The Masterpiece

1

Hammelburg, Germany, 1943
    It was nothing more than a boring normal day when Colonel Wilhelm Klink, kommandant of the toughest POW camp in all of Germany, set eyes upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The only divergence from his usual routine in town was to visit a bakery he had never been in before, seduced by the scent of fresh bread drifting about in the winter air; he was lured through the door by the dream of a perfect pumpernickel loaf and he instead immediately found a brunette bread shop goddess.
    She turned around at the tinkle of the bell over the door and showed Klink a sweet face as beautiful as her slender body; she had skin of caramel cream, large brown eyes twinkling behind tortoiseshell glasses, lips as red as a Christmas poinsettia.
    He was quite literally stunned by her simple loveliness, frozen just inside the doorway. She offered him a small but cordial smile. "Good morning, Herr Colonel."
    "Good morning," he enthusiastically said. "I would like a loaf of your best—"
    "—Oh, I'm sorry, sir," she said in a soft alto. "I don't run this bakery. You'll want to see the proprietor, Fräulein Schiller—"
    "—Why, no, I want to see you," Klink immediately pivoted, adjusting his everpresent riding crop to see it safely tucked in the crook of his arm. "What's your name, my dear?"
    She clearly tried to hide behind casual politeness, but she must have been charmed; he saw the rosy blush blooming on her cheeks. "Elsie, Herr Colonel. I live in the apartment upstairs."
    Klink leaned against a crate of rolls, completely ignoring the bread in favor of the woman. "Are you new to Hammelburg? I know I wouldn't have missed a girl so lovely," he saccharinely said.
    Elsie pursed her lips, forcing a smile she wasn't sure how long she could hold. If this colonel thought he was being charming, he was sorely mistaken; he took steps with toes pointed outward, and the expression on his Prussian features looked more like a leer to her than the irresistible smile she assumed he thought he was giving her. Still, she admitted with an inward sigh, she had endured much more crude and even violent advances from officers and soldiers in town, and by this point she was used to it. From that point of view, he was almost bearable. Still, she hoped he'd take the hint. "I don't gallivant, sir," she crisply said. "I keep to myself and I am not one to socialize." She again smiled politely afterward.
    The colonel did not take said hint, not in the slightest, but from the goofy smile plastered across his face, she guessed his issue was with tact and not chivalry. "Perhaps you should get out more," he excitedly said. "A night out to dinner, maybe, I'm sure it'd do you a world of good, and—"
    "-Really, sir, I don't prefer to..." she trailed off, losing the confidence to spurn him as a hulking black form entered the shop, a tall and very obviously armed Gestapo man. The unavoidable terror trickled through her veins and she froze for just a moment, a million possibilities flashing through her mind all at once. The Luftwaffe colonel in front of her, however, was present, taller, and of a higher rank; she remembered a silly piece of advice. The best place to hide from a monster is behind a bigger monster...
    She swallowed down the nauseating lump that had risen in her throat and turned her eyes back to the colonel's blue ones, trying almost to look straight through him to keep an eye on the threat that had just walked through the door. "Actually, I, um... I am free," she quickly said, running on autopilot. "What did you say your name was, handsome?" She gritted out.
    Klink made absolutely no mention of her abrupt change in attitude, surely classifying it as his own incredible luck; he smiled like a buffoon. "Wilhelm Klink, my dear, Colonel Wilhelm Klink. Kommandant of Stalag 13, just outside of town. Eternally at your service," he cooed.
    "Well, Herr Colonel," she softly said, "when would you like to have that dinner?"
    "Saturday?" He promptly asked, practically bobbing on his heels; perhaps getting a date had never been this easy for him in his life. "I know this absolutely lovely little restaurant just a few miles from here, the chef is in fact a personal friend of mine. Their speciality is sauerkraut, if you can believe it," Klink blabbed, too overexcited at this point to keep up any kind of front. "Fifteen different kinds on a permanent menu! And it is all house-fermented, really the best—"
    "—Alright," Elsie dryly said, almost giving in to her fate now. "That sounds great."
