Where the End Begins

by Galan

"And why do you stare at me that way?" "I can't help but think, sir—" "Yes?" "We've met before." The Captain was no stranger, Maria discovered some time after being sent to the von Trapp household as a teacher and governess for the summer. No, she and the Captain were not strangers at all. (AU, main body of the story begins in 1933.)

37. Chapter 34: An End

Chapter 34: An End

Maria slept for most of Thursday, Georg back from the chemist with a fresh bottle of aspirin long before she woke, already at her bedside to bring her anything she wanted. When she was awake, she didn't need his help to get to the washroom, thankful she didn't need to beg him to wait outside. His reminders that he had seen every inch of her only left her flushed more by embarrassment than any lingering fever.

Friday, Maria was hungry enough to beg Georg to visit the bakery and greengrocer's, a task he had never actually done before. By midday, she begged him to go out again to send a telegram to her school, that she expected to be back on Monday. (He gladly did that as well.)

Georg drove her to class Monday morning, walked her to the front door before he kissed her farewell and promised to collect her in the afternoon. When she was safely inside, he returned to the car, turned it about, then drove to Aigen for the day. As expected, Frau Schmidt's first order of business was to ask about the possibility of hiring a new governess. Georg simply instructed her to make the advertisement herself, taking more cautions with the next one's credentials; he had no desire to hire one governess after another.

Franz had very little to tell him regarding the household. A maid let go then and a new one hired a week later, repairs for the kitchen...nothing much of note. His only important information was that the gardener Kerecsen had been dismissed, his wife with him. With winter preparations to be laid for spring, a replacement would be needed soon. Georg told him the same as the housekeeper, to simply hire whomever he found qualified.

Despite the children being safely in school—just like his wife—Georg took his lunch on a tray in his study as before. Though Frau Bauer knew to keep the little girls to themselves when he was at home, Marta still managed to wander occasionally when the nurse grew distracted. The cook's meal was a welcome change to his own in Salzburg, whether he was at a café or subjected to his wife's cooking.

Maria was paler when she finally emerged from the school's front door that afternoon, Georg waiting with his arm outstretched. He kissed her cheek—took her canvas bag—helped her to the car parked as near to the front entrance as possible. She had been well throughout the day, she told him, simply needing an aspirin once or twice whenever she could manage a glass of water. Most of her lunch was still in her bag—she would take the remnants the following day—but her appetite was better. Georg persuaded her to choose a café for dinner that evening rather than trying to cook anything, though she still ate very little. (He wasn't upset at her agreement.)

By Wednesday, despite the wretched memory the previous week, Maria mostly felt like herself. The strange bleeding had ebbed and flowed since that fateful day, sometimes so light Maria thought it was finally over. But each morning, there was always another red stain in the rag she had worn through the night. She dutifully cleaned them in the washroom's basin as soon as she could stand on her own: soaked them for a few moments in tepid water, then drained it away before rinsing them until the water ran clean. And always religious cleaning every hint of blood from beneath her fingernails. Less comfortable was trying to find the best place to dry the growing collection without forcing Georg to see it as often as she did.

By Friday evening, the marks were so faint, Maria didn't worry over one of her rags at night, at last feeling well when she went to bed. Georg, however, did not. It had been weeks since she had simply kissed her husband good night. After all, he had been gone for nearly three and for the last, she had felt so poor, she hadn't quite been able to. But tonight as she leaned over to him—ready to gently kiss his cheek—he moved away from her. Just far enough that she couldn't quite reach him.

Saturday night was the same, as was Sunday.

As the first full week of October dawned, the evenings remained odd. Maria typically returned home on the bus, sometimes with a stop at the corner stores before she climbed the stairs. She marked her papers in the kitchen while Georg sat in the front room with one of his books she had never read, filling the flat with a thickening haze of smoke that left her coughing and hardly able to breathe. After she finally made dinner, Maria went back to marking her papers and Georg often returned to his book. Barely a word between them all evening. And when they finally retired to bed, Georg was more distant, farther away from her in bed than ever.

Especially when only the sounds of a Salzburg night drifted through the crack under the window already closed against autumn, Maria couldn't help but wonder….she wasn't quite certain what. I still don't understand, she thought as Georg's gentle snores were matched by a passing car or one of the night's last buses. Why was my bleeding so different at the end of September? So different all summer except for that first time? I learned at least the simplest things about where babies come from in college, all the things I couldn't have learned at home. I know I couldn't bleed if I was with child, it's just not possible. She rolled onto her arm toward Georg, still asleep on his back. But so much blood suddenly, all at once, all that pain. Could that have been it, somehow? Losing a child?

Another night as Georg's snores melded with the little coughs of what might be an early cold as the only soundtrack, Maria gently pushed herself over to him. You notice everything, Georg. It seems like you do even in your sleep. Even with only the moonlight and Salzburg's street lamps, she could decipher his sharp nose and jaw, his hair now mussed by a pillow rather than lying in a clean wave wrought by a comb. Sometimes in the middle of the night, Maria somehow did feel like a child next to him. You must have lived such a life, Georg. I know the navy, how you lost your father earlier than your mother unlike me. You saw the world, but who you knew—what you knew...I don't know any of that. She ran a shaking hand through the little mess of his hair. Now, you won't really tell me anything. Back on her own pillow, Maria spun onto her back; there was no point in even trying to straighten the hair across his forehead. Please tell me what I've done.

Georg struggled each night, lying beside his young wife. Sometimes, he couldn't imagine it, really, what he needed to do, what he had to do. There was no day, no moment, only someday. Tomorrow wasn't quite right, knowing how it would hurt the girl who had nearly birthed his eighth child. Neither was the next tomorrow, or the next. The schillings he had for her had been tucked at the top of the wardrobe since the morning he returned with her new bottle of aspirin to ease the lingering pains. And every night, beside the fresh package of cigarettes and a new lighter, Georg set the whistle, ready to go whenever the time arrived, all behind the quilt he had laid over her when she was too cold. He had peered down at her that morning: hair tossed across the pillow, face not just pale but ashen like stone...I can't take that chance again, darling. Not for you or for me. If I knew for certain you could always give me what I needed—never take what I didn't want to give you...

So every night, Georg refused to even look at her in their bed, to act as though he didn't hear her occasional sniffles. He wouldn't touch her, no matter the pain he sometimes had to relieve with a trip to the washroom. Whatever I think every now and then, it's only a matter of time, he told himself during the worst nights when he craved reaching for her, turning her onto her back and doing whatever he pleased to her. There's no need for the risk.

---

Nighttime, 17 October, Salzburg

Already in her winter nightdress, Maria was sitting up in bed braiding her hair. Her husband still hadn't pulled the heavier quilt from the wardrobe despite a cool wind whistling beneath the window. After the end of September when she had scarcely escaped their bed, she was so weak, he had folded it like the military man he once was and returned it to its corner. I wish you had left it, Georg. It might make you happier, something else that might keep us apart. She frowned as she dropped a strand of hair. I know, Father, I shouldn't say that. I already gave You my prayers this evening, most especially for him. Retrieving the lost strand, she tightened her braid with a quick tug. I always have to say them before he arrives, I know he won't to hear the ones I have about him.

Plait half-finished, she drew her feet up to bury them in her nightdress's cotton hem under the sheet and blankets, still cold despite the layers. I still wonder sometimes, if he knew anything. Another few knots, then with the end in her left hand, she reached for her old hair tie with her right. Two or three ties would be enough to hold it in place for the night. But that's probably not fair, thinking that, I know it's women's work, all of it.

Maria pulled a knee up to her chest, one cheek pressed down as she peered out the window, bottoms of the curtains caught in that draft, a little light fluttering about like a drop of sunshine caught in the breeze. But it was mostly just the last street lights and lamps of Salzburg flickering out for the night. Maybe it would be better if I was still out there. I might feel just as alone. But if I was, I wouldn't have anywhere to go. And we can't undo the past, the church won't allow it. Like she often did these days as the nighttime appeared, Maria fiddled with her wedding ring, turning it round and round. I know it can't be done. But maybe if we could just go somewhere else for a time. Georg must love the sea if he spent so much on it. She laughed a little to herself, the sound muffled by her elbow. Or under it, I suppose—

"Maria?"

"Hmm?" Really, there must be a better place out there than just here. Not just here, I mean, but somewhere with happy endings. And I wish we could find it together, Georg. I thought we were going to—

"Maria?"

