I don't own SOM. Here's the last one. And it's a doozy.
Max
The bus moved at an uneasy rate, bouncing along the street. Max was slumped against the window, the cool glass comforting against his warm forehead. Kurt sat beside him, smoking. Surprisingly, the smoke irritated Max's lungs. Towards the front, there was a cluster of some British soldiers, their accents annoyingly crisp. In the seat across from Max, there was some Czech journalist with scary eyes. Some guards sat in the back, their faces distant.
"Well, this is bullshit." Max murmured.
"What?" Kurt asked.
And Georg was there. In the seat in front of Max. Turned around to face him, his arm resting on the back of the seat. "You're being a little melodramatic."
"I'm dying," Max retorted. "I get to be melodramatic." Almost to prove the point, Max broke off into a coughing spat.
"Quit sie es!" One of the guards barked. Max looked up, but Georg was gone. He looked out the window, but his sight was blurred by the smoke. The lush, verdant mountains turned to a smear of paint, and when Max tried to blink the smoke away, everything faded.
And then it was Paris, 1925. Max was sitting at a fine table, choked in full tails. The entire room was luminescent and white and marble. There was a glass of champagne in his hand and the band played something low and swinging. There was smoke in the air. Max's body felt young and beautiful, in the way when you know that your body won't always be this way, and you are ready to do anything you want that will make you feel okay.
"Cheers." Max looked over and there was Georg, young and vibrant and crisp. His hair was parted perfectly and his glass held a stark brown brandy. Max gently clinked his glass against Georg's and the sound was angelic. No one else was around, Max couldn't even see a band. Just music, floating down into this floating beam of light that was this room.
Max took a deep drink of the bubbly, summer-like champagne. "Is this a dream?" Max asked, his voice soft. "Is this real?"
"It might be a dream." Georg got up and held out his hand. "But who's to say if it isn't real?"
Max slipped his hand into Georg's and stood slowly. Georg led him to the center of the floor and, placing a hand on his waist, started to dance. Georg danced with the assurance of each step. Max looked closely into Georg's face, the contours of his nose, his cheek. The green of his eyes. His breath was sweet and bubbly, like the champagne.
"I'm scared." Max murmured, licking his chapped lips.
"It's lovely tonight." Georg looked away, gazing across the white room. "Isn't it?"
"Would you still be with me if you could?" Max asked. "Would you wait for me?"
"Don't worry." Georg turned to him with a sad smile. "It won't hurt." Georg leaned in, his soft lips parted and-
Max head slammed into the seat in front of him, the pain bright across his sleeping eyes. He jerked awake to hear the guards yelling and running out of the bus. Max peeked out of the window, a little scared and bleary.
"Please, please!" It was a woman in a threadbare jacket, her rich brown hair tucked into a hat. Her eyes were cold and tired. There was a little girl, clutching to her leg, burying her face in the deepness of her mother's coat. The trees watched them, their leaves leaving the sun to paint their sunken faces.
"Stop!" One of the guards barked, his gun held high.
"Please!" The woman pleaded. "My name is- Is Vera Schuschnigg. This," She looked down to her daughter. "This is my daughter, Maria." She looked up to the guards, her eyes glassy. "My husband is on your bus. Please. Please, let me come with you."
"Well, shit." Max murmured, a little impressed by the little woman. Beside him, Kurt sat, stiff as a statue, his eyes wide.
"That's my wife." Kurt whispered. Then, yelling, "That's my wife!" Kurt jumped up and ran up the aisle, trying to get to her, but the guards pushed him back. The woman heard her husband and tried to enter the bus, but the guards only held their guns higher. They were yelling horribly loud, the German positively grating.
"Please!" The woman, Vera, said. Tears weakly fell from her eyes, but she paid no regard to them. They were only witnesses to her sorrow. "Please. Let me on the bus." There were murmurs among the guards. "Please. I won't run. I won't even try. Just-" She took a sharp breath. "Just let me on the bus."
Silence. Then, a harsh, "Holen sie auf . Beeilen sie sich!" The woman nodded in submission and led her daughter onto the bus. Immediately, Kurt threw his arms around them, bringing them close to his starving body.
"Vera." Max heard him mutter into the folds of her jacket. "Vera."
Max looked out the window, and saw Georg holding the hand of a child. It looked like a little Liesel, her dark hair in pigtails. Her crisp, white dress was stark against the green grass. Georg's eyes were sharp and clear. Max shrugged to him. Two more bodies to end up in the ground.
As the bus began to move, the two visions were chased away by the wind.
Georg
The train was stopped at the border to check passports. As the guards ambled down the aisle, Georg absently handed one of them his papers.
