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The hallway to the washrooms had been relatively empty until Gerhard stumbled into it, clutching Mona's knapsack in one hand by its straps. He glanced around in the low electric light, a little wobbly on his feet thanks to the handful of pints he'd consumed by then. It had been approximately twenty five minutes since Mona had departed for a break, and he'd begun to wonder if perhaps she was all right. Or stranded for a personal item without that bag of hers.
He didn't have to wait long for Mona to emerge from the women's washroom, startled as though surprised to see him. "Herr Gerhard!" she exclaimed restrainedly, her spine straightening up and her expression clearing from somewhat burdened to neutral.
"I brought you your bag, Frauline Mona." He extended his arm to offer the bag. "Signorina." A lopsided grin spread across his face cautiously.
Mona tilted her head and smirked as she accepted the bag. "You must have known I'd forgotten something."
"It's easy to do something like that after such a long journey." He took a step closer. Not too close, but close enough to correspond with the sudden reddening of his face. "Frauline, I'm wondering if anyone is waiting for you back in Italy."
A dark eyebrow raised steeply. "Now that's quite a question."
His face turned even redder. "Well, no one is waiting for me in Heidelberg."
"Heidelberg is a beautiful place. But I'm sure you have a frauline in Munchen."
"No, no... no frauline anywhere. No madamoiselle. No senorita." He paused and smiled. "... No signorina, either."
Mona's face drained of all color as she listened to him, her eyes intensely studying every feature on his face. A group of partygoers piled loudly into the hallway, filing into washrooms drunkenly. After that long moment, she sighed. "I have no one waiting for me, Gerhard."
Gerhard took a breath, shrugged, and stuck his hands in his tattered jacket's pockets. "Well, maybe we could meet each other in Berlin. Or Hamburg. You wouldn't believe the music in Hamburg. It's not something they're really supposed to do, but as long as they keep their shit together and so do the crowds, then it's allowed. Everyone imitates that English sound. You like music?" Mona nodded fervently, a hint of a smile cracking in the corner of her mouth. "Ahh? Ahhhh?! You're no Berlin girl, you're a Hamburg girl! I knew you were fun, Frauline."
Mona's own face turned red as she shouldered her bag. "It's been a long time since anyone's called me 'fun,'" she remarked wistfully. She shook her head and sighed sardonically. "Are your comrades enjoying their drinks?"
"They're quite appreciative," Gerhard responded brightly, leaning against the wood panel of the hall's wall and sighing. "You didn't have to spend the last of your cash on us. That was beyond generous." Mona shrugged. "Really, now. You even shared your schnapps with me on the train. No one ever shares their schnapps on the other train rides." He winked. "Come to think of it, I never really let anyone ride with me."
Mona stared back for several long seconds, to the point where Gerhard wondered if he'd made some kind of mistake. But, finally, to his relief, she spoke. "Oh, Gerhard. You're so kind. Perhaps it would be nice to meet you in Hamburg."
He smiled broadly. "Well-... well..." he stammered, genuinely surprised. "How about September?"
Mona drew air to fill her lungs, and took a step slightly closer to Gerhard. "You don't know who I am." The partygoers who had gone into the washrooms, every last one, clambered out of the doors and back into the beer hall.
Gerhard shrugged his shoulders after giving pause. "I'll learn more about you in Hamburg. Or... or unless you will be in Vichy for another few days?"
One couldn't blame him for trying.
Mona sighed as she imitated Gerhard's stance against the wall, lowering her voice. "I must confess, Gerhard. What's that word you Germans possess for it... 'weltschmerz.'" He nodded, rapt and at attention, paying attention to her every word. The lull of the crowd from outside the hall seemed far away for now. "Every morning I wake up and feel the pain of the world. I remember the war."
Gerhard frowned. "The war... was a hard time for many Germans and many of our friends," he stated rather diplomatically, reaching one hand ahead to carefully take one of hers. "I'm sorry, Frauline. That must be extraordinarily difficult."
Mona's eyes were dark pools flashing with an elusive brightness. "It's something, Gerhard, when you don't know if you'll wake up in a pool of sweat or if you'll even remember your own name." Gerhard tilted his head curiously. "Nightmares. It's hard to sleep. The nightmares that take place. It's..." She stopped herself, and blinked as she squeezed his hand. "Never mind."
Gerhard opened his mouth to say something, his blue eyes kind with sympathy. It was clear that he was indeed quite human, and that the weeks of loneliness had taken their toll and he was caught unawares in fairly unique circumstances. But it also became suddenly clear that something was wrong with him. He joltingly pushed himself off of the wall and rushed hurriedly into the men's washroom. Mona watched unflinchingly, as though not terribly bothered about the state of what seemed like sudden illness. By the time she issued a deep yawn, stood up straight, and entered the washroom, Gerhard was already face-down on the floor, an inky red pool forming close to his mouth. "September. In Hamburg."
