“Does this place kind of remind you of Pierriot? That village up north?”
Viktor sank onto one of the stone steps hedging the town square fountain. He ran a hand over his jaw and blinked up at Peter Maier. The blonde Berchten took a swig from his canteen as he scanned the squat buildings.
“Considering that the majority of Belnon is still standing, not really,” Viktor replied dryly.
“I mean if we hadn’t-“
“Destroyed it?”
“Yeah, don't it?" Peter propped his boot on a granite step. Leaning up against his knee, the sun glinted off his wedding ring.
“No, not in the least.”
Viktor lit a cigarette. He was on watch that evening and dreaded the solitude of the woods. His mind tended to wander down roads he wished he had never traveled.
Again, Peter’s wedding band gleamed in the light, distracting Viktor. He pulled the smoke away from his lips and looked down at his own bare left hand. His had been lost somewhere in the gory snows of the Wasteland on the northern front, the space of land between opposing trenches deadened by war. Perhaps it was for the best.
“Mail!”
Viktor had long forgotten the name of the private who handed him a letter but the young man knew him. Most of the replacements had heard tell of Domnin and steered clear. Not that he’d ever given them reason to do so. However, rumors of his exploits on the northern border made them nervous.
“From the wife?” Peter asked brightly, opening his own letter, “I’ve one from mine. A good girl, my Greta.”
Without replying, Viktor flipped the envelope around in his hands. The cigarette trembled between his lips as he tore it open. Something heavy fell from the innards and into his palm. The slim band of gold caught the light the same way Peter’s ring had done. Viktor pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, studying his wife’s wedding band. 942Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡewdUlXdvnk
It was the same one he had slipped on her finger before leaving for training camp two years earlier. The letter inside was everything he had expected her to say. Apologies and excuses. Marthe had never been a strong woman and the presence of an intelligence officer stationed in Tyr had shattered her fidelity like a delicate sugar mold.
“Viktor-“ Peter stuttered, watching his comrade closely, “What- is that from-“
“Marthe. She's leaving me.”
Rising to his feet, Viktor crushed his half smoked cigarette under the heel of his boot. Viktor marched down the square, ignoring the stares of fear and awe from the newest soldiers brought in from Berchta.
The new boys would be killed in a matter of weeks most likely. And still, he remained like the last sheaf of wheat spared from a rich reaping. He flicked the ring into the gutter.
Slipping a hand into his field jacket, he retrieved the photograph he had carried since they had marched out of Berchta. It was of Marthe on their wedding day, sheer veil drifting down over the puffy shoulders of her cream grown. A prayer book rested in her petite hands. Her smile was genuine. She had been sincerely happy that day in November. So had he.
Stopping at the corner, he took out his lighter. Flicking a flame to life, he held it to the corner of the picture. The sepia bubbled black then ate slowly over the curled train of her satin gown, her feet disappearing as though she had never stood in that church.
“You shouldn’t do that.”
Viktor’s thumb slipped and the flame disappeared. He glanced over at the curb. He hadn’t noticed the small boy in short trousers and knee socks, his shoes scuffed as he stretched his chicken legs in front of him.
Coming out of his stupor, Viktor blinked as he realized he knew the boy. It was the child who wasn’t allowed the candy bar by his sister. He was still too skinny.
“Do what?” Viktor asked.
“Burn something just because you can,” the kid picked at the crevices between cobblestones with a stick, “At least that’s what my sister says.”
The corner of Viktor’s tight mouth lifted. He dug into his pocket and drew out another candy bar. He wandered over and held it out to the boy. The kid sighed as he stared longingly at the chocolate.
“Take it, you need it,” Viktor coaxed.
“My sister wouldn’t like it.”
“Do you do everything your sister tells you to?”
The boy smirked and peeked up at the enemy soldier, "Not always."
He snatched it from Vitkor’s hand. Glancing over his shoulder at the entrance to the pub behind him, the boy tore it open and took a large bite.
Vitkor sat down next to him, “Be careful. Don’t choke, kid. What’s your name?”