She lifted her face, spun it about to the door to the little bedroom. Just in the doorframe—back in from the washroom—Georg was fastening the last buttons of his nightshirt, hem hanging loose at his waist as it always did. It's all the same, now, ever since you came back, and I really just...Perhaps I just don't want to think about what I did. Maria dropped her cheek down again, her gaze back at the window— She squinted. I thought I saw a bird. But it must be too late to see one, unless it's an owl. All the others have probably all found a moonbeam to fly along, to find what's at the end. She closed her eyes. And you must love the mountains after living in Salzburg, Georg, I didn't really know them until I moved here. Now sometimes, I feel they're mine. Just what might be up in those hills—

"Maria?"

"Yes…" She didn't need to hear Georg say much more. "I'm ready."

It was always a count to three until the light vanished and a new, unpleasant darkness enveloped their bedroom. One. It turned her stomach, waiting for it, and it never varied. Two. "Then good night." Three. The darkness engulfed her—the silence, the emptiness.

But it doesn't seem like you want it any other way, Maria thought, still sitting up. She would just toss and turn if she lay down right now, and at least she could keep her thoughts together like this. Is this what it's like, being married after the first months? I didn't think it would be. She lifted her head, trying to pick out her husband's shadow. Somehow, it just felt so sudden, everything turning so—routine. He always took the same path past the foot of the small bed, the same measured steps past the window, nearly always on top of the many layers. Someday, Maria thought as she waited for the bed to creak under his weight as always, someday I'll ask what I did wrong. I just don't know what—

She hissed, something in her eye burning. An eyelash, dust? Closing her eyes didn't help; now it was scratching at her eyelid as well. Maria rubbed at her eye with the tips of her fingers, then the side of one. It didn't help. Turning her face up, she blinked heavily—tugged at the skin under eye and blinked again—now pulled at her eyelid, desperate to blink.

Maria continued for a minute or so, groaning a little as she did—and then in a moment, it vanished. She wiped a few tears from beneath her eye, smearing it onto the blanket over her knee. I don't know the last time that happened, she thought. It still hurt with another blink or two and she still needed to brush up her eyelashes with a finger. She didn't glance back to the window, there was no point in it. You must be here by now. Or there, really, Maria thought as she slid her foot down the bed, her backside as well. She bunched the blankets up at her chin against the impending cold—to an unexpected groan. "What is it?"

"Maria!"

"I didn't know you were there!" she whispered. There hadn't been a word in their bed for weeks, let alone a touch, accidental or otherwise.

"Where else would I be?"

He was closer than usual, only the little wall of the sheets and duvet to shield him from her. "I'm sorry, I just hadn't lain down yet. And with the light turned off, I couldn't see anything."

"You can't see in the dark."

"With the moonlight, then."

Georg snorted. "Those are very different things."

"I know." She was nervous, suddenly. Why am I? This is the man I married, who almost demanded I marry him. Shouldn't he be happy I'm here, that we're talking like this? How we used to? At least for tonight?

He turned onto his side—almost on instinct—his edge of her little armored wall twisting with him. He might as well humor her—but he suddenly wanted to touch her face. "One is on a ship, the other sometimes helps guide the ship." Needed.

"I wouldn't know, I wasn't in the navy." Maria didn't know where he was, only that she thought she felt his breath on her face, melting away a few of her shivers. Her pulse beginning to pound in her ears, she shifted a little closer, one of her elbows knocking into his chest despite the cocoon of blankets enveloping her. "You know that."

"No, you weren't." She hadn't been this close for weeks, and it stoked a small rush of fresh blood to his groin. "You're not moving," he said stiffly. He didn't move away, made no effort to turn over onto his back. Are you trying to be my distraction again? I can't have it anymore, even lying right here beside you.

"I'm cold, Georg."

"I know it's chilly, but I think you have all the layers."

"Does it matter?"

He sighed, blindly searching for her even as his misgivings rose. His hand bumped her collarbone, then her shoulder, the latter not quite buried in all those sheets. "Here, for a little while." Wrapping his arm around her back, Georg dragged her against him. God, it was already a mistake, the blankets not enough to hide the feel of her breasts on his chest. You'll be the death of me, anything I have left to hold me back.

"Why just for a while?"

The nascent erection in his nighttime trousers had ceased growing, though it was still there, blood still pulsing, almost waiting. "I've told you before," he said, her body rolling slightly into his, "don't ask me questions I can't answer."

Maria didn't say anything else, a sudden taste of what she craved on her tongue. For a moment, it had felt almost like months ago, the simple moments of lying in bed after they made love or the rare moments she had before he woke in the morning. Please just tell me, Georg. She couldn't resist, her hand creeping from beneath her nest, searching...It was the collar of his nightshirt she found first, then the slightly rough skin of his upper chest, the very top curls of hair, the top button...

His arousal was growing again at such a brief touch. You're asking too much of me right now, darling. "Maria—"

"I miss you," she blurted out, already blushing in the darkness.

"Do you?"

She nodded, happy he couldn't see her to remind her how foolish she was being. "Yes."

Georg couldn't stop himself, his hand on her shoulder now drifting under the blankets that weren't pinned down on the edge of the mattress. Her nightdress didn't hide the little bumps of her spine, her shiver either. He could just reach the curve of her back—and then needed a deep breath when he reached her bottom. No, he told himself, retreating to the dip just above—but her body rose up against his, forcing his hand back down. Don't, Maria.

"Please tell me."

"What?" Georg whispered.

"What did I do?"

He groaned, pulling his hand away from her back. "Maria—"

"I miss you." It was a blind groping into the darkness, but Maria found his face; she tried to pull him to her, but he was too heavy. On one elbow instead, she pushed herself toward him, desperate to find his mouth. It was the bottom of his cheek instead, and she followed the heat of his jaw. And then— She kissed him, his bottom lip caught in her mouth for a few seconds until she let a moan out against him. "Please tell me—"

"You miss me?" He tightened his arm around her back— His head fell back with a gasp for air. Christ. His erection was painful, her entire body smashed against his despite the blankets between them. Every now and then, Maria, I sometimes wonder if we could continue on like this. He held her closer now, until he heard her squeal with the pain in her breasts. It throbbed now, demanding her body...No, darling. You've worn down my defenses. She was panting against him, her chest rising and falling and continuing to torment him with her breasts. I've tried as much as I can, but it won't end tonight without me having you.

Georg pulled her atop him, blankets and all, groaning with the sudden pain as she crushed him. "Then there you are, darling."

Maria struggled to push herself up and away, but she could only move a few inches. "What?"

"You said what?" he said, louder now. His stronger arms pulled her right back down in spite of his own pain. Do what you want, darling, but you belong to me. I told you once, I would do with you exactly how I please. He shoved half of her blankets away, leaving them now as his own armor. "Tell me again." I know exactly what I'm going to do, Maria, all of it.

"I miss you."

Georg hummed at the warmth of her breath. "Again." One of his hands made its way back to her bottom, clenching it hard now that her protective blankets had fallen to the side. And then down to her thigh, her nightdress so bunched up toward her waist, she was already his for the taking, his fingers easily sliding up to stroke the hollow between her legs.

Maria's heart was pounding. I don't know what else you want. "I miss you."

She had stopped resisting, so Georg dragged his other hand up to the nape of her neck to still her head, her ear against his mouth. "So show me, darling. Show me, if you really want me to make love to you like—before."

His young wife fought with the remaining blankets, rising up from him just enough to toss them aside using her hands and feet, whatever she had to. She had just scrambled out of her own clothes when Georg yanked her from top of him, the wetness from between her legs beginning to soak through his own nightclothes to him. Her gasps were almost as strong as the first time he had made love to her right here. Never like before, Maria, he thought as he turned her on her back. Her legs were already bare and spread wide for him as he stripped away his own clothes. Still sitting up, he yanked her to him instead, thrusting himself into her in a single moment, so deep, he was sure it was a hiss of pain he heard. There's no pleasure in this, Maria. I'm doing with you just as I please. He anchored his hands on her thighs, far apart as he could hold them, a little river of whimpers rising up from the darkness in his bed, her face probably twisted in discomfort. You'll take exactly what I give you, exactly how I want to give it. It's what I need from you.

---

The next morning

It wasn't even sunrise when Georg woke; he hardly needed the light anymore, he hadn't for years. With nothing on a submarine but flickering electric lamps for years, sometimes he forgot much of the world waited for it each morning. It's just the morning. Just like every other day.

Her arm lay across his chest, hand open and loose. Exhausted. Trying to hold onto me? Lifting her wrist carefully, he slid her arm back, her elbow bending just underneath the top of the sheets. You'll have to try harder than that, I'm afraid. Sitting up, happily without a complaint from the mattress, Georg slipped the bedclothes away—toward the girl—before he turned to set his feet on the ground. Without the little rug that ran along her side of the bed, it was rather chilly this morning. It won't last for long.

