The Devil's Blessing (18 page)

He didn't really have a mustache so much as there were small scatterings of hair below his nose. His beard, or what could be called that, was nothing more than short hair that came from one ear to the other, completely under his chin, and random islands of hair on his face.

But the most startling thing to him was his face. It had changed.

His skin was darker. He didn't understand why, but it was, and he had lost weight. A lot of weight. He instinctively looked away from the mirror and grabbed at his stomach. All this time he had been losing weight, becoming more bone than meat, and he hadn't even realized it. He looked at his belt; he had created new notches to fit his ever-slimming waistline. It never occurred to him that it was out of the ordinary; he just continued making new notches as his pants continued to fall.

But the worst part was his eyes. They looked the same, of course, but it looked as if his eyes were in a state of always being wide open. Then there was the color under his eyes. They looked a near yellow, like the bruise on Richard's face. He handed the mirror quickly to Ursula in disgust. He was no longer hungry.

"Would you like to shave?"

"What?" He seemed confused. Ulrich had had a beard when he met him, so he was sure that he didn't have a razor. Perhaps it was hers.

Answering the unsaid question, she said, "My Ulrich has--had--a razor. He didn't always have a beard." She smiled when she remembered. "He only did it for winter months."

"Would it be alright, Frau?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," she said. "What use is it to me now?"

❧

After cutting his beard down with sewing scissors and finally getting the shave he so desperately needed, he looked at his face again. It had a weird tan line where the scraggly beard had been.

He had aged, significantly so. There were no grey hairs, but there were a few new lines, none too deep. No, it was his eyes, he realized. They seemed like a wild man's, wide open in some sort of shock.

"Are you alright?"

The voice startled him, probably because the mirror in his hand told him that the man staring back at him was a nervous one.

"No. Yes, I mean. Thank you." The day was going from gray to black. "I leave in the morning."

"Take me with you."

It was the response he had been dreading.

"I can't," he said.

"Why not?"

He couldn't answer her, so he just looked down. How could he tell her that he was afraid he had turned into some sort of walking nightmare that killed little children—children like Richard? Otto didn't know who he was anymore. Most of him thought that all that was behind now, that he had learned his lesson, that he would never kill again, least of all a child. But if he did it once, he could do it again. As Otto looked up to Ursula's eyes, those beautiful eyes, he wanted to tell her that the biggest threat wasn't the invading hordes to the east and to the west of them. Her biggest threat was quite possibly right in front of her.

"It's just that--"

"Hold that thought," she said, jumping up from off the ground.

Otto was stupefied. One moment she wanted to know why he wouldn't take her, and the next she went running off. He had to follow her.

"Get away from the door!" she said, closing it behind her. Apparently she had heard some sound and bustle outside that Otto had missed. "They're coming! You must hide!"

"Who?" Otto said, realizing he was now back to his most comfortable of emotions—fear. "Who's coming?" he asked. "The Russians? The Americans?"

"Worse," she said. “The Germans.”

There was no time for questions. Germans were on their way, and as soon as they saw him, he'd be made.

He wasn't a child, an older man, or a cripple, which made him someone that should be fighting. Plus, with the clothes he was wearing, it was obvious that he was a soldier. What would he be doing in place like this? Hiding and running. He knew, and as soon as they saw him they would know it, too.

As Ursula grabbed his hand and rushed him towards the corner where baby Richard was, a thought crossed his mind.
What if I came across some men who would be understanding of me? Who understood why I was running?
As soon as that thought struck him, he knew how wrong he was. Those German troops would want him dead. Those in charge, because those were the orders, and especially the men. If they couldn't run, neither could he. There would be no safe arms in those closing steps.

"Here!" she said. "Lay down! Hurry!" Her voice was hushed but still very stern. Otto sat down for a bit near Richard's crib, confused. "No!" she said. "I said
lay
down! Under the crib."

