Blue Glass

The Visitor

One of the best days of my life started out with me doing dishes.

Svetlana had been having migraines the whole morning, leaving me alone to make my own breakfast and clean up after myself. I gladly obliged—despite all the meaningful things that had happened between us, I felt that what the two of us needed most now was to hold each other at arms' length.
I was rinsing a teacup, watching the steam rise from the washbasin, the hot water turning my pale hands red. Work had been grueling as usual, what with all my overdue paperwork and current forms I had to fill out. I supposed that the only good thing about it was that the weekends tasted doubly sweet because of it.
My mother was due to come home in a few days. I had continued to visit her sporadically when I could, and it seemed that the side of her that I had seen was temporary to say the least. She was now back to her old self, and the only silver lining was I could rest easy now knowing there had been no love lost between the two of us. I didn't know what would be worse—trying to contend with my mother's change of heart while trying to forgive her for all she'd done or carrying on hating her as usual, and shouldering the burden of that animosity.
Hating her...?
I didn't hate my mother. At least, I didn't think I hated her. It was more of a deep seated irritation, a—
The shrill shriek of the phone ringing made me jump. The teacup I was washing slipped from my fingers and shattered to smithereens on the metal bottom of the sink. Cursing under my breath, I ran my hands under cold water, snapped off the tap and hurried to the phone table, drying my hands as I went.
"Schwarz." I tried as hard as I could to mask the irritation I was feeling towards the mystery caller for being the reason I would have to spend an extra thirty minutes picking glass shards out of the sink.
"It's me."
My heart caught in my throat. It's me. There was only one person that answered the phone like that.
"Manfred...?" I managed after a considerable silence.
"Good afternoon to you, too." I could hear the smile in his voice. "It's been a while."
"So it has." On the inside, I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. "I've missed you terribly, Manfred."
"Have you?" He sounded surprised. "So have I."
"To what do I owe this...pleasure?" I asked, sinking into the nearest chair.
"May I ask where you'll be tonight?"
My stomach was doing rapid fire somersaults as I answered, as evenly as I could, "I'll be at home."
"I see. Very well, then." Again I can hear him smiling.
"Why do you ask?" I inwardly kicked myself for the unintentional defensive nature of the sentence.
"Why not? Is it a personal question?"
"O-of course not..! I just—"
I heard him laugh to himself on the other end. "Well, then, I suppose I've fulfilled the purpose of this call. I'll talk to you later, my dear."
"Wait, what?" If I had been nervous before, I was on the verge of a full blown panic attack. "What purpose? What are you—"
But he had already hung up.