It was just a few quick steps to the wardrobe where a swift tug on the door that opened to his half silenced any possible creaks. He didn't quite pay attention to what he pulled out for a new pair of black trousers and underclothes. (Neither of them had bothered to dress last night, too sweaty to tolerate anything but simple sheets and blankets.) I saw it last night, Maria, truly, Georg thought as he tugged both on. How I talked to you, what I was trying to demand. It's for the best. Not just for last night, but everything.

He hadn't made love to her the prior night: he had taken her, had her, ravaged her. Reaching for a clean shirt, he threw it over his shoulders with a little shake to fit it to his frame, unable to resist a quick glance to the bed. Still asleep, the girl now lay curled onto one side with her bare breasts just peeking over the blanket's hem, hands folded under chin. Almost like you're praying, darling, he thought, each arm now in a sleeve. Just like that first night. You didn't know it then—I don't think you realized last night. There was no joy, no happiness. He began with the shirt's buttons, almost taking a step toward her. No, he told himself as he reached the last he always fastened, then adjusted his trousers around the tails before drawing the zipper up. You'll realize that sometime this morning.

He hadn't touched her for weeks, always wondering when was the time to walk away, always waiting for the next day, then the next, then the next. But there was no tomorrow now. There had been no resisting her last night, would be no more resisting her if he stayed another day. I can't stay forever, darling. I always knew I couldn't. Now taking a tie from the wardrobe, he threaded it around his neck, memory taking over his hands to knot it. Every time I went to Aigen and the world I left, to Vienna and the memories there...There was no staying here with you forever. Not just for me, but for you, darling.

Nearly last to be chosen was his jacket folded over his elbow, then a leather belt and a pair of black socks for later. He didn't close the wardrobe; there was still too much to pull from the top shelf. His shoes remained where they always did, just inside the room—right beside hers. I haven't heard you strum that damn guitar for weeks, you don't chatter on the way you used to, sometimes you don't even smile as much. He crouched down to take his shoes with his free hand. I see what will happen, darling. I used to know all those things, love all those things, but they've been burnt out of me. The longer I stay, the more I'll burn them out of you.

Georg finished dressing in the front room; it was far enough away the echo would die along the corridor. He didn't dare take the chance that the sound of his shoes on the kitchen floor would wake her, though he couldn't dream it would. You're probably already dreaming of something happy, Maria, some story you've told for us. The dawn was a touch brighter through the window here anyway, streaming through the curtains and leaving no need for the electric light. Across the room on the bookshelf end by the door, his keys sat on the shelf where he sometimes left them. He would take a few schillings from the pile he had set aside for the girl, enough to line his pocket. I would never just leave you with nothing, darling. You gave me what I needed, a lovely distraction. I'll see you can look after yourself.

If the kitchen might prove too noisy, it might also prove too bright, so when he grabbed pen and paper from the shelf where they always sat, he simply dusted off the gramophone near to the window. No real use for it anyway, Georg thought as he scribbled quickly. And there wasn't much to say anyway. There isn't anything I can say that will make you feel better. I know that.

Each step down the corridor was cautious, Georg probably too wary of his shoes. You'll only cling to me and make it harder, darling. He ventured through the kitchen's empty door frame to the table by memory, bumping the chair with his thigh, a little scrape on the tile nothing much to worry about. There must still be some good in this world, the good of a young girl who somehow saw something worthy in an angry sea captain, a sea captain who no longer has a ship. I'll destroy you just like myself. It's poison, Maria. His note on the table—a finger swiped across the ink to test if it was tacky or dry before he folded it in half—Georg twisted the ring from his finger, the inside already nearly as polished as the outside. Each morning when the girl departed and it branded his skin—every visit to Aigen—it vanished into his pocket, even though the children would never see. He never saw them anyway.

The children. What had Leon said, to bring them home a new mother? No, Georg thought with a shake of his head as he set his ring on the note, the paper dulling the little clink. Lonely they may be, but they would hate me, a girl hardly older than Liesl to be a new mother. And still so soon.

His first task finished, Georg crept to the corridor, navigating around the little patches of floor that groaned if stepped on the wrong way, down to the bedroom for perhaps the last time. He tarried at the doorframe, one hand on the grooves along the outside. With even more light now, he saw the young girl he had foolishly married twisting for a moment—but only turning onto her other side to where he had lain. You'll understand more when you wake up, Maria. How I've used you. He hadn't been able to withstand ravishing her until she could scarcely move the night before, but with all his strength, he had resisted leaving her filled with him. I gave you that, Maria, no chance of another child of mine. But you'll see it when you wake, and maybe you'll understand.

At the wardrobe, Georg reached up, snaking his hand past that old quilt. No need to check all of it, it was all still there, everything he needed to take with him. You wouldn't touch any of it, would you? Not even if your curiosity got the best of you. He began with the schillings, pushing the threadbare quilt to the back before flicking through the ends of the bills with a thumb. More than enough for her to keep herself comfortable for years, possibly for the rest of her life. He'd be back for the rest of it a minute, no more. I knew you would never touch any of it if you had demanded the quilt, even if you noticed them, he thought, one more glance at the girl as he stood on the threshold. One arm now lay across his pillow as though searching for him while she twisted back the other way, almost like a whirling dervish. Wondering where? I taught you well enough these last weeks, not to ask me questions.

In the kitchen again, Georg peeled away a few of the schillings and stuffed them into his inner jacket pocket, the rest stacked on top of his quick note. Enough light had begun to fill the flat from either end of the corridor that, even in the windowless kitchen, he saw them unfurl, almost tossing his ring aside. He picked it up again, then settled it atop the pile. Something to keep it in place. And at least, then...You'll know, Maria.

It was his last trip, now, his last visit. One last goodbye, he thought as he stopped before he stepped over the threshold again, not quite ready. Quick, just in to take what I need. But he still hesitated, he couldn't quite stand to look at her. I kept you too long last night, Maria. Georg shook his head, his sudden hesitation sparking a scowl on his face. Was he afraid of a girl half his age? No! he shouted at himself, no longer so careful of his footsteps as he stepped into the bedroom.

Somehow, she still drew his eyes, like she always had. There's always been something about you, Maria, something special. His next few steps were suddenly beyond his control and took him to the edge of the bed, right beside her. I'm playing with fire, darling, seeing you like this right now. But I always have since that evening when I should have walked away. Just ignored your question. He sighed. I think I would have ignored any other girl.

She really was lovely, despite her thin frame. Her nose perhaps a little too thick at the bottom with that blasted little bump in the middle. Slim jaw and lightly tapered chin. Fair hair that had been his torment so many nights, his fingers knotted up. Lips just full enough to fool a man from a distance but enchant from so close. Bruises on your thighs, I think. And those blue eyes he couldn't see ever again. "Don't come looking for me, Maria." He stepped a little closer. "You wouldn't know where to look even if you did, love."

He ran a finger along the crown of her head, along her hair gleaming in the growing sun, gently across her lips—then away before she had a chance to purse them against his skin. Georg's eyes darted up to the window and the burgeoning day; it was probably near sunrise itself. You'll need to be up soon, for your class. I won't be able to take you today. Ever again. He sighed, then almost smiled as she pulled her flailing arm back against her chest.

You'll wonder. I know you will. But I thought of it, darling, a little house down by the sea with the child you lost somehow in your arms desperate for milk. With all the other children running about. I can see it, but I can't quite get there. I don't belong there and I have to go back to where I belong. And I can't bring you with me, a poor girl from Vienna.

Georg turned around, striding back to the still open wardrobe where an occasional bit of breeze whistled at his shirts. You won't need to be up too soon, not really, and I know you were complaining about the cold last night. He pulled the quilt down from that top shelf, caught firmly between both of his arms before quickly peering up to the far corner. It was all still there, everything else waiting for him to take. Everything the girl would never touch, everything he would turn back for.

I can do at least one last thing for you, Maria. One corner at a time, Georg unfolded the quilt, now hanging half open from his arms. Just one last time, darling, he thought as he turned.

The girl's breasts now fully exposed to the morning chill, her hands were tucked beneath her chin as she lay half on his side of their bed—her bed, now. There's still some happiness for you in the world, Maria. He heard her hum, almost like she was singing a little song in her own head, a tune she had composed in that little world of her own while the covers rustled over her legs to accompany her like a string or reed. Even if you can never marry again, have a husband who will give you the children you want. I can see it in your eyes. And I know you. If you can't have a man on God's terms, you won't, even though I could have easily given you everything you desired—and you given me everything I needed. It would all be simpler, darling. But a music school of your own, or even just your own small house by the sea...I can give you the chance for that. Something to give you the happiness I can't. I'm sure you would tell me I can, but you always see the good in people.

