Arsenic

XXVII

  On the next day, shadows of two individuals walked upon the sidewalk where the sunlight of the morning star had shone upon. The formation of the silhouettes that had obscured the sunlight were casted by no other than Bastian and Gretilde. The leaves on the chestnut trees swayed as they continued to walk through Avenue Foch. However, Gretilde was unaware where Bastian was taking her to in the afternoon. He had simply asked her to accompany him.
  Finally, they stopped walking as they stopped in front of a restaurant. The Resistance fighter saw the many German soldiers and agents who were sitting at a table in front of the restaurant's facade- where they also populated the inside (where she could see through the windows). Patterns had adorned themselves on the windows, while still maintaining a quaint, simple design. Likewise to the luxurious architecture that was built throughout Avenue Foch, the restaurant's appearance maintained the reputation of the avenue's elegance. Looking up, she saw the name of the restaurant before looking back at Bastian.
  "Bastian, may I ask why you have taken me here?" she questioned.
He gazed towards the restaurant before looking at her with an optimistic expression as he had a slight smile that defined his lips.
  "We will have dinner here for today."
  Gretilde looked at the grand restaurant in astonishment before looking at him.
  "You can't be serious." she responded in disbelief.
  She could not fathom that Bastian would take someone deemed as a terrorist like herself to a fancy restaurant.
  "Don't be ridiculous- of course I'm serious. Come on in, Gretilde!" his eyes lit up with such excitement as he quickly and energetically invited as he took her hand and entered the restaurant.
  The agent gave no time for Gretilde to respond, so she was simply dragged along by Bastian. Somehow, it reminded her of the same, innocent son of Herr Vogt that she had played outside with before. Taking her across the restaurant in a hurried fashion, they stopped by one of the many tables in the restaurant. Bastian gestured to Gretilde to take a seat- in which she obliged. Afterwards, the agent took a seat for himself from across from her.
  The Resistance fighter observed the surplus of grayish green fabric that surrounded her while she could hear indistinct chatter in her native language. She modestly switched her gaze towards the wooden table that was in front of her. Gretilde felt disconnected from the extravagance that the restaurant displayed, along with the abundance of German soldiers. Her retreated gaze was broken once she saw a menu placed in front of her by a waitress. She looked towards Bastian- seeking for some validation to be deserving of being inside in such a grand restaurant.
  "Why are you being so sheepish? There is nothing to be ashamed of. Please feel free to order your dinner." Bastian assured her. "I will take care of the expenses."
  Gretilde slowly opened the menu and saw the nearly unlimited options of food listed on the front of the menu. As she read through the list, she was aware that she would have never been able to have access to such delicacies until this moment. Such food items included ingredients such as meat, bread, milk, cheese, and sugar. She often ate canned rations or thin slices of vegetables during the majority of her time in France. She felt guilty that she would be fed with gourmet food, while other Resistance fighters akin to her were struggling to find rations or ate food of severely lower standard.
  "I am not really hungry- to be honest with you." she lied, attempting to absolve herself of any guilt.
  "I insist on you ordering something. I am your friend after all- there is no need to shy away from my offer. Please?" he reassured once again.
  Gretilde looked at him once again before hesitantly opening the menu. She struggled to pick a single food item as she believed that she did not deserve such a luxury. She read the various types of roasts, salads, deserts, and wine. She utterly refused to even try any roasts or deserts. Yet, she was inclined to choose something from the menu.
  She looked towards the waitress with a falsified amicable smile. "The green beans please."
  Gretilde had not eaten a single piece of cooked meat since the start of the war. She often endured the condition of starvation as it was something she was accustomed to before- yet she refused to eat anything too exorbitant.
  "I'll have a medium rare steak for myself." Bastian proclaimed before looking towards Bastian and looking back at the waitress with a smile. "Please cook another steak for her."
  "Wait!" Gretilde exclaimed as she began to panic.
  The waitress quickly wrote the menu items on her notepad before walking off. The Resistance fighter whipped her head towards Bastian.
  "Take that order back immediately! I am not going to eat that!" she demanded as she slightly raised her voice.
  "You certainly must be tired from all of the monotonous food being served to you everyday, are you not?" he insisted.
  "I am perfectly satisfied from the meals that I have received in the past few days." she asserted. "Please, return the order."
  "It's not fair that you receive an unfulfilling dinner compared to mine."
  "That is my decision to make."
  He let out an exasperated sigh. "Please, allow me to treat an old friend? I will adhere to your wishes the next time we have dinner together."
  Gretilde conceded to his insistence as she sighed. "I shall oblige to your request, Bastian."
  "It is not much different from when we ate morsels of food as children."
