Dinner

Marie had set the table beautifully. The design on the dishes was christmasy, blue swirls that turned into snowflakes. The napkins were white, the table-cloth was crocheted by hand, later on Werner was told that Hans late wife had made it for Hans 55th birthday. The food was served on big porcellain plates. It all looked delicious. There was chicken, gravy, a lot of potatoe salad and some kraut. Parsley decorated the dishes. The smell teased Werner's nose through the prayers and through Hans toast.

"I'd like to toast to our Führer!" He exclaimed, holding his glass of polish vodka up. "And to the Reich he has made!" They all raised our glasses. The fourth seat was empty; once again her brother hadn't showed up. "And I'd also like to toast to you Killian, you're the best man that Marie ever brought home. May you keep her forever!" His inappropirate words just made the young'uns smile. They weren't even a couple yet, and he was hinting marraige. 

"I'd like to toast to you two. Thank you for inviting me for Christmas, Marie, and Hans, thank you for letting me into your home." Werner said, glass raised. Hans nodded in approval, he'd expected nothing less than a heart-felt toast from his guest. They drank, and the dinner began. 

The chicken tasted amazing; it was stuffed with breadcrumbs and mushrooms, sour cream, spinach and sun-dried tomatoes. The gravy was mouth-wateringly tasty, and the Kartoffelsalat was one that would make any german grandmother proud. 

Hans and Marie chatted a bit, but Werner just ate - he wolfed the food down. He tried his hardest to eat slowly and polietely, but he couldn't resist. He ate three plates, all heaped to the rim. Marie giggled when he served himself for the third time. 

"You're very hungry." She noticed.

"Yes, and it's amazingly good." He said, already forking a piece of chicken into his mouth three seconds later. They'd opened a red wine as well, Hans was two glasses in, Marie at her first and Werner at his fourth. 

"It was very, very good Marie." Killian said as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. Marie smiled and gently squeezed his hand. 

"Thank you, Killy."

"She made it all by herself." Hans said proudly. "She's a good woman, she'd make a good wife." Hans had the bad habit of, once liking something or someone, completely sticking to it. He'd made up his mind that Killian would be a good husband for Marie; he was a soldier, liked Hitler, had a promising career even after the war; medicine, he smoked cigars and drank vodka and wine like a professional and he had a light-hearted way about him. Marie was a bit too sad and serious in Hans' opinion, she should be more joyfull, especially because she was a young woman. 

"You really had no help at all?" Werner asked in surprise. 

"No, but it wasn't that much-."

"You're amazing Marie." Werner said, interrupting her. "I could never have done this, and I don't know anyone who could have."

"As I said, she'd make a good wife."

"Grandpa!"

"I agree." Werner said, winking at Marie and making Hans wheeze with laughter. Werner realized that his response might have seemed sexist to Marie so he smiled at her apologetically. "What do you want to be, Marie?" Her blue eyes opened up wide in surprise. He was asking her what she wanted to be, the last time someone had asked her that was when Joseph, one of her fathers good friends, had come over for dinner over sixteen years ago. She'd been a little girl, and he'd taken her onto his knee, he'd asked her what she wanted to be and she'd answered that she wanted to be a pilot. He'd laughed and kissed her on the top of her head; how about a cook? He'd asked. She'd shaken her head vigorously which had made the adults at the table laugh even more. 

"I want to be a pilot." She answered. Werner had expected a snotty reply from Hans but he didn't say anything. Was he waiting for Werner's response, was this a test to see if Werner was really a perfect nazi soldier. 

"I think you'd be a wonderfull pilot." He said. "You're more than smart enough for it, and I bet you'd be less of a recklass flier than most of the men in the airforce." 

"Are they reckless?" Hans asked, finally speaking. He seemed calm, to Werners surprise. 

"Yes, they are. I've heard about it, and a lot of movies show them that way. Nothing sells better than movies about fighter pilots who disobey orders." 

"You're right." Hans said with a laugh. 

"Would you want to be a commercial pilot or part of the airforce?"

"A commecial pilot." Marie answered. "I'm not a big fan of the army."

"We know, Marie." Hans said. He had not been agitated before but now he was. He was embarrassed that his granddaughter didn't support Hitler and the Nazis. He was also scared that she'd be arrested for it, something that would break his heart. 

"Well, she has a point. After the war ends we're going to need more commercial pilots than airforce pilots." Werner said, siding with Marie. Hans nodded his head; he hadn't thought of it that way. 

All of a sudden there was a knock on the door. Hans' first thought was that their neighbore Roselinde had come by, Marie thought it might be the Gestapo, and Werner was too tipsy on wine and the shot of vodka to put up a theory as to who could have knocked. 

"I'll get the door." Marie said, standing up nervously. Werner sensed her fear and stood up too, he had to grab the back of the chair to steady himself. 

"I'm coming with you." He said. "That wine was strong." He added with a grin. Hans laughed and held up his glass. Werner put his arm around Marie's waist. "Let's go see, shall we?"