they were to tell, what sort of illusionist would he be?"
"A very poor one," I replied, laughing with him on his choice of analogy. "All right, I'll let you keep your secrets. But only if you tell me why it is you've called me here."
He looked at me, his brow rising in amusement. "I thought it should be entirely obvious. Forgive me if I had mislead you into thinking this was a purely meaningless escapade, it was rather thoughtless of me, I admit it."
"Then you mean to tell me something?" I asked, my heartbeat quickening again. "Something…important?"
He leaned in, feigned a severity that came across as comical, especially as his manner assumed a playful sort of air. "Something very important, my dear, dear Hanne." He then sat back again.
He took my hand without warning and kissed it. His lips slid over my knuckles, sinfully slow and soft as ever.
I strained to remain steadfast and catch my stolen breath. "Then you are proposing to me?"
His brow rose once more as he swept the wrinkles from his side of the tablecloth. "Hm," he grunted, thoughtful. "You are surprised, are you?"
He did not sound all that pleased in hearing I was surprised.
I inclined my head, trying to catch his eye again. They were solidly attached to the table cloth and its seemingly arresting creases. "Should I be?"
At last, his focus returned to me from the stubborn wrinkles, looking as if he had given up on drawing them out of the cloth altogether. His expression seemed that of boredom, but there was no sign or particular look in his eyes that designated the cause of his listlessness – me or the table.
Something else in his air, something I'd not seen in him before that moment, told me he wanted to keep me guessing.
"Well, I would hope that I did not come across as a business deal, dear girl, by all means." He replied. "That is, exempting my other small gift for you…your florist shop that you wanted so ardently."
For a moment, all I could do was try and remember how to breathe. How could a man like him, who could so obviously have any woman of his choosing, marry me? I might have deemed it the cruelest, most unacceptably selfish thing in the world to accept his hand, if I were not only thinking of myself in that very moment.
In fact, the women of Berlin (of the world, really) who would suffer the loss of Hans Landa's availability were the farthest from my mind. All I could think of was how happy I was, how happy I would be…
If I said yes.
A simple yes that would change the course of my life and alter my routine entirely.
No more lounging on the ottoman by the window on late spring mornings and early winter nights with a book in my lap, rain tapping on the window or sunshine filtering through the glass. There would be no more listening to my mother and her endless train of prospects and no more enduring the eternal bickering of my antagonistic, yet cherished parents. Discussions by the fireplace with my father of the flower shop I longed to open and the necessary chatter of loans and investments it entailed would soon be over, as Hans already financed the last payments.
No more solitary life.
Half of my life, my livelihood and all of my loyalty would belong to him.
He looked up from the white tablecloth. The entirety of his expression was completely blank as he awaited my answer, appraised any telling signs in my demeanor that would give it away before I even voiced it.
I took his hand; the callus of his fingers brushed against my skin as he reciprocated the gesture and gently squeezed my hand. "I accept," I said.
A satisfied grin cracked the severity of his countenance in an instant as he reached into the pocket of his tweed coat, pulling a small, twinkling trinket out of the hidden compartment. It was as if he had extracted a star out of the sky, the way it sparkled so vibrantly even in the lack of lighting.
But I knew better than that...
My breath hitched.
The engagement ring.
He outstretched his hand and took mine, slipping the ring ceremoniously over my finger.
It fit perfectly, just like he knew it would.
He waved a hand, his fingers flourishing like flower petals unfurling in the spring. A sort of amused smile touched both corners of his mouth, a stroke of mischievous light captured in his expression. "Merveilleux!"
I couldn't have put it more perfectly if I had even tried.
"Oh Hanne! You're home early!"
I rolled my eyes as I slipped out of my overcoat. It was actually quite late and I had had perhaps a few too many cups of chamomile tea (on Hans' insistence, of course) and I was in no mood to hear my mother's melodramatic frustrations.
Of course, she had probably not even been looking at the great, mahogany grandfather clock in the corner...probably her wedding periodical again, if I wasn't mistaken.
All I wanted, from the moment I left Hans in the foyer of our apartment building with a promise to attend his superior's small tea party with him, was to settle into my precious ottoman with my German translated copy of Systema Naturae and watch the rest of the world amble down the walks of Berlin. To home, to the next bar…wherever they might go next in their weary travels through the veil of the warm, spring night.
But mother was adamant.
Her eyes were alight with that spark of world-rooted madness that was hers alone, one that no one else could imitate for all the acting coaching in the world.
She meant to know what had happened in great detail and would not spare me her wrath if I risked crossing her.
It was no use.
Any way I looked at the situation, I was trapped in her little web.
"Hanne! You ungrateful daughter, you must answer me! What did you say?" She paused, her breath catching. "Did you refuse him?"
"Of course not, mama," I replied quietly. I did not look at her; she would only try to find something in my face that wasn't there if I did. "I would never think of doing such a thing."
"Don't you lie to me, girl!" Her chest rose and fell quickly, her voice shrill. "You were talking of those damned flowers again weren't you! I knew I shouldn't have let you go alone! Your father is a fool for suggesting it! Why, if it had been left up to me none of this would have happened. You would have walked in here with a ring on your finger and I would have been such a happy woman."
