Nerves

Nikolai was terribly worried about Werner. He was peevish and irritated all day. So much could go wrong! If Werner said one wrong thing he'd be stuck in the interrogation room for x-more days. And of course; aside from the problem of Werner being executed for murder there was also the small chance that he'd spill the beans on his friend. Nikolai wasn't selfish, but he regretted telling Werner about himself. Even though he'd never admitted to being a spy he was sure that Werner was convinced he was one and though Nikolai was good at covering his tracks if someone dug deep enough they might find something. Nikolai tried to calm his tortured soul by smoking, but the cigarettes only seemed to blacken his mood even more. He managed to snap out of his gloominess a bit when a comerade asked him what was wrong; Nikolai had a cheerfull reputation to keep up. He lied and made up something about his family back home. Oh Werner...what did you get yourself into?

He watched the political prisoners and jews work, but he didn't see what they were doing. They could have all dropped their shovels and ran away and he wouldn't have noticed. His gaze was focused on the fence. The electric fence. 

Last night he'd run into the Lagerführer on the way to dinner. He'd seemed tense and angry, it felt personal but Nikolai knew it wasn't. He was reminded of Darya and guilt crept up his spine. What is it that when someone else is tried guilty we automatically start feeling guilt as well? Freud might have explained it as us re-realizing that the authorities in our life can catch us, but Nikolai didn't think about Freud. He was convinced that it was a sign. Did Darya suspect his cheating? But it wasn't really cheating was it? He didn't love the Lagerführer, he barely liked him. And Darya could give him things that the handsome nazi couldn't...but he was still railing him. And it was dishonest. Nikolai knew he could never tell Darya. And for a selfish moment Nikolai wasn't proud of he hoped he'd die in Auschwitz so that Darya would never find out and if she did; that he wouldn't have to bare the consquences. He shook the troubling thoughts away and returned his focus to the workers. Not much had changed in the past half-hour. They were still sodden potatoe sacks working on infertile fields. 

Marie ran down the stairs to the breakfast table; she'd overslept and she feared her fathers german wrath. To her surprise she found him in a good mood, reading the newspaper and sipping a coffee that he must have made himself. "Good morning, Papa."

"Good morning, dear." 

"I'm sorry I overslept, I was so tired. I don't know why."

"No problem. I can still do some things myself." She tried to figure out why he was in such a happy mood. 

"What's up? Why are you not grumpy." She kissed him on the cheek before disspaearing into the kitchen to fry some eggs for their breakfast. 

"Joseph is coming over with his wife! They'll be here in two days. Sadly they'll only stay for dinner, Joseph is very busy." Marie's heart skipped a beat. Hadn't she just been thinking about Joseph? About the officer who'd stolen her heart only to give his to another woman. It seemed like a sign. She pushed her superstitions away. 

"That's nice. What should I cook? Something with fish, right? Doesn't he love fish?"

"Yes he does." Michael agreed. "I'm surprised you still remember that."

"He's not an easy man to forget." 

"That's certainly true..." Her father stuck his nose back into the newspaper. The article was very interresting, it was about communism and how the principles can never work, how the russians are living under a doomed regime...

Marie was increasingly nervous. She failed to crack the eggs nicely, causing the yellow to run into the white. Joseph was coming over...she hadn't seen him in so long. Was he still as handsome as the last time she'd seen him? She felt guilty that she was excited. She felt guilty about the tingly feeling under her skin. She had Werner, she liked him a lot, he was young and dynamic and he supported her dreams of being a pilot. But no matter what, the first true love does not let you go. The fingers curling around your arm may rot and die, but a phantom hand will always hold yours. The only thing that gave her a little piece of mind was that his wife was going to be there. Nothing could happen between them, they were history...and that was the end of it.