After a moment, the young guard said, "A captain?"
Georg chuckled. "I haven't been a captain in many years."
"My father served in the war." The boy said. He couldn't have been more than 18. So young and fresh. "I know that you're always a captain. No matter what." Georg didn't say anything, just nodded with a soft smile. The boy moved to the next travelers, a woman in a red coat, sitting next to a little boy in a navy blue suit. As she rummaged through her purse, the boy fidgeted with his small tie. The woman gave him a stern glare. "Franz!" She said. "Stop it!" Sighing, she pulled out her papers and handed them to the guard. "Here you go, sir."
Georg turned to look out the window. The little Franz made him think of the older Franz. He disappeared after the war, never to contact the family again. Georg assumed he died, or else, was ashamed and embarrassed. The maids had been scattered across the country, Georg hadn't been able to track them down. Frau Schmidt has died during the war, alone and impoverished. It had broken his heart, to find her grave in Nonnberg. Never visited, with no family to mourn her. It broke his heart, thinking of the lives he had left in shatters. Like a coward.
In about fifteen minutes, the train set off again.
Max
"Well," Max said, running a hand through his unwashed hair. "This is beautiful."
The town of Niederdorf was set against soft, blue washed mountains and huge valleys of green grass and thick patches of yellow flowers. And as the bus moved down the road, a huge lake, glistening like a jewel, reflected the cloudy sky. A hotel sat amongst the pine forests along the edge of the lake, white and pristine. The other prisoners in the bus were smiling, their faces bright with the reflection of the sun.
"It's lovely." Vera said, her head leaning on her husband's shoulder. Her daughter slept on Kurt's lap.
"Yes." Kurt said. "It's like heaven."
Pretty second rate heaven if you ask me, Max thought, holding down a cough.
"No one asked you." Georg's voice came softly, chastising. Max smiled and shook his head.
The buses unloaded their prisoners slowly in front of the hotel. Each load was more grateful than the last. In all honest, most of the prisoners were in good condition. At least, tolerable condition. When Max walked off the bus, he barely took one step before he fell into the dirt, gasping for breath.
"Max!" Kurt yelled, rushing out of the bus. "Are you alright?" But Max didn't answer, only wheezed into the ground. A young maid rushed forward.
"Here." Max looked up and saw she was pretty, with a clear face and blue eyes. Her brown hair was tucked tightly under her uniform hat. The skin of her face was a lovely olive tone. Her Italian was sharp and straightforward. "Let me help."
"He needs a doctor." Kurt confessed, speaking in Italian. "He's not well."
"Kurt-" Max tried, but another round of coughing silenced him.
"We'll send for the doctor." The maid said. "But we'll put him in a private room, so he won't get anyone else sick."
"But he needs help!" Kurt insisted, helping Max to his feet. "He needs a doctor." If he had had any pride, Max would have been ashamed. But he didn't, so he leaned fully on Kurt.
"My mother- she was a nurse. I can stay with him while-"
"Marjorie!" The head maid, dressed in strict all black, said. "Hurry up!"
"Yes, m'am." The maid said tersely. Max looked up at her and she took his arm. "Come on, sir. This way."
"Mhm." Max managed, stumbling up the fine stairs of the hotel. "Yes."
Before he knew it, he was in a soft bed in a plain room with blue walls. There was a large window on the wall opposite the bed, letting June light fill the room. The bed was luxurious, his first in years. It was like sinking in a lake that was slowly reaching up to swallow him whole. Max felt a soft hand on his sweaty forehead.
"You're burning up." Marjorie's voice was distant. A cool cloth was pressed against his face gently. Max smiled in his delirium.
"You're a gem, Marj." Max sputtered out in German, unable to find the effort to remember Italian. "When this is all over, I'll take you out for drinks. Champagne, a nice dinner. Nothing but the best."
Max heard a soft laugh from the girl. "As long as you're paying." She replied in surprisingly good German (She has a bit too much of a German accent, but who can blame her?). Max laughed, which blended into a cough. Marjorie helped him sit up. After he caught his breath, she gave him a plain glass with water. Max managed to take a sip, but it only washed the dead taste of his mouth down his throat.
"Can I get you anything?" Marjorie asked, laying him back down.
"No- Wait. Yes." Max decided. "I'd like a cigarette. A good one, not one of those stupid rationed ones."
Marjorie smiled, shaking her head. "I don't think the doctor would like you to-"
"I'm dying, Marjorie. No doctor can fix that." Max said, trying to be funny about it, but the sadness was too present in this little room.
"You don't know that!"
"Don't pity me. I know when I'm beaten."
