Blue Glass

Sueing For Peace

"I told you, Svetlana, I don't want to go." The bedsprings creaked noisily as I shifted my weight beneath the heavy blanket I was huddled under. "I'm not changing my mind."
"Heinrich is extending an olive branch to you. The least you can do is take it—"
"Don't give me that scheissegal." I took another drag off of the cigarette I held between two fingers, watching the smoke curl out of my mouth and nose and wincing at the dry, acrid taste it left in my mouth. "If anything, he's probably trying to embarrass me in front of all of his squadron mates."

Svetlana paused her task of shoving clothes into my suitcase to look over her shoulder at me. "Don't you think that if Heinrich wanted to arrest you, he would have done it a long time ago?"
"No, because I was in Berlin. There was no way he could have found me there." I took another drag off my cigarette and reached for the half empty bottle of champagne on the windowsill behind me. The huge sip of alcohol i took, in tandem with the freshly inhaled cigarette smoke elicited a deep cough from me that scratched the sides of my throat and made my eyes water.
"Heinrich is only an army major's son. He might be able to find me in Vienna, but looking for me anywhere outside it is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. He would never have guessed I would put myself up in a hole like Wedding."
Svetlana shoved the last pair of shoes in after a pile of petticoats and slammed the suitcase shut. I watched her wrestle with the gold clasps that were supposed to hold it shut from where I sat, tapping ash from the end of my cigarette.
"You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to accept his invitation to see him at his airfield," I told her.
"It would be something new for both of us." She closed my suitcase and leaned it against the wall, turning her attention to her own. "Especially you. It would do you good to see something unique. And Heinrich is like your brother; it must hurt you to be estranged from him for this long."
"Unique?" I asked, spitting the word out like a piece of gristle.
"Think of all the things you'll see at the airfield: the planes, the new people. Perhaps we may even get to witness an aerial battle through a telescope."
"I don't care about unique things," I snapped. "And I don't care about Heinrich. He and his reconciliation can go to hell."
"Well, perhaps you can tell him a thing or two about Hell when you visit him," Svetlana answered  lightly. To my irritated expression she said, "My dear, you've been to Hell and back. If anything, you're a singed cinnamon roll. You need to let yourself unwind and teach yourself that life is not all as bad as you've made it to be."
I took another drag off of my cigarette. "Have fun trying to convince me."
"This is the exact sort of mentality that turned your mother into the hateful shrew we had to endure for many years." Svetlana laid a few of her dresses out on the floor and proceeded to neatly fold them. "And for God's sake, do put that out. Those cigarettes contributed to your mother's moral decline."
"Tell me something I don't know." I reached over my shoulder to take another huge sip of champagne, wincing as the carbonation in the alcohol stung my cheeks and tongue. "They're also the reason she's dead."
Svetlana shot me a warning look as she clambered to her feet and sat on her suitcase. "Do not disrespect the deceased."
My nostrils flared. "She never deserved any respect dead or alive."
She didn't say anything more after that, and while I could tell by the look on her face that she was clearly upset by my words, a part of me inwardly appreciated her silence. I didn't want to talk to her anymore anyway.
I watched from my perch on my bed as she picked up both our suitcases, one in each hand, and began an awkward shuffle down the stairs, the cases beating out a slow rhythm of clunks as they were dragged down the stairs.
Heaving a sigh, I stubbed out my cigarette on the nearby metal ashtray on my night table, vaulted off the bed and went to the door, gently closing it behind me.

I really didn't know how much worse this day could get. Earlier this morning, Svetlana had cautiously knocked on my door, claiming she had a letter from Heinrich. She and I hadn't been on proper speaking terms ever since I came back from Germany, which was fine by me. Aside from my colleagues at work, I had no need or desire for any sort of human contact.
I had snatched the envelope from her and torn it open so savagely I almost ripped the letter inside in two—and, once I read through the contents, I wished I had.
Apparently Heinrich had gotten permission from his commanding officer, one Lothar von Richthofen, to let Svetlana and I come see him at their airfield in France. He had asked in his letter that should we agree to come, we should try our best to play the part of highborn ladies during our visit. I figured that part would be easy for Svetlana, who had spent most of her teenage years groveling and cleaning for Russian royalty as a serf. I would just copy what she did exactly—monkey see, monkey do.