1. Berlin, May 1932

They met for the first time at the Hotel Adlon, in Unter den Linden n. 1. Charles had just rented, with the few pounds he had brought from Kent, room 674, the penultimate one at the end of that narrow corridor on the sixth floor. Leonhard, on the other hand, occupied the modest suite next to him. And so, while a handsome porter carried the new guest's heavy suitcases into the room, the guest of 675 left his room to head to the elevator nearby. During the wait he entertained himself, he entertained himself by resting his gaze on the porter in cerulean livery, in silence, as anyone would look at a beautiful girl walking; then, slowly, he bent his eyes on the Englishman and gave him the same embarrassing expression. Charles gasped, mortified at having been indiscreet and having spied in his turn, but he couldn't help but notice that the man continued to observe him - pleased more than anything else - and he, having mastered his usual stupid clumsiness, for some unhealthy curiosity held his gaze. He was good-looking, typically German, slender and proud in bearing, with sharp features and thin blue eyes; a perfect example of an Aryan, as they would later learn. He must have been a year older than him, maybe two, and he dressed austerely, yet dignifiedly elegant. Charles, with his dark hair and an inch and a half shorter, almost looked disfigured in his presence and he felt intimidated by it. The porter left the room and broke that silent magic. "I'm done, Sir," he said in German to Charles, who gave him a few marks to send him off. Finally the elevator arrived and the porter, his trolley and the handsome Aryan disappeared from the scene. The man with the icy eyes, as the attendant closed the grating, greeted him one last time with a mischievously friendly smile, perhaps even a wink, as the elevator was swallowed up by the floor. Charles remained in the corridor for a few more seconds, enchanted, wondering if he had really lived that moment or if it was all in his stupid head. Suddenly he was terribly thirsty.

He had almost finished emptying suitcases and trunks, he admitted with satisfaction. Sure, half the stuff had ended up on the floor in an attempt to create order in the closet, but something had managed to do it, for once. He had turned over the bundles and trunks in such a hurry that he hadn't even stopped for a moment to look at the view beyond the room's only window. Good God, Pariser Platz was gorgeous. He would have said it was exactly as if he remembered it but... to be really frank he didn't remember it at all. Had he ever actually seen her? Probably not. He rubbed his chin and got a better look at the room. He had to shave. Maybe he hadn't gotten a good deal by coming there, maybe he should have preferred a cheaper pension. That room, the lowest in the hotel - no, the second to lowest of the 382 available to the public - had cost him a good portion of the small fortune he had kindly borrowed from his father, and all in all it was actually better than the room in which he had been asleep for 16 years since he was born. And not even remotely comparable to the dormitories of the old college. More than a room, it was a small - microscopic - apartment, complete with a four-poster bed. And personal bathroom, thank God. Yes, he had nothing to envy of what he had left behind. He looked at Pariser Platz again, looked at the bronze goddess towering over the Brandenburg Gate. Yes, he had finally found some peace. Shave, he had to shave. He knew very well that he wouldn't have a moment's respite, that his father had probably already unleashed some of their old acquaintances to keep an eye on him, to give him a lump of bread and meekly take him home while hiding a stick behind his back. He opened the wrong suitcase and on the third try finally found a bar of soap, a brush and a razor. He had already taken off his shirt and covered his face in foam when he realized he had forgotten the razor blades. "They'll have some around here somewhere, right?" he said to himself, stirring every nearby shelf.Deluded, the high-class hotel is fine, but it was still the most expensive room available - and for that breathtaking view, they had lightened his pockets well. He leaned back against the bed with a sigh and forced himself to think about it, to let out the storm he had brought with him from Kent. All he had to do was clean himself, get dressed and go buy them. Would he end up penniless by evening? Likely. Would he waste the whole afternoon finding the right word to make himself understood? Even that couldn't be ruled out, yet she knew her language. From the narrow corridor he heard the elevator ding, the rapid steps on the carpet, the sound of a lock. She already knew that she would hate him. But here's the flash. She rushed to the door with her chest still bare and her mouth foaming, turned the handle and stuck her head out. There he was, the handsome German, his face grim on a wad of banknotes that she hurriedly disappeared into her jacket as soon as she noticed Charles. The elevator had already left, it was just the two of them in that narrow white corridor. "Yes? Can I do something for you?" the German asked him, making the worry disappear behind a friendly smile. "Well..." Charles began, and he already felt like an idiot, as he usually did. «I was wondering if you... yes, I mean, I forgot the razor blades. Would you have any to lend me?" But how had he thought of it? Now he was really making an impression of an idiot, and who knows what that neighbor would have thought of him. Please, he thought as his heartbeat went to his head, don't take me for an idiot. The German's smile immediately became good-natured. "Please, follow me," he whispered gently after a moment. As well as good-natured, for a moment lascivious. She said nothing else to him, in those few moments they had contact: she made him wait at the entrance to the room - terribly tidy, compared to Charles' - and left a pack of new blades in his hand. He didn't unbutton anything, they didn't even touch. She accompanied him to the exit with a delicate gesture and gently closed the door behind him after a slow, very slow delay. Charles was stunned, haunted, unable to utter a word. All in all, better than other times, he reflected, locking himself in his room and tearing the paper off the small wrapping. He placed the blades on the sink and turned that package over and over in his hands. The only object that had touched both of their bodies. He smiled, sighed and unscrewed the safety catch on the razor. What an idiot, he hadn't even asked him his name.

2. Berlin, May 1932

«I was expecting to see you last night at the Staatstheater.» Charles took a sip of Martini Dry and smiled boredly at his interlocutor, Philip Fitzgerald, who was looking at him with unusually cheerful and lively eyes for someone who was just over fifty. "I'm not very comfortable moving around Berlin alone, Fitz." «Oh, but for anything just ask: we'll give you a guide from the embassy, ​​if that helps.» The man rubbed his thin black mustache. «After all... you're family.» "I don't want to, Fitz, I hate going into debt." "Come on, it's a favor, not a loan." "It's the same thing, basically." The bar was filled with slow jazz from some lucky black man who had escaped from the depression in the States. In front of the counter and under the golden coffered vault of the common room, the captains of industry, the fallen marquises and the rich American tourists crowded together to create an intense background buzz, on which the music improvised its melody. «Will you come with me to dinner? I'd like to know how your father is doing." «Oh, the baronet is... still a man of steel. Of course, I haven't seen him for a week now. Maybe my departure will have made him feel a little weak, I think." Fitzgerald also drank his Martini Dry and nodded with pursed lips, remaining silent on the extensive telegraphic correspondence he had always maintained with Sir Arthur Acton, in which he had certainly mentioned his perverted and degenerate son who had just run away from home. Or at least, that's what Charles imagined. «I insist. I'll pay, of course." "Don't you dare, Fitz." "I insist, I said." «At this rate I will have you on my conscience until the grave, Sir.»The man chuckled in response, then opened a path through the crowd thronged to chatter. The light of the numerous gas lamps reflected on the shiny black elephants that guarded the room in the shadow of a pagoda - a bizarre fountain donated by some maharaja not long before - and reverberated from the crystalline water up to the baroque vaults. They found a seat in restaurant number 3, just in time to save Charles from the nausea of ​​all that terrible crowd. «Finally some tranquility» he whispered following the Maître de Salle. He almost hit a soldier, or so it seemed to him, and that was enough to make him utter a silent "Blood Christ!" «Oh, dear Leo, good evening! Do you want to join us for dinner?" Fitzgerald greeted him. The young man in the charcoal gray overcoat turned and nodded to the dignitary, smiling. With a silent nod he also greeted Charles. «Gladly, Fitz. It's always a pleasure to be your guest »he replied with a certain mellifluous slowness, in English tinged with a Pomeranian accent. He posed every word with the accuracy of an architect from days gone by. Philip ran a finger over his high receding hairline, smoothing out his waxed black hair. He must have immediately perceived, between the two, a certain... tension, or some form of magnetism, even if the nature of the two poles certainly did not escape him. «I imagine you don't know each other, so allow me to make the necessary introductions: Sir Leonhard, you have before you Sir Charles Acton, future baronet of Hougcross. Sir Charles, meet Sir Leonhard Von Hinten, Baronet Dean... Oh, I'm being disrespectful. Forgive me Leo, that wasn't my intention." «What are you worried about, Fitz? Absolutely nothing happened. Come on, this evening there's a pike in white butter sauce that I can't wait to try." Once at the table Charles, already disinclined to speak, if not briefly fell silent. Philip conducted the entire evening, talking about politics and foreign affairs, speeches of which Charles only caught excerpts: «... Hindenburg is a puppet at the mercy of the moods of his clique, and we junkers will continue to resist. At this rate, we will have a new chancellor before July..." But the food was excellent, and the company no less. Leonhard sometimes became vague, but he felt no shame in dealing with difficult topics, despite the presence of a stranger; he didn't even consider it, almost, and this debased Charles profoundly. But every now and then he would give him a curious look, or lean towards his side of the table while he blew his cigarette smoke away. «Our mutual friend may have found one of the private clubs we are looking for... and he seems connected to that party. I think I have your lead, Fitz." «Good, really good. So they train them?" «Yes, Fitz, they train them. But don't tell your Majesty about him." Fitz was chuckling and constantly ordering glasses to be refilled. Charles simply smiled - a hint of a smile - and reached out a hand, hoping for even a fleeting touch. Due to the usual damned bad luck, he had to vent his anxiety on the immaculate napkin. Unlike usual, in front of two good eaters like his guests, Charles found himself with a closed stomach. The hunger that devoured him was of a different kind, but he preferred to contain himself. After all, he wanted to make a good impression. After a dampfnudel with cream and blueberries and a trip to the cigar shop for a second Dry Martini, the three concluded the evening toasting sometimes to the long life of King George V and sometimes, more quietly, to the memory of the Kaiser. «Fitz, how is dear Dortha? I haven't seen her for a month" Leonhard began, lighting a Robusto. «Oh, she is energetic as always. If you want to come and visit us, go ahead, tomorrow too." Leonhard seemed to think about it for a moment, then concluded: "If I can find some time, I'll let you know first." Fitz raised his glass of vermouth and smiled. «My wife and I will always welcome you.» He took a sip before adding, "You know, just the other day Dortha was wondering if you'd ever introduce us to a real girlfriend instead of always telling us about your constant affairs." Leonhard shrugged and must have noticed the spark that crossed Charles' face, because he shifted his gaze to him and, having continued the feint, landed the thrust on him. "Tell me, Sir Charles, are you engaged?"Charles gritted his teeth and responded with a sharp, "No." "Oh really? What a strange thing. Yet you are a pleasant boy, at your age one would expect..." «My father also expected something like this, and that brought me here. And what about you, Leonhard? Philip's speech intrigued me.» Leonhard smiled - in a way that Charles found irritating, yet lovable - and took a drag from the Robusto. "Oh, unfortunately I always end up having no luck with women, and in the long run I've lost hope." "You wouldn't think so." «Appearances can be deceiving, right?» «Yes, sometimes appearances can be deceiving. I hope this is not the case." Leonhard shrugged again. "Everyone has their hopes up." Fitz called attention to himself and started talking about politics again. Charlie, apathetic to such matters, finished his drink in silence, now deaf to any further words, and remained watching the spectacle before his eyes. Now late at night Fitz said goodbye, and the two boys returned to their rooms, entering the elevator together. In the presence of the liftboy neither of them said a word until they were in their usual bare corridor. Leonhard stopped for a moment in front of the door and looked at his neighbor with imprudent confidence. «Well, goodnight then... Sir.» "Goodnight, Leonhard." The German inserted the key and turned. "It was a pleasure, anyway," Charles told him, his voice toneless. He wanted to hit him right then and there, or maybe he just wanted to bury his head in his neck and find out what he smelled like, and go to bed intoxicated by that scent. Leonhard was dumbfounded for a fleeting moment and smiled at him one last time. «You know, you should freshen up when you can. I recommend the indoor pool » he finally suggested, before closing the door behind him. Charles entered the room, crawled into bed and hid his thoughts between the sheets.