  "I would say it is starkly different." she spoke as she looked around the restaurant.
  She looked at his uniform, discerning the formality and cleanliness it displayed- contrary to the worn out clothes they wore as children before the Führer took power. She felt odd that she would much rather be in a state of destitution rather than the state to which the Führer had economically revived it.
  Bastian chuckled. "I suppose it is, for now we eat well with the prosperity of our Fatherland."
  Soon, Gretilde heard the clattering of plates and silverware wrapped with cloth as they were placed on the table in front of her. She could smell the seasoned aroma of the steak as it wafted through the air. Its scent was excruciatingly tempting as she had not seen or eaten hot food since leaving her homeland. Next to her plate of steak, she saw the hot green beans that she ordered next to it. Bastian and Gretilde took off the cloth that was wrapped around the utensils and took them out. Gretilde had picked up a singular green bean with her fork while Bastian began to cut his dinner with a knife.
  "Gretilde, what was the last time you ate meat?" Bastian asked nonchalantly.
  "Before the war."
  Bastian put a piece of sliced meat into his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it.
  "You should really try it. They cooked it perfectly."
  "I'll eat the green beans first." Gretilde proclaimed as she began to crunch on the vegetable.
  "I'm quite delighted that we have eaten with each other once again after so many years." Bastian said as he gave her a cordial smile.
  "I certainly can say the same thing." she said with genuine nostalgia infused within her words as she lifted her fork up once again— poking the green beans impaled upon it.
  She ate once again, digesting the set of humble vegetables. Bastian gave her an affectionate expression, as he seemingly seemed to become reminiscent of their childhood.
  "Do you not prefer our current state as it is? Unlike our childhood, we now have an abundant supply of food. We will never suffer from hunger during the years of that accursed Weimar Republic."
  "It is more comfortable, certainly— but it does not necessarily mean that I would prefer it."
  Silence followed until she had finished her plate of green beans while the agent continued to eat slowly. Tedium began to construct itself as the steak that Bastian ordered for Gretilde had sat itself on its plate in front of her. It was still hot— indicated by the steam coming off from it. She had promised to eat it, but she felt inclined to the feeling of guilt for eating such a luxury. She grabbed the edge of the plate and slowly dragged it towards her as she picked up her utensils from her prior dish.
  She stared at the piece of meat on its plate. Bastian watched as she began cutting the steak with her knife while he ate his own dinner. However, she did not pick up the piece of meat with her fork.
  "Would it not be easier to live like this?"
  "Of course, it is. But, I do not wish to live in luxury while I have friends who are currently in a unfavorable predicament."
  "I am not in a predicament to which you described. Do you not consider me as a friend?"
  She looked directly at him. "Of course I do."
  "You certainly prioritize the feelings of your friends over myself."
  "No, it isn't like that. I am only conscious of the morality of my actions."
  "Why? You will not certainly die."
  "I will not die, of course. But, I suppose that my conscience would feel as it was becoming deceased."
  Thus, Gretilde had placed her utensils on the edge of her plate— leaving the steak alone on the plate.
  "I apologize, Bastian."
  He looked towards the piece of steak before looking at her with a forgiving smile.
  "There is no need to apologize." he said before looking out the window— the sunlight pentrating through its surface. "Should we take a walk instead as always? The weather has been pleasant lately."
  She nodded enthusiastically. "Of course."
 
  Slowly, Drystan had opened his eyes with the darkness greeting his vision. He could feel the cold floor made up of wooden planks press against the sides of his face and body. Yet, its frigid nature did not bother him in the slightest. The ray of sunlight seeping between the walls of wooden planks casted itself upon his cobalt iris as he peered up towards its omnipresence. He squinted his eyes at the direct presence of light obscuring his vision.
  Nevertheless, he sought a sort of warmth that came from its radiation that contrasted with the bleak temperature and the realm of darkness. He permitted his eyes to fully open as he desired to grasp the little hope that was offered within the light. Perhaps, he could truly preserve the sentiments that he cherished— unlike his helpless nature in the past. Mustering with that little ember of aspiration, he sat up from his laid down position. His fingertips traveled through the darkness until he found the switch of a lantern; before turning it on.
  The lantern illuminated the majority of the room as he began to stand up. Drystan's hair was disheveled as multiple locks of hair obscured upon his eyes and forehead. His tired eyes adjusted to the artificial light that brightened the room— a difficulty that came from being shrouded in darkness for a couple of days. Still, forced himself to adjust to the light that he tried so hard to avoid. He walked towards a table and took a comb that was placed on its surface.