"You're weak. And you have a strong case of pneumonia. But people can get better from that." Marjorie argued.
"Please… I'd just like a cigarette. Please." Max tried not to sound too pathetic. Marjorie looked at him for a moment, her blue eyes clear.
"Alright." She said, brushing out the wrinkles of her crisp uniform. "Give me some time." And then she left the room, her footsteps soft against the floor. As soon as she was gone, Georg was there, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Please." Max murmured. "Don't leave."
"Where are the children?" Georg asked, looking out the window.
"Please." Max demanded weakly. "Look at me, Georg. Damn it, please." Max held out his hand, trying to just touch him, just touch him.
"We're to sing at the concert next week, aren't we? I should ask Maria." Georg got up, still refusing to look at Max. Max could feel weak tears race down his sunken cheeks.
"Will you just look at me?" Max begged. "God damn it, Georg, please, just look at me." His hand was outstretched, painfully desperate. "Georg-" But the vision was gone. All that was left was a skinny old man, his hand waiting for the person he loved most.
Max fell into the bed once more, wrapped the blankets around his thin chest.
Georg
Niederdorf was lovely beyond comparison. It reminded him of home, with its soft hills and valleys dressed in their finest. There was the heavy scent of water and flowers in the air, a smell that made Georg ache. The town was quaint and small, a murmur of soft Italian floating from the villagers. Georg stopped at a cafe for a cup of coffee and a sandwich.
"Excuse me, sir." Georg asked the waiter in Italian. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course." The waiter, a stocky fat man, nodded assent.
"Do you remember… During the war, some prisoners were kept here, perhaps?"
"Hm…" The waiter thought. "Yes, I do. Over at the Pragser Wildsee Hotel."
"Perfect!" Georg felt his heart jump. "I'm looking for one of those prisoners- a friend of mine- and-"
"Sir," The waiter cut him off, speaking gently. "Most of those prisoners returned home after-"
"Yes, I know!" Georg's temper flared. The waiter looked down, nervous. Georg took a few deep breaths. "Yes. I know. But I'm looking for one who… Didn't come back."
"Ah." The waiter's voice dripped with pity and Georg wanted to punch him. "Well. I think most of the staff at the Hotel is new, many immigrated after the war. But… I think the head housekeeper, Mrs. De Luca, was employed during the war. She might be able to help you."
"Thank you." Georg said. The waiter patted his shoulder before scurrying off to get his order. The condescension was not unnoticed by Georg and he started to boil again.
"Tsk-tsk, temper, Georg. Temper." Max said, appearing across the table, sitting in a tweed suit fitted nicely to his sprightly body, a cigarette smoking from between his fingers.
"Shove it." Georg said with a smile.
"He's just trying to help." Maria said, suddenly sitting next to Georg, wearing a soft blue dress and coat. "It's just his job." Her blonde ringlets were held under her simple hat. Max blew smoke at Georg, which smelled of nothing.
"He was pitying me." Georg complained.
"He's feels for you." Maria placed her soft hand on top of Georg's. He couldn't feel it.
"And it is a pretty pathetic situation you're in, if you don't mind me saying." Max shrugged. "A naval captain, on a, inevitably fruitless mission to find his lover."
"Yes, thank you, Max." Georg sneered, but with a smile. Maria stroked his hand, her lips curved in a soft smile.
"Sir?" The waiter was back and the two visions, Georg's two guides, disappeared like smoke. "Your coffee, sir." He set the cup down on the table.
"Thank you." Georg managed. "Danke."
Max
When Max woke up next, Marjorie was tucking the thick covers around his thin body. A lock of curly brown hair had escaped from her tight bun and now danced lightly along her forehead.
"Thank you." Max rasped. Marjorie jumped in surprise.
"Oh. Oh, good, you're awake." Marjorie brushed the wrinkles from her dress. "Here- I brought something." On the side table, there was a bowl of steaming soup, with a mug of tea to the side. Marjorie lifted the serving table and set it over Max's chest.
"Open." She said softly. Max complied and Marjorie spooned a little soup into his mouth. It was warm and tasteless. Max ate in silence for a few minutes, alternating from the hearty soup to the tea that soothed his rough throat. Marjorie only looked at the spoon and the mug, avoiding Max's gaze. But after a while, she asked, "Who's Georg?"
Max almost choked on a spoonful of soup. As Marjorie wiped at the edges of his mouth, Max tried to find the words that wouldn't set anything off.
"Who?" Max asked, feigning confusion.
"You muttered his name in your sleep." Marjorie brushed the stray hair back to join the others in her bun. "Among other things."