Otto moved himself below the crib in a very uncomfortable position. He bumped the crib more than once as he tried to position himself the best he could, but the crib had four legs, and each pair had low-hanging crossbeams that made it difficult to move. Luckily, baby Richard didn't make a sound. Ursula threw a blanket over his still-exposed legs. "Cover yourself!"

Before Otto could ask how the door slammed open, with a howl of the wind outside.

"Everyone! Outside in the courtyard! Now!" a voice said. "Is this all that's with you?"

"Just my child," she said, motioning to the screen in the corner. As the soldier began to make his way over, Ursula gently put her arm on his chest, stopping him. "He's asleep. Please. I'll come outside, but let him sleep. He has the White Plague."

The soldier first nodded that he did see, and then took a step back, realizing that he might be sharing the air with a sick woman. "Follow me!" he said, leaving the door open.

Richard began to make a sound or two as the cold air came in, but soon he stopped. Maybe the medicine was working. Otto wasn't sure. Then he thought that maybe it wasn't working, and maybe the child was closer to death. Whatever the case, Otto had to return to the task at hand: hiding himself.

He was still nearly fully exposed, with the blanket comically strewn over his legs. He had to fix it as quickly as possible. He had no idea when she would return or if she would have company. They would probably do a check, not just for people, but for supplies as well.

Just as Otto had nearly covered up his entire body with the blanket and made it crumpled, as if formless, he heard voices enter the room again.

"Fräulein," the new man said, "My name is Alfred Tresler. And this is Edgar Von Essen. We are with the 2
nd
Mountain Division. May we come in?" he said, even though they were already inside.

Tresler was dressed rather well, given the state the war was in; Von Essen seemed to show the wear and tear more so than the man in charge.

"As you heard outside in the courtyard, we need to do just a quick, tiny search of your place. Also, we will need a place to stay for the evening, and your town will do us good. Von Essen?” He gestured to the soldier, who began to look around the one-bedroom home, lifting every cushion, opening every box, and sliding open every drawer. He then made his way to the curtain.

"Wait!" Ursula cried out, almost too loud.

"Is there a problem, Fräulein?" Tresler asked.

"No," she said, nervously covering up her mouth, trying to find the right thing to say. "It's just...it's just that...it's just that my baby's asleep in that corner, that's all."

"Oh, well that's no problem. We'll be quiet, I promise. I want to have a look at this child. Boy or a girl?"

"A boy, but he's--" But before she could finish, they were off to the curtained room.

As the steps came closer to Otto, he allowed himself one eyehole through the blanket, albeit towards the wall. But before they came he gave himself a quick one over, and then panicked. His boots were exposed. He had spent so much time getting the top of his body ready that he had inadvertently pulled up the blanket too high. In a panic and not knowing what to do, Otto looked around. The shadows from the men were upon him, and he grabbed and threw the closest thing he could find at his feet—a dress.

"Ah. There he is! What's his name?" Tresler asked.

"Who?" Ursula asked, frightened. They must have seen Otto.

"Your son, of course," he said, with a grin that soon turned to a pout. "There wouldn't be anyone else, would there, Fräulein?"

"No, of course not," she said, letting out a relieved breath. “And it’s
Frau
, not Fräulein. It's just this damned war and your presence has startled us. I'm sorry."

"That's perfectly fine, my dear, I understand. So, what is his name?"

"Otto," she said, mistakenly, and quickly closed her eyes and grimaced at her mistake.

Not noticing, Tresler exclaimed "Otto! That was my father's name! Can I have a closer look?"

"I don't think you'd want to."

"Oh," he said, this time with a face of genuine concern. "And why's that?"

"He has the White Plague, I fear." Upon hearing that the child had tuberculosis, Von Essen stepped back, looking around as if there were some invisible bee waiting to sting him. As for Tresler, he remained unmoved.

"I see," he said, putting one hand over his mouth in concern and another over her shoulder in comfort. "I'm sorry," he said, taking his hand off of her. "I regret to inform you that our medic has long since died. Funny, is it not?" he said through a smile.