He took another small step along her side, grateful for that little rug he had purchased as he furnished the apartment for her. I wish I could treasure every moment we've had, darling, but that would be a lie. It's never what you've been to me. I've needed you to take my mind off of...everything. You have, and I thank you for that. Georg couldn't stop himself, gingerly perching on the edge of the mattress. The quilt now a lump in his lap, he grazed another finger down her arm—then she shivered and he lifted his hand an inch. Perhaps we should have just been good friends. A friendly meeting at the Mirabell Gardens on Sundays after you finished time with your god, time for me to tell you stories about the navy, seeing the world…

The girl moaned a little, now rolling onto her back beneath the lighter blanket, nipples pert in the little wind still whistling softly through the crack under the window. Another morning, perhaps, it would already stoking that familiar desire to have her again. Not again, Georg thought as he stood, quilt tumbling forward in of his arms, thick seam at the bottom. You can't be my distraction anymore, not any longer. She rolled over again, another arm now flying out where he had just sat, and he—no, he hadn't seen her just take a deep breath. You've had your claim on my attention long enough. I don't want to hear you again, you'll just drag me back in, as lovely as you are.

Either end of the thick quilt in his hand, Georg draped it over her, heavier end down by her waist. "I'm sorry, darling. I have to go, and I can't take you with me where I'm going."

Rustling now, just in front of him, the girl frowned as she turned back toward the window—then toward him again, one arm already fighting against the new weight across her chest. "Georg?"

Still half asleep. Still one last chance, Georg decided, dropping his hand to stroke her dark brown hair one last— He shook his head, surely half asleep himself, and another blink brought the shining golden hair back. "Go back to sleep—"

She seized his wrist, her head rolling on the pillow and eyes opening. Dark brown eyes, that dark hair tied down in the plait disappearing somewhere into the bedclothes. "What are—you doing?" she asked, pulling her hand away and swiping at her face with its back.

You'll never be like her, Maria. Never. And neither will she, not anymore.

"Georg?"

He shuddered, the darkness vanishing, the fairness back. Never like her. Never. "You have a little while before you have to be awake." Taking her hand—Georg cringed as he felt the wedding ring still on her thin finger—he slipped it back beneath the quilt. "Before you need to get ready for your class."

Her eyelids faltered, now drooped as she yawned. "But—"

"I wore you out last night. Go back to sleep—darling."

The girl's body relaxed, loosening into the bedclothes beneath. "Where—are you going?"

"I have somewhere I have to be."

"But—"

"Shh." Georg dragged his fingers along her jaw up to her mouth again, risking another quick little tap. "I'll…" She turned again, onto her side and then onto her stomach, rolling herself up in that quilt, almost another cocoon for her. Her back was an expanse of pale skin just gleaming in the sun like a calm sea under a full moon, the curve of her spine down to her backside irresistible. Running his finger down along her spine rather as he had done the night before, Georg licked his lips as she shivered. He hardly heard her little moan as she tugged both arms up, one under her chin, the other across the top of the pillow. "You do know how to tempt a—"

"I love you," she slurred, her face almost smothered against the pillow.

"Don't say things you don't understand." Georg allowed himself one more stroke of her hair, one more touch of her back—then forced himself away, back to the wardrobe and that top shelf, everything waiting there for him. There's more to forgive than just now, Maria. For what I did last night, what I knew I was going to do.

One hand up into the wardrobe's far corner, he found his cigarettes and lighter, both fresh and untouched. Wrapping his hand around these, Georg pulled them out and tucked them into his right pocket. Farther back, that quilted glass bottle, short and wide with its square lid that occasionally stuck. He dragged this to the very front corner to keep it out of the way. And...Georg narrowed his eyes, flattening his hand on the crack that ran through middle of the wooden shelf, all the way from one end of the wardrobe to the other. Nothing else, only a thick layer of dust coating his fingertips and palm. "For Christ's sake." He slid his hand back—fingers stretched as far as they could—then to the opposite end again. More dust and cobwebs, nothing until he touched that hideous doll the girl had brought home from one of her summer classes. Farther back where the girl kept her trinkets and tat, nothing like it except for the cheap pocket watch she prized.

Goddammit. He turned slowly, eyes scanning every inch of the room. Nowhere else for it to be: he returned it there every night, most often sliding it behind that quilt before she had even finished readying herself...Georg scratched at his cheek, already covered with a gentle beard that would only itch more until he had the chance to shave it away. Nowhere else.

In his bed, the girl was now twisted into that quilt, arms knotted around the rough top seam and legs pulled up to curl her into a little ball. It really was a rather hideous thing when he thought about it, an ancient remnant of some naval trip, perhaps one of those around the southern hemisphere when he was just past the end of his training at the academy. Thick and dense, meant for cold and drafty frigates and submarines: ready to cling and hold to bunks and beds, to keep every bit of heat. To hold on to anything. No good deed, darling, he thought as he walked back to her. Her back now to him, those slim shoulders were tempting, so easy to reach for. I could push you aside, Maria, do whatever I wished. I showed you that last night. But…

Georg couldn't quite say what it was, what stilled his hand. There's something still so innocent about you, darling, something I haven't yet tainted and broken. He stroked the top of one of her shoulders, the protrusion of her collarbone biting at him. I'll break you if I stay any longer, if demand anything else from you. Even...even that.

Keep it safe for me, Maria, wherever you go. I can't have her anymore, either. And...at some point, the past is in the past. Perhaps that's now. But...Georg touched two of his fingers to his own lips, then grazed them along her cheek, rewarded with a little roll of her body up toward him. His body at last succumbed to its urges, sending a small rush of blood down between his legs. But you won't know where to look for me. It will be like I never knew you.

O O O

The morning was too dazzling, she was too warm, her legs hurt, something was too heavy. Maria turned and squirmed, pushed and shoved at something bulky as she opened her eyes. No, too bright, she thought, turning and pushing her face into the pillow. She thought she had heard something a little while ago, saw something. But her head was too fuzzy—she was too tired—she didn't want to get up. I know I have to, it's not too long before I have leave for my class.

She thrust herself up, elbows scratching at the sheet, but something was almost weighing her down, leaving her confused as she glanced down the bed. "What's that?" It was the same heavy quilt Georg had wrapped around her that morning she had sat up in bed so faint, she even struggled with the water he left for her. Just another minute or two, she thought falling back down with a thud. Then I'll begin to prepare for today. She turned over, one hand reaching out—

It was empty, only a handful of rumpled sheets caught in her palm. "Hmm?" Maria twisted around, the top of that quilt scratching at her breasts— She peered down, the red rushing across her cheeks. The very top of her breasts were bare and her nightdress nowhere to be seen. She pushed the quilt away—it grated at her skin like it was made of the roughest wool—now opening the rest of her chest to the air, the sheets and blanket already down around her waist. "But—"

Something was coating her stomach, grey and cream in little splotches. Pressing her fingers to it, it came away crusty and dry. "But we…" No, it had all changed last night, like it had turned right again. Or, she thought it had then.

It almost hurt, holding her legs so wide for Georg, even if his palms would have done it for her. Or perhaps it was simply the sudden—ferocity, almost, his strokes had come with. He was nowhere near her, she could hardly touch him. Maria couldn't see him at all, but whenever she touched him—even the back of his hands that were a vice on her thighs—he slapped her away. His breaths and groans were sharp and harsh and rough, nearly painful as she peered up into the darkness wondering where he was, the rest of him that wasn't drinking from the depths of her body. "Georg—"

"Shh."

Maria rolled her head to one side, suddenly exhausted as her abdomen throbbed. Her thighs ached, and she almost wondered if she heard one of her joints complain with the effort of opening herself so much for him. "I can't, not much longer."

"It's not much longer, darling." Even faster now, harder, leaving her almost as overflowing with him as their wedding night, almost as uncomfortably.

She touched his hand—struggled to lace her fingers through his—but he pushed them away. "Please, Georg! I can't anymore!"

"Yes—"

"No, I—"

Then Georg was gone, a sudden emptiness in her body while the width of his body still held her legs apart. She was cold again, but something warm and wet blossoming across her belly. And then just his breathing, long and slow, fingers on her mouth. "Quiet, darling."

"Was that—you?" She scrambled up, kicking the quilt and bedclothes aside. One of her feet caught in the sheet for a moment as something clattered onto the floor and the chilly air wafting over all her skin left her with a coating of goose pimples. "Where are you?"