She gave an anguished cry and fell into the long-backed chair by the fireplace. "Oh, Hanne! You stupid girl…what will become of us now?!"
Never mind that father had been the one to suggest I have a chaperone and not mother at all.
In fact, ironically enough, she had been the one to insist I go alone.
Oh, the lengths my mother's imagination would go to ensure she would always be free from blame.
"It is not the end of the world, mama," I assured her. "On the contrary, the world is just beginning."
I chuckled as I reached the bookcase near the ottoman, casting her a pitying sideways glance as I let my fingers glide over the spines of my precious collection. She was still reclining in father's tall study seat, the fire nestling a feverish glow in her cheeks and rendering the mad flicker in her eye a demonic sort of yellow.
It had been a long time, however, since my mother managed to scare me with her theatrics.
"Not another word from you! You have ruined all my plans for happiness!" She gave a stifled snivel, drawing her small, fragile wrist across her nose. "And you do not even care! How dare you? You should not have come home after such ruination! I am sure you slept with him as well? And since you insist on acting like a prostitute, why, you should live like one too in my opinion!"
I sat down on the ottoman, unfazed by her threats. "I did not sleep with him, mama. That is not his design at all! We were at the café and all we did was talk and drink tea…Herr Schleiffer can vouch for the time I was present there, not leaving for a moment in the entirety of the two hours I was away."
This seemed to quiet all of my mother's suspicions, but not her misplaced rage.
"Well, I suppose he told you that you weren't pretty enough for him then, did he? That he had another girl in mind entirely? What a dirty schwein he is!" She sneered. "Using your precious time like that, when you could have been out meeting another man that is better suited for you, in age and in beauty!"
"Mama, you insult Hans' good character," I replied nonchalantly, turning to the first page of the volume in my lap. The white, rose-printed skirt of my dress glowed silver in the moonlight which filtered through the windowpanes. "He was quite the gentleman and did not tell me any such thing. In fact, he complimented me greatly."
My mother perked up from her slouch in father's chair.
How swiftly the winds of change came and went.
Even as small an insignificant as they were in a family such as ours.
The fire crackled in the heavy silence as she contemplated my vague offering of gossip and I could tell she was thinking hard by the way not even the sound of her breathing reached my ears. All of Hannelore Kessler's world seemed to stop as she entertained the possibility of her daughter's attachment; I could not restrain a smile in honor of my saving Hans' reputation in the family.
Because the only thing worse than a swinger and a cheater in my mother's opinion was a cheating swinger.
At last, a sign of life wandered cautiously over from the other side of the room, taking a quick testing whiff of the offering I had provided. She scrutinized my air, the half of the expression she could see from her vantage point. She seemed to be placated by my lack of smugness and continued on.
"Oh, did he now?" She asked, attempting to play uninterested. But the act did not last and the part fell through as her eagerness won her over "Well, what did he say, Hanne?! I insist you tell me right this instant, after leaving me in such agony these past few hours, wondering if he proposed, if he confessed any feelings for you at all!"
It never occurred to her that it would be worse if I never came home at all to bear her sons and marry perfect German men. No, that was never on my mother's mind, though she cared very much about her plans for me and my propitious future.
Germany was such a secure place now, my father always said; the SS would never let the daughter of a ranking officer go missing.
I heaved a regretful sigh as I snapped Linnaeus' masterpiece shut and swung my legs over the side of the inviting cushion. It had been my hope to read for the duration of my hour before bed and that mother would have been fast asleep upon my arrival, but in retrospect it had seemed like too much to wish for. Mother would never even consider sleeping at a time such as this and it was silly of me to think otherwise.
Resigned to my fate, I leaned back on my hands. "Mama, you should know better. He gave me a red tulip. Lovers, who know their flower meanings, give the subject of their adoration red tulips as a symbol of their love, you see."
My mother scoffed, flicking her wrist in my general direction as to brush off my scientific contribution. "Oh, you and those flowers! And I suppose you think that Herr Landa purposefully gave you that damned flower, knowing what it meant and such? I would sooner believe in flying pigs than a man knowing anything of the meaning of flowers!"
"Well, then, mama," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "I suppose you should keep your eyes to the sky in the near future."
"You can't honestly suspect, dear Hanne-"
"Not only do I suspect," I assured her. "I know. I told him of my love for all things botanical and horticultural at Herr Schwartz's birthday celebration, about three weeks ago. He must've investigated the symbolism of the tulip himself! I would certainly not put it past him, being such a charming and intelligent man. Would you, mama?"
"Certainly not!" She exclaimed. "You think I am a simpleton, do you? How else do I find such man to handle such an impertinent daughter as you are! I knew very well that he knew of the yellow tulips just as you did! I simply wanted you to be sure that you knew, you see. I have more plans concerning you than you should know of, Hanne. A great deal of plans."
"Of course, mama," I replied, attempting very hard to contain myself in her presence. "But, you should know, it was a red tulip. Not yellow at all."
