Chapter 4: Dein goldenes Haar Marlene
Martin cursed himself for not paying attention in history class. The regime was well-organized, like a perfectly planned syndicate in which disloyalty means losing a life or the fundaments of one. But it was still difficult to understand, to wrap his head around. Saying anything anti-government was out of the question, no matter which company he would indulge in, that much was clear. He was unsure of when and how often to say "Heil Hitler" but he was sure he'd pick up on it. He needed to find out who Comrade Sievers was - which he wasn't sure how to do. Would there maybe be an article on him in the paper? He wrung his hands as he paced the room. He had never missed Wikipedia or John Green's half-rapped videos on world history so much. He couldn't ask Marlene, she would know something was up...she probably already did. He must be acting so differently than Franz had. He picked up the pack of cigarettes and ran his thumb over the front. Martin smoked occasionally back home, with friends, but he always had had to cover it up with tons of cologne so his mother wouldn't smell it on his clothes. Now he was free to take a drag off of a coffin nail whenever he wanted. Maybe pour himself a glass of whiskey too? He started to search the living room cabinets for alcohol and wasn't disappointed. He found a variety of old scotches and whiskeys, most of them Irish. There was Swedish Vodka as well. It took Martin a while to choose. Franz Weiher had had an exquisite taste and every single one looked inviting. Had he not been so afraid of the potential consequences, he might have taken a shot or small sip of every bottle, but he decided that he couldn't risk being drunk or even tipsy. He chose Bushmills, he'd never had the Irish delight but he'd read the name thousands of times in Jack Higgens books. He poured himself a glass. There was snow outside, and since he didn't have anything else to cool it with, he grabbed a handful and filled the glass. He smiled as he brought the glass to his lips. Nuclear energy wasn't invented yet, the emissions in the sky were much less, so the contamination should also be limited, right? But he'd forgotten about coal and bombs and fires, and when he drank the whiskey it tasted of war.
He struck a match and held it to the end of the cigarette. The fire illuminated his cheek against the dark. He drew in a sharp breath. They tasted different. Better. He took another sip of the honey-colored whiskey. There it was. His favorite taste in the world. Cigarettes mixed with whiskey.
It was cold. The German spring felt more like the winter he'd experienced back home. It must be around April, he assumed. There were little green buds on the trees but snow still littered the streets and their garden here or there.
He took a step further and glanced down the street. There were only a few other houses, and they all had a rather large space between each other. It wasn't anything like the suburb he'd grown up in where each house was nestled next to the neighboring one. He flicked the cigarette butt onto the floor and stepped on it.
It was late and dark. He should go back inside. He chuckled at the thought: he was in such a precarious situation, one he never would have expected, and still the old habit of going inside after a cigarette still prevailed. But as he was about to push the door in Marlene stepped outside. She drew her coat more closely around her. Martin couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. Her golden-blonde hair was short, only barely brushing her shoulders lightly, but it was styled nicely - if not in a bit of an old-fashioned way. Her make-up accentuated her eyes and her lips. She didn't look a day over twenty-five, but given Martin's calculations, she must have been at least a decade over that.
"May I have one?" She asked, her voice light.
"What?" Martin asked dumbly.
"Why a cigarette of yours? I haven't had one for the longest time. Just one, darling."
"Of course, help yourself!" He handed her the pack. She looked a bit surprised. Martin quickly opened the lid and clamped a cigarette between his teeth, he lit it, took a drag to make sure it was burning, and then handed it to her.
"Oh you didn't have to go so far, Franz, it could have been between my lips when you lighted it." She said with a laugh. "But thank you. I'm glad that you haven't forgotten how to be a gentleman since the war. Brigitte told me that her husband Rolf never opens doors for her. I always found him a little shifty, but I never thought..." She trailed off mid-sentence. "Why are you so tense, darling? You're not worried about Herr Schneiders appearance, are you?"
"I don't know. I don't know if I am Marlene." Martin answered, being truthful for the first time since he'd been whisked back in time. "I'm sure it'll work out alright." He added, lying again.
"Why wouldn't it? They respect you, especially Mr. Schneider, and I think Mr. Sievers will too. Mr. Schneider said something about a university in Strassburg. I used to go there as a child - not to the university of course, but to Strassburg." Her meaningless chatter had usually annoyed her husband, but now he listened intently. She took it for his near-death experience in the trenches. Perhaps he finally saw how much she needed him, how much she'd missed him, how she didn't care what they talked about but just needed to speak of something, anything.
"Do you think they want me to go to the university?
"It sure sounded like so to me. But I don't know. Mr. Schneider did promise me that you wouldn't be at the front again. They said they could use an extra pair of hands at the Institut for Anatomy."
"Anatomy?"
"I agreed, I mean, I'm sure you haven't forgotten everything from your university years."
"I-."
"They know you were Mayor, and they were impressed with what you did. But Mr. Schneider expressed concerns about why you didn't return to university after your term. I told him you needed time. But I agree with the gentleman. I think you should go to Strassburg and take a job at the Institute for Anatomy."
"I think I need time. More time." Martin said. He knew not a thing about being a mayor or about anatomy. Would it come naturally like the German language had, or would he stutter and arouse suspicion? "But thank you, baby."
"You never call me baby, Franz," Marlene said with a giggle. "What got into you?"
"I guess I got hip during my time at the front." He said with a smile. She laughed and linked her arm with his.
"Here, have a drag of my cigarette."
He gratefully took it and inhaled, letting the smoke cloud his lungs and then spew out, hanging in the cold air for a few seconds before it drifted away on the slight breeze. "I'm cold, darling. Let's go back inside." Marlene said. "After I finish the cigarette, of course."
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