Her nightdress and underwear lay in a crumpled pile within an arm's throw of the bed, Georg's pale nightclothes as well. "Oh, I can't have that much time!" she whispered. It was bright sun coming through the window as she tugged her underwear up her legs, wincing as it settled at her waist right where that dried muck lay. She shook the wrinkles from her nightdress—the hem bunched up in her hands to draw the back over her head—pulling it down over her neck and shoving each arm into a sleeve. It doesn't matter that much, I can use my summer one tonight if I must.

Maria hurried through the bedroom door with the swishing of her nightdress and cold feet, one hand on the wardrobe and then the doorframe to keep her balance as she yawned, still unsteady as she continued to awaken. There were no lights on in the flat anywhere: not in the washroom—not the kitchen—not even ahead in the front room. The upholstered chairs simply sat in sunshine broken by the paned window and the curtains at either side. Georg's old chair that he seemed to like was bathed in grey beside the gramophone he didn't seem to like, her guitar as well. The bookcases along the wall, the small collection of books he had and her own handful...Nothing was wrong as she hurried across the wooden floor, a flip of the switch bringing the overhead light to life and a brief flash of pain to her eyes.

"Are you being silly, Georg? I know we were last night, but..."

The wall across the way was blank, empty as it had always been. Still, quiet. She turned around, walking along the bookcases, peering as she went with her hands clasped down in front of her. I don't even know what I'm...I don't know. The chair and the dusty gramophone were as she expected, her guitar untouched. I really have neglected my it lately, Maria thought, her gaze running back along toward the door. But I haven't thought you'd like to hear it. All her father's books—history, old Bible, fairy tales with all those hidden letters—and Georg's books that she had never read, the topics too focused on military and naval history, commanders and captains. The blank papers and pens and ink they left there simply for the space...Is something…

Maria shook her head and opened her hands, a thin layer of sweat in between her fingers. "No, I'm imagining it," she said with another turn. She scurried back across and into the corridor with another little itchy flutter of her nightdress's hem around her calves. Down the way again into their bedroom, now flooded with sunlight. No, even without a full step inside, she knew it was the same. "Georg?" She could see them clearly, now, those paintings of uniformed men on ships so large, she couldn't imagine how the sea held them afloat. That framed Austrian flag she still didn't recognize. I'm sure it's something to do with the navy. "Georg?"

Still no answer.

Her mouth opened a little as Maria turned again, her spine scraping against the wooden doorframe before she pushed herself away. "Georg? Where are you?" Along the corridor again, she peered into the washroom, but she didn't even need the light to see it was empty. "Did you have to—to go somewhere?" Her heart was pounding and her hands were too shaky without her braid twisting and turning between her fingertips. Why am I asking Georg why he isn't here? "Was that—I thought I heard you say something this morning. I'm sorry, I wasn't really awake."

Maria took a deep breath. "It's not here," she murmured. Even though Georg rarely made coffee, he wasn't always polite with his cigarettes; the flat was often thick with smoke, so commonplace she had almost forgotten it. Now it was simply the stench clinging to the walls, the curtains, her clothes—not hanging in the air. "I'm sorry, I think I might be late, I still need to get ready for class. Georg?"

Just the kitchen left, the only place he might be. But, apart from meals and the occasional glass of water he fetched for her—his ashtray often sat on the table throughout the day as well—Georg was never in there. "Georg?" No, he wasn't there, enough light spilled in from either end of the corridor to make that clear. But—no, something on the table. "Did you go out to buy a newspaper?"

She flipped the switch up with a little spark, and the overhead light whimpered before flooding the kitchen, the white tile suddenly too bright. "But you never buy...newspapers." It was no newspaper, just a small pile of things she didn't recognize. She smiled, let out a little laugh of relief. "Is this a game of yours, Georg?" she asked, though the silence was beginning to prickle, like something was out of place. "But, please, once I'm ready won't…"

An odd little collection. A folded paper under a pile of—Maria couldn't even imagine how many schillings, how much money. Underneath...She snatched it up, the little gold band a twin to the one on her own finger. "G...Georg?" It slipped away, clattered onto the tile, onto its flat side and she bent down to catch it before it bounced away. "Georg! What are you doing?"

This time, Maria ran through the flat—that ring in her clenched hand—just looking. Every corner, every place she could think of, even the silly ones. In the bathtub in the washroom—beneath their bed—in the wardrobe where not even she would comfortably fit. "Where are...where are you?"

Stumbling into the kitchen again, her hand shook as she pushed the money on the table aside for the folded paper instead. Her legs quivered, her knees threatened to buckle, her breathing turned painful. A corner almost tore away she opened it with just her finger and thumb, she wouldn't put that ring down. The words were already a blur through tears she smeared on her sleeve, something in her nose as well as her coughed, deep and hoarse.

Maria,

I'm sorry, but I have to go.
You can't come with me.
You'll forgive me someday.
Look after yourself.

Georg

Maria's knees finally gave way, only her empty hand on the table's edge preventing her head from smacking against the hard tile. But her fingers couldn't hold and she slipped anyway, not caring about the crack of her skull on the floor. "Didn't you—" She was sobbing, heaving up from the bottom of her lungs, face drenched as she curled her arms beneath her cheek and hauled her sore legs to her chest. Didn't you help me up when I was like this in the washroom, just a few weeks ago. So...calm. The sobs were louder. How were you so...You knew, didn't you! And you didn't tell me, like—you didn't want me to know!

Maria lost track of the time, minutes or hours, she just knew that the sun must be well on its way to midday, her class in chaos and the headmaster ready to demand he never see her face again. You knew. She still cried until her eyes were red and swollen, eyes dry it had been so long. She loosened her limbs—they ached too much—then rolled on her back, the underside of the table over her face. Pristine and unblemished, like the chairs in the front room and the curtains at every window. "I have something to look after." "I have somewhere I have to be."

None of it was real, was it? All this was for me. To...She tightened a hand around the nearest table leg to haul herself up, her side too cold after lying on the tile for so long. Is that why there was a tablecloth until I...spilled something or needed to mark my papers? So I wouldn't see how perfect it was? She crossed her legs, just yanked her nightdress down over her feet and curled her toes into the seam for a second. You knew and you didn't...Maria grabbed the table's edge again—this time to drag herself up—his ring clattering back onto the surface as her hand shook open. It's why you did what you did last night, didn't you? So you wouldn't—do that again.

Maria didn't know how she made it to the washroom, everything in the kitchen just left where it landed. She didn't even hope for the water to rise above tepid before she stripped away her nightdress and underwear, the bar of soap in her hands before the pipes even had pressure. She scraped it over her skin again and again: her neck, her stomach, her arms, her legs, right between her thighs where she had found blood and him so many times.

A thin film of sweat coated her skin and Maria couldn't catch her breath. Even her hair clung to her skin here and there, over her shoulders and breasts. Beside her, Georg's breathing was more even, one of his hands laying heavily on her belly. She just lolled her head over to him, her eyes lazy and unfocused. "Everything is so hot," she whispered. "And…"

Georg—her husband—grinned just a little as he hand drift down toward the patch of coarse, fair hair right at the confluence of her legs. "That's my first mark in you, Maria."

A fresh burn was already surging there despite the lingering ache somewhere in her abdomen and her breathing grew a little faster. "Georg—"

"You'll always be mine, now."

A kiss against her neck didn't help quell the new urge she didn't understand. How he had made his way so deep within her, left that heat deep in her body as well on her skin and a strange stickiness at the top of her thighs. "I didn't—"

"What?"

"I didn't expect for anything to feel like that."

"It does, and it will, darling. You realized how—how...you were when I finally felt you."

Felt? Her cheeks burned red. I don't even know how that felt.

"You'll understand tomorrow and the next day—"

"You want that again so soon?"

"Of course." Her husband peeled away a few strands of hair, one of her nipples pinched between his fingers. "Don't you, after I gave you what you needed?"

She nodded, whispering, "Yes."

Her skin was red and raw—fingers wrinkled—before she left the water behind with trembling legs, curled on the floor in the corridor, one towel around her shoulders to cover her breasts and another around her waist to cover the top of her legs. Her braid was sodden and hanging over her arms, her knees bent before her. I can't stay here. She couldn't look anywhere: not the bedroom—the washroom—the kitchen she could just see at her periphery...Only the front room. The way out.

But...Her head rolled back into the wall...I don't even know what to...Maria folded her hands together under, not to pray but to stop herself from shaking and shivering. I don't even know if I can face you again, Father. How I woke this morning, I don't even know how many...The tears began again, her face against that top towel. I thought I'd never felt like this about anyone else before, Georg, but I know I've never felt like...this before. She sniffed. Bought and paid for.