She dropped the knapsack next to him and casually strode out, emerged from the hallway and into the beer hall, and after briefly breaking through the drunken haze of merrymakers bumped straight into a woman, dropping a small mirror compact from her pocket and upon the floor. Making just the briefest of eye contact with her, Mona didn't even bend over to pick the thing up before she scuttled along.
Out of the beirhaus she went, as though nothing had happened. She ditched the red bandana on her head next to a building nearby, along with the light gray coat she wore, and kept walking, hoping that she wouldn't hear the sudden screams of those who'd come upon Gerhard's body. Or those who would see Gerhard's comrades, or any of the other unfortunate bearers of the other pitchers that had been poisoned.
# # #
It seemed almost impossible that she made it into the door of the safehouse--a perfectly normal, shabby little widow's home--nearly thirty minutes later. A frantic pair had waited at the door, bolting the door tight after they received her and heading down into a deep basement, again locking themselves behind that.
"A little more advance notice would be nice next time, Manon," finally came the reprimand after they were down far enough into the subterranean level of the home.
Manon whirled back on them. "Perhaps if you'd waited I'd have been able to explain how I got caught up on a train with fucking undercover SS, carrying a poster with my fucking picture on it," she snapped back. That had been a close call.
"Did you get Hagen the mirror?"
Manon scowled at the pair, the rings under her eyes aging her far beyond her natural years in the moment. Sleep was what she craved... and feared. She hadn't exactly lied to Gerhard about that. "I delivered the mirror at the feet of... 'Hair. Short. Black. Eyes. Hazel. Likely alone. Do not engage.'" She glared. "Maybe you'll thank me for thinking fast and doing the best I could with so little."
One of the pair, a short, stout woman with about fifteen years on Manon, held up a hand. "We'll argue about this tomorrow. In the meantime, we've got work to do."
A loud sound broke from the outside of the home, the basement shaking briefly. The two reflexively ducked for cover, the unshakeable memory of war still fresh in their minds. Others in the house shouted out of surprise, and the sound of feet began to stamp about the floors all around and above them. Manon, however, didn't duck at all.
The other of the pair, a man not that much older than Manon, squared his eyes on her. "Don't tell me. Don't even tell me."
Manon shrugged. "I left a note in the compact telling her to get the fuck out."
"That does not make it... That..." the woman huffed and puffed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingertips and sighing. "It's been nice and quiet here lately, and then Hagen gets in trouble and lands in Vichy. And then... you."
"I'm glad it's been 'nice and quiet' for you, Marguerite," Manon answered back cuttingly, emphasizing the woman's name with a sappy, overly-sweet tone, "but the rest of us have actually been busy."
"Please tell me it was just a bomb."
Manon shrugged. "I can't tell you that."
Marguerite frowned deeply. "What you mistaken for 'not busy' has been months of collecting information. Working things over. Making the most amount of progress we-"
"-'progress' while you all sit and eat black market beef and cheese with these assholes and offer up cushion criticism while twenty-six of us hard workers get shot up in Bayern-"
"-and if you want to get your rage out in a homicidal fashion, you do it somewhere else!" Marguerite fumed. She glared, and then held her head in her hands as she shook it and sighed. "I don't know what to do with you. We'll talk in the morning."
Manon watched the two as they walked away, back into the main section of the house to join a few of the others who'd been mobilizing in apparent efforts to receive this "Hagen." Moments later Manon trudged into one of the bedrooms and shut the door behind her, collapsing upon the old bed in a corner of the stoney room. She immediately set about working to vacate her mind of all thoughts, feelings, everything about everything that had transpired at all that day. Or the days prior.
She hadn't slept at all on that train. Perhaps the last time she'd slept had been before she met Gerhard. It would have been a pity, really... he seemed almost human for a German in uniform. He'd mentioned Heidelberg, so was he Bavarian? He seemed to have an Alpine charm about him. That affable smile screamed "sunshine." He certainly fit that stereotypical dashing mold, but was also graced with what could have been a personality. Maybe even a kind one. One that wanted to see her again.
But it didn't matter, really.
What did matter, however, was that Manon had had a chance to tell Gerhard about what she feared. And for a moment that fear lived aloud in someone's mind, until she'd killed it. But it wasn't gone, of course. It wasn't like others didn't know. It wasn't like Marguerite didn't know. It was probably why the woman was so forgiving in the face of Manon's expressed flaws, or perhaps even what could have been lapses of judgment.
But it didn't matter how many times Manon might have more or less thrown others' lives into a state or turmoil, or even snuffed them out... and it became clear to Manon as the seconds went by as she lay alone on the old bed that sleep would come quickly but overpoweringly for her.
Manon didn't think much of praying. But she found herself doing so, wondering just where sleep would take her, quietly begging to lose memory of what was the come. Always the same thing, exponentially worse every time... that place... Manon felt her heart sink as her consciousness faltered and she returned, anyway. Then... silence.