"Oh, damn them altogether! I do not care for flowers as you do and you know that well enough not to correct me!" She tied her house robe together in an obstinate, perturbed sort of fashion and rose from father's study chair. "It is late and you and I know well enough that we must visit your Aunt Annaliese tomorrow morning for brunch! And don't you dare defy me and stay up all through the night reading those damned books of yours! I want you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow. No lack of sleep will sway me, girl! You are already out of my favor for coming home with nothing but skin on your ring-finger and it will do you very well not to cross me further."
"Annaliese is coming?" I asked, looking up at her as she approached the ottoman. "And you did not think to tell me before?"
"What was to tell? It is only Anneliese!" She pressed a kiss to my cheek as she gave a piercing sort of chortle. "Good heavens, you act as if we were meeting Hans himself! Besides, dear girl, I had been expecting an engaged woman to walk through that door! Not just a red tulip and not even a speck of gold on your finger!"
"Which we are not, right mama?" I watched her countenance warily, searching for even the slightest of tells. "He is a busy man tomorrow and I would not want you to chase him off by pestering him so!"
"Oh, well, look who has decided to be concerned with her love life for once!" She cried. "I would have assumed that this…anxiety over his approval of you would come sooner than it has, but who am I to complain? I'm only your mother who expects too much of you, who wishes too much for your well-being!"
She snorted her disapproval of me. God forbid I should go an hour or so without knowing about how much of a nuisance I could be sometimes.
"Mama, you know very well that I am very, very grateful for all you've done for me," I replied, standing up from the ottoman and pressing a kiss, in turn, on her flushed cheek. "Who could boast a better mother then I can? Very few, I'm sure."
She smiled then, a genuine little quirk of her mouth that I have seldom seen before on her. Her hand pressed against my cheek, she appraised me in a new light – admiring, grateful. It was true, my mother could be more of a nuisance to me, I was sure, than I was to her.
But it was only a sign that she cared for me.
"You're quite right darling! Quite right." She said and she tapped the point of my chin.
It was only fair that she knew the truth. At first, I had wanted to keep our engagement a secret, at least from mama as she exercised her terrible habit of spreading little whispers of rumor into any ear that would lend its attention to her. But if I did not tell her, she would be cross with me for as long as I lived (perhaps a month or two, give or take).
Besides, she had calmed considerably since I walked in, not ten minutes before. It could be a reward of sorts, for taming her wild tendencies after hearing such alleged news.
"Mama," I called after her, catching her just as she reached the dark corridor.
"Yes, what is it girl?" She whirled on me in a sudden flare of anger. "I'm quite tired and it's late and you should be getting off to bed now!"
"Oh, but don't you want to know?" I asked, moving toward the settee and easing slowly into the cushions. My mother's eyes gleamed; she hadn't heard any juicy gossip in a long while and the lack of scandal was beginning to affect her. "My secret, that is. You've always said yourself that you've never been one to turn down the opportunity for a good secret, isn't that right?"
For a moment, she simply stared at me, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched hard in deep thought. Then, she sighed. The first sign of surrender.
"Yes, yes...you don't have to tell me what I said before! I can remember things, you know...better than your father, in fact! Well, you're a nuisance, Hanne, but you've caught my interest," she said, moving toward the settee across from me. Her arms crossed. "What on earth could be so important that you have to tell me now? Can't it wait? When we're in public and someone might overhear you? Gossip is good for the reputation you know!"
"Ah, but this cannot wait!" I replied, grinning, I was sure, like a fool. I held out my left hand for her to see the lovely engagement ring that perched there, as delicate as a snowdrop.
She shrieked with glee, wrenching my hand toward her and me with it. My ribs smarted a little from slamming into the coffee table so forcefully, but in light of my mother's happiness, I was able to overlook the ache. "Oh Hanne! Oh, dearest Hanne...my lovely, beautiful, charming daughter!" She looked as if she were about to cry. "Finally! I was afraid you'd never marry, being as stubborn and stupidly independent as you are. But at last! Victory!"
I pulled my hand back from her to its rightful place on my knee and rubbed my sore ribs with the other. "Well, let us not forget," I retorted. "There would be no marriage at all if it weren't for at least half of my involvement, if not more."
"Whatever you say, dear girl!" She laughed and lunged toward me, placing a kiss on my cheek. "Well! It is time for bed! I cannot be tired tomorrow when I relate all of the details to your dear Aunt Anneliese!"
"Yes, God forbid she should be spared any of the particulars." I quipped, but she did not seem to hear me.
Her hand retreated from my jaw and she turned away, crossing the length of the carpet that separated her from the long corridor which led to her room. In which my father slept peacefully, his snores filling the empty space all the way from the ceiling to the roots of the carpet. All of the apartment was peaceful. Including myself.
"Goodnight Hanne!" She called. "Or should I say, the future Frau Landa?! Oh, what a ring that has! I shall be a grandmother in no time! I'd best break out my best needles-"
She disappeared behind a wall, still chattering exuberantly to herself of all the plans she had concerning grandchildren and wedding parties and, of course, the engagement party itself, leaving me to hear the last hiss of the fire as it drew its last breath on the smothered hearth.
"Good night, mama," I whispered in reply, smiling again as my fingers met with the warmed metal of the ring.
Only the shadows seemed to hear me.