I have to go, but I have to have something! I can only think of Mother's—I don't want to—I don't know where else to go.

Maria threw the towels aside, her fingers scrabbling on the wooden floor to find purchase—to stand. Her feet slipped on the dark patch of water beneath her body, but she steadied herself on the tiny rough patches along the plaster wall. One step after another threw her down the corridor until she stumbled into bedroom's doorframe—almost fell over the threshold. I should have...I should have known! she thought, the only sign of life in the whole of the room the pair of ships photographed with their sailors and commanders and that strange Austrian flag in its thick frame. Nothing! Nothing— No, I can't stay here.

She didn't even dress before throwing herself prostrate on the floor with one arm struggling underneath the bed for her carpetbag. Georg had insisted on hiding it there, that it was too hideous to be seen. The damp patch was half on the floor, half on the little carpet before she pulled it out—just able to touch it with the tips of her fingers—rolling over for a few deep breaths. It was all for you, somehow, wasn't it? Everything of mine was hidden. Was my guitar left out because there was no place left for it, or because you knew I would complain eventually? One hand and then the other on the floor, Maria brought herself up, her backside aching on the wooden boards.

"Why was I even here!" she screamed, gasping for air. Her spine cracked against the mattress and its sheets and blankets, a shiver of pain surging all the way up to her neck. "Why?...Why?" Maria whispered, shivering hands opening the latch on her bag. Her arms and legs fell loose, nearly floppy. "It's so cold. Why is it so—why are you so cold, Georg?" One leg slid forward, her foot still too wet, the breeze now even grazing between her legs—and her foot hit something, something new. She sat straight for a second, whatever it was under her foot and scraping on the wood until she brought it back and it stuck at the lip around the edge of the carpet. Bending forward, Maria snatched it up.

Metal, cold, long and curved on only one side, smooth apart from some mark on the other side. A small opening at one end, a larger at the other, like a whistle her foster mother's neighbors used to call their dogs home. She turned it over, squinting against the gleam of the metal. An engraving, it had to be; she brought it right up to her face, almost to her nose, the letters were so small. "For my beloved Captain. All my love, Agathe." She slammed her head back into the lumpy feathers in the mattress's casing. Was it all...Who are you, Georg? Why don't...She slammed the little whistle down into her carpet bag, a scrape across the top leaving a mark on her forearm. Why didn't you tell me, even that you knew?

Maria lost track of the time again, dressing newly a haphazard task that melted together with packing everything she owned in the world. It's not real, she told herself, hardly wearing more than her shift and underclothes even as she was tossing whatever she could reach into her carpetbag. At first, Maria had her dress on backwards, confused by the draft up her front while she fought to find nonexistent buttons along her back. A haze, really, slipping her dresses from their hangers and stuffing them into her bag, not folded or rolled or looked after; she hardly remembered to drop her winter boots into the bottom first or yank a pair of woolen stockings over her feet.

It's not just this, Maria thought. She stretched her arms up to the shelf—dragged it back as she thought her skin snagged a splinter—then returned her hand, reaching wildly for all the little things Georg had demanded she hide. "Why did you even want me here?" she asked, not caring what her fingers touched. "I just want my…" She grabbed for the shelf with her other hand, head spinning. "Couldn't I just take that one day back?" She cleared the shelf, from her mother's crucifix and head scarf to her father's pocket watch and a set of poems he gave her, and everything else in between. Even Sonja's little doll, its button eyes and knotted thread hair made it to her carpetbag before she yanked away her coat from the final hanger on her side of the wardrobe.

I'll never be back again, Maria thought, sliding a little where she had sat for a time as she ran down the corridor toward the front room. I don't care what I take, not now, so long as it was mine. Her bag in the front room, Maria threw in all the books she had brought, those histories, Bible, her father's fairy tales...They all crashed on top of what was already stuffed into leather and carpet satchel and she sat it beside the door, her guitar alongside.

She was slowing now, her breaths still deep and raspy, but a little easier. Her coat was on her shoulders and her arms down through the cuffs as she walked back to the kitchen, almost peering around the corner at that table. Almost like a foe to be vanquished before she finally stepped in. It was all for me, wasn't it? To make me think you were someone you weren't. Stepping onto the tile, Maria hated the clatter of her shoes, somehow wondering if…

Is it all really a trick? she thought with a whirl around and a wild swishing of her dark green skirt and winter coat. Too warm to wear, but too cool to go without. I didn't really know you, did I? Turning back, Maria took it all in again. That note, stark and flat, not a shred of anything. Love, affection, regret...His ring, identical to her own apart from sitting on the kitchen table he must have purchased solely for her. And then, countless scattered schillings, more money than Maria had ever seen, shuffled together as quickly as she could manage before she turned to the basin and scrubbed her hands under a fresh spray of water. You've always had more money than I've ever seen. But I've never felt like this, like a....She was twisting her own wedding ring instead, almost too tight to tug off. Like a prostitute.

Maria folded his note: across the crease, then in half, then in half again, on and on until it grew so thick, it sprang back. She picked up his ring and, not sure why, threw it into her pocket along with his note, then gathered the pile of schillings, adding one of them to her pocket as well. I don't know where I'll go. Turning around again, she still had to wait to see if he was there, waiting and watching. She almost drew herself up onto her toes—leaned to one side as though she might see him ready to peek around the corner.

No, Maria realized as she slammed back onto her heels. You wouldn't do that, I don't think. But...I really didn't know you, Georg, I understand that now. Not at all. I don't...even know...

…

Maria nearly ran up the stairs, not sure why she needed to be there just now. Her goodbye with Georg on the street had been tame, nearly innocent compared to just an hour or two earlier. None of his kisses threatening to transform into something far more, no more of his fingers teasing the laces she had foolishly sewn into the sides of her dress, none of her skirts up her legs while he explored her thighs. In front of the door to her boarding house, it was a simple kiss—a little pinch of her cheek instead—a simple touch on the back of her hand.

She was almost out of place here in her room, collapsed against the door just inside, surrounded by the happier memories of her childhood. The books and little souvenirs. "I'm not the same as when I left," she whispered. To the walls, the books, her guitar…"I'm not sure why."

Nothing had happened, not really. Or at least nothing before she had pushed him away—not wanting to push him away. Crossing her arms behind her back, she went on as though her father was standing there, shaking his head. "I'm not...I don't really know what happened." Palms on the door, she pushed herself forward, her eyes going everywhere at once as fast as they could. "I don't know if I'm different, but all of this…" She spun around, her shorter skirt swishing around her legs. "Maybe it is."

…

The cool glass woke Maria, startled her. It was only a pillow of her hair between her skin and the window that had allowed her to sleep at all, the very ends of her loose tangled in her fingers, right where her wedding ring should lay. What is that sound? She rolled her face harder into the glass…And why...why is my hair down like...I'm not at home—

Maria sat straight and loosened her fingers, her hair unfurling in a chunk as her cheek ached, the blood rushing back as the chill of the glass wore away. She was in a train seat, the window in the carriage's metal frame not offering any view of mountains or forests but masonry and stone instead. A station? But I was...No, it wasn't home anymore. The hem of her dark coat was caught tightly between her thighs all bunched up with her skirt and shift, her guitar sat in front of her knees, so her carpetbag— Where was it? She stood quickly, blood draining away from her head to her legs, cramped from the hours in the small seat. Or, at least I think so. Only two other people were on the train, both wearing the boxy hats of train conductors, one of them waving her forward.

She clutched her guitar case's handle tighter, almost hitting the seat in front of her, though...It was silent, apart from the hissing of the engines and the turmoil outside. The conductor waved at her again—and now something jangled in her right pocket. Just through the short row of seats into the aisle, the carpet worn by years of men's boots and women's shoes, Maria slipped the handle of her guitar case to her left hand, waving back to the conductor to wait for just a moment. She dipped her hand into that pocket—

What? She spread it open further, but it was too dark to really see even with the thin overhead lights. But that's—

"Miss?"

Maria looked up, the conductor walking toward her. An older man, sharp nose and jaw..."What?" she asked quickly, just breathing. Not every man who...looks like him will be him.

"We've arrived in Vienna," he said softly, a few tufts of grey hair peeking from beneath his hat.

"Vienna?" she asked as she shook her head.

"From Salzburg."

"Oh, did…" I don't remember.

"Yes. Could you come with me? I think I have something of yours."

I must have, Maria decided, following the man down the narrow train aisle still almost asleep. Every now and then, her long hair—completely unkempt—brushed against the train seats, once or twice even catching. The man was walking slow enough Maria was easily able to stop and loosen any long tendrils with her right hand, though it did nothing for the constant banging of her guitar.

