Blue Glass

Phone Calls

July, 1917

"You're leaving?" Manfred asked. His face betrayed no emotion.
I nodded. "Stay safe, Manfred. I'll see you soon."
"Auf wiedersehen." He kissed the backs of my hands. "Take care of yourself."
We embraced tightly. I couldn't help but think that I was dreaming. Not too long ago I had been pining for he whom I had deemed unreachable, untouchable. Now I was in his arms, feeling his lips on the backs of my hands. It was suddenly all so surreal, like a scene out of a romance novel.
"I'll see you soon," was all he said when we let go of each other. He made no move to kiss me goodbye; I didn't initiate it.
I stood back, watching him push off the wall he was leaning against and give me a slight smile.
He tapped lightly on the door to Room 23. I had no idea why—it was his own room—and for a moment I wanted to playfully chide him for being so uppity.
Be careful, now, a tiny voice in my head said. You don't know him quite yet. Don't get too free with him...
He gave me a final wave before shutting the door. I turned around and headed out of the hospital before I could no longer bring myself to leave him behind.

If only I had taken a book along with me, I lamented silently to myself.
The ennui of the back to back train rides was killing me, and I had barely any money with which to buy souvenirs.
Manfred still haunted my thoughts, but on a much smaller scale than before. It was so funny, I thought, how once a person attained something, its incessant gnawing at their head ceased, and in its place remained only a gaping maw left to be filled by some other obsession. This obsession hadn't left me, but it certainly didn't bother me like it had before my visit to Courtrai.
I put my head to the window's glass and watched the world go by. My colleagues were probably back home in Vienna, enjoying their paychecks, while I would most likely have to do odd jobs here and there to make up for the lost time.
But it had been worth it, though. I wouldn't trade the time I spent in that field hospital for all the paychecks in the world.
My thoughts constantly found their way back to Manfred, albeit with less gusto than before. I wondered what he was doing now. Did he miss me like I missed him? Was his head wound healing properly?
Then there was that kiss, the first one he ever gave me, haunting my mind like a specter that just refused to find peace. The mere thought of it sent uncontrollable shivers down my spine.
He kissed like a man, to put it according to the language a girl my age would use.
My girlfriends from school and I had had many a conversation during our daily knitting circles about the kissing prowess of the various men with whom they had been one night lovers—I had never been one for one night stands, much to their chagrin. One of the many things we spoke about was how uncouth it was for the man to shove his tongue in a girl's mouth without any premonition whatsoever. As distasteful as they said it was, it was still a sign that the man in question knew what he was doing—and one of the main characteristics of a "manly kiss".
Manfred had put his tongue in my mouth, but it hadn't come across to me as uncouth at all. It had been anything but that. Although i supposed I hadn't been as shocked as I might have been if the kiss had occurred under entirely different circumstances.
"'...if I didn't know better, I would think you were trying to violate me in my sleep...'"
Even now, days after he had said that, those words sent a blast of heat rushing to my face. Had he realized he had just been indiscreet when he said it? Or did he feel comfortable saying those kinds of things around me?
The train lurched into the station, the sporadic jerking movements throwing my train of thought off balance. I blinked and eased my head away from the window glass, reaching for my suitcase.
The train station was literally deserted—small wonder, since it was just starting to get light outside. My footsteps echoed deafeningly in the cavernous space as I made my way to the exit.
The streets were quiet also—too quiet. A Berlin without sound, without hustle and bustle wasn't something I was sure could even exist. Now, surrounded by perpetual silence on all sides, I felt like I was dreaming.
Or maybe it's just my mind, adjusting from a war torn landscape to another, albeit in a different way.
The doorman at the hotel's entrance gave me a strange look as I moved past him into the lobby, like he assumed I had been out this late for questionable reasons. The clacking of the small heels of my shoes against the stairs as I climbed them echoed through the deserted dining room, much to my discomfort. It sounded lonely, abandoned to me, hollow, empty click clacks in vacant space. I was thankful when I got to the top of the stairs and emerged onto the carpeted hallway.
I got to work packing my meager belongings as soon as I had locked the door behind me. As I shoved things haphazardly into my suitcase, my gaze lingered on the copy of Der Rote Kampfflieger now at the top of the pile of skirts and blouses.
I kissed him—no, he kissed me. We both kissed each other. So many other girls dream of doing so, and yet I'm the only one who's gotten to.
I sat down next to my suitcase and opened the book to the pages where I had tucked the Sanke card depicting Manfred, staring longingly at the picture.
It would be so nice to kiss him again. And again. For as long and as much as I want—
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. So my obsession with Manfred hadn't gone away after all—it had only gone from wanting him to love me to wanting both of us to be able express that love.
I checked the time. It was three in the morning; Svetlana was most likely fast asleep, as was my mother, unless she was sitting in her room reading trashy romance novels or chain smoking.
I would check out of the hotel tomorrow, I thought as I put my head down on the hard shell of the top of the suitcase.
For now, I'll just close my eyes...for just a minute...