The gentle knock on the front door roused me from the doily I was knitting. I furrowed my brow; glanced at the clock. Svetlana was fast asleep upstairs, knocked out with two cups of chamomile tea; my mother wasn't due to come home until later this week; we weren't the type to have guests—ever.
Then who...?
Setting my knitting down, I warily headed for the door, the fingers of one hand tightening securely around the razor I always carried in my pocket, just in case. For all I knew it could be the postman, or a neighbor, but better safe than sorry.
The other side of the door was silent. I thought about looking through the peephole at the top of the door, but figured that if it was someone whom I didn't want seeing me, they would see the flash of movement through the tiny circle of concave glass.
When you use a razor in self-defense, you must remember that you only have five to ten seconds to take your assailant by surprise. It surprised me how easily that conversation came back to me—it was from the day my mother actually bothered to sit me down and educate me on the finer points of self defense. Not only that, but a razor is not an offensive weapon as much as it is a defensive weapon. Your first strike is most certainly your last, and depending on who it is, they certainly won't—
The person's knuckles connected with the wood a second time. I jumped, my mother's voice fading into the recesses of my mind. Steeling myself, I whipped the door open a bit faster than I intended...and almost had a heart attack when I saw who it was.
Visible surprise and confusion registered on Manfred's face when he saw me. He blinked and shifted his weight from one foot to another, his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat. For a moment, I was too shocked to say anything or even move. A second passed, then two, then three. His lips slowly curled into a customarily repressed smile, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.
"Are you going to let me in, or...?"
A million questions raced through my head, one after another. Why are you here? Who would you come here? How did you get here? What are you doing here? What do you want?
I let him pass and shakily shut the door behind me, uncurling my fingertips from around the dull edge of the razor. I didn't know what to say or do—even more so when he turned to face me, the wry, knowing smile still on his lips.
"At long last," he said, giving me a once-over. You've gotten taller."
I've gotten taller?
I didn't break eye contact with him as I began to close the distance between us; he met me halfway. For a fleeting moment I thought we were going to embrace, but he pulled himself up short.
"You look like you have a few questions you want to ask me,"he said.
"What are you doing in Vienna?" I asked, relieved my voice hadn't abandoned me in the shock of the moment.
"I'm not supposed to be here," he said in a stage whisper. "I'm supposed to be hunting in East Prussia."
"Then why—"
"I had to see you," he said placidly. "Our last rendezvous left a bad taste in my mouth, and I've wanted to rectify it ever since."
"Manfred—" I could feel the color slowly flooding my cheeks. "You don't have to—"
"Yes, I did. Don't tell me you would have preferred silence to an apology."
His fingers curled around my wrists, as he brought my hands up to rest on his face. "I've missed you," he said, and at that I locked gazes with him, staring deep into his heavy-lidded blue eyes. "You really don't know how much I've wanted to see you."
Words really didn't do justice to my relief and elation at his confession. I stood on the toes of his boots and kissed him full on the lips. His fingers curled around my biceps, pulling me flush against his chest before he lay his hands flat on my back.
"You should've told me you were coming..!" I said when we finally let go of each other after what seemed like a million years. "I would have—"
"Would have what?" His smile broadened. "I'm not here for coffee and pastries, you know." He fluidly slipped out of his greatcoat and I automatically took it from him, clutching it to my chest like a Bible.
"You'll get them anyways, Manfred. Do me a favor and sit down?"
He eased himself into the nearest padded chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Your house is nice," he said, his gaze flickering this way and that, taking in the chandelier, the paintings on the walls. "It's your...father's, no?"
I bristled. "Yes, it was bought with his money."
"I see. Very impressive, I must say." He looked like he was going to ask further, but decided against it.
"I'll go get you some coffee," I said, spinning on my heel like there was a tiny wheel attached to it and making a beeline for the kitchen, draping his greatcoat over a hook on the wall on my way there.
My hands were shaking with a mixture of nervousness and excitement as I measured out acorn coffee grounds, spilling half of them in the process. Ignoring the brown pellets scattered across the countertop like ants on rampage, I lit the stove and waited for the familiar squeal of the boiling water in the coffee pot.
"Is your house always this vacant?" Manfred asked as I made my way back to the foyer, steaming pot in hand. "I was worried I'd be intruding on a knitting circle of sorts."
"I don't do knitting circles anymore."I set a porcelain mug before him and shot him an expectant look. "How do you like it?"
"With a significant amount of dairy products in it, but alas, the war's taken that from us, too." Manfred gestured for me to commence pouring. "Although the luxury hotels here don't seem to be suffering too much."
"Which hotel are you staying at?" I asked.
"Hotel Bristol." He eyed the tea biscuits I set before him with a neutral expression. "Have you heard of it?"
"Of course I have. You see, we Austrian girls all want to have our honeymoons there. The opulence is amazing."
"As if you'll ever find a man rich enough to take you there."
The candidness of his sentiment momentarily caught me off guard, and yet for all his efforts to mask it, I could hear the barb in his words plain as day.
My smirk effectively concealed the momentary hurt that ricocheted through me. If I was to truly impress him, it seemed, or even have a prayer or garnering his respect, I would have to beat him at his own game.
"You aren't wrong," i finally said, praying what I was feeling on the inside wouldn't show up on my face.
He looked surprised. "I don't know many men who would tolerate a jibe at their social status, let alone women."
That's because I know you would never truly mean it spitefully...would you?
He looked from me to the table in a silent invitation for me to sit down. Not knowing whether to sit across from him or next to him, I decided to stick to custom and sit across from him.
"About the Hotel Bristol, I've seen better." Manfred raked his fingers through his hair as he effectively changed the subject. "Have you ever been to Brussels?"
"...Belgium?"
"Mmm. The Hotel Metropole is something else entirely, I'll tell you that. And they have good taste in food. I've never had more delicious oysters in my life."
"I should ask for an assignment to Brussels, then," I said. "I like oysters. Tell me, how do you afford it?" That last line was a complete shot in the dark, but I wasn't about to let him one-up me so easily. If he could take jabs at my social standing, well...
"What do you mean?" Something in his eyes darkened, and I knew I had hit a nerve.
Eye for an eye, I suppose.
"Well, a military pension is hardly enough to cover the cost of one night at a hotel like that."
"And how do you know that?"
"My uncle is a major in the Austrian army, remember? Being in the army is synonymous with debt, and I'm sure rank doesn't make a difference, give or take a few marks."
When he took a sip of coffee, he kept his eyes trained on me.
"Schulden wie ein Major, isn't it?" It was all I could do to keep a straight face as I watched Manfred's eyebrows arch in shock.
We fell silent, staring at each other. Manfred dropped his gaze momentarily to the dark liquid in his mug before rolling his eyes back up to look at me. His face was a mask of indifference, but I could see the mix of respect and ire in his eyes.
"You're too smart for your own good," he said quietly. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"I have yet to hear it," I replied.
"That's good. Empty-headed women don't appeal to me."
His words hung in the air like clothes swaying on a clothesline in the sunshine. It takes me a while to dissect the praise from the rest of the sentence.
He is acknowledging my intellect instead of suppressing it. That's rare.
Amid the pride I feel at his underhand remark, it is quickly overridden by relief, relief that I now know he is nothing like my father.
He broke our stare to take a huge sip of still scalding coffee, a wince crossing his face when he set the mug down.
"Have you ever tried drinking coffee hot before?"he asked. "Before it's cool enough for you to properly drink it?"
"Of course I have," I said, remembering with clarity how I downed an entire mug of burning hot ersatz coffee at the office in an attempt to silence the thoughts in my head. "I have to say it's...therapeutic."
"Is it?" A wry smile curved his lips. "I would be lying if I said I disagree."
I sighed. "I've had lots of overdue work to do at the wine firm," I said. "It helps when I'm trying to concentrate and need to...silence my subconscious."
His soft laugh was wistful to say the least. "Burning the inside of your mouth, hmm?" He steepled his fingers in front of his face. "I couldn't think of a more efficient method if I tried."

Schulden wie ein Major: "In debt like a major."
Salaries in the German army were low (a Cavalry Captain earned about 600 marks) and upperclass soldiers and military personnel were expected to use that money to fuel the traditional excesses of upperclassmen, such as gambling.