“Edgar,” he managed to mumble, chocolate staining the corners of his mouth, “Edgar Roux. What’s that you were burning?”
Viktor glanced down at the photograph still in his hand. He had only managed to destroy the bottom corner of it. A stupid, childish impulse in retrospect, "It’s nothing.”
“She’s pretty.”
Viktor tossed it into the road without a second look, “Doesn’t matter now. Where is your sister?”
“In there,” Edgar took another big bite and hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the pub.
Crooking his eyebrows, Viktor stared at the black door rimmed in red. The Black Gytrash was frequented mostly by Berchten officers, both commissioned and non-comissioned, where they entertained local girls looking for a good time. Or merely hoping for a hand out of k-rations to take home to their hungry families. The girl he had met in the woods had seemed too high and mighty for such behavior.
“She is looking for a job because we are starting to get hungry.”
Viktor frowned as the boy crumpled the wrapper and handed the evidence back to him, “I can tell. You are skin and bones.”
“Lieutenant Gruber says that he will see to our needs. Georgie tells him not to bother. She doesn’t like him.”
Viktor snorted, “Well, your sister and I have at least one thing in common.”
The door opened behind them. Edgar jumped to his feet, his sister glaring in silent censure at her brother. Viktor had to admit. After months of being around mostly men, it always was a refreshing sight to see a girl in skirts. She wore brown oxfords with an olive green gingham dress that fell mid shin, her shoulders covered by a khaki cotton cardigan. As he rose to his feet, he tipped the rim of his cap out of habit.
“What are you doing talking to my brother?” She demanded, lifting her chin as she drew Edgar protectively to her side.
“He was giving me advice on fire safety,” Viktor quipped back.
“What?”
Edgar snickered. Georgiana gripped his arm tightly as Viktor couldn’t help winking at the boy. If only to see it irritate her. Georgiana’s jaw tightened, her grey eyes glazing over. She led Edgar away down the street without another word. Viktor followed.
“So I hear you are looking for a job,” he said to her back, “I can speak with my superiors, see if there is a typist position-“
“I should think not,” she snarled over her shoulder, “The shame of typing up orders for our invaders would kill me.”
“And serving drunk enemy soldiers wouldn’t?”
Georgiana halted and faced him, “At least I would have earned it by my own merit.”
“From what I hear that’s not something your family is known for in these parts. Old money Roux, right?”
He knew he had hit a nerve. She sucked in her cheeks, her pupils dilating, “I’ll have you know, my father is an honest man-“
“With nothing better to do but squander away your inheritance.”
Georgiana covered Edgar’s ears, “How do you know all this?” She hissed.
“I asked around. You gave me your name, remember?”
“Why would you? What is your interest in me?”
Viktor edged forward, Edgar watching the exchange between them with rapt interest, “Because there is something about you that worries me.”
Though her expression remained frozen, Viktor noticed her skin tone wash pale. He had always been rather good at sniffing out sins. Reaching into his jacket, he took out another candy bar.
“I would keep my wits about me, if I was you. Don't do anything stupid, Georgiana Roux,” he instructed as he offered the chocolate, “And if you need more food for this boy, come find me. I won’t make you pay for it like Gruber would.”
Georgiana’s jaw dropped and a flush ran up her long neck. She pivoted sharply and strode away without another word. Viktor watched her for a moment, trying to make himself forget the look of panic on her face. He didn’t want to think she was up to something or knew more than was good for her. However, the notion plagued at his brain like the seeds of a malignant tumor.
“I’ll come find you before things get too bad. Take care of yourself, soldier,” Edgar snatched the candy from Viktor’s hand and gave him a salute.
Viktor laughed quietly to himself as Edgar raced up to his sister’s retreating figure, slyly tucking the bar under his sweater vest. The Roux siblings disappeared around the corner into the vermilion glow of the Regenian sunset.
Author's Note: In case it might interest you, this has been the song I have listened to on repeat while writing this story. It reminds me so much of Georgiana and Viktor. It's an awesome piece in general, if you have a moment. I LOVE Suzanne Vega.
942Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdinNOURqs0