3. Berlin, May 1932

Charles had dutifully followed the advice and had climbed into the pool as the sun first crept in from the open window onto Pariser Platz, hoping that the tension would slip off his dry, damp body and melt into the crystalline, smoky water. The large pool, hidden in the basement of the monumental hotel, was silent, with a silence - barely broken by the soft splashing of the water and the distant dripping of the few bystanders - like those that precede a pastor's sermon. Of course, it was predictable at that time of the morning. For his part, Charles had tossed and turned in bed again and again, managing to sleep for just a couple of hours, before an unexpected heat pushed him down from that attic passed off as a hotel room. It had been a terribly sleepless May, of little help for his internal torments: first of all, where to find more money, and then always that worm that turned in his stomach and burrowed towards his heart, and now the worm, in addition to a face, had even a name, which echoed in his mind and sank down his throat to his heart. Leo. He just didn't know how to get rid of it - he didn't want to get rid of it. As the minutes passed, the pool was populated by a few other early-rising guests like him, all figures who seemed like caricatures straight out of some operetta: a well-fed industrialist with a mustache wrinkled more than his own cheeks greeted him with a wink; a feigned shrewish widow arrived only to frolic with a forcibly adoring waiter. No children, few fathers. Charles almost managed to let sleep kiss him as the water embraced him, but a sudden tremor woke him up. On the other side of the pool the handsome Aryan advanced, looking for the right place to dive. He wore a tight-fitting Prussian blue and white striped costume, which covered his chest but not his shapely shoulders. He immediately sensed that he was being observed and, when he met Charles' eyes, he winked at him smugly, silent as usual. In the few days since his arrival, Charles had passed him a few more times in the corridor, after his awkward, bare-chested request, but no one had ever said a word until, even if he were his damned guardian angel, Fitz had introduced them and he, against his will, he fell silent, stunned by the ecstasy of the moment.The German reached the steps and, slow and stoic with the heat and the spectators, entered the water, sank completely under the fur and crossed the entire pool with wide strokes. Finally he emerged, a few inches from Charles, and stared at him as intensely as he had investigated him in their game of glances on the first day. "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you," he murmured decisively in his English with a Pomeranian accent. "No, absolutely," Charles replied timidly in German, but the Prussian had hoisted himself up next to him without even waiting for a response. Their elbows, above the edge of the pool, barely touched. «Are you here too in your spare time?» he asked after a few long seconds. Leonhard raised an eyebrow. «What, excuse me?» «I mean, forgive me, I've glimpsed you since the first day I arrived and I've never seen a suitcase, so I thought that, like me...» The Aryan smiled sweetly at him - again, annoying yet lovable - and gave him a knowing look. «Where are you from, Sir?» "From Kent... Please call me Charles." «Yes, I should have known from the accent. Well, Charlie, you obviously don't know this hotel; you can call me Leo." Charles paid no attention to the suddenly informal tone. Indeed, he teased him and sent a shiver through his knees immersed in the heat. «Not really, I already came to Berlin with my father, even though I was too young to stick my nose outside the embassy. It must have been... in 1920, I think. Yes, I'm sure of it. I was barely nine years old." "Precisely." Leo cocked his head and looked at the latest arrivals. «Look at the old woman, playing at being still in her prime. What makes you think?" «I don't know, that she's frivolous. And that the waiter will be my age. Do you understand that he does this for work?" «Oh, you know perfectly well, it's part of the Adlon experience. But that's not it..." "And what?" Leonhard extended his elbow. Charles was shaken by the touch. «That the old woman is screaming in agony, inside herself. Everyone can see it. She pretends to be in her past days because she knows that outside these walls she has no future." «You don't seem so pale and weak to me.» Leonhard touched him again and turned so he could look into the green and ocher eyes of the Englishman. "Charlie, this hotel is a mausoleum for our caste; people like us lock ourselves in here to pretend that the Great War never happened and that we are still in the times of the empires, of the Kaiser. They let themselves die while the masses out there take to the streets and vote democratically. We too are here for a similar reason, for one thing or another... Because we know that our life is already wasted.» «I don't think so. Do you think so? For what reason? The Prussian snorted. «I could ask you the same questions. And I'm sure we would both respond the same way." Charles darkened, and for a moment he thought about hiding his eyes under the surface of the water. "I prefer not to talk about my family." Leonhard politely took the hint. "Do you know who founded this hotel?" "I have not the foggiest idea." «Lorenz Adlon, a nobody at birth, but he knew how to assert himself, and was a convinced monarchist. And do you know how he died? "No..." «Invested here in Pariser Platz, he didn't want to get it into his head that the central avenue was no longer reserved for the Kaiser.» "How unfortunate." "It's not bad luck, it's stubbornness: they put him down twice, they told me." "Poor devil, he had strange obsessions." "At least a certain amount of irony, don't you think?" "I trust your words." Leo nodded and changed the subject: for a while he talked about horses, he understood them. He loved Friesians. «You know, if I had been born even ten years earlier I would have liked to join the cavalry. But what can I say... if I had been born a century earlier.» Charles thought for a moment about home. «And what specialty do you see yourself in?» «The hussars: I admire their suicidal attitude, nothing but determination. I envy them, I wish I had their courage, their bravado, the habit of dueling as they did back in the day... at home, not here in Berlin, I have two sabers, one of which is French, used in Ligny. A family heirloom, the only gift I ever received from my father." "It's a real shame not to be able to see them." "Already. You know, deep down I think their spirit, I say, their flag was picked up by modern aviators. After all, what are they, if not the new hussars of this century?" «Of course without all their frills.»«Definitely without funny braids» concluded Leo, touching his temples. Charlie let out a sincere laugh at the image of the blond German dressed in Hungarian style and tanned like a Gaul from ancient times. Leonhard seemed to appreciate it. «A real shame that it was forbidden to us. If only we had an air force... but those are just childhood dreams." "Versailles?" "Exactly." Charles played with the ripples in the water for a while, trying anything to keep talking to him. In the end he found no better excuse than to ask him: «What do you do for a living, Leo? Forgive my curiosity." The German wrinkled his nose and weighed his answer carefully. «I fulfill wishes, if I may say so. You? Forgive me if I'm vague." Charles considered himself dissatisfied, but he would have forgiven him for much more. "I'm actually looking for him," he replied, "I've been here for... what, a week? And I haven't found anything yet, but I don't feel like asking my father's old subordinates for help. Also because he... Hell, he wouldn't approve of it.» Leonhard lazily rolled his head and showed him his perfectly shaved neck, the skin taut. Candida. Soft. «Would you like to follow me into the sauna? I need something more drastic." Charles thought about it for a few seconds, so as not to appear too susceptible to temptation, and gave an innocent nod. They came out of the water, passed a Corinthian colonnade and a row of loungers, crossed a short blue-tiled corridor and finally found themselves in front of some metal lockers. Leonhard bent over and quickly took off his costume, leaving himself completely naked, showing Charles his shapely shoulders. He looked like an Attic hero. At first Charles looked away in embarrassment, then the embarrassment gave way to curiosity, ecstasy and then to the most sincere adoration. Now he really understood Stendhal. But as soon as he went down her back the ecstasy was chased away by a sense of horror. "What happened to you?" he asked with a hint of desperation. Leo put a hand to his loins, stroking a thick cloud of small pale rounds that marked the skin. «I lied, to a certain extent: the sabers were not the only gift from my father. We're a drop more alike, as you can see, right?" "Excuse me." Leo turned and remained imperturbable to investigate his companion's eyes. Charles concentrated on his cheekbones - Don't look down, he repeated to himself. What did the Prussian want, to challenge him? «Come on, Charlie, don't you want to go into the sauna like this? Force." Charles realized that he had never been in a sauna, and suddenly he understood why. He had been stupid. Slowly, with no small amount of awkwardness and his fingers betraying his emotion, he undid his shorts and took off his tank top. Leo handed him a cotton towel. "Calm. If you don't feel comfortable, use it." «I feel like it. Perfectly." They entered an empty cubicle, bathed in steam and dim light. The sandy tiles barely reflected the glow of the low soapstone stove which, in the center of the room, heated some velvety stones. Leo sat down in a corner on a bench - freezing compared to the air - and invited Charles to sit in front of him. Charlie did so. The companion took a ladle and poured water from a bucket onto the stones. The smoke sizzled around them. "Well, now that we have a little more intimacy, tell me freely about yourself," Leo said. He seemed intent on getting straight to the point. «So, what made you come to Berlin all alone? These are troubled times for young misfits like us." Charles felt the air stick to his skin; he couldn't breathe but he told himself to hold on. Leo approached him, narrowing his lapis eyes and pursing his lips. "What do you mean wish fulfillment?" Charles questioned. Leo closed his eyelids and pulled away. «One question at a time. It's the label." Both ignored without batting an eyelid that Charlie, due to an unfortunate circumstance, was superior in dignity between the two. "My father..." Charles began to say slowly, "he... he kept me in boarding school for a good part of my life. It can be said that he has practically not lived until now, forced to go back and forth from a swineherd's village in Kent to a sheepherder's village in Cumbria. Sorry, too specific." "It does not matter. I understand you don't appreciate the countryside."«Well, it's not like I've ever really seen the city. I barely know what London is like." «After a month in this hotel you will regret your quiet rural life, believe me.» "One month won't be enough for me." «You're rambling. You were saying, your father..." Charles bit back a coughing fit. «Yes, my father... well, he demanded too much control: he works in the office that I tell you, he sleeps in the bed that I tell you, under the roof that I tell you...» «Marry the woman I tell you to.» "Exactly," Charlie admitted with difficulty. «I told him I would leave without a penny, if necessary.» "And you came to Berlin because it's the only place far enough away you know, right?" «I studied German and at least I have an idea of ​​what this city is like. It was the most logical solution." «You know the city, but not the Germans: we left the logic in Versailles. But at least you gave yourself the chance to see the sunrise up close when the day comes." "Are you expecting something big?" «Don't you feel it? It's in the air. It vibrates." Charles tried to clear his throat, but that lump that had tormented him since he entered him showed no sign of disappearing. "It's your turn." Leo let out a grimace, but the darkness hid it. «I do what I say, I fulfill desires. And I resolve doubts, I answer those who have questions but don't know where to find answers, things like that." "Or? Wait, are you a...spy?" «I would make a terrible spy, don't you think? I simply get information, and how I get it... that's not the same as a spy, is it? I just read the newspapers carefully." "And to listen to the right people?" "When it happens." "I doubt it." Leo poured more water. "See it any way you want." The steam penetrated the throat and nostrils and filled the pores of the skin. «I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. It was better not to talk to you. I deluded myself..." «Deluded? No." Leo bent down and looked him in the eyes again. He raised an arm and caressed his cheek, brushing the Englishman's red lips with his thumb. Charles could feel the man's breath, through the thick fog, on his mouth. His eyes burned, and for a few heartbeats he stopped breathing. Leonhard stood up and approached the doorway. "Take your time before you go out." Charles blinked and took the towel. He was left alone in the dark cubicle, along with his turgid embarrassment.

4. Eastern Belarus, near Mahiljou, April 1944

The bell tower of the sad little church dominated the entire village. A perfect position to keep watch, if it weren't for the damned wind that incessantly chilled his bones and the rain that soaked everything and didn't let him sleep at night. He had cursed the winter every day until March, and he still continued to do so, the sky was so infamous, and he prayed to God to see home again, but beyond that he could do nothing but endure. And wait, lying on the floor, the butt of the rifle resting on the shoulder, the eye fixed on the scope eighteen hours a day, with sun or storm, waiting for some poor wretch to put his head out on the road that cuts through the village. Poor damned people, hungry and emaciated wolves who slaughtered each other for every single inch of land, for every damned ration, for the orders of a dictator, thrown into the mud, to share fox dens with the rotting corpses of their companions.At least he had had some luck, passing the marksman course. When they came to pick him up for the military service, he had cried and they had to physically drag him all the way to the barracks. When they put the rifle in his hands he trembled like a war idiot, one of those who stopped talking and ended up interned, and after the first day at the front he had wet his cot for ten days. But now he had changed: he felt only an unfathomable apathy - a total indifference - when the continuous and indistinct buzz of machine guns woke him up at night; when artillery barrages devastated the neighborhoods to open the way for the crawlers; when the airplanes came whistling down to bomb the railway. He remained impassive, the rifle pressed to his chest, his eye fixed on surveying the road through the thick lenses of the 4x scope. Would he see home again? Maybe yes, certainly yes, as long as he followed orders and remained to guard the decrepit bell tower, hidden between the dark wood and the gray stone blackened by smoke and soot. He had to see her again. A shadow appeared from an alley, an infantryman dashed across the street. He held his breath, he compensated for the lift and pulled the trigger. He grabbed him in the abdomen, and he collapsed gasping on the dusty floor. He continued to fuss and moan, while the pool of blood spread all around him, but he didn't finish him: it was perfect bait for his other companions. Weinrich pulled back the bolt of the Kar 98k, causing the brass cartridge case to fly onto the damp, rotten wooden planks of the bell tower. He grabbed a small piece of chalk that he held next to the bullet tags scattered on the floor. "Auf Wiedersehen, Kamerad," he whispered, adding a notch to the series written on the wall: the seventh of that day. He put the chalk in his pocket, and touched for a moment the cold second-class iron cross and the photograph of his little Agathe, which he guarded with jealousy. Then he went back to resting both hands on the rifle and looking at the road. On the outskirts, the machine guns had begun to hum again.

5. Berlin, May 1932

"Wait for him yes, but where?" Leo wondered as he wandered around the cigar shop for about twenty minutes now, hoping to see him pass by. Fitz had told him, one of their usual evenings, to exchange yet another card, that he had given the boy some useful addresses to find a decent job as far away from the embassy as possible, and so now it was up to him to grab him between an interview and the something else, if he could, if he didn't stay away due to some other commitment of his. He left the small shop and crossed the hotel common room - crowded with customers and visitors like the luxury shopping arcade it was - seeking shelter in the shadow of the black fountain, among the tables crowded with movie stars and foreign ambassadors in a buzz worthy of Babel. He didn't have to wait much longer. There he was, his Charlie, crossing the entrance and running tired-faced towards the upper floors. Leo looked at him, smiled slightly and calmly walked towards him. The Englishman saw him and continued on, nervously smoothing out the wrinkles in his tenné jacket. «Charlie, good evening! How are you?" Leo began sunnyly, and came next to him. He looked good in taking the boy by the arm, but the mere thought of his reaction to such a gesture made him laugh, he already imagined him all red from the strong emotion and close to fainting. Charlie cleared his throat coolly. "Leonhard," he replied dryly. "How was your day? I imagine it only took one conversation for you to get tired of all this futile dancing." "Already." The boy held on to the handrail, waited for an uncertain second, climbed a few steps and finally spoke: "The last thing I want is to end up being someone's secretary." «Would you like to have dinner together tonight? So we can talk about it calmly." «I'm not hungry, Leonhard. Thanks for the invitation." "Oh, then why not just a shot of gin." "What do you want?" «But... Charlie, come on. It's for the sauna, right? I admit, I was rude the other day." «Of course not, it's not because of that. Although yes, you were harsh.» «Then for you I'm Leo, don't make me insist.» "So, what do you want?" Leonhard stopped, remaining one step behind.Charlie turned to wait for an answer. «Nothing, I was wondering...» he took a breath and smiled again. «I just wanted some company, that's all. But I can understand if..." «I'm sorry» insisted the Englishman, starting to climb again, «I'm tired today. Tomorrow, maybe... if I don't have another office manager to court." They stopped in front of the elevators. Charlie nodded to the clerk and turned back to Leo. «So... see you tomorrow, right?» Finally he smiled at him, a broken smile that was difficult to get out. "Of course, Charlie." The elevator arrived with a ding and the liftboy opened the doors. "I'll accompany you, thinking about it I have to go up too" Leo told him, patting him on the shoulder. Charlie turned, stretched out an arm and pushed away the German's shapely chest with his index finger. He refrained from fiddling with the buttons on his navy blue fine cotton waistcoat, from tearing the light shirt that wrapped around him. "No," he whispered to him, "You were supposed to go to dinner, remember?" Leonhard was dumbfounded, he lingered a little between the green and ocher eyes and the brown curls and nodded, badly amused. "Yes, you're right, Charles," he replied. "Good evening." Charlie removed his hand, without hiding a certain satisfaction, and went through the grates which closed between them. Leo snorted and smiled as he watched him climb up. He felt the bitterness on his lips. "Wait for him, yes," he repeated to himself, "he just needs some line, but he's already got the bait." In the golden gallery you could now breathe a completely different air. "Sooner or later, you just need to shoot at the right time." Leo felt the steps disappear under his feet. "Wait for him, yes, a little longer."