…

"Really, Georg, where are we going?" One hand still on the steering wheel, Georg reached for her knee, squeezing it a little, even curling his fingers around to the inside of her leg until she knocked them away. "Don't! Not here!"

Her husband laughed quietly, but took his hand back. It landed on the gear shift, the car slowing even as the engine suddenly raced. "It's a little late for that, darling, after the last week or so. I've done a lot more than touch your knee—"

"But not here!"

"It's fine in my bed, then?" Maria's cheeks burned red and she turned her face out the window instead. "No need to be embarrassed, at least by that." Reaching across the car, Georg twisted his fingers through hers. "I've heard more than enough when you've forgotten to worry about it."

…

Next to one of the stone pillars in the center of the Vienna train station, Maria shook her head. Where am I? I don't still quite remember. Her carpetbag sat to her left on the old paving stones, the grout thick with decades of dirt, her guitar propped up against it. I just don't understand. Her hair was at least thrown over one shoulder, no longer stuck to a window damp with condensation. Why didn't I...I never leave the house without my hair tied up. And why am...He said Vienna, and I suppose he must be right but...oh why can't I just forget the worst of all? Remember what I've done today instead? Please, Georg, I don't think I'll ever know what I did. Why am I even asking you? Why at all?

There were little snippets floating up into her memory from somewhere, like little photographs capturing the course of the day. I suppose that must have been me.

Gathering a pile of schillings, stuffing them into her carpet bag.

Awkwardly navigating her guitar and carpetbag along a narrow bus aisle.

Purchasing a one way ticket to Vienna, change from ticket seller dropped into her coat pocket.

Maria plunged her hand into that pocket; it was too shaky to hold still anymore. A little selection of coins—banknotes—and then a few things she didn't recognize. Round, circular...A tiny cube of something thick, something she could barely bend. I don't really remember, she thought, taking her hand out empty. I suppose I can try to decide what…I don't even know where I'm going to go. Her heart sank as she seized her guitar handle with her left hand and then passed it to her right. But I don't know where else I can go. This late at night—I don't even really know the time, I don't even quite know how I got here. I suppose a hotel or a room, but…That's why I decided, isn't it? To go to Mother's?

Her memory was too patchy, it had been for...oh, it must be hours. I don't know anything, today, other than...She stopped midstep, the same sadness rising. I don't even know if there are any of those schillings in my— She dropped her guitar case, the body landing flat on its bottom. I don't know anything right now, not really— Someone seized her right elbow, and if Maria had been walking, she might have found herself on her backside, no longer able to balance on her feet. "Are you all right?"

Maria tugged at her arm—against whomever had a hold of but her arm just twisted in her thicker coat sleeve. "Pardon—me?"

The grasp lessened, and Maria glanced down. A man's hand, swarthy and just wrinkled enough to be middle-aged, fingers wide and the nails flat and untrimmed. "I don't mean to startle you, but you just look a little lost, my dear."

She pulled herself away and bent down to catch her guitar case's handle even as she settled her carpetbag down. "No, I'm not," she said quietly as she turned around, now balancing the case on the end of the body.

Whoever he was just smiled, the buzzing electric lights overhead just enough to make out his face. That same darkened skin, forehead wrinkled with a thin brown mustache across his upper lip, brown hair just visible beneath a narrow-brimmed dark hat, one pale fluffy feather in its band. "It's all right if you are," he said with a laugh as he released her arm completely, now tucking both hands into the pockets of his pale suit. "I usually am."

Maria shook her head, her unkempt hair flying wildly around the shoulders of her dark coat. "I just haven't been to—Vienna for a few years."

He nodded. "I've only just come home for a day or two. I spend my time away trying to diversify."

Maria slid one of her feet closer to her bag. Something about this stranger, at least, set her at ease. But she had heard the howl of another train whistle, perhaps another train from Salzburg arriving. "I'm sorry?" I don't know where you went Georg, any idea, but I can't...I can't! I can't see you again, not now!

"Banking. It's horribly boring."

Despite her little worry—she had to look over her shoulder, wondering how many people would flood the corridor—Maria smiled a little. "Sometimes teaching is, too." I don't think I've done that at all today.

"I've never had the misfortune."

The gentle rampage was beginning, mostly an influx of men wearing business suits just like this man's hurrying out from the station itself, followed by the clouds of billowing coal smoke. "What do you mean by misfortune?"

He must have heard it, too; he took a step closer to her, hands not moving from his pockets. "I wouldn't have the patience, and children are terribly expensive."

Maria hissed out a deep breath through her nose. "I wouldn't—know." Now, I don't even know if—

…

Maria couldn't help it, not really. Just at the end of the corridor, so close to the flat, her pace always increased. It's silly, I know, she thought, slowing only when she was about to open the door. The days Georg was about, she never took a key; after all, even if he left for a few hours, he would be home with plenty of time to unlock it for her.

Stepping inside, the smoke was still hanging in the air, a smell she still didn't care for, but was coming to tolerate. I don't think I'll ever like it. With a quick spin back, she closed the door, then dropped her bag to the floor. The last remnants of her lunch and a copy of one of her students' primers thumped against the floor, and she let out a short gasp. A few hours, now, a few hours away from the children and her classroom.

It wasn't too warm, so Georg must have opened the window earlier. Probably to clear the smoke for me, she thought, waving a hand in front of her face, the grey haze a thin film ready to cling to her skin. But it was still the end of June—

"No need to linger, love." His arms were around her waist already, pulling her to him.

Maria let out a gentle yelp of surprise as they tightened, her back flush against his chest. His breath tickling the little hairs on her neck smelled of those cigarettes, but the final hints of that cologne he wore at times and the washing powder nearly overpowered it. "I wasn't—"

"Then why did I find you here?" A quiet hum of laughter. "It's far too warm to have you wrapped up in that dress any longer. And there are far more pleasant things to do when you're out of it."

…

The street lights suddenly overhead were flickering, leaving her with only the moonlight. Along the road, just beyond the sidewalk, not even the trees were to be seen, though sometimes it was a dead silence as though that was all that lay beyond her little world. How did I get...Oh, please can't today just end? All of it. She opened both of her hands, everything crashing to the sidewalk. There used to be so many choices, Georg, possibilities. Now...Maria needed a few seconds to sit on the edge—straighten her thoughts. Still no more tears, though, just a chill spreading through her backside. I can't remember anything, not right now, I haven't all day, except the one thing I wish I could forget.

A fresh wind rippled down the narrow street and tore through her coat, so Maria pulled her legs in, her breath warming her skin through her skirt. I had dreams, they're one of the reasons I left Vienna. Anything I did here would just be hemmed in by everyone I know. And now, I've left them behind with you. Things maybe I could have done, maybe now I can't. I should have said no that day, that I was too young. But...A quiet sob cut through her chest, muffled by her thighs. But what will it do to you? Will you just find another girl like me? Someone just as...foolish? Or as lonely? A cloud flitted across the sky, the moon and stars dimming for a moment. Wherever you are, do you even care? She lifted her face, slid her hands down her legs to brace them against her ankles. You took more from me than just...She pressed her palms to grimy road, pushed herself back up before she picked up her things once more. More than you would ever understand.

She knew her way to her aunt and uncle's house better, but...Oh, I can't stand the idea of going there, not even...Not even running from you, Georg. But I'm not running from you, you ran from me! The next tree that she saw, Maria stopped, guitar case propped on the stones under her feet as she rested against the bark. It's too much, Georg, I'm too tired. Wondering and wanting to know— An owl hooted somewhere close by, and she stood suddenly, curious where those glowing eyes were hiding. Or perhaps I'm wondering that about you, Georg, where you are. I don't know—I don't think I'll ever know. She rubbed her face against the sleeve of her coat, a red mark from the rough material itching on her cheek. Maybe I'll just always think you're around the corner instead.

Maria continued past the next cross street, still not quite the right one. The next, she thought as she took the step from the sidewalk onto the street itself— Something echoed behind her, almost matching her pace, and this time she didn't wait to spin around, her long hair flying free of its prison beneath her coat. No one, not even a feral cat slinking about to find a rat for its dinner. I've—I've never been like this before. I walked these streets when I was a child going from Mother's house to Uncle Josef and Aunt Hannah's—

So close by, if she closed her eyes for a second too long, Maria saw him leering down at her. Brown eyes sparkling behind a veil of cigarette smoke and breath that stank of disgusting wine. Reddish hair that went uncombed when he forgot himself in even more drink, and always those stained fingers reaching and slapping and demanding—

Faster now, across that last street. It was in the middle, she remembered, one of the little houses with their painted fences, carefully curated flowers, a pale blue door— Something loud rang out, perhaps a few streets away, but it sparked Maria's feet, sending her almost running the last few yards to the lane up to her foster mother's house. It was gravel, a pathway she often swept and raked like the floor inside her house, the wild yarrow in other gardens pulled out of hers in lieu of tulips and lilacs to be coddled, any sign of wildlife banished the moment its nest or burrow was uncovered. It's not what we had, Georg, what maybe someday...and I thought we were—we could be happy there, that little flat. I thought that.

