Love Letters

Werner lay on the cot, paper and Füller (ball-point pen) in his hands. He had decided to write Marie a letter, she'd given him the adress of her home in Germany. To his dismay, they hadn't phoned yet since he'd visited her on Christmas, but only a few days had passed so he wasn't too worried. 

He wasn't sure how to start the letter. Nikolai would start it with a flirty remark or a 'liebe Darya' but Werner wasn't as flirtatious or bold. He eventually did start to write; and he ended up using 'Dear Marie' as the beginning. 

Dear Marie, 

I've decided to write this in english because you told me you were trying to learn the language. Part of my family comes from Ireland (don't tell anyone - please - I don't wanna be labelled a spy) so I grew up speaking both languages at home. It's nice to speak english again, my mouth is hurting from all the German. 

What he said was true; he'd spoken German a lot at home, but he'd still almost always spoken english. When he'd first gotten to Germany his mouth had felt weird from talking so much German. 

How are you? I hope you're doing well. It's very cold here, I almost froze to death recently but my friend Nikolai found me. I think I've told you about him, I'm not sure. 

Writing about Nikolai made him think about the way Nikolai wrote his letters. He'd add spice, probably scroll some things with the pen that nobody but his wife should read. Werner contemplated writing such things, but he wasn't sure if Marie would take it as sexist. The last thing he wanted was for her to dislike him. He set the pen back on the paper - and then he realized something. The letters might be opened somewhere, either at Auschwitz or in her city. He couldn't write that he was part-Irish! He crumpled up the letter and pocketed it. He'd burn it the first chance he got.

As if the devil himself had been watching and had given Nikolai a call; the old soviet entered the room. "Killian! I have finally found it!"

"What?" He asked in confusion.

"Your name! I have russified it!"

"Russified-?"

"Yes! Your name would be Killyoscha! Or maybe Killka, or Killya. Which one do you like best?" His meilleur ami beamed at him. Werner was too taken by surprise to answer. "I personally like Killjoscha the best, because it doesn't sound similar to my name. Killja and Kolya are names we could easily confuse."

"I think I like Killka the best." Werner answered slowly. "It sounds strong."

"It does, you're right. I'll only call you Killyoscha when I'm drunk." He sat down and kissed his friend on the cheek as a greeting. Nikolai was a communist at heart - he'd read Marx and Engels and several other communist works. He read every article that Stalin published on any subject, and he, much like the Soviet leader himself, wrote little notes on the side and little comments. He didn't fan-girl the soviet regime, and he even recognized it as a terrible terror, but the ideology and long-term goal was one he shared. Werner had gotten used to Nikolai's kisses. The first time the older soviet had kissed him he'd been truely surprised. Nikolai had laughed, clutching his stomache, and had explained that this was a way of greeting between communists or socialists. Even the leaders did it! 

"Are you writing a letter to Marie?"

"I'm trying. I want to make it interresting but I don't want to be rude or pushy."

"Have you ever written her a letter?"

"No." Werner admitted.

"Start with romance, end with sex." Nikolai advised. "But don't write too much spice into the first letter, wait for her response and then go from there. She might not like it if you move too fast."

"I don't know if she'd like those kinds of letters at all."

"Of course she does! Everyone does! I reread the ones my wife sends me every night!"

"Oh shut up, Nikolai." Werner said. He didn't want to think about that, it was an uncomftorable for him. 

"I'm sure she reads mine too...I'm an expert in dirty-talking." Nikolai continued. Werner elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up. Nikolai just burst out laughing. 

"How much did you drink?" Werner asked in amusement. 

"A few glasses of vodka. Want to join me for a few more?"

"You know I can't say no." Werner flirted. The two illegitimate Nazis left Werner's dorm to go drinking, arm in arm like two schoolboys.