6. Berlin, June 1932

Agathe pushed the laundry cart down the hall, stopping from door to door to pick up wine-stained sheets and dirty towels. Despite her humble job, her uniform was cerulean like that of all the other employees, and she went well with her small heart-shaped face crowned with a golden bun. The all-too-sober corridor on the top floor was quiet in the late morning: all the guests must have been on the ground floor, now in the direction of the restaurants, and they didn't worry about their dirty laundry - after all, those who come to the Adlon are family. She knocked on door 674 - so soft that she almost couldn't hear herself -, no one answered; she came in and played her part in a few minutes. She put the sheets and towels in the cart left in the corridor and closed the door gently, to move on to the last room. The door opened before she could knock, the guest walked out and nearly tripped over the cart. "I apologize," she murmured, pulling back and lowering her head. "It's okay," the customer replied without even bothering to raise his head and notice her, too busy going towards the stairs and taking care of his own thoughts. Before reaching the steps she had already extracted a small tin box from her cold gray jacket, from which she quickly slipped a cigarette which she began tapping frantically against the metal. And meanwhile she was waiting for something. «Forgive me, can I clean up?» Agathe called him back. "Go ahead," he replied, intent on putting the cigarette between his lips, and took a brass lighter from the pocket of his elegant jacket. But instead of lighting his cigarette he remained there dazed, with the lighter in mid-air, completely absorbed by the waitress who was crossing the threshold of the suite. Agathe made the bed and replaced the towels: as every time, her mess was so little that she suspected that the client was some kind of maniac, or she spent the night among women and revelry. When she returned to the corridor the man was still there. He looked at her thoughtfully, or perhaps he looked at something other than an anonymous waitress, a nobody. "Can I do something for you?" she asked him, forcing herself to control her discomfort as she had become accustomed to doing in two years. She knew every corner of the building by heart and already had an escape route in mind to disappear from that claustrophobic corridor. "Perhaps. But not now," he said, putting away his lighter and cigarette. "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir," Agathe replied, although the maids understood that sort of thing quickly. She wanted to refuse. «I'm just bothering you, forgive me. Please call me Leo."Agathe held his gaze and his slimy smile that was anything but reassuring. She didn't dare answer, but he didn't seem interested in an answer anyway and she started to go down the stairs, just in time to let a loud "what the hell!" slip into her mind.

7. Berlin, June 1932

Charlie sighed, letting all his discomfort slip from his mouth, and began to stare at his feet, numb from constant walking. Bloody Christ, if he wanted a new pair of oxfords. "No, Charles, language," he said to himself. There at the corner, behind him, he glimpsed the liftboy intent on spying on him while feigning his best impassivity. "Does he laugh at me too? Please stop. Everyone stop it. Who knows what he would think if I attached myself to his lips right then and there." But no, it wasn't worth it, not at all. Once out of that moving cage he only wanted one thing: a bottle of whiskey to kill his head about to explode. He could no longer stand receiving and attracting attention, he could no longer stand the looks of the waitresses and escorts who clouded the ballrooms and the restaurants and cafés on the ground floor. He just wanted to smoke, drink and die hidden somewhere between the mattress and the ceiling of his tiny suite. "Charles, come on, composure." Tomorrow, another conversation, more German to be rattled off without even understanding why one word followed another, and then another conversation, and again until four. Here, a jolt warned him that he was at the end of the line, and the liftboy, with his impassiveness, opened the safety grates for him. He had already seen him before he even set foot in the corridor, there leaning against the balustrade next to the stairs, and he had already turned, attracted by the clinking and rattling of the metal, and was looking at him tiredly, with his eyes lowered like a dog who wants to be forgiven for a wrong. He seemed relieved. «Charlie, good evening...» «Leonhard...» The Englishman approached the door of suite 674, he hesitated for a moment struggling to find the key in his vest pocket. «...please excuse me.» «Please excuse me, Sir» replied Leo. "Too abrupt, slow down. Tell me what you want calmly and then leave me alone. Or maybe not, here, come smoke and drink and die with me." «I was rude the other day in the swimming pool» continued the German, taking advantage of his awkwardness. "Is this why you avoid me?" Charlie avoided showing his embarrassment and dug his fingers into his pocket, finally found the key, and put it in the lock. He waited. «I'm tired, Leonhard. Leave me alone for a while. I'm not in the mood..." Now he was the one being unfairly cruel, and he was in so much pain needlessly inflicting pain. What reason did he have, after all, when he asked for nothing more than to be pinned against the door and pushed in and... he didn't even have the courage to say it to himself, the treatment he would have liked to suffer. "Courage... yes, courage, a little effort." «I... would like to talk to you again, just... not now.» "Charlie, how much effort for such clumsy words, how obscene" he thought, "He must be thinking it too." «When I feel less clumsy, yes.» Leonhard gained some color and sketched a smile. «Of course, Charles, I understand you...» Charlie closed the door behind him, before that agony continued further. Because he was an idiot? "Open the door and apologize to him, shower him with kisses if necessary." But he couldn't. He was an idiot with his bad days and an idiot on the other side who had the nerve to treat him like... like a... God, why had he done this?

8. Berlin, June 1932

The unusual ardor with which, three at a time, he jumped the steps of the monumental staircase, there in the common room of the Adlon, risked making him trip at any moment on the elaborate amaranth carpets that muffled every step. But Leo didn't care, completely excited by his machinations: he absolutely had to act before the Englishman arrived, catch him and make him regret every humiliation inflicted up to that day, and then, when Charlie finally crawled to ask for forgiveness, here he was. , only then pardon him.What a sweet dessert it would have been, she thought finally landing between a handsome actor with a white jacket adorned with a scarlet anemone and his pretty companion with the annoying, querulous voice. He slipped among his brown-skinned attendants, chased by protests weakened by a terrible foreign accent, and found time only to rest for a few seconds at the alabaster counter of the lounge bar, to weaken any hesitations still left in his body. Yet for six minutes now he had continued to stir those two fingers of smooth gin in his short tumbler, and his thoughts were reflected in the clear ripples of the liquor which with each sip attempted to give him greater conviction, with results so poor as to appear painfully embarrassing. He inhaled one last time, hoping to gain courage, and finally hurried his feet in the direction of the exit, still reluctant to listen to a head that was too revved up. He rarely indulged in idiocy - and this was one of those cases - but he had been given a gauntlet and he intended to win it. He was so busy getting his body in line that he almost missed the presence of Fitz, sitting at a table in the shade of the elephant fountain, smoking his pipe. The slender English ambassador nodded and motioned for him to come closer with a smirk on the gall under his black moustache. «You were right, in the end. The government has fallen » he announced. "Did you perhaps doubt me?" 'Not even close, dear; please sit down. Now you have your caste liberal, you'll be happy." «I don't express myself. I don't think it will last, unfortunately" replied Leo, declining the offer with a quick gesture. He had too urgent business to attend to to sit down. "And what makes you think that?" Fitz insisted, and meanwhile he smiled slyly, lifting his pipe from time to time. «Von Papen poses as a tyrant and takes advantage of having joined the Kamarilla» he explained, «But I don't think he will be able to keep the socialists at bay. I spoke to his secretary, and I was told that the chancellor does not have as firm a hand as he thinks." "Do I have to communicate something to London?" Leo shook his head. "You're here for that friend of yours, Charles, aren't you?" «Yes, I have some important news to tell you. Why are you looking for it? If you have something to say to him, know that he will be there any moment. Although lately he's seemed a little... cross, to say the least, like someone spat in his porridge for breakfast." Fitz laughed under his breath, pleased with his cunning. The half-Jewish old bastard knew, and it made him feel powerful. Deluded fool. «Unfortunately I can't help myself, Fitz. Good afternoon." «To you, dear. Take care. And if you have anything else for me, you know where to find me." Leo continued with her head held high to the exit without paying attention to the prompts, crossed the high glass door and was in Pariser Platz, moved by a few lazy travelers under the prevailing June sun; he took Unter den Linden, all adorned with its majestic lime trees in bloom, turned into the colder Wilhelmstraße and reached the imposing Ministerial Gardens, behind the hotel. Nestled between the dense vegetation of the Gardens and the Adlon palace was a small driveway closed by an iron gate. Everything was silent, still; behind bars, the empty alley. He probably had a few minutes to spare, he reasoned as he leaned against the wall of the building opposite, or perhaps the information he paid two dozen marks to a friendly hotel bellman was false, who knew - and if it was false, he had wasted a good week behind a useless theater. Not eight minutes later, the heavy black door at the end of the path opened, and a small group of pretty girls crossed the deep path, some still wearing their cerulean housekeepers' uniforms. He had been lucky, everything was going as expected: the girl was there, between two companions with black hair so un-German intent on joking with her. As soon as she saw him, her face darkened and she raised her pace, careful not to separate from the herd of the finished shift.Leo smiled to himself, satisfied and pleased, and waited for the bulk of the employees to disperse along the street. He took out his snuffbox and lit a cigarette, and meanwhile he observed the pretty blonde who looked at him from time to time, worried, if not actually scared. The two friends stood in front of her and covered her from sight. Now he was really convinced about the two, but given the moment that wasn't exactly what interested him. He moved away from the wall and approached, and the two brunettes turned and stirred, like brushwood at the first flame, and then stepped aside and allowed his objective man to come towards him. "What do you want?" she uttered rudely. Leo inhaled the smoke and blew it over his burnt golden hair tied in a bun. «I wanted to apologize for the other day, first of all. And I was wondering if you would be so kind as to tell me your name and accept a drink... to make up for it." "I don't care, I'm..." "I insist, and I swear on everything I hold dear that I have no bad intentions." The girl hesitated. She inhaled and snorted again. «Let's do it as a sign of friendship. And from tomorrow I won't bother you anymore, I promise. Indeed, if necessary, I can make up for my intrusiveness in money. Just for a glass, nothing more troublesome." The doubtful girl turned for a moment to look at her friends. They were judging her, and she felt it. Was she shaking? No, she was imagining it. "Okay, let's just get this over with," she finally decided. "Anyway, my name is Agathe." «Agathe...?» «For you, nothing more, nothing less.» Her voice was the furthest thing from expressing cordiality, even if she gradually softened and gave in, but her gray eyes, without the slightest hesitation, gave off a terrible, hostile light.