Maria almost forgot the little step at the very end, her toe scuffing a bit as she dropped her carpetbag to bang her fist on the wooden blue door instead. Even with the layer of dirt from the road scratching the inside of her hand, she didn't wait for an answer, rapping again and again and again, one of her knuckles catching on a knot. Oh please, Mother. Don't ask me to stay out here, I'll at least be safe in there with you. I love him—I know that's foolish—but I can't face him, I really can't! Her knocking continued: weakening then strengthening, a glance over her shoulder to the empty darkness behind her...It was just like that last night, before...well, it was all wrong before last night— The door creaked open with a sudden blaze of light that hurt her eyes and stench of cigarettes that filled her nose. Just like yours did.

"What on God's— Maria!" her foster mother shouted, her hands for once not holding a dusting rag. "What on earth are you doing here? Goodness, you're in a state!"

Maria looked down; in her hurry from the station, from...well, she still didn't know what the day had held for her. She hadn't even really known how she left the flat. Her dark green dress was askew and her stockings uneven, her coat was rumpled from two buses and the train (that must have been what happened), even her guitar case was dusty from her stops along the road and in the Vienna train station. "I'm sorry I didn't have time to write," Maria said as she suddenly swayed for a second. I didn't have time for anything. But her foster mother was the same as ever, grey hair only ever tousled by the effort of cleaning, apron around her waist, it and her dress wrinkled by scrubbing baseboards. "I just—I had to leave."

"Salzburg?" she asked, and Maria just nodded. Oh, it's too humiliating, Mother, I'm not even sure why I came! But I don't have anywhere else to go! "What could have happened—and where is your husband? You shouldn't—"

"Please, I can't, I can't tell you. Just—please don't let me see him again!"

"Maria," her foster mother hissed as she stood back. "Grab your things before you catch your death of cold! Get in before we both do!"

Maria stamped her feet on the stone before seized her carpetbag and guitar case, hoping to dislodge all the dirt and leaves from her shoes that she could. Her memories of her foster mother's home were muted by the years. But just like the endless trinkets she could already see on the mantle alongside old family photographs and the clock that needed to be wound each evening, she remembered nothing was to be brought in on shoes. At least mine, she thought with a quick step into the small house. But…With the click of the knob—the turn of the bolt—it was suddenly different. Wherever you are, Georg, you're out there. She gingerly set both her carpetbag and case down again; her foster mother never liked to see much beyond her furniture and red threadbare rugs and endless figurines in her front room. You're out there and I'm in here.

"Now, start again since we won't be chilled to the bone. What are you doing here? And the filth on those handles! What have you been doing?"

The smoke was stronger without an escape. "Please don't! I just mean that...Now that I'm here, I can't see him again, not even here. I can't imagine he will—"

"Maria!" she snapped, waving her forward.

The smell was stronger, a thickening haze over even more shelves of statues and figurines from the war, old newspapers bemoaning the empire's end stuffed wherever there was room. "But I can't!"

"That's very rude of you." Another wave of her hand to move her forward.

"What?" Maria asked. Coffee was wafting around her as well, though nothing so strong as the cigarettes.

"Even if you're talking about someone else, watch your words, Josef is right here. He had a long day and stopped in on his way home. Be polite, child."

Maria's breathing sped up, her hands grew clammy as she searched for the tattered ends of her hair, something to steady her fingers. "But I didn't mean—"

"And you'll have to trim your hair soon, that's gone entirely too ragged. Why don't you have it up properly?" Her foster mother was still walking from that little foyer into the front room itself, the old sofa unmoved for years and sagging a bit from the years of visitors. "The way you behave, it's like Hannah and I taught you nothing about being a lady."

Maria hurried forward to follow her, one of her stockings falling further. "I just didn't have time—"

"A young lady always has time for that."

"Not today—"

"It's been too long, Maria."

She skittered to a stop, still across the room from the old sofa with its little patches here and there, her uncle perched on its edge arm's length from the battered table that had always been right where it sat now. She swallowed, her hands fastened behind her back. "I—I didn't mean—"

"I'm sure you didn't," he said softly, coffee cup in his right hand and saucer in his left. His thin lips wore a pinched smile behind his coffee, between cheeks shot with faint lines. His hair was greyer than Maria remembered, his coat a little shabbier, and he was perhaps even a little thinner.

"Just be more careful with your words," her foster mother said, returning to her own seat beside him. The sofa had room for another beside her uncle, but the worn table hardly had room for the percolator. The two cups and saucers already there left it cramped with no room for a third. Even her foster mother must have added milk and sugar in the kitchen; over the years, Maria had visited with Aunt Hannah often enough to know that anything more than was there now would have to remain in the kitchen or be held on the knees. "And wouldn't you like to sit down?" As her foster mother took a sip of her own coffee—laden with the milk and sugar still in the kitchen—she lifted a hand in front of Uncle Josef, pointing to the empty cushion at the sofa's end.

"No—thank you," Maria whispered. She wished she could slide her shoes backward, but the little rugs across the wooden floor were patchy and rough enough that they would only snag and possibly send her tumbling backward. Her face was already red thinking about how it might be. You already liked that enough when I was a child, when you thought no one else would see. Her hands were white, she was sure. Or at least anyone but Aunt Hannah.

"Maria?"

"But I didn't mean that, Mother!" Maria went on. "I can tell you more—please, could I just stay for—"

"I really should be going, Elisabeth." Uncle Josef cleared his throat loudly, another pinched smile on his face as he handed over his coffee cup and saucer. "I'll need to be back in my office early tomorrow morning."

Her foster mother nodded, standing slowly in a little struggle for balance without holding onto anything. "Thank you for stopping by."

"Of course. You know how Hannah hates coffee. And she wasn't feeling well when I left this morning."

"Please give her my love." Maria's foster mother was halfway to the kitchen when she turned back, tossing her head toward Maria with a little bounce of her grey bun at the back of her head. "Since you're here, Maria, will you bring the pot for me?"

"Yes—"

"Actually…" Her uncle strode quickly across the room, a hand clapped down on her shoulder, his fingers tight and almost painful. "Could I please have a moment with Maria?"

"If you wish, Josef. Could you bring that pot when you're done, Maria? We'll sort something out for you then."

Maria couldn't quite move as her foster mother disappeared into the kitchen, only the old table visible; the rest sat a little off to the side, hidden more to the back of the house, far larger than the kitchen in the flat she...she couldn't close her eyes. I don't know what I'll see, if it will be you, Georg, or...She shuddered, even before her uncle's hand loosened, but he spun her around. She didn't look at him, peering over one of his shoulders—

His other hand around her chin, he brought her gaze right to him. "I heard you were in Salzburg, Maria." She nodded. His eyes had always terrified her, somehow. Never happy but resentful, Maria had thought so since she learned the word in school. Or jealous. "Will you be in Vienna for long?" he asked softly, thumb up along the edge of her jaw.

"I don't…" Now his hand was tighter and speaking was harder. "I don't know."

"I'll have to come by before you leave, then." He glanced away from her to the kitchen instead, just seeing cupboards covered in chipped paint over the tiled counters. Maria couldn't even hear the tap running to rinse the cups and saucers, it was tucked so far around the corner. "We really must catch up about the last few years." With his other hand, he slid the back of a finger across her cheek and leaving a trail of goose pimples in the wake of his yellow-stained skin and fingernails, then into her hair. He twisted it about a thin strand beside her face, first loosely—until he tightened his grip and yanked hard, his other hand up to slap her cheek.

Maria hissed as her head dipped, eyes already darting toward the kitchen, her foster mother still out of sight. I remember, Uncle Josef, don't say anything.

"She'll think you have something to be embarrassed by. But there's so much to talk about, darling. You were always such a pretty girl."

---

A/N: Everything about Vienna is artistic license. I would suggest listening to "Blue Ink" by Donal Hinely. Pretty much sums up this moment with Georg's note, etc., entirely.

"Sometimes life is like a fairy tale,
With a laughter true happiness brings.
And sometimes love is like a sad, sad story,
Written down in blue ink."