Well, that's a bind, Max thought. After a moment, he said, "He was a friend. In Austria. A good friend. I went to Dachau because- 'Cause I helped him escape. Escape the Nazis, I mean."
Marjorie only murmured an agreement. She spooned another scoop of soup into his mouth and Max deflated with relief that he had avoided any tricky questions. But then, she asked, "Was he your lover?"
Max didn't know how to respond. He didn't gasp or cough to choke. He simply laid there in that bed, looking up at the ceiling. Lover. How long had it been since Max had had a lover? Since before the war, at least. The word felt like it belonged in a different time, a different era.
"You were saying things," Marjorie explained. "You sounded scared and… Longing. I'm sorry, I won't turn you in. My brother- I think-" She cut off and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry." She stood to leave.
"No, wait." Max managed. Marjorie stopped, refusing to look back. Max took a breath. Well, here we go. "Yes. We were lovers."
Marjorie sat on the edge of the bed. Max kept going. "Georg was a captain. Back when… Well, he was a captain. And a good one. His family was born into money, loads." Max chuckled thinking of it. A pause. "And he was married- Twice. His children, he had seven of them, they were- Well, they were precious. Very precious to me. I was part of their family. When the Nazis invaded Austria, well, he needed to get out. And I had some influence. So, he did. And I got taken in. When I was in the camp, I sent letters to him, but I haven't- Haven't spoken to him since April, I think. I-" Max coughed. Not because he needed, because he didn't know what else to do. "I think I'll never speak to him again."
Marjorie placed a hand on Max's leg. "Don't say that. You'll get better."
"Whatever you say, Nurse." Max laughed gently. They sat in silence for a moment.
"Oh, yes. I got you something." Marjorie reached into the pouch of her apron and pulled out a cigarette and some matches.
"Perfect." Max smiled. Marjorie handed him the cigarette and he quickly lit it. After a moment, the room was filled with a good amount of smoke. It wasn't the best cigarette Max had ever had, but it was better than nothing.
"Maybe you could write him." Marjorie said, watching him blow out puffs of smoke. "Send a letter. I could get you some paper, a pen…"
"I don't want to make things hard for him. When I-" Max sighed. "I want him to move on. He's- he's happy without me." Suddenly, tears were fighting at Max's eyes and it took all his composure to hold them back. He didn't know what was happening. But he did, he honestly did. He was dying, and he wasn't going to leave anyone who missed him.
"Marjorie?"
"Yes?" She said.
"Could you get me that paper? And a pen, if you could."
Georg
The Pragser Wildsee Hotel was lovely and stark against the sharply green pines. Georg walked through the front doors, his hat in hand. The lobby was rustic, but sophisticated. There were patrons, dressed in fine outdoorsmen wear, strutting around like peacocks. It disgusted him, but he just kept his head down and walked to the front desk.
"Hello." The woman at the front desk said with a chirpy smile. "Welcome to the Pragser Wildsee Hotel. May I-"
"I'm sorry, I won't be staying." Georg cut in quickly. "It's just- I need to speak to a certain Mrs. De Luca, I believe. The head housekeeper?"
"Oh." The woman looked confused. "Well. I can fetch her… Is she expecting you?"
"No, I just- Need to speak with her." He replied simply. The woman just nodded and went through the door behind the desk. Georg stepped to the side, allowing other guests to get to the desk. They were all draped in furs and smoke and champagne and, "Yes, we simply must see the lake after we go shooting", and getting lunches brought to them by the lake. For some reason, it irked Georg to no degree. If Max was here, he would mock everyone one of them, calling them contrived and conceited, when in reality, all he wanted was to be them. Oh, how Max deserved to be them, to be one of them. He deserved it. Maybe Georg didn't deserve it, maybe.
After a moment, the woman returned and said, "Yes, you can see her in the private sitting room. Just over there." The woman pointed to her right, down a long hall.
"Thank you." Georg nodded and ambled quickly down the hall. The soft carpet muted his footsteps. After passing a few closed doors, Georg peeked into an open one which led to a tiny sitting room. Books lined the walls and a window let light spill in over the two lumpy old chairs. There was a woman, in her 30s, wearing a tight-collared black dress. She was lovely to look at, with warm olive skin and brown curly hair pulled back from her face.
"Hello, I am Mrs. De Luc. Head housekeeper." Her voice was tight and formal. "Can I help you, sir?" She gestured to one of the chairs.
"Yes, thank you." Georg took a seat slowly. "Mrs. De Luc, I am Georg von Trapp and I-"
"Oh mio Dio!" The housekeeper gasped quietly, her hand covering her mouth. "Oh Madonna!" She began to stumble.