9. Eastern Belarus, near Mahiljou, June 1944

It was half an hour before dawn when Obergefreiter Krause climbed the few chipped stone steps that led to the rotten wooden platform at the top of the bell tower. In the freezing darkness, he slung the rifle over his shoulder and touched the calf of Weinrich, who had been covering the night shift. "Did you bring me breakfast?" he asked, lazily lifting his head from the butt of his weapon, his voice hoarse from denied sleep. "Go, I'll stay," Krause replied with a growled mutter. "Don't tell me again." Weinrich descended the twenty-four steps of the narrow spiral staircase and the ten wooden rungs that separated him from the ground, being careful not to fall into the holes left by the grenades, and crossed the single, bare nave of the church. Shards of glass and mortar crunched under his leather boots. He passed the heavy broken door and stopped behind the sandbags of the checkpoint. "Everything okay up there?" the sentry asked him. "Nothing new on the Eastern Front," he replied, "They've retreated from the suburbs again." Those had been quiet days: Weinrich had stopped adding marks to the long series of him, under the window; the total, so far, was 61. he He rubbed two bags under his eyes that were heavier than the church doors and set off again, through what remained of the square on the side of the crossroads that dominated the village, up to their improvised canteen. Some pious soul was already preparing coffee, thanking the Lord. He sat around the fire with the changing of the guard and ate breakfast in silence, chewing laboriously the slabs of rye they called bread. Every bite was cyanide. Unteroffizier Schreiber showed up with the first rays, ordered people to raise their hands and distributed the daily Pervitin pill, which everyone downed without hesitation. Finally the jaws loosened. "What do they say in command?" began the young soldier Müller. "More planes are taking us away, I heard Albrecht say," growled the tall Gruber, also a soldier. «For France, he says. It seems to be happening." The Oberschütze4 Groß, leaning on a 75 mm anti-tank gun, spat on the ground. "Fails." "I say it succeeds," replied Private Gruber, putting a measly can of beans on the fire. "Don't let me hear you, or you'll get arrested." «Screw them. They also know that we are without panzers and planes, they are the ones who took them away from us. They want to leave us here with our ass in the air... they're so sure we'll win, even if we don't have any bullets.» "Shut up, you bastard, or you'll get us all arrested!"Weinrich raised his head. Unteroffizier Schreiber was far away on the side street, past the half-ruined post office they used as a radio station. "I heard that they took more partisans last night," continued soldier Müller, "near the railway." «Yes, they will have already shot them by now.» "Those Belarusian bastards bend the rails and make the trains fly, damn them," commented Oberschütze Krämer, who had been a welder as a civilian. If that beast hadn't lost his job in the workshop in '38 he would now have been safe in some factory back home. Bitter irony, Weinrich thought. The others, who had been with him longer, said he had requested a transfer to a maintenance department several times, but had been denied on every occasion. «We are too weak here. If they don't send us reinforcements, they'll break through us and move on without any problems" concluded Oberschütze Krämer, rolling his big dull eyes. «The Führer knows what he is doing» continued Private Müller with conviction. Weinrich had lost the thread, had thought too much and had become distracted, but perhaps it was for the best. Everyone looked dejectedly at the boy and remained silent, because there was that insult of rations to finish and even the apprenticeships, even there in the middle of nowhere, had ears. When the sun touched the bells, a dark rumble came from the North, continuous and increasingly urgent. "Where do they fly?" asked Private Krämer. "That's Orscha," judged Private Gruber, the only one who raised his head from his plate, but only because he had run out of bread. The same dark omens echoed behind them, terribly close, close enough to now have everyone's attention. "Good God, it's the Wellenbrecher." "Something doesn't add up to me," Groß muttered darkly. "Did they move closer to their positions?" Weinrich looked up at the post office again, just as someone from the radio station ran out yelling at Schreiber. Still more thunder, then the sky began to whistle. «To the holes...!» The post office exploded, collapsing on its foundations; the grenades landed along the road, sending up sprays of dirt and death. The barrage hit the street but landed too far to the south, flattening the outskirts. Keeping their wits about them, the soldiers grabbed their weapons and moved to the tripods and mortars. The Pervitin was starting to work. The sky filled with black dots and then dark puffs, and the howitzers were joined by the plaintive songs of Soviet attack planes chasing the German panzers. «Krämer, Müller! On reconnaissance!» Unteroffizier Schreiber shouted as he returned from what remained of the command post, immaculate by some absurd miracle. The two infantrymen sprinted and disappeared into the narrow alleys. «Weinrich, to the bell tower! Defend this road at all costs, or I swear that I will return your heads right to Germany!» The air was filled with whistles again. A second salvo devastated the village and landed between the crossroads and the church; with a roar the bell tower disappeared in a cloud of dust and bent on its side, and the roof of the church lifted and exploded, throwing red tiles onto the surrounding houses. A third grenade landed further away, beyond the checkpoint, and opened a half-meter deep crater in the asphalt of the road behind them. Weinrich remained steadfast, considered how to continue following orders and identified a two-story building, on the corner facing the square, to get higher up. As he walked through the abandoned oven on the ground floor and climbed up dusty steps, the ground began to shake. From the east window he saw Krämer and Müller walking back at breakneck speed, as if all the princes of hell were chasing them. Behind them they began machine-gunning, one volley after another in close sequence. «Panzer!» Weinrich shouted to his companions on the road, pointing to an advancing column of T-34s protected at the flanks by rows of riflemen. The Soviets were descending on the village, straight at the crossroads, and their dilapidated company was the only obstacle in the way. Weinrich positioned the weapon on the windowsill and through the scope identified the highest ranking enemy officer. "God, grant me salvation, make me worthy of your love," he whispered. And it was one. Soviet soldiers ran for cover. And there were two.The lead tank rotated the flared casemate and raised the cannon. Weinrich jumped back, just in time to avoid the splinters from the hole that opened in the wall. German machine guns began to buzz. Back at the window, Weinrich saw Gruber in the street below him move up the side of the column. He was holding the short brown tube of a Panzerfaust under his arm. The grenade flew against the sloped armor of the side and exploded; the hit tank stopped and began to smoke, and Soviet infantrymen fired into the alley. Weinrich took aim and inhaled. And there were three. He pulled the shutter, breathed in again. Four. Someone downstairs answered him. The palace was shaken again by the sound of a cannon. And five. Reloading, Weinrich ran downstairs and back to the street, where Schreiber led the troops and distributed ammunition. He was now bleeding from one ear under his dirty helmet. «Continue the attack! Down to the last man or I'll hunt you down on a bayonet!" he shouted in a hoarse voice, but no one listened to him: every man thought of himself, made blind and deaf by fury; everyone closed in their little cocoon of madness with inhuman lucidity exposed themselves to bullets and grenades. One took away the MG 425 blocking the road and its three crew. The tanks advanced further, bypassing obstacles and crushing the fallen. The crossroads was lost, and with it the village, and with the village the side of the ramparts that someone higher up had called Wellenbrecher. Groß lunged at Schreiber before Weinrich could intercept him and ask what to do. «Order the retreat!» he shouted at his superior, but he reloaded his machine gun and remained on the spot. "You are crazy!" A cannon fired between them, Groß and Schreiber flew in opposite directions. The elite soldier did not get up. Weinrich ran to the Unteroffizier, pressed against the ground, his head raised and his hands contracted in an unnatural pose. He knelt beside him and pressed the dark spot that was forming on his abdomen. Orders, he needed orders. But Schreiber was crying. "We have no escape routes," he spluttered before coughing up blood. «Sergeant, reinforcements?» Weinrich was desperate. «There are no reinforcements!» Schreiber coughed again and closed his tear-stained eyes. He didn't answer anymore, even though he was still breathing. Weinrich jumped up and looked around at his companions, with no other guide than that of God. With Schreiber reduced like this, now the command fell to... now the command fell to... why were they alone? The 75 mm opened fire from the other side of the intersection, still blocking the Soviets and giving the Germans breathing space: some fled towards better cover, and Weinrich followed them. He passed the sandbags, the cannon and his companions. They called him but he didn't turn around and continued to run away. The calls were drowned out by the explosions, and the machine guns once again began to hum.

10. Berlin, June 1932

"An Old Fashioned and whatever the girl asks for, cordially." "OK sir." Leo sat down at the lounge bar counter and turned towards Agathe, who always kept one step behind with fear and attention. That girl had been with him for so little and he was already starting to have enough of her presence: it was enough to accompany her from the Gardens to the entrance to the Adlon and she hadn't said a word, except to insist on hurrying. And now she, champing at the bit and biting the brakes for the umpteenth time instead of obeying the little he asked of her, she was truly exceeding every limit. If he could, he would have already chased her away, but she had to keep the play going, and so he limited himself to smiling at her, trying to be reassuring in her so obvious falsity. «Come closer, Hugo doesn't bite.» The bartender pretended to be amused by the joke, and while he was preparing the drink he secretly looked at the girl. He too judged her, even less than her other colleagues. Agathe leaned against the counter and craned her pale neck towards the bartender. "A Pilsner, Hugo, please," she murmured. She almost begged. «Please, sit down. Or do you prefer a little more privacy at the tables? You prefer a little more privacy." Agathe shook her head, but she still remained standing, her gaze lowered and her fists clenched undecided whether to lie at her sides or cross over her chest. «Hugo...» "I'll carry everything, sir."Leo put his arms around Agathe and led her to a small table. He felt her move away as soon as he touched her, but it was understandable: he too would have avoided contact if he had been in her. There, sitting at the table, right next to the archway that separated them from the common room, he could see Fitz, near the fountain, still smoking and waiting, and at the same time keeping an eye on the main staircase. «So, Agathe: let's talk a little, shall we?» he asked her absently, «Let's see, what on earth could the son of a Junker ask of a proletarian Berliner? Tell me, Agathe, how old are you?" "Eighteen, sir." Leo turned pale and stirred for a heartbeat, before regaining control of his body. He didn't expect to be dealing with a minor. «I will say, I would have said more. From your eyes... you have a very... mature look.» «Everyone learns from what life gives.» «And why are you already working? Don't your parents have a job?" "I grew up in an orphanage, can't you tell?" "No. You don't... remember your parents?" "I remember the days when they died, I was five years old." "How did it happen?" «I don't know exactly, I can only imagine. They say that the city was in revolt, that the Spartacists wanted to try a coup d'état. I do not believe." "You can't say they were throwing flowers at each other." «I'm not saying that... I don't know, I only have bad memories of those days of a nightmare and my squalid childhood.» A waiter brought the drinks, Leo looked for the windows in the entrance. «And what has life taught you? No, wait, let me guess: getting by on my own, doubting authority,... hating people like me; am I right?" Agathe sighed and began to drink. "All things considered, my dear, I would too." "I don't hate you, sir." "Please, call me Leonhard, at least." «I don't hate you, Leonhard. I mean, I work here, I see people like you every day. I'm used to your behavior..." «And the world is full of girls like you.» «Maybe, and it's also full of pompous fools who, for a few more banknotes in their pockets, believe they are the lords of the world. Damn it, you're not." "I can promise you that not everyone here is as rich as they say they are." Leonhard relaxed his guard on the hunting ground and approached Agathe, to whisper in her ear: «Look behind you, there is a guy with a mustache who has been to the North Pole. Because of the attention he's earned, he thinks he's a movie star." «Money, fame... the matter doesn't change. People find the power and believe it belongs to them, and they remain convinced. They're just idiots." "Do I look like an idiot to you?" Agathe continued drinking. «And I imagine you don't always like it when someone like me compliments you and invites you out for a drink.» «It never pleases me. We're finally starting to understand each other. He is hateful. Slimy. I only agreed for the money, but don't expect me to go any further." "So you see that you are wrong?" "I'll leave here with a beer in my belly, you hope you don't leave with a punch in the eye." Leo ignored the threat, his attention drawn elsewhere. At Fitz's table, a sweet vision, Charlie arrived, having just returned from a few rounds with him. Leo quickly looked back at Agathe, hoping at the same time that he was and hadn't been noticed. He still tried to control himself and finished the first glass. «You're right, I'm sorry. The truth is, I'm just using you." "I figured, I hope she's smarter than you." His neck stopped obeying him, his gaze drifted for a moment towards the fountain. He caught it just in time. «Who knows, we're probably all idiots. Forget it, I'm just an abject being, your hatred is more than justified. But I hope you'll understand, sooner or later." Agathe frowned and tried to say something, struggling to find her words. «But what is there to understand? I served you and you used me, as you could use anyone." «Yes, you're right after all. You didn't owe me anything and instead you helped me, for a handful of brands."Leo couldn't resist. He raised his head and looked for Fitz. He found Charlie who immediately looked down. He had never seen it so red. He noticed him take a letter from Fitz, turn it over a couple of times in his hands before disappearing it into his jacket, excitedly exchange a few sentences to the rhythm of a syncopation and then take his leave. He took the stairs with such enthusiasm that he almost stumbled, like him moments before. He was blazing with anger. "Finish your beer and then leave. Thank you for the time you dedicated to me. Take this money." Leo felt his slimy essence sticking to the chair. Agathe snorted and downed the remainder of her beer with unfeminine speed. «Okay, then, consider yourself forgiven, if that's what you want to hear. Sure, I'd be damned happy to know the reason for all this farce, but I guess I won't be satisfied, so that's fine. I hope this is goodbye. And know that you took a big risk." "I'm not the kind of man who... hell, it doesn't matter. You can go." Agathe, however, once again, didn't move. «Yeah, it looks like I won't get a decent answer today. As always, I'm right." "Go, I said!" The girl snorted and she decided to get up, only to freeze immediately afterwards, her eyes wide. "Here's Albert," she said, in a resigned voice. Leo turned towards the entrance. A boulder hit him on the nose and knocked him to the ground, taking the chair with it. A dark, mouse-faced boy towered over him, his fist poised to strike again. Six porters rushed at him and grabbed him by the arms. "Stay away from my girlfriend!" the young man shouted, struggling. One of the porters punched him in the stomach. The crowd around feigned indifference, but everyone in their own way observed with curiosity a spectacle that was not befitting of his class. "Are you okay, sir?" Hugo asked, rushing to help Leonhard up. "Yes I'm fine." "Shall we throw him out, sir?" "Yes." Agathe quickly approached the boy and took his head in her arms, shielding him. «I'll take him, Hugo, don't touch him again. Please." Hugo looked at Leonhard, Leonhard nodded and the bartender nodded to the porters, who let go. The two boys left amidst hushed murmurs of amusement and in a short time everything returned to normal, except for a few mocking glances thrown furtively. «Sir, you are bleeding. Let me help you." Leonhard put two fingers to his nose. «You don't need it, Hugo, it doesn't hurt, thanks anyway.» "I will report the girl's behavior to the director, sir," Hugo continued, putting the table back. "No, it's not worth it," Leonhard replied. "It was my fault. I'll pay for the damages if necessary." He straightened his jacket and looked first at the stairs and then at the door. "Let's all forget about this nasty business, okay?"

11. Berlin, June 1932

Charles closed the door behind him angrily. He felt like crying. He gritted his teeth and held it all in, clenching his fists until he felt his skull explode. He took a deep breath and relaxed his limbs and nerves. He inhaled again. It hurt so much to feel betrayed, but how could he blame him when he had treated him like that? He cursed himself for never understanding anything about life, he cursed himself for having abandoned England. He felt terribly alone now, and for the first time in a long time he missed a family. Suddenly he remembered the telegram in his hand. Fitz had recommended that he read it in private, away from prying eyes, and had offered, if he wanted, to take him home personally. He opened it and read. His legs became snakes and Charles crawled across the floor. His eyes glazed over and the day became rainy. He sobbed for a few minutes, trying to find the strength to carry on, trying to find the strength to choose what to do with his life. But he saw no other solution at the end of that blind tunnel. He got up with difficulty. He had to listen to Fitz; perhaps he would have found him still in the great hall, at most he would have asked to call the embassy. After all, that old family friend would have done anything for his father.He placed his hand on the doorknob and inhaled again, before returning to the hallway. The elevator opened at that moment, and Leo stepped out, one hand covering his nose from which blood was dripping into his mouth. "Leo!" «Charlie. How long." "What happened to you?" "You're not just talking about the nose." Charlie ignored him, moved his crimson hand away and looked at the wound, worried. He took a spotless handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the damage. «I just did something stupid. I'm an idiot, Charlie, just a stupid idiot." «Come to the room, let me help you.» "Gladly, Charlie." It didn't take many minutes. Leo lay still and silent on the bed, while Charlie cleaned his face and made sure nothing was broken. He didn't speak either, he couldn't find the beginning of the thread. When he finished they stood for a few seconds looking into each other's eyes, unsure of what to do. Leo waited, with the grace of a seraph. Charles was all fire. "Who was he?" «Nobody, just a waitress I made a rude statement to. Nothing to worry you about." Charlie was silent; he felt his throat dry and his lips crack. Leo turned his head and looked through the open window. You could see the Brandenburg Gate beyond the square, the bronze chariot transformed into a burning mirror by the sun. "Come with me to Tiergarten, Charlie. The park is magnificent at this time of day." "I'm going back to London, Leo." Leo shifted his gaze to his friend. His eyes were wide open, his spirit absent. He had all flown out, too fast. "How... are you going back to Kent?" "I have to." Both of their chests were bleeding. "Why?" Charlie fell silent and shook his hands. They were shaking and wet with tears. Leo touched them and felt a warmth inside him. "No. Do not go. I want you here, in Berlin. It can't be important. You'd tell me otherwise, wouldn't you? Would you tell me. We've been looking for each other for a month, don't leave now that we're so close. Do not Cry. Please don't cry. Take me to Tiergarten." Leo moved his hands up his arms to his shoulders, and hugged him. For a long time he held him close. Charlie bowed his head and calmed down, hidden in the shadow of his neck. He could smell Baltic salt, and notes of beechnut and spruce. He nuzzled his cheek, pursed his lips and kissed him passionately. Leo opened his mouth and crept in, caressing him gently. Continuing to kiss him, he pushed him to lie down on the sheets and began to unbutton his shirt. For a moment he pulled away, and his lapis lazuli were reflected in the bright green and ocher. "Stay here," he whispered, "At least for this day." And they found themselves in each other, falling asleep together in the late, cool night.

