Winfred

118

Official Report

British Intelligence

Code: 3986                 

Kathleen Winfred

June 17, 1944: seven days

Freidrich put aside most of his duties once night fell, to spend time with me instead.

We went up on top of the old hotel’s roof, and laid out a blanket.

We laid down and looked up at the stars, so many of them blinking brightly as if the world beneath them was not at war.

I took Freidrich’s hand, and didn’t let go.

We talked quietly, for hours. It was simple things; it was things we might never have another chance to tell one another.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked him.

He was silent, as if thinking about it for a while. “This is going to sound terribly strange…” he said. “I apologize in advance.”

“Try me,” I said, softly.

“Black,” he said. He hastened on. “ But not black like the color of my uniform, or the color of… coal, for instance. Black like the night sky, when you look up at it, and all the stars are out. Colors on fabric or colors in paintings…they feel so flat. Like my uniform…” He touched the fabric on his sleeve thoughtfully. “It’s one color. Black. Flat. But looking at the sky…the sky’s black has a depth and a value to it that I think is simply beautiful. I look at the sky…on the clearest nights…and I feel as though I am so…small, because the sky is so big. It almost makes my problems feel tiny, as though they will just be a moment in time and in the grand scheme of things. Some people might hate that feeling…but it almost comforts me.”

I laughed.

“What?” he said.

“After that, my answer will seem very shallow.”

“Well?” he said, laughing softly and squeezing my hand.

“Blue,” I said. “Like the sky on a clear day. Like…Like your eyes.”

He turned to look at me, smiling.

I blushed. “My next question is going to sound terribly self-centered…”

He waited for me to ask it.

“When did you fall in love with me?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

He turned over fully on his side, looking at me. “It wasn’t all at once, you know,” he said, teasingly. He thought for a bit, before smiling. “I suppose it started when I first truly took notice of you.”

“When was that?” I said, my voice quiet and my eyes focused on his.

“When I was forced to. You threw up on my boots.”

“What?” I exclaimed, before remembering that we weren’t supposed to be letting anyone hear us and lowering my voice. “That’s…That’s…really?”

“Really,” he said, laughing slightly. “Before that, I thought my own problems too big to allow me to focus on anything else. Imagine it,” he said. “I go through the day. I make my inspections. I eat my meals. I file my paperwork, since I didn’t have a secretary then…I sign my documents and go over my reports. Then I go downstairs to observe the formality that is interrogations. At the time, I hadn’t been able to interfere in the way the prison’s torture system was run, at least not as much as I wished. Imagine that it’s been a long day. All I want is for it to be over and then...they brought you in. I felt terrible because I felt that I wasn’t good enough, not being able to reduce the torture performed at the prison quite yet. I just wanted the night, and the interrogation to end. I think that, to you, I probably sounded somewhat irritated. I was…mostly with myself.” He chuckled a bit. “I almost felt that I deserved it when you threw up on my boots.”

I blushed. “You didn’t, really…Weren’t you angry?”

He shook his head. “Well…actually…” he said, suddenly. “I take that back. At first… But then I looked down, and I looked at you. I felt sorry for you; I felt guilty that I hadn’t been able to stop this kind of torture from happening, but also…”He smiled. “I thought you were pretty. I liked your eyes…Some might have thought you had given up, but I could see, in your eyes, that deep down, you were still defiant. And that made me curious, I suppose.”

I smiled.

“What about you?” he said, teasingly. “When did you first fall in love with me?”

“I hate to admit it…but at first, the only thing I felt for you was pure loathing.”

“I understand that,” he said. “I knew how you felt.”

I smiled. “Do you remember when I collapsed that first winter? And you helped me inside? I was…too weak to even clean my own wound. So you…did it for me. Then you brought me soup. You made sure I was safe and provided for, before leaving. I became curious about you. I wanted to know why you did it. I wanted to know why you would care. And that’s where it started, I guess.”

We were silent for a little while before I spoke again. “What would you wish, if you could ask for anything?”

“That’s a silly question. For us to be able to be happy.”

I smiled. “I wish that too. Although…” I thought for a bit. “I have been happy. Certainly, things have been hard…but I’ve been happier with you than I’ve ever been before. I wouldn’t change any of my circumstances if it meant not being able to have at least this time with you.”

He smiled, looking somewhat wistful. “I wouldn’t either,” he said.