  He slightly fixed his hair by brushing through it before putting the comb down and grabbing a can of pomades. Opening it, he took some of the thick, waxy substance before applying some of it on his hair before slicking his locks to the side. Afterwards, he closed the can and put it back on the table before grabbing his coat from the ground and putting it on. He attempted to fix some of the wrinkles that were apparent on his clothing— succeeding to a certain extent and put on his hat.
  Drystan picked up his suitcase by its handle before exiting the safehouse, submerging himself in the midst of the sunlight's presence. He began walking through the forest, adjusting his instincts to become more wary for his surroundings. His steps were silent, avoiding any noticeable forms of detection towards him such as the rustling of grass of the crunching of leaves. He thought of a last resort that was merely speculative in its effectiveness as he was confronted with the fact that most of his comrades were either captured or killed.
  He was no longer was concerned over the consequences if his plan failed, as he desired to grasp onto hope once again. Drystan began to walk towards Avenue Kléber— where Hotel Majestic was located. He was aware that Hotel Majestic was swarmed with high ranking German officers, but his idea would only work if he successfully won the gambit he was taking. As he traversed from outside the forest and into the city, he found himself arriving at Avenue Kléber.
  Drystan quietly walked into the dark alleyways of the street, obscuring himself within the shadows— likewise to his failed attempt to assassinate Generalmajor Blasius. However, he did not intend to kill a target in particular as he was usually tasked to do. Instead, he sought an alliance with Gretilde's esteemed father. Carefully, he watched for any sign of the insignia of Generalmajor being present on any of the uniforms of officers or the chestnut irises that was inherited by Gretilde. He patiently waited and pondered if he would successfully earn the sympathy of the Generalmajor. Nevertheless, he had completely abolished any fear that had hindered him since arriving in France. 
  Soon, his cobalt eyes had detected an officer with the description he was looking for. He began to observe the direction of the Generalmajor and slowly began to trail after him. It was essential that he found a way to interact with the German officer in an isolated area as he made his way within the deeper ends of the alleyways— before arriving outside onto the sidewalk once he had walked far enough away from the hotel. He attempted to make his presence known by subtly staring intently at the soldier while walking on the sidewalk. He presumed that the officer’s instincts would eventually detect his gaze in order to draw his attention. 
  Within a few steps, he had caught the Generalmajor's stare looking back at him. The officer's expression shifted into one of suspicion and intrigue as he looked back at the agent. He seemed to be aware that Drystan was at least either an agent or a Resistance fighter; but was puzzled on why a member of one of those groups would give away their presence. Still, his attention was now fully directed towards the agent.
  Drystan stepped back into the alleyways from his side of the street and continued to look at the soldier. The Generalmajor looked around his surroundings before looking back at Drystan. He hesitated to come closer to the agent as he justly suspected the possibility of being ambushed by the agent. Observing this skepticism, Drystan had put his hands up— in order to appear harmless. Seeing this sign of amity, he began to walk towards his side of the street on the crosswalk.
  Drystan had kept his hands up until his former target had entered within the shadows of the alleyway. The soldier and the agent stared at each other— the brown gaze of the officer bearing resemblance to Gretilde. Yet, his imposing appearance did not contradict the fact that he seemed to dearly care for his daughter; a trait that his own father had expressed for him in the past. The officer had his hand near his handgun, preparing to take it out of its holster if needed.
  "What is it that you want?" he spoke in French while he observed any slight upcoming movement that the agent may do to endanger him.
  Drystan pointed towards his own hand to show a gesture to the soldier in order to put the palm of his hand in front of him. The soldier looked at him dubiously before obliging to his request. Drystan began to tap in Morse code using his fingertips using the palm of the soldier.
  Gretilde captured.
  Once translating the message in his mind, he looked at the agent on astonishment and confusion.
  "How do you know my daughter?" he quietly questioned. "How can she possibly be in France?"
  Drystan presumed that his astonishment was warranted by the fact that Gretilde had come to France without his knowledge. He tapped on his palm once again.
  Friend. Unknown method.
  "A friend? Who do you claim that captured her?"
  A former comrade who is a spy of an unknown agency.
  "Was she arrested for working with an agent like yourself or the French Resistance?"
  Both.
  "Why are you informing me of her whereabouts?"
  I need help on her location and freedom. She is a good friend.
  The soldier resorted to silence before contemplating on the information he had received.
  "I find it unfathomable that they did not inform such a thing to me." he remarked before looking towards the agent. "I will look into it."
  The Generalmajor found no cunning reason for Drystan to inform him of this information as it seemed that the agent had put himself into danger more than himself— even if he was attempting to set up a scheme.
  Thank you.
  "Meet me back at this location at 21:00 tomorrow. Your codename?"
  Drystan.