12. Berlin, June 1932

Agathe was called to the superintendent's warm, sumptuous office the next morning, as soon as she arrived at work, punctual as always. Mr. Lüthenmeyer, strict employee manager already on behalf of the late Mr. Lorenz Adlon and now for his son Louis, was very different from the delicate velvet of his rooms: at that moment, strutting in front of the shiny desk, he was boiling so much with anger that his mustache was shaking. The unfortunate encounter was a real stone thrower. "I should make an example of you!" Lüthenmeyer began, shouting. «How many times do I have to tell you not to pay attention to customers who bother you, all of you! Damn it, we're the most prestigious hotel in the city, not a cheap brothel on the outskirts!" Agathe listened in silence, her face hardened, her hands tangled in a tangle of fingers, her nose oppressed by the stench of cigars and sharpened pencils, pungent and sticky like incense in a church. «Yes, Mr. Lüthenmeyer, it will never happen again. You have my word." "It is not enough. First of all, I will deduct the cost of the chair from your salary, then I will see if I can take further action. Be thankful you didn't inform Mr. Louis about what happened!» «Please do not involve the director, Mr. Lüthenmeyer, I would be deeply grateful to you.» Agathe stared into space while her words came out of her mouth fluid and tight like a chant, almost as if they were a prayer imprinted in her memory with red-hot irons. "I will never give you any reason to doubt me again, Mr. Lüthenmeyer, I swear."She remained silent about the fact that she knew - Hugo had warned her before she reached the office - that the very kind Mr. Von Hinten had insisted on paying for the damages, without even batting an eyelid, and he had dutifully reported everything to the superintendent the evening before, recounting every minute detail of the unfortunate incident. Everyone knew that "the execrable Lüthenmeyer would have protested vigorously until the unfortunate customer gave up." The superintendent nodded in approval and without giving her any further glances, wearily pointed towards the door, before abandoning himself in the padded armchair behind her desk. As she left Agathe she heard him murmur: "An international marvel... we can't lose any more customers, not these days." She rolled up her sleeves and returned to her usual duties, chewing her anger in silence and spitting it out in the form of zeal: not a mistake, not a moment's rest, just effort, atonement and effort. But curse the handsome German who had gotten her into trouble, that's why she managed to find her hard-earned time. At the end of the shift, exhausted like an ox under the yoke, she fixed her golden hair and set off with her usual friends to take the tram, as she always did. She returned home to the northern neighborhood of Wedding bent over in her body and spirit and she didn't give herself a moment's respite, immediately moving to the kitchen without even going to the bedroom to change. Albert waited for her there, her shoulders hunched over her stove. "Good evening, love," she greeted him, "What's going on?" "Agathe, my love, sorry I didn't come to get you." "It's okay, they accompanied me anyway." "Go and rest, take some time in the tub, I'll take care of dinner." "We'd have dinner late at night if I let you do it, my little one," Agathe reasoned, but she knew better than to give voice to her thoughts. "How did it go at Mr. Schneider's in the shop?" The boyfriend's shoulders almost touched the ground. Albert turned and looked at her with dark eyes that did not bode well. "I'm sorry," he said, wiping his hands, "They didn't hire me." Agathe took a deep breath and leaned against his chest. She didn't even ask him why, it didn't matter, now she had to think about invoices and bills, about the wedding dress to pay for. "Are you going to the employment office again tomorrow?" she just murmured. «I'm tired of going there, there's no point: just queues and queues from Münzstraße to Schendelpark, and not even the slightest job.» Neither of them was going to point the finger at the elephant in the room, and so they huddled together for a while, alone in their little rented den, until Albert hesitantly gave up. "What did they tell you today at the hotel?" Agathe drummed her fingers on the chest of her companion, wrapped in the rough moleskin shirt. "They took away a third of my salary," she admitted seraphically. "Good God, Agathe... I'm sorry." "It does not matter. Now, here, I have you." «No, Agathe, it's not good. They're damned thieves! If only I could..." "What to do? You've already done enough." Albert's face darkened at those words said so, with innocence. Well, he was wrong. «I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I was rude.» «But it's true, I... I could stay in my place. I shouldn't have gotten jealous." "Already. Let's think positively, for this month we will cover the loss with the money of the very kind Leonhard. Agree?" "Tomorrow I'm going to talk to Pastor Kofler, to ask if he has anything to do for me." "All right. Albert?" "Yes, my little one?" "I'm glad to hear you're jealous." Albert kissed her and caressed her cheek, before letting her go. She sighed. "Come on, come on," she whispered, holding his hand. «But dinner...» "Dinner can wait."

13. Berlin, August 1932

They now spent every night together, there in suite 674. Downstairs, in the common areas of the hotel, sometimes they barely greeted each other, like two old and cold acquaintances, sometimes they accompanied each other to breakfast, and Leo tried to explain something about politics to him in vain, while he carefully read every single newspaper in Berlin - from the Morgenpost to the Völkischer Beobachter, without disdaining the SPD's Vorwärts - and then each continued on their own path for the rest of the day, until they met again for an innocent coincidence always at the usual café.But when they went up the corridor to the top floor and reached that corner of their own, the world turned upside down and Leo pulled his hair, tore his tie and looked for the skin under his jacket, shirt and waistcoat. They were wonderful evenings, in which Charlie vented all his morbid curiosity. He searched for his scent with his mouth, that scent that he wore from time to time, when Charlie knew he was happy. He explored his entire body in search of those notes, and when he found even just a faint taste of them, approaching his ear, he whispered in a painful breath: "Take me again." And Leo listened to him like no one else. "I'll never have enough," Charlie commented at the end, and he smiled before turning over in the sheets, and when Leo got up and put his thoughts in order he said again: "Take me where you're happy." "Foolish Englishman," he replied, and smiled pityingly, "Where I'm happy is here." After a while, after a fleeting glance at the square beyond the cold glass, he smiled at him and pitied him again. And finally, gently, he touched him.

Every morning, as soon as Charlie painfully convinced himself to get up and go shave, Leo slipped out of 674 just as he had slipped in the first time: on tiptoe. But the more time passed, the more he brought his heels closer to the ground and lowered his guard, and he didn't worry as long as he only passed a few passing foreign tourists in the corridor. He always took the elevator first, and there was no way Charlie could get ahead of him, who knows how, and when he found him sitting at a secluded sofa in the café, his legs crossed just beyond the table and his back turned to the windows, he had at least a dozen warheads already scattered on the table. "Good morning," he whispered to him before sitting down. Every now and then, when he was lucky, Charles managed to outrun the waiter with the daily latte. "I have already ordered your tea," Leonhard told him that day, without taking his eyes off the columns of ink. "Really? You did not have to." "And why on earth?" Now that was a surprise. A pleasant surprise. "Did you order food?" «Not yet, I was waiting for you.» "Well, then it's still Leo." "I always get the usual anyway." "Three eggs and a shameful amount of butter and jam?" "You're hateful. What does the press say?" The waiter arrived before Leo could answer. That hypocritical German ordered jam and margarine for himself, as if it really made a difference. «Nothing sensational» he revealed to him after they had been served, «Guess who got the majority in Parliament?» Charlie scratched his nostril and put two fingers between his nose and lip. "Exactly." "Which is..." "Well. I hope." The first egg popped onto the plate almost by itself. «Anything else interesting?» Leo looked at the foreign column. «In less than a week some exhibition starts in Italy, there are... some of our directors in the running for I don't know what to win.» «Is there a complete list of films in competition?» «Are you interested? Be careful, you'll dirty the tablecloth." «Nothing, I wanted to know if there were also English artists.» «Yes... I think so, it seems like something important. I imagine Mr. Mussolini will be enthusiastic about it.» Charlie closed one eye and bit into the bread. «The air is good in Italy. We should go there." Leo folded the newspaper and stared at it carefully. «Yes, we should. As soon as you stop letting all your pay disappear into the closet." "The flesh is weak." "It didn't seem like it yesterday." His yolk almost went askew. Leo blew on the steaming cup, ignoring his coughing. "Everything OK?" he asked him, going back to reading. "Be quiet." Leo actually stopped talking, sipped a little, took a bite of the toast, and moved on to another newspaper, still in the most religious silence, so much so that he stopped drinking and eating. Charlie craned her neck over his plate and over that paper barricade. Leo was getting nervous, he could tell from the grimaces he hid behind the paper. He reached for the newspaper. «Leo...» "Everything is fine. Have you finally found stable employment?" His hand fell on the already read sheets, still wet with fresh ink, and he retreated towards another egg as the coffee began to flow again.«No, nothing that lasts more than two weeks. I've had enough of notary offices." «Mhm, a great shame.» «Tell me what the problem is? You seem distracted." "Nothing, I said," and he tried to take a sip. "All right." They were both lying through their teeth, and every word made the other more annoyed. Charlie could have counted the seconds until the explosion. «You should read here, here» Leo finally unbuttoned himself, «These beggars are shouting in the streets without the slightest plan, without seeing further what will fill their bellies in the evening.» "What do you mean?" Charles asked him, biting into another slice of bread. Leo put down the latte and folded the newspaper, for a moment he thought about starting to smoke. «The common people are nothing but a bunch of abjects and misfits, incapable of giving themselves order and acting as a single brotherhood. Look out the window: they are agitating in the square, causing disorder and chaos, taking time away from politics and the police. They must be taken care of day after day, as they gnaw at this society hoping to get something more out of it. Nothing more than a tumor that weighs down and slows down the system. In fact, I'd say it risks killing him." "Leo, they're still men." Leo sipped his latte for a while, then gave in to the snuffbox. "I'm not saying they should disappear." "And what, then?" «I'm just saying that they deserve it, someone to cure the rotten spirit of this nation. May he make them respect the order, instead of camping out and begging in front of the employment offices." The cigarette was already flying from his long fingers to his sharp lips. "That's all." "Well, I don't know how this could end well." "Look at Italy," Leo insisted, and he lit his cigarette. "Look at Russia," Charles retorted, and Leo nodded grimly. He didn't speak again until he burned all the tobacco, just when it was time for Charles to go. «We'll talk about it later, calmly, right?» the Englishman asked. "Certain." But that evening they never broached the subject again.

14. Berlin, September 1932

Every now and then they left their sealed acropolis and walked through the streets of Berlin, like any two friends, in full light. All in all, no one paid any attention to them, also because Leo took diligent care not to arouse the slightest suspicion about what they really were: two lovers, nothing more, and yet... yes, the fear that they were dangerous to who knows who always lay dormant somewhere, buried in the bottom of consciousness. However, as soon as the alleys became dark in the evening and moved away from the crowd just enough, Leo made it up to him for everything, and with interests: kisses, caresses and sweet words which however were unable to satisfy his thirst for attention. Charlie, his hunger for affection never fully quelled. Once Leo - his very rigid and immaculate Leo - had the courage to make him enjoy himself there, hidden by the bend of a canal that divided Mitte and Moabit, in the shelter of a beech tree too embarrassed to say anything to them and make them run away. One afternoon still kissed by the sun, on a late winter day, Charlie dared to shake his hand for a moment, an action so fleeting that Leo didn't have time to withdraw, but only to give him an icy look. "God, I'm craving peaches. I don't know what I would give for a peach now" she whispered, pulling his coat and pointing to a fruit shop on the corner of a street in Prenzlauer Berg narrowed by tall suffocating tenements from the old empire, among which only the pylons of the railway suspended halfway up air they managed to break through. «Peaches? In this time?" "I know, it's a big shame." Leo had approached the flourishing fruit baskets that crowded the pavement - the only note of green in that gray neighborhood - and had immediately started dealing with the greengrocer, returning a few minutes later with a brown paper bag. "You'll have to make do," he told him, putting his hand in the bag and tossing him a shiny red apple. Charles grabbed it, smiled and blushed almost as much as the apple. How much he smelled like him. "You don't know what you just did," he murmured serenely. "I know perfectly well," Leo replied, bringing his hand closer to the bag again. Charles approached quickly, put a hand among the fruits and handed him the largest and firmest one that his fingers had encountered. "No you don't."Leo raised an eyebrow, accepted the gift and rubbed it on his coat before biting into it, so shiny it looked like wax. "Really?" «You don't know Callimachus, or Ovid» Charlie continued, «You don't know that on an apple it was written "I swear to God I will marry you." The Greeks had the habit of throwing apples to declare themselves to their loved one or invite him to..." "So I was going to ask you for your hand in marriage?" "In a way, yes." Leo bit into the apple again, chewed slowly, brought it to his thin mouth a third time. «And you, would you like to marry me?» «If only I could, Leo. If only I could..." The German didn't speak anymore, but he sank his teeth into the fruit again and dug into his soul, as he did every evening on the threshold of the bed.