    Klink gave her a wide smile that paired quite oddly with the sinister glint off his silver monocle, and dared to take her hand up to his lips to plant a kiss on her knuckles. "Until then, my dear Elsie," he sweetly said.
    "Right," the young brunette diminutively said, her voice weak as she realized what had just happened. A date with him? He was an officer, she couldn't stomach what he must do every day, and he had to be at least forty years old; she felt nausea rise in her chest. Maybe she could manage, she tried to reason. Food had been short lately, and the idea of a free meal wasn't all that horrifying a concept, not when she thought of her own empty pantry.
    A quick glance around the shop informed her that the tall, black-uniformed sentinel of evil was gone as swiftly as he had entered, meaning that perhaps she'd secured a date with this old colonel for nothing. "I ought to go see what's taking Fräulein Schiller so long to get back out here," she lamely said. "Pumpernickel, you wanted, Herr Colonel?"
    "Yes, my dear," Klink purred.
    She hurried off, eager to get her old downstairs housemate to see to it that the colonel got his bread all packaged up in a takeaway box, that he was given a receipt and coupons and everything necessary to ensure he didn't find a reason to come crawling back; she hurried upstairs to her studio and slammed the door behind herself, already dreading the long wait for the worst date of her life. Inevitably she ended up with the radio cradled in her hands, leaning against the headboard of her bed as she often did when she chose to wallow in sorrows about her fate. If only the Underground had done this, if only she had done that... things could have ended up so very differently than they had. Now, all she had was a broken transmitter, a lost hope, and a date with a Luftwaffe colonel.
-
    Elsie had indeed dreaded this with every fiber of her being, yet for some reason, she hadn't cancelled on him. Perhaps the underlying cause was that she'd used him in the moment and the mixture of embarrassment and shame at her own fear kept her from pushing him aside. A stranger evening Elsie could therefore never say she'd had, for never in her nightmares had she waited for a German officer to call on her.
    He quickly became what she struggled to admit was a pleasant surprise, however, arriving precisely on time and dashing the image she'd had of him pulling up by the bakery and tooting his car horn at her to make her come down. Instead he had found his way upstairs and knocked at her door with a bouquet of tulips in his hand. A giddy smile of absolute innocence was plastered across his face and he was wearing a fresh uniform for the occasion.
    She simply stared at him for a long time, long enough for him to awkwardly clear his throat. "Good evening," he tried.
    She looked at the embroidery on his uniform, the eagles and the ribbons; she noticed two iron crosses and a spange. She looked up and almost saw herself in the reflection of the monocle he wore on his left eye. Who was this man? The kommandant of a POW camp... surely he had done heinous things. She considered for a moment the possibility of changing her mind now, telling him to leave and slamming the door in his face; at this point, however, she was afraid of him. He was older, tall, probably strong, and a quick glimpse at him gave her fright in the form of his huge hands, long legs in shining jackboots. He might hurt her if she told him to get lost.
    And yet... he had flowers in those massive hands, and the dopey childlike expression he was wearing made his severe features look almost boyish.
    There was nothing for it.
    "Good evening, Herr Colonel," she finally managed.
    He giddily pressed the flowers into her hands. "Good evening," he said again as if he'd already forgotten he greeted her first, as if her response was permission for him to start again. "I picked these up from the market, they made me think of you terribly. Are you ready?"
She nodded, closing her door behind herself and submitting to her punishment, feeling quite out of sorts in an evening dress and as much makeup as she'd dared to apply; she hadn't even worn a scent in the hopes of perhaps subconsciously putting him off of her.