"Yes," she said, through a forced smile that was fooling no one.

"Well then. One or maybe more of my men will be spending the night here tonight, if that's alright with you."

"Even with my sick child, and the sickly air?"

He nodded aloofly. "Why not?" he said. "Something has to kill them eventually."

❧

Otto began to get up from the ground when Ursula came over to him and nearly shouted, "What are you doing, you damned fool?"

"What?" he said. "They're not coming back."

She looked perplexed. "Apparently you didn't hear him.
They
are coming back. Many of them, maybe."

"No, they're not," Otto started to say as he began to lift a leg that Ursula quickly stepped on. "Ow! Why did you do that?"

"Because you're not moving. You're staying there."

Otto let his head fall back to the ground in frustration. "Why?" he asked to his ceiling, the bottom of Richard's crib. "Because he said they would?"

"Precisely because of that."

"Look Ursula, I don't--" She applied more pressure on his leg this time as he tried to move again. He paused for a few moments of anger, then began to say again. "I don't think they're coming tonight."

"And why's that?"

"And why's that?"
he mimicked. "Because of him!" he said pointing up to the crib.

"They won't mind a child."

Otto was tired of dancing around it. "Because your son has tuberculosis. Which means this whole house has tuberculosis. Which probably means that you and me also have tuberculosis. Ow! Hey! I didn't move!"

"That was for being stupid," she said, finally taking her foot off of his leg, much to Otto's relief.

"Tuberculosis, the White Plague, whatever you want to call it," she said, "isn't transmittable like that."

"No?" he asked, in a condescending manner.

"No," she responded confidently. "I know that we still aren't sure how it's passed, but my little Richard has had it for over a month, and neither I nor his father have ever gotten it. What do you think of that?"

"I think you're lucky."

She scoffed under her breath. "There is only one type of luck these days, my dear Otto, and it's only bad. Stay there." And with that she was off.

Otto wanted to move. Otto
had
to move. He had laid down in an uncomfortable position that he needed to readjust. But as much as that hurt, it paled in comparison to the pain that Ursula and her shoe might bring, so he just stayed there.

Soon she returned with a few items that she set next to the crib.

"First, let's get this blanket covering you correctly."

"What's wrong with the way it is now?"

She pointed her finger to her right, his left. He didn't see it. She gave his bottom a gentle tap, the first sign of mercy from her legs all day. He soon realized what she meant.

"Damn," he said. "My ass was exposed?"

She nodded. "And you could tell there was a body under there as well. Here," she said, kneeling down, "let me fix the blanket."

She spent the next few minutes going around Otto as much as she could. There was nearly no space around the crib; it was slotted away like a cabinet. She moved the blanket here and there, stepping back every few moments to take a look at her work, like a sculptor gauging his piece. She continued to make adjustments until she was happy.

"There," she said, fully content with her work.

"Um, Ursula?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Otto?"

"One problem. I can't breathe."

She kneeled back down and reached as far back as she could to where his head was. She made a small break for his face.

"Better?"

"Better," Otto lied again. It wasn't that he couldn't breathe, per se, but more that he just wanted to see. Even if it was only the wall that she had positioned him to, now.

Suddenly something came into his view.

"What's this?"

"Scissors," she said.

"For what?"

"If they find you. I want you to have a small fighting chance."

Otto no longer put up anymore resistance. He knew she was right.

"And take this, too," she said, handing him a small pot with a handle.

"What's this for? A shield?"

"No," she said, "in case you need to go to the restroom."

He also took it and placed it by his head. He hoped it would stay there.

❧

Otto had fallen asleep and was only made aware of it by Richard's crying. As he was awakened, he realized that Ursula was already there, taking the child out of his crib.

"Do you need any help?"

"What?" Ursula seemed confused, as if she was unaware where the voice was coming from, as if she had forgotten about Otto on floor. After realizing who had said it, she quickly came back to her senses and said, "No, thank you,” patting the child on his back, trying to silence him.