"Running into you was my greatest luck, Leo," Charlie confessed to him, throwing the core into the placid waters of the Spree. Between the two he had achieved the longer throw, he noted with satisfaction. "Think how little coincidences can change the world, then," Leo replied. "Already." Charlie chewed the corner of his lip innocently. «It was very lucky that we were both in that hotel.» "You seem to want to ask me something, Charlie." «Leo, I never asked you... how come you are here? I mean, why Berlin?" Leo snorted. «Useless question. Where else to be?" «Yes, but how...?» 'Stettin is not a big city, and I doubt my home is much different from your home in Kent. That's all." They walked towards the Cathedral on the other side of the river, beyond which Unter den Linden was just another bridge away. Halfway through the first crossing Leo seemed to hesitate. «Charlie... what's your family like?» "Why do you ask?" The German's pale face regained a modicum of color. «But it's obvious, to present myself in front of my in-laws prepared.» Charlie froze and stared at his beloved before starting to giggle like a brat. "I didn't think you'd ever say that." Leo cleared his throat as a passerby approached and straightened his worn tie. "Yes you are right. Where have my manners gone?" "I don't know if I can help you find them." "A great shame." "Yeah..." Charles stared at the clouds high above the church's pinnacles. The water gurgled downstairs, stealing a long-held sigh from him. "My father is dead, Leo." There was a moment of silence, disturbed by the barking of some terns. "When?" "Not long after our first kiss." "I guess it's hypocritical to say I'm sorry." "Enough." A solitary kite appeared in the sky to chase the agitated terns, Leo pointed it out delicately. Who knows where he came from, who knows how alien that bend in the river must have seemed to him. "How long have you lived in that hotel, Leo?" "Two years. Too many for a penniless baron, but I'm terrified of setting fire to the first apartment I rent." «Why don't you come back...» «In Szczecin? No, Mr. Von Hinten could still be alive, or dead, I have no interest in checking." «He never even wrote you a letter?» «We don't bother each other and I'm fine with that. The ashtray was eloquent." "What ashtray?" Leo bit his lip. «Forget it, it's not important. But why don't you go home? Now it will be yours, baronet." «No, I don't want to see my mother either. Hate." "What?" «I haven't read about my mother since before I left. She was not mentioned in a single letter, not a telegram... not a word from Fitz." "You know, an innocent question costs nothing." "I do not know. No, I will follow your example, so as not to end up asking her to account for abandoning me." "As you like." The kite caught some prey and returned the way he had come, followed by Charles' dreams. «And then there's Gwenny... maybe I miss her, just a little.» "Your sister?" «The only one, more or less. You know... at home we've always been Gwyneth and Charles, always used to being square. But I spent half my life in boarding school... that's not true, just a quarter..." «And they treated you there... like a ball?» «They gave me various nicknames, but it was customary there to do it with everyone: Cliff, Pixie, Paddy, Wally, George... Dickie...» Charles sighed. «...and Acton, or "swineherd" for those who saw me reluctantly.» «And in all this your sister...» «Nothing, once during the holidays I gave her a nickname, to believe I had some of the affection at home that I left there, in college. I called her Gwenny from time to time, that's all.""That's all?" "Yes." Charles dug one nail under the other, from the index finger to the little finger all in review from the thumb. «Like a stupid child who can't even speak. It was something just mine, perhaps the greatest demonstration of affection in the whole house." Leo touched his shoulder, didn't say anything else. They started walking again, arrived in front of the Cathedral and stopped under the first lime trees, distracted by a group of people gathered right at the entrance to the imposing baroque church. In the midst of that gathering a pair of red banners stood out, with a black and white wheel in the middle. "Why all the fuss?" Charlie asked. «There's little to comment about» Leo replied, «It's the only thing they make, a lot of noise.» And he started walking again. Charles ran after him. "Wait for me." "We can stop despairing," Leo muttered to himself, "Maybe it's time we stopped changing governments like socks." "What do you mean?" Leo looked at him. They were preparing for the Schloßbrücke bridge. «Not long now, they will soon present a vote of no confidence in Von Papen.» "And then?" Leo turned again, his eyes returning to the banners in front of the church. They were not wheels, Charles now noticed more carefully, but crosses, the ones inside the white circles. Leo walked up the Schloßbrücke nodding to himself, the bag of apples still clutched behind his back, and Charles, seeing him go, felt a strange uneasiness for some reason.

15. Berlin, September 1932

The following afternoon, returning from yet another caricature of a job, Charles found a note in his suite, slipped under the door. It was Leo's, he was waiting for him on the other side of the wall; the door is already open, just push. He knocked anyway, to be fair. "Did you look for me?" Leo was sitting at the desk, the chair facing the entrance, his arm resting on the table to hide something. "For you," she told him, and threw a can towards him. Charlie jumped at it, tried to interpret the red label. «Pfirsiconw? What are? Wait, peaches? Really?" «In syrup, you'll have to settle.» «They suit me very well. But they will have cost you a fortune!" "Tranquility." She approached him, leaned over him and kissed him. «You really shouldn't have. You'll end up spoiling me." Leo moved his arm slightly to cover some papers and picked up a pencil. «Listen, how are you in the new office?» «Oh, my fingers will break just typing one more piece of paper. Why do you ask me that?" The pencil began to twirl between Leo's fingers, the same way he did with cigarettes. «Here, I have a friend who could use a hand, I thought you might be interested.» Charlie leaned against the desk and passed the can from one hand to the other. "Where would it be?" "To the Reichstag." «To the Reichstag? Are you serious?" «Yes, archives section.» The can flew again. "Wait, who is doing who a favor?" Leo inhaled and stilled his fingers. Charles stared at the red label again. "What's the carrot on the stick, this or the job you're offering me?" "What do you mean?" "Forget it, it's English stuff." "Do you need time to think?" "Just a minute." «Consider: there will be little to talk about, and promotions are guaranteed. Not the most fun job in the world, but it sure will give you a living." «In this hotel? No, I guess I'll still have to rely on Hougcross to pay my bills... why do you have to make me think about home?" Leo raised his hands and shrugged, looked at the papers and began tapping his pencil on them. "Okay," Charles finally told him, "I accept." "Magnificent. You owe me a favor." Charlie shook the can of peaches again. «Two, actually. Now... do you have a can opener?" Leo frowned, dumbfounded. Charlie laughed heartily, and bent down again to kiss his forehead.

That evening, in the dark silence of the sheets, he no longer held back. "How did you get those scars?" Leo mumbled, "Charlie, I'm sleeping," and buried his face in the pillow, his shoulder blades barely visible between the blanket and the moonbeams. «Leo, please...» he caressed his side, searched for his belly. "I want to know everything about you." Leo raised his head slightly and the moon was reflected in his clear eyes. «You said it was your father, right? That's why you didn't stay in Szczecin."Leo sighed and slipped an arm between the mattress and his back, to hug him and bring him to him. "Obviously." "Were you little?" "Not too much, but it went on for nine years." Charlie hugged his partner's arm and chest, caressed his loins and kissed his chest. "And how did it end?" «He started talking about marriage, I hit him in the face and took the first train to Berlin, that's all.» «And so here you are at the Adlon, precise and direct.» "No, I actually set an apartment on fire before." "Jokes." "Believe what you want." He kissed his chest again, and for a while he could only smell his slow breathing and the scent of spruce. He would have liked to tell him about the wonder he had felt in London, about the painful sea journey and when he was relieved to set foot in Hamburg, even if with the uncertainty of having nowhere to go. He wanted to confess to him that he felt like an idiot, for believing that one couldn't have a worse childhood than his, that he suffered for him now, as if those scars were his. But he couldn't find the strength, intoxicated by sleep and stunned by his security, he couldn't do anything but stay next to him and breathe in the smell of spruce. «Leo, do you ever fear... do you ever fear that they will hurt you again?» he finally asked. «Mhm?» «Are you ever afraid...?» «Here in Berlin? No." Leo moved and held him again. «They won't make me any more. And not even to you, as long as I'm around, if that's what you fear. I promise you." Charlie felt Leo's heart slow, his chest rising and sinking like a stormy sea. But the rain, at that moment, was elsewhere, far from his consciousness. And in the moonlight, everything was silent.

16. Berlin, September 1933

They often sat at tables watched over by black elephants, refreshed by the noise and presence of the fountain. Between one drink and another, in the evening, Charlie sometimes stopped to admire it, as if the mere vision could, according to some inscrutable logic of his, reveal to him every moment of that object's past. "You know, I was already here when they installed this fountain, a couple of years ago," Leo revealed to him once, seeing him absorbed and amazed, inebriated by alcohol. "I thought she was older," Charles replied without taking his eyes off the animal statues. "I'm sorry to disappoint you. But it gives us something to talk about: it was the gift of an eccentric Maharaja who came from I don't know which part of India, stayed here for a few weeks and... well, he's not the point of the matter.» "And that would be her?" «It would be that there was this little boy following him, I don't know what he was doing among so many busy dignitaries. A very nice Persian young man..." Charles turned to look at him, tilted his head and bit his lip. «...And inexperienced.» Now he could taste blood. «It was very useful to me at the time, to solve a favor... asked of me by one of Von Papen's clique, now that I think about it.» «Where would you like to go?» "Your lip split..." he paused for a long moment, "...dear." "It does not matter." «I was saying, he was a lovely boy, and he told me once, in terrible English, to tell the truth... that words sometimes come out so haltingly, that remaining silent is no longer a choice, but an obligation.» He grabbed a cloth napkin from the table and dabbed Charles' lip. «And even if they don't last long, some moments are worth a lifetime, and it's so difficult not to appear stupid, when what matters is not so much what is said..." Charles took the handkerchief and touched the fingers of his lover. «...But what is done.» Leo removed his hand and sat up, fidgeting as if he was suddenly uncomfortable. He looked around for a while. He looked uncomfortable. "And words are superfluous," he concluded. "Leo, I..." Charles tried to reply, but in that moment, while he was still dabbing at that useless, forgettable cut, while he was savoring the warmth of such a bold affectionate caress, there in front of that audience, well, it was as he had just said: futile words, so banal as to be superfluous.

17. Berlin, October 1932

That afternoon they walked down crowded Wilhelmstraße to the even busier Mohrenstraße stop and boarded the subway; in half an hour they arrived at Nollendorfplatz station, where they changed for the line that led to the southern district of Schöneberg, where the mass of passers-by was sparse enough not to cause too much discomfort. They arrived there in about ten minutes, when the sun had already eclipsed behind the rigid and washed out clock tower of the town hall and the streets were colored with variegated artificial lights. As soon as he left the station, Leo took Charlie around North Schöneberg, feasting his eyes on the colorful shop windows and signs of the dance halls and cabarets. Not that there was much movement there, at that time of year, nor was it the lethargic autumn weather to blame. Rather, the cause was in the Reichstag, this close to declaring martial law, but Leo and Charlie didn't care about that. Some of the smaller places, smelling the air that was blowing in Germany, had already closed their doors; among all, according to Leo, the biggest loss was the first Eldorado branch, but he told himself to think positively, that two branches confused the most careless customers and therefore it was better this way. Turning into the deserted Montzstraße, Leo grabbed Charlie by the arm and dragged him into a dark and empty barrel-vaulted tunnel. Descending into the shadowy bowels of the neighborhood, Leo, when he was sure no one was watching, pinned Charlie against a wall and kissed him passionately. As soon as they separated, Charlie smiled happily at him. Leo turned and continued walking. After a few steps close to the wall, he knocked on a bare service door, from which only a crack opened. Charlie heard him whisper something, and finally the door opened. A clean-faced, square-jawed Goliath welcomed them into the club's dressing rooms, greeting Leo warmly. He led them through crowds of dancers and musicians and funny transvestites to a sheltered balcony overlooking the ballroom. There, around the reserved tables, a few brave people followed the show: in a corner, close to the balustrade, a solitary man with full cheeks and piggy eyes; on the opposite side, a couple of beautiful young ladies were conversing, exchanging sweet smiles. One of them, with soft brown hair, was wearing a cute shamrock-colored double-breasted suit, which Charlie found more than enviable. A waiter made them sit under the light of an abat-jour with an amaranth veil like the vault above them. They ordered drinks and waited for the show to start. After some time, the golden velvet curtain opened, revealing on the stage a female figure who began to sing of the ardor she felt for her lover, when he sought her arms. Her auburn curls fell over her broad shoulders, and her large, lipstick-laden lips flickered behind her microphone as she sang. She was quite tall, for a woman, yet harmonious overall. "Fascinating, isn't it?" Leo asked. "Yes." «He is an amazing singer. And he fits the part well." Even though it was his first time there, Charlie wasn't surprised: he knew the peculiarities of the place, considered by many to be oddities. Yet, until the very Christian Von Papen had not railed against the laxity of customs and obscene acts, many heterosexuals came to watch, driven by some perverse curiosity of theirs. Unfortunately those days were now a distant memory. An elegant middle-aged man, with a broad forehead and sad eyes, came to keep them company in that murky air of obvious clandestineness. «Good evening, Leonhard. Nice to have you here." «The pleasure is all mine, Ludwig. How is your business?" The man ordered a chair to be brought and sat down with them. «Bad, damn. I'm doing my best to keep things going, but it becomes more and more difficult with law after law. I'm already forced to close at ten, when the real revelry here begins late at night. To tell the truth, I'm scared for you." "I'll tell you, I'm not worried." "Really? Yet you keep going through the back door. Not that I blame you. But who is your guest? Good God, I didn't introduce myself." «Oh, it's an English friend of mine, Ludwig, visiting Berlin in his spare time. A Sir, to boot.""Really? What honor it brings to El Dorado" exclaimed the man, bowing deeply. "I'm honored to introduce you to Sir Charlie Acton, then." Charlie smiled, matching the walls. "You have a nice place," he said finally. «In England, such scenes still scandalize public morality. Such places are against the law, unfortunately." «And I fear that they will soon become so here in Germany too, if we don't change the situation» retorted Ludwig. Leo wrinkled his nose. «Oh, Ludwig, I'm sure that the NSDAP, if it gets the chancellery, will be able to guarantee us something. So far they have been very open to us." Ludwig frowned. «I don't like that Hitler. I do not trust him." Leo shrugged, but didn't answer. Ludwig said goodbye shortly thereafter, while the singer - or perhaps the singer, Charlie didn't know how to say - sang an open song of protest against those who considered certain things indecent. «The lavender song... I love it.» Leo whispered. «Maybe Ludwig is right, maybe all this will become taboo again.» "Tell me the truth, Leo, are you afraid?" Leo stood up and wiped his liquor-soaked lips. For a while he didn't answer, his gaze wandering over the tables around them. «Do you see that man in front with the round face and the brown jacket?» Charlie followed Leo's gaze to the indicated table. "The one with the brown shirt and the mustache?" "Yes, do you know who he is?" «No, actually. Anyone important?" Leo lowered his tone, even though no one could hear them at the time. «Well, he's the head of the National Socialist Party's athletic teams; he actually he is Hitler's right hand man. You see, he also comes in through the back door, like you and me, and he rarely shows up, actually... but as long as I see him at that table, I'll feel safe enough. When I don't see him anymore, then yes, I will start to worry." "What if it's too late?" "I'll get over it." «Leo... I stayed in Berlin for you, and I would repeat this choice a thousand more times, but... maybe now you could do something for me.» "And what? Coming to England by your side, perhaps hand in hand? It would be an admission of guilt, by God! Do you want to introduce me to your father, so as to give him mercy? No, too late. Damn, how can you think of..." "All right." Charlie shuddered. «Forgive me for asking.» «No... no, forgive me.» They were silent for a while, until they were served food. Leo continued to drink, while remaining perfectly lucid. "You said it," he finally admitted, swallowing his first wonderful morsel of stewed venison, "that they would arrest us. But the truth is, I don't know what's out there, west of the Rhine." He put down the cutlery and took Charlie's hand. "You're much braver than me, Charlie, and I envy you for that." Charles swallowed, the bite marred by a hint of bitter almonds. "It's not true," he said finally, "We both feel the same fear." By the time they finished dinner, the tables beneath them had begun to empty, and the orchestra at the foot of the stage was now softly playing slow music. Downstairs, between the tables and the stage, there was no longer anyone. Leo stood up and held out a hand to Charlie. "Would you like to dance?" "I'd love that." They paid a hustler and went downstairs. They handed it to the waiter, who hesitated to accept the token until Ludwig appeared. «It's getting late, Leonhard, now we have to proceed in slippers.» «Come on, Ludwig, do me this last favor. It might be the last time we're allowed to do that." Charlie put his hands on Leo's shoulders, and Leo put his arms around him and held him tenderly. And so they danced until the notes continued, until there was emptiness around, until the music became a silent tune, until the curtain was closed, so for many nights to follow and each time alone. That was not the last but the first of some sublime, orange-scented evenings, and for Charlie they were the brightest moments he had experienced up to that moment. When they separated, they were now the only lights in the room in October. While the last of the attendants were cleaning the dressing rooms they headed for the exit, Charlie clinging to his lover's arm as if it were his umbilical cord, his connection to Heaven.As soon as he was outside, Leo froze. In the darkness of the alley they saw Ludwig speaking in a low voice to the man with the full cheeks and piggy eyes they had seen some time ago. The director of Eldorado seemed agitated, and was apprehensively questioning the rigid SA leader, who avoided him and responded laconically. Every now and then he scratched his short, neat hair or smoothed his mustache, he too, under his Nazi armor, deeply shaken. "Stay back," Leo whispered, and Charlie didn't dare move. After a while Ernst Röhm - Hitler's right hand - left, leaving the disconsolate shadow of Ludwig alone, in the dark of the back room, limp, abandoned on the ground. Charles and Leo approached the director, and Leo took his arm. "What's going on, my friend?" «Oh, Leonhard, it has finally happened. They have forbidden you to dance." «To Eldorado? And why?" «Tomorrow they will vote in the Reichstag, but it has already been decided. They will ban homosexuals from dancing." Ludwig freed himself and straightened his coat. «It's done. Tomorrow I will hand the place over to Röhm, before the police destroy it for me. It has been a pleasure, gentlemen. Good night." Ludwig, with an uncertain step, walked along the alley, and the two disconsolately watched him take his path. They remained there alone for a while, waiting for the staff to leave too. Leo was the first to find his spirit again. «Well, it's time to go back to the hotel now. Go and call a taxi, here, I'll pay. See you there in half an hour. Wait for me in your room." Charlie complied without a word. He couldn't find the words. His dark thoughts were already flying to Kent.