-
Colonel Wilhelm Klink, as Elsie soon discovered, was more than a little awkward, cringeworthy, and talkative. He was also, unbelievably, the most gallant man she had ever met by a long shot. She sensed he'd been taught the principles of how to treat a woman but had had very few chances to exercise the knowledge, for he didn't miss a beat with opening both the car door and the restaurant door for her, pulling out her chair, happily explaining the best items on the menu. Luckily she didn't have to put out much effort to be cordial to him whatsoever; she found she could simply stare into space and he would continue to ramble on and on about his rank, his many supposedly daring exploits, his adventures in combat.
He had chosen an adorable little cafe that seemed a bit rundown, but in a way that added a homely aesthetic to the tiny brick interior; it was decorated with an abundance of ferns and posters from concerts and theatre shows of the recent past. Obviously he frequented the place, for he knew every bit of its history, and this, too, he went on and on about. The more he talked, however, the less she found herself despising him, to her own chagrin. He had a certain quality, a certain something, that made her feel appreciated and perhaps even safe. A warm little feeling trying to come to the surface, nourished by how silly the man was. Talking gaily about how his mother had stopped at this very cafe with him when he was a boy during long trips from his hometown of Düsseldorf to Berlin, that it had been here since the nineteenth century, like she might care about that. It... it made her want to.
"Did they have all fifteen kinds of sauerkraut back then?" She lamely asked, realizing it was the first thing she'd said all night, that weak attempt at conversation.
His blue eyes twinkled. "Yes! I hated them when I was a boy, couldn't bear it at all. I always wanted a whole plateful of sausage, and — oh, shall we have drinks, my dear? Can you believe, I didn't order us any drinks."
"Yes," she sighed with relief. "Yes, I'd love something to drink."
That proved to be a tragic mistake, for soon her heart was pounding and she had to admit she was unsure if it were fear or butterflies or both. She'd had a few glasses of brandy and so had he — and it seemed obvious to her that he was getting a bit flirty, more than he had been before. His hand was on her knee and he'd leaned in close as he told her some nonsense about an escapade at an officer's club back when he had been an Oberstleutnant. His blue eyes, eyes that Elsie had to admit were soft, hadn't left her for a moment.
His other hand touched her chin delicately as if to turn her lips to his.
She felt terror shoot down her spine, entirely unprepared to fend off an advance. "Please - Herr Colonel, I - please d-d—"
She had expected him to ignore her meek half-protest, for he was a high-ranking man and he had power over her in this moment; she could hardly speak and wasn't physically preventing his offensive.
The man named Wilhelm Klink caressed her cheek and didn't move closer. "Oh, dear," he roughly said. "Do you find me too forward? I am terribly sorry."
She blushed bright red. "Er - no, I'm sorry—"
"—Do not be. I am afraid this war has made men mannerless."
"Perhaps, but you seem to have avoided that," she quietly said, astonished by his gentle bearing. It was admittedly difficult to believe that this man was cruel, vicious, foul like all the other men who wore the Nazi insignia on their breasts.
"Not for much longer with a woman as beautiful as you," he cooed. "You know, I don't like the thought of you all alone above that bakery, my dear. Do let me come and see you?"
"I - I suppose—"
"—It would all be perfectly innocent," he insisted, the goofy smile on his face clearly giving away tipsiness and lack of ill intent.
"Well, I suppose you could see the studio," she rationalized. "I give fine art lessons up there."
"Really?" Klink excitedly said, cheery still as he remembered his own brief exploration of the world of painting. With Hogan's help, of course, he had been able to sell his pieces for a stack of cash from some very big name collectors. He might just be able to win her over with his skill. "I'd love to see your work," he genially said. "Have you a whole collection?"
She searched his wide blue eyes, saw them glimmering with interest. Something was telling her this man was innocent. Deep down he wouldn't hurt a fly, she couldn't even imagine a gun in his hand. Odd, wasn't it, that he didn't carry a sidearm on his uniform, she realized. Perhaps her instincts were right? "I - yes, I do."
"Would you be willing to, say, let an old soldier like me paint with you, perhaps?" Klink purred.
"Would you be interested in the lessons? The price is rather reasonable, I think—"
"—Absolutely," he immediately simpered.