Blue Glass

Telephone

June, 1917

There's a big phone in our house; our only phone. It's been silent ever since my father left, as my mother had managed to alienate pretty much the entire block with her sour attitude. The few friends I do have prefer to meet face to face, hence the unnerving silence of this telephone.
Until today.
It was a normal Sunday in our house. I was sitting on the sofa in the living room reading a romance novel, observing Svetlana over the top of my book as she primped for church. If my mother had been here, she would be out on the patio chain smoking, but she was in the hospital, hence the relieving absence of the acrid odor of cigarette smoke.
"You're not going today, Lea?" Svetlana asked me over her shoulder.
I snorted. "To church? Gag me with a spoon."
"You used to love going to church," she said, turning to face me.
"Not anymore, Svetlana," I said. "I stopped believing in that shit a long time ago."
At that, she visibly bristled. "What did I say about convincing yourself you're atheist?"
"I'm not convincing anyone; there's no need to convince anyone."
"All these veiled denunciations of our faith will lead to your—"
"There is no veil." I slammed the book down irascibly, jumping to my feet. "If there was such thing as God, I would have my mother, and I would have my father."
"God puts our faith to the test in so many—"
"Bullshit."
"You ought to be grateful for what you do have, a roof over your head, a stable job, and —"
Her sentence was interrupted by a loud, ear splitting shriek of the phone's chime.
We both stopped and stared at each other, our feud going up in smoke. No one—I repeat, no one had called that phone in five years.
"What should I do?" I asked in a hushed whisper as the phone continued to ring.
"Maybe it's from the hospital," Svetlana said in an equally low voice. "Answer it."
My hands shook as I lifted the phone from its stand and raised it to my ear.
"Schwarz." I immediately kicked myself for sounding so small.
"Is this my cousin? Or Svetlana?"
My eyes bulged; I could hardly believe it. "Heinrich?!"
"Oh, so this is the right number," my cousin warbled, taking no notice of my reaction. "Thank you so much; schön tag."
The line went dead. I gaped at Svetlana, who wore an equally befuddled look on her face even though she hadn't heard the other person on the line speak.
"What did Heinrich want?"she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "But—"
The phone began to ring again; the two of us jumped simultaneously, staring at the object like it was a ticking time bomb.
If Heinrich wants to use his free time to prank call me, I—
"Fick dich, what's wrong with you?" I snapped into the receiver as soon as I picked it up.
"Excuse me?"
My heart leaped into my throat. The voice coming through the receiver was not that of my cousin's.
"Who is this?" I squeaked.
I heard the person laugh to themselves on the other end. Then:
"Manfred von Richthofen."
My blood turned to ice. My heart in my throat, I waved Svetlana out of the room and took a deep breath.
"How do you do, Manfred?"
"As well as one can do out here." I heard a low shuffling sound in the background. "And you?"
"I'm doing fine," I said, willing my voice not to shake. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I honestly regret that our conversation didn't last longer at Major Reinhard's party," was the reply.
"And here we are." I forced my shoulders to relax, trying my best to contain the embarrassed laugh bubbling in my throat.
"You have an awfully filthy mouth for a girl," was the next thing out of his mouth.
A blast of heat shot up my face. "That was a mistake; I thought you were my cousin."
"You didn't strike me as the cursing type when you wrote to me."
I could feel my mouth stretching into an even wider smile. I was glad he couldn't see my face; I looked like a deranged clown.
I'm flattered...my letters were that well written?
"Oh, I didn't?" I asked. "Is that a compliment?"
"Jawohl." Manfred cleared his throat on the other end.
"How...did you manage to place a phone call and have it go through from so far away?" I sank into the upholstered chair next to the phone table, picking up the clay paperweight next to the phone stand and curling my fingers around it in a fist.
"Well, you should congratulate me first; I've earned it." I could hear the pride in Manfred's voice as he spoke.
"You scored a new victory?" I asked.
"I did. Number 42."
"Congratulations. Was he...did you kill him?"
"Of course I did. His plane broke into pieces in midair; there's no way anyone can survive that."
I wanted to object to the nonchalant way he spoke about killing another man, but decided against it as I didn't want to risk being branded as a traitor or a collaborator. Not only that, but it would take the conversation down an awkward turn, and that was something I didn't want to risk.
"Nicely done," I said tightly. "That sounds exhilarating."
"I'm glad you—ugh." The shuffling in the background increased. "I'm glad you think so."
"Well, I hope you don't mind if I invasively interview you," I said, sensing the conversation was about to get awkward. "After all, it isn't every day commoners like me get to speak on the telephone to war heroes."
"Ach, it's nothing. Ask away; I've nothing to do now."
"So when someone asks you to talk about yourself, what do you normally say?"
I heard him inhale sharply. "Well, I was born in Breslau, I was—"
"Breslau?"
"It's a city in Silesia," Manfred said. "Silesia is in Prussia, oder?"
"Yes. We moved to Schweidnitz when I was younger, and I was sent to cadet school when I was eleven."
"What does your coat of arms look like? I'm assuming you have one since you have a 'von' in your last name."
"How observant of you. I'll draw it for you sometime and mail it with my next letter."
"Thank you." The fact that he would actually go to such a length to give me information was...somewhat touching to say the least.
"Is that all you had to ask me?" Manfred's voice now had a teasing edge to it, almost like he was about to laugh.
"No, I—" I could feel my tongue tripping over words as they formed in my mouth, bubbles rising to the surface but popping as soon as they reached it.
I could literally hear the mirth in his voice when he said, "It's only fair that you let me ask you questions in return."
My heart leapt in my throat. Lying to him had been so easy at my uncle's party since I had had no qualms about lying to a stranger, and even easier on paper but here, over the phone, fifteen letters and three weeks from our first meeting at the party, I was surprised to feel a twang of guilt at the thought of weaving yet another web of lies.
"Yes, you're right," I conceded. "A-ask away."
"Or would you rather not subject yourself to the scrutiny of commoners?"he asked.
There it was again, the same tone he had used to tactfully spar with me at my uncle's party, albeit verbally and as underhandedly as one could do so.
"Of course not," I said. "What do you want to know?"
"The same questions you asked me," Manfred said. "Answer them."
I exhaled sharply, glad I hadn't bothered to ask him anything difficult or overly invasive.
"Well, we don't have a coat of arms," I said. "And I was born and raised in Vienna."
"I see," was all he said.
"Write to me later, Manfred." I was growing more and more unnerved by the second.
"Of course. Schön tag, Lea."
His line clicked off first as he hung up before I could even reply.

A/N: this chapter is shitty I apologize...life isn't treating me right at the moment...
Schön Tag: good day
Fick dich: Fuck you
Jawohl: Of course
Oder?: right?
Ach: Sort Of like our "oh"