18. Berlin, May 1933

That damned chair took away their humble dream for six months. When Christmas arrived, Albert proposed again, on a snow-lit Saturday morning, and promised to walk her down the aisle. Agathe felt like she was in heaven, in that small apartment in Amsterdamer Straße n. 10, and beaming he proposed to do it in spring, at the end of March.

By mid-February Albert was out of work again. Mr. Shöttel, who had hired him in his bookshop there in Wedding as a favor to Pastor Kofler, fired him without much ceremony.
And now, after three months, Albert was still in despair: "No, I won't marry you until I can put a hot meal on the table every day" he repeated to her morning and evening. "I don't want to marry you to leave you without a future."
«Albert, I don't care» she replied, «The important thing for me is to stay here by your side. There are so many people still without work, it will probably take years..."
«Maybe I should go to the factory, there will be someone looking for low-level workers... maybe at Aktien-Gesellshaft or at Daimler.»
Agathe was horrified, reviewing her father's hazy memories. "No!" she let it slip. "No Please. Do not do it."
«So what? Do I just sit here and sit around? Agathe, please! I have to work."
«Yes, but not in the factory. I don't want to lose you too."
"To hell with it, Agathe!" she said, and went into the bedroom, slamming the door violently. She didn't come out for the rest of the day.
In the evening Agathe left a tray in front of his door and knocked, hoping that just one afternoon she would bring advice, that Albert would change his mind and understand how, in her own way, she would lose everything of herself. But she had no answer: the door remained silent, with the tray in front of it growing cold.
Disconsolate, she took her coat and left the house, without a real destination. There, in the narrow and bare corridor that would lead her to the street, she met Mr. Hampel, their neighbor.
"Good evening, Otto," she told him wearily.
"Miss Shwartz, are you okay?" he replied with a sincere greeting. He had a cheerful face, beneath his dark hairline.
Agathe thought about what Albert had said. «Mr Otto, I know I will ask a lot of you, but you work at Siemens. Do you know if they're hiring these days?"
The neighbor shook his head and approached the exit. «I'm sorry, but it's the exact opposite, I can't help you. If you want, Albert could come with me to the veterans' association tomorrow afternoon. He might ask if anyone needs a hand there."
Agathe let out a moan.
«Albert hates... sorry, but Albert will refuse before you even ask him. Thanks anyway, Otto."
«Of course, dear Agathe. Good evening."
«Good evening to you.»
Everyone went in opposite directions, and Agathe wandered without thinking through the streets of the Wedding neighborhood, crossed only by workers returning from the last shift of the day. After a while - she didn't even notice - she came to Dubliner Straße, where Mr. Shöttel's bookshop was located. His gaze immediately bent, as if by instinct, towards the window, and he saw them, around there, nothing other than ghostly figures inflamed by torches: a gang of kids was besieging the shop, shattering the windows with stones, throwing Kick the door down. All under the watchful gaze of some military wax statues. After the first resistance, the boys improvised a ram with a cart and finally the obstacle gave way.
"What are you doing?" she screamed, lunging towards them as they invaded the store.
A soldier stepped in front of her and blocked her. "Who is she? What does she want?
Agathe recognized her uniform: she was not an army soldier, but a brown shirt from the assault squads. She shivered and backed away. She wanted to turn around, she should have run away, and instead she found herself there trying not to tremble. Control yourself, she repeated to herself, control themselves, they're just kids. But that was exactly the problem: just kids, high and out of it.
She looked at the brown shirt, held her breath, and took another step. It advanced grimly.
"Get out of here, this is no place for a woman."
Yes, how can you blame him? Her heart was pounding in her temples and telling her to run, she was out of breath, but she wanted to see.
"But you can't..."
"Get out of here, I said!"
Agathe lowered her head, noticed the belt of the brown shirt, the truncheon hanging, shiny under the torches. She noticed the hand courting him. She backed away again and only turned to run when she was out of arm's reach.
Her knees couldn't support her, she sought shelter behind the corner of a wall to regain her breath and remained watching the students as they loaded mountains of tomes onto carts and wheelbarrows and took them away towards Müllerstraße escorted by the brown shirts, each with their own torch and his staff.
They left her there, in the dark, panting and terrified, useless and helpless and full of questions.
Agathe tried to find the courage to get away from behind that wall and she entered what remained of the bookcase. It looked like a bomb had exploded inside: shelves and shelves lay empty; the flooring was covered with books deemed worthy of surviving, or perhaps unworthy of burning.
For a while the shop lit up - perhaps some curious person at the window had looked out into the street - and a warm burgundy-coloured blanket, buried under piles of crumpled papers, attracted her attention. She bent down to pick it up and turned it over in her hands, but the light had already passed and with only the moonlight she couldn't read the title. She felt only the rough, stiff skin of her back and the branded letters above her, so much so that she struggled in vain to read them with her fingers.
From the street came the heavy sound of boots. Agathe smelled the acrid smell of her torches and her fear returned to her, she made herself small and pressed herself against the empty shelves. As soon as the noise faded, without even turning to look, she quickly slipped into the street and ran away, running away towards home.
She passed the front door and the corridor far too noisily, she entered the silent house and pantingly placed the book in the kitchen, next to the dinner tray on the now empty table.
She went up to the bedroom. The door was open. She took off her coat and let it fall to the floor, she took off her dress and, trying not to wake the back that was next to her, she slipped under the covers.
As soon as she turned onto her side and closed her eyes, one of his arms delicately encircled her belly, and her neck was hit by the warm breath of her partner.
Finally, with a deep sigh, Agathe felt safe.

19. Berlin, January 1933

That night the last snows of winter had given voice and the next morning, when Charlie got up and looked towards the Brandenburg Gate, he was blinded by the whiteness of the thin blanket covering the square. Leo, lying next to him, squinted and murmured, "Not yet, please." Charlie patted his shoulder. "Come on, let's go to Tiergarten," he whispered in his ear.They got up and Leo, after a few sweet caresses, returned to his room to unpack the bed. They were together again only at the café, where they met for breakfast. "So, any good news?" Charlie began, taking a bite of his quark toast. «Is there any important news?» Leo, intent on reading the newspaper, took his time with the excuse of his latte. "It finally happened," he finally commented, putting down the porcelain cup, "Against all odds." "Chancellor?" "Tomorrow," Leo replied, "Probably Hitler." Charlie finished his toast and reached for a hard-boiled egg. "That's good," he muttered to himself, far from referring to the egg. "I don't know," Leo replied, folding the newspaper. "I do not know anymore." Charlie broke the shell and finished eating his part in silence. For the first time she had seen Leo waver, he who lived for politics. «Let's at least hope that the violence ends» concluded Leo, and concentrated on the orange jam on his brioche. They finished breakfast calmly and reached the park, getting lost among the lime trees and white maples. Leo trembled as soon as a breath of wind picked up. "You need a new coat," Charlie told him, leaning against him and holding him close. Leo looked around, but when he didn't see anyone he calmed down. "I can't afford it," he replied uncertainly. "It's no problem, I'll pay for it." "You already gave me a gift a month ago." "It does not matter." Leo pulled away and pushed him away. Charlie looked worriedly down the street and saw a young couple sitting on a bench spared from the snow, and he understood. "Do not abuse your inheritance for me, baronet," Leo whispered to him, and continued walking. "Don't call me that, please." As they advanced towards the couple, Charlie noticed that they were two women, about the same age as them. Nothing that interested him, but there was something vaguely familiar that caught his attention. They got closer a little more and he finally understood: he had already seen them at Eldorado more than once, including his last night, before the SA occupied it. He recognized the girl with brown hair and a clover-colored suit. Sure of this, he shook Leo's hand, who looked at him pleadingly. "Please don't do it," his eyes told him, but he didn't back down. The two women looked at them. Clover smiled at him. He had a decisive manner, a strong-willed and almost angular figure. The other girl, smaller than her, caressed her raven hairdo and murmured something in her companion's ear. Charlie only heard one, "Yes." Leo's face was livid, but he tried to hide it. His footsteps told him "Charlie Acton, I'd punch you" in Morse code. Clover rose from the bench. "Sorry," he told them, "Forgive me for interrupting." "Please?" Leo replied, annoyed. «My name is Erika Sholtz» Clover introduced herself as her companion also approached and hugged her arm, «And this is Dalila Klein.» "It's a pleasure," Leonhard replied, lying back. He was starting to understand too. "I know you. We often saw you at Eldorado" Erika revealed to him frankly. "And thereby?" "We were wondering if you could help us." Leo grimaced. "In what way?" Charlie asked curiously. «No» Dalila intervened before Erika could answer, «We wonder if we can help each other.» Leo slowly nodded, without saying a word. Erika, having caught the silence, finally asked: "Are you afraid too?"

20. Berlin, May 1933

"I don't know how I did it." «But how did you think about leaving the house, staying out late...» "It was horrible." «It could have ended much worse, but how did you come up with that? And they were just burning books." "How long until people will burn?" «Agathe...» Agathe massaged her temples and downed the warm milk. Her house suddenly seemed claustrophobic, yet looking at the door, thinking of leaving the kitchen, of facing that even more claustrophobic shared corridor... made her feel apprehensive. "Can I ask you something?" "What?" "Will you take me to work today?" Albert left the biscuits on the plate. He hadn't touched them, he had barely drank the coffee. "Sure," he told her, "I don't have much to do anyway." "Thank you." "I think I'll go to church later." "Do you hope Pastor Kofler has something to do for you?" "Always."Agathe nodded, Albert nodded in turn. Not knowing what to say, she handed her the biscuits, but her stomach had closed. "Put them away if you don't want them." "Certain." More silence, more lost gazes on the empty table. «Agathe...» "Yes?" "Nothing. Get your coat, come on, let's go." "Do you have money for the tram?" Albert got up from his chair. «Mhm.» Agathe sighed. "Yes." Albert went into the corridor to get coats and hats. "Let's go now." He stood up, leaned on the chair, sought the strength of his companion, clung to his arm so hard it hurt. "Are you sure you can't ask for the day off?" "No." She finally found her balance, put on her coat, fixed her hair for the umpteenth time since she got up. "We can't afford it." Albert nodded, and softly opened the door for her. "I know, anyway," he told her before she left, "I don't like all this fuss either." Agathe nodded again and gave him a quick kiss on her cheek. She wanted to hold him, but something held her back and she lost the moment. Outside, in the street, Albert smelled the air. "It smells like rain," he told her. Agathe, already tired, had lost her sense of smell.