Georg shot to his feet. "M'am, are you all right? Should I call for he-"
"No, no, I'm fine." Georg took her hand and led her to the other chair. "Yes, thank you, sir, yes, I'm quite alright." She swallowed. "You- you wouldn't happen to be Captain von Trapp, would you?"
A cloud of confusion settled over Georg's mind. "Yes… How did you-"
"I'm sorry, sir." Mrs. De Luc said. "If you could let me catch my breath."
"Yes. Yes, of course." Georg sat in his chair again. They sat in silence for a while. Mrs. De Luc pressed her hand to her forehead, wiping away sweat.
Georg cleared his throat and asked, "How is Mr. De Luc?", to clear the tension.
"I am unmarried," She explained. "Housekeepers are always Mrs. No, I'm single. In case you're asking." She smiled weakly. Georg chuckled.
"No, no, I'm-" He looked up at her. "I'm spoken for."
"The best ones always are."
His smile fading, Georg asked, "Mrs. De Luc-"
"Please. Marjorie."
"Alright, Marjorie. You see, I am looking for a friend of mine, a friend who- who was held here during the war as a-"
"I know, Captain. I know who you are looking for." She stood with great dignity. "Max Detweiler, I presume?"
"Yes!" Georg shouted, a little too loud. "Yes, is he- Is he living somewhere around here?" Georg tried and failed to hide the desperation in his voice.
"Before I can say anything, Captain, there's something I need to get you." Marjorie said nothing, only quickly walked out the room, leaving Georg to be nervous. It took several minutes for her to return, clutching a folded up piece of paper desperately in her hands. She approached him carefully.
"Here." She handed him the letter, which Georg took delicately. "I'll leave you to read it. I- I have to tend to something." And Marjorie was off again. Georg sat for a moment, his stomach twisting into knots. Then, after eternity, he opened the letter.
Dear Georg
I am sorry for what I am doing to you at the moment. That is, dying. I know they say I might pull through, but I've never been one for hope, now have I, darling? I hope this letter finds you (in some way, shape, or form) well. I hope you are strong enough to bear the pain that I know this will bring you. Pain which I am sorry for.
I hope I don't speak out of turn- It's just that I feel as if I have no more time left. No more time with you. I might never see you again. And that kills me. It strikes me to the very core.
Don't mourn me for long, Georg. Move past me. You always deserved better than me- that's why you were blessed with the children- and Maria. You deserve them. Me, I was just taking what wasn't mine by sharing your bed. Forgive me for that, I couldn't help it.
It's just- I am not good. Deep down. I am irredeemable. I am cowardly and only interested in saving myself. My one good act was saving you and the children, and look where I am now. No, I say that sarcastically- my whole life is worthwhile knowing that you all are safe. But truly, I am twisted and broken inside. But you- You are good. Truly, Georg. In the purest sense of your soul, you have honor and faith and loyalty and everything that the world needs. You are the greatest among us and I am proud to have known you. You have always called me to be a better person- I'm simply afraid I heard the call too late.
I love you, Georg. I love you, my dear, sweet Georg. With every fiber of my being. You have made my life into something more beautiful than I could've imagined. Thank you. I do not fear dying, not anymore, because I have loved you, and that is enough. For me at least.
Tell the children how much I love them, how important each of them is to me. Teach them a song when I'm gone- something soft and beautiful. Like the Edelweiss one. Love Maria, truly. Love her like you could've never loved me, and how I could've never borne to be loved. I wish you every happiness in the world- which is every happiness you deserve.
Forever Yours
Max
Georg was crying, the letter crumpled up in his hands. He brought the yellowed paper close to his chest, tears streaming down his cheeks. Oh, Max. Max, Georg thought as he wept. Why- Why did this have to happen to you, you yellow-bellied asshole. You coward among men. You beautiful, selfish, wonderful creature, you. Why… Georg heard footsteps coming down the hall, heavier than Marjorie's, but he didn't stop crying. He wasn't strong enough. No, maybe he was. But he knew Max deserved someone to cry for him, and Georg deserved to cry over Max.
The footsteps got louder, and the smell of cigarette smoke filled the air. But Georg could only weep. Weep over the man he had known, loved, and lost.
Well, that's it. Just for a side note, Kurt and Vera were real, and Vera did bring her daughter to willingly join the transport of prisoners. Some high ranking prisoners were transferred from Dachau to Niederdorf before the war ended. However, they were at first spurned from the Hotel, before their guards abandoned them and they were taken in until the Americans officially liberated them.
As for the ending of the story, well... If you ask me nicely, I might tell. But hey, not all stories need an ending, do they?