21. Berlin, March 1933

"Now you'll lose your job, I guess." «I don't think so, they will move me to another office and everything will continue as if nothing had happened.» Leonhard scratched his forehead and checked his watch. Erika and Dalila were late for breakfast, even though they had sent them a taxi to come there from Rote Insel, where they lived. «I see you are worried, Leo.» «What if it had happened earlier, during working hours? God, I don't want to think about it, I wouldn't have known what to do anymore..." "But he wouldn't have succeeded if it hadn't been in the evening." Charlie took the butter knife and began prodding the bread. "I'm starting to get hungry." Leo shook his head and began to read the first newspaper. «Look, that's all we're talking about. Nice way to end February." "But do they at least have an idea who did it?" Leo read again. «Yes, apparently. They've already arrested a communist." "Only one?" "I imagine they'll arrest quite a few more people by this evening." «Of course... setting fire to parliament...» «I think I understand what you think. Keep your hands off the butter." «I mean, exactly, is it possible that it was the work of just one? Burn down a building like that and no one notices? What will happen to him now? Will they kill him?" «No, it's not used here anymore. Here they are, finally." Charles raised his head beyond the horizon crowded with customers. At the entrance the girls stood statuesque, their pretty spring dresses hidden under light jackets buttoned up to the neck, and their eyes wandered among the crowded tables in search of the two of them. Since they had introduced themselves, Charles realized, Erika had never again worn that clover-colored suit that he so envied. A great shame not to be able to ask her to borrow it, she would never have gotten it. "They saw us," Leo noted. "Come on, make room." "Good morning lads. How are you?" Erika asked, kissing first Leonhard and then Charles on the cheeks. "A little shaken, actually." «Yes, understandable» Dalila admitted, also going through them for greetings. For a second she paused before Charles' lips, but neither approached the other. "So," said Leonhard, sitting down, "Bon appetit." "Sorry," Charles whispered to Delilah, serving her a pretzel and some ham. "It's okay," she replied, and she let him pour her some apple juice. "Who knows what Hitler will do now," Erika wondered, a little to everyone and a little to no one. Charles looked at Leonhard sideways, hoping he would answer, but he sipped his coffee and went back to reading the newspaper, without saying a word. "Something to keep us all safe," she answered for him then. He wanted to kick him in the shins right then, shout at him to stop being afraid of her, but he only had the courage to add one of her own: "I hope."

22. Berlin, December 1933

"Come on, get up, silly, or you'll be late for work." Charlie turned his head into the pillow, hoping the sun would go away, and reached out to the long, lean leg he had beside him. He passed through the soft hair and sank his hand between Leo's buttocks, drawing a surprised cry from him.His Adonis jumped up in amusement and overturned the covers, pulling them towards him. The sun won and a breach opened between Charlie's still hugged eyelids, who stretched and anxiously raised himself on his elbows. Leo was completely naked, shining as always. "Come on, Charlie, the day is calling." "Stay here..." "I cannot." He was already on the chair where he had folded his clothes, covering himself with the same smoky shirt that Charlie had eagerly unbuttoned for him the night before. "Did you hide my belt, son of a swineherd?" God only knew how much he regretted having revealed that nickname to him from his college days. "It will be under the sofa, look for it." «Who knows who made it end up there. I'm going to heat your water, last notice." "I'm awake, I swear." "And standing." "Here I am." As he entered the bathroom, Leo passed him on the way out and returned the pinch on his butt. "Ouch." "See, it helps him wake up." Charlie grabbed his hand before he could run away. They were there, on the threshold between the bathroom and the bed, the dark-haired Englishman completely naked and the German with just his underwear and his shirt still open, the cuffs folded like butterflies. How much he would have liked to make love again, there, on the doorstep. "Do it again, please," he murmured lewdly. "Pervert." He gave him a kiss. They both stung. The bath awaited, the pine of the foam stung the nostrils, the water was barely warm. He could drown there and die happy, as long as he had Leo to hold his hand, to intertwine his fingers with him. «I'll wait for you in twenty minutes at the usual table. Don't be late" the Adonis told him once he had regained his composure, he kissed him again as he bent over the bathtub and stroked his hair. "See you later," Charlie murmured to him, and hearing the door open softly, he feared he would fall back asleep and discover that he had only been in a sweet sleep.

Leo closed the door gently, without making a sound. He turned just in time, a porter turning into their corridor and proceeding towards their rooms. He walked past him and headed for the elevator, feeling his jacket for the snuffbox. Behind him, he knocked on a door. The 675, his, he noticed out of the corner of his eye. "Mr. Von Hinten?" the porter asked him, receiving no response from the room. He was a little boy, so young. He had to be a new one. "Yes, it's me," Leo replied, turning around. Now he was seriously looking for the snuffbox. "A note for you, sir." "From here. Here, for the service." He tossed him a pfennig and checked him as he took the back stairs, and only then did he head for the elevator, where he read the message while waiting. It had to be Fitz's, he guessed. Yes, he was. And damn it, he forgot the cigarettes in Charlie's room. Who knows why Philip wanted to talk to him, usually a table to be booked in restaurant number 4 of the hotel. No wine. It didn't seem like a good thing at all, and he certainly couldn't counteract it with a call, he calculated as the grates clanked open. "Ground floor," he ordered the liftboy, and he reread the message again before stuffing it into the pocket that should have contained the damned silver box. As soon as the elevator landed with a soft bounce he quickly jumped down the steps, reached the café where they had breakfast every morning and asked a waiter to bring him all the newspapers, as always. The pile had gone down in the last year: the Vorwärts had stopped publication, and Leonhard was already predicting that in a year's time only the Völkischer Beobachter and the Deutsche Reichsanzeiger would remain in circulation. It was a distracted breakfast, Charlie probably noticed, between an omelette and a slice of bread. Leonhard already had his mind on lunch, and he greeted absently when his companion got up to go to work, without even looking at him. Had he still complained about how much he hated being an employee? Or had he asked what to do with Dalila? He hadn't even paid attention, after all it was ordinary routine. He would apologize that evening, however, before the girls reached them. Had the time come to abandon that refuge? He sincerely hoped not, even though Erika and Dalila had already made a rather questionable proposal, which he was already ready to decline. They couldn't last a week, all four of them locked up in Rote Insel together.He got up with breakfast still half on his plate, reduced to a cold and tasteless mass, left the hotel and wandered around Mitte looking for a public telephone. He wasn't sure who he was looking for, he was only thinking of contacting some of his informants but to ask what he was missing. He felt numb, as if he had been surrounded by a bubble up until that moment. He was starting to see a possible reason behind Fitz's request, and he feared more and more that he had got it: how long had he lost sight of his work? He remained in the Tiergarten until noon, waiting for God knows what signal, and as soon as he heard some distant bells he returned to the hotel and showed up at the restaurant. He waited half an hour sitting at the table, but not even a shadow of his guest. He needed to cool down, he struggled to think. He got up, stayed in the bathroom for five minutes, just to wet his face and breathe, enough for Fitz to materialize sitting at the table, in his place. When he sat down in front of him the Englishman looked at him as if he had waited a lifetime. "To what do I owe the honor, Fitz?" Fitz responded lazily. «I'll get straight to the point, Leonhard, there's no need to beat around the bush: my superiors are not satisfied with your performance.» "I supposed." They ordered duck breast a l'orange with raisins for both of them, and accompanied it with delicate Butterkäse and a side of Kartoffelknödel. «In the last year, dear Leonhard, you have left a lot to be desired, and that is why I am here, to remind you that you have duties towards us. Do not you agree?" «Of course, Fitz. I'm doing my best." «Your best? Leonhard, let's not kid ourselves. Where were you when they set fire to half the bookshops in Berlin? Did you say something about the suppression of press and association rights? And what about the abolition of political parties? No, dear Leo, I fear you have become lazy, just when my superiors expect results of a certain..." "I get it, Fitz, it's not easy these days, okay?" "Not to mention some rumors." Leo stuffed a cheese leaf into his mouth. He was so tender that he melted on the tongue. «You see, there has been talk of some prison camps for some time now, and we would really like to understand what the Chancellor intends to do with them. Do you know anything about it?" "Give me a month, Fitz, and you'll have your lead. You can count on it, really." «Leonhard, I tell you this as a friend. You're not the only informant at our disposal, and budget cuts are a sword of Damocles over our heads every end of the month." "You're backing the wrong horse if it's not me, let me tell you." Fitz sighed, not at all convinced, and waited for the duck and Knödel to be served. «Leonhard, it's not my fault that since Hitler has been in command you have become completely useless, unfortunately... but not for me. In fact, I want to help you." «Let's see, in what way?» «I know you're distracted by our mutual friend. Regrettable, yes, but who am I to judge? Of course, the memory of his father forces me to make sure he doesn't get into trouble, and I wouldn't want it to become too dangerous for him here." "Keep him out of any of our affairs, Philip, don't even think about it." «I'm just saying that I might have to advise him to go home, for his own safety. I mean, he still has a sister waiting for him to come back, lucky for him. And I certainly won't be able to pay for more than one ticket, plane travel is expensive." "Who tells you he'll need your money?" "What should he do, go back to the ship like any other man?" Leo bit his tongue. "How's the property in Pomerania?" Fitz continued, "I imagine your income has dropped, seeing how you've neglected it in the two years since your father died." "And thereby?" Philip just tasted the duck, wiped his mouth and put down the cutlery. «Believe me, it is not in my interest to reduce your funding, I say this for the good of both of us. One dispatch a month is enough, I don't ask for much, even simply the reporting of that joke you call parliament. But I need something, anything, to justify the expense." "The Reichstag is closed, Fitz, I know that too." "Right. Too bad, the duck was divine." The Englishman got up, rearranged his chair and called a waiter to bring him his jacket. "Come on, Leo, I believe in you," he told him, squeezing his arm, "Don't disappoint me.""Have a nice day, Fitz." Once the diplomat left, Leo stood looking at the meat on his plate, played with the raisins, put a grain of them in his mouth. Too sweet, but the meat rivaled the cheese in tenderness. It reminded him of home, after all. He left the food as it was and went back to the room, looking for something to ease his nervousness and guilt. But damn it, he had actually forgotten the snuffbox at Charlie's.

23. Berlin, July 1934

It all happened on a Sunday morning. They were sitting under a maple tree, hidden deep in the vegetation. Nonetheless, Leo remained aloof - or rather, cold. It had been a good year, all things considered, even if now they avoided being seen in public too often as a couple, and Leo insisted at every opportunity on accompanying their friends, to attract less attention. That morning, however, they were alone, sitting on the lawn, in the shade of the foliage already approaching its autumnal palette. «So...» Charlie began, returning melancholy to that day in the swimming pool, where the chemistry, among the vapors of the water, had started his reactions. «What awaits us today?» Leo grumbled, and weakly reached out to touch his. Pain tightened his throat. "Charlie... you have to leave work," he vomited with a groan. "Why? Shall we leave Berlin?" Charlie pretended not to understand, he pretended to be dully hopeful, but inside himself he already knew what his companion was about to tell him. «Are you taking me to Pomerania, Leo? Will you take me to your country villa and abandon this worldly life?" Leo groaned, his heart torn from his chest and shattered. «No, Charlie, I would love to but no, I can't. You have to go back to England. Tomorrow itself." Charlie tilted his head and pulled himself a palm closer to his lover. "And you? You're coming with me, right?" "Sure, Charlie, just... not now. I have to resolve some issues, I have to... I have to get some documents, a passport. For me, and for Erika and Dalila.» "All right. Anything to have you by my side even just one more day." Charles moved an inch closer and rested his chin on the shoulder of his immortal Attic hero. «Leo, stay by my side a little longer, and tell me you love me, please.» "When we get to England, Charlie, promise me one thing." "Tell me." «Promise me that you will kiss Delilah as soon as you see her again.» Charlie looked at his lover. Their skin burned and called for love, but Leo's cheeks were wet with dew. "I will, Leo, I swear." Dew also fell on his cheeks. "Leo, I love you." "I love you, Charlie." He kissed his brown hair, kissed the back of his neck, wiped his wet cheeks, but didn't go any further. They both got up and went back to the hotel, separating just enough to be able to recompose. Only Leo succeeded. Grim-faced, Charles returned first, but remained in the common room long enough to see the concierge approach Leonhard, who had just returned, and discreetly warn him that there was an urgent call for him from the English embassy. Leo looked at Charlie, not far away, and they both reached for the phone. Leo grabbed the phone that was handed to him. "Yes?" he asked calmly. He didn't say another word, but the more time passed the paler he became. «Thank you, Fitz. I owe you a favor » he said in a hoarse voice. He put down the receiver and looked at Charlie, who didn't have the courage to ask, and in desperation let his still wet eyes ask for him. Both of their knees were about to betray them. "Röhm is dead," he hissed. Nothing else. That evening, on the pillows of room 685, they made love - for the last, heartbreaking time.

24. Belarus, Minsk area, June 1944

He had walked non-stop for three days, raiding one abandoned farm after another, before collapsing into a ditch at the edge of the fields. He woke up shortly after dawn, and realized he was back on the road to Minsk. Before long, a column of Blitz trucks roared up behind him and passed him. Weinrich stared at the soldiers crowded under the tarpaulins of the caissons: no one was better off than him. One of the vehicles stopped and its load of cannon fodder helped him up. Weinrich breathed a sigh of relief, but soon the feeling of having escaped danger made him feel the pain again. Luckily he was too tired to scream. "Where do you come from?" they asked him. "From Slo... Slopoitsa, 25 kilometers from Mahiljou, or whatever the hell you pronounce it."«Did things go badly there too? Where is your unit?" Weinrich shook his head and couldn't answer better. As they advanced towards a large city they encountered a column of Panthers. The terrible metal mastodons proceeded in line, heading towards the front, forcing the Opel Blitzes to run slowly with one wheel on the dirt road. One of the trucks crashed and the soldiers, amidst the annihilating roar of the panzers and the miasma of burnt petrol, preferred to abandon it rather than waste time getting it out of the mud and checking the axle. In the afternoon they passed the heavy howitzer batteries and arrived on the outskirts of Minsk, Weinrich learned, where the resistance was organizing. The men were sent down and the worst were sent to field hospitals. Weinrich found himself in front of a terrifying officer in a black uniform, the kind you don't see at the front. The SS Totenkopf glittered on his cap. The officer looked at his shoulder pads and asked him for his identification tag. "Weinrich... isn't that a Jewish surname, Obergefreiter?" he asked him. «No, Mr. Obersturmführer. I'm from Berlin just like my grandparents' grandparents were, I swear. And then my name is Albert, Mr. Obersturmführer, Albert Weinrich. Very German." The officer smiled evilly. «Are you the only survivor of your sector, Obergefreiter Albert? It's a story that reeks of desertion." Weinrich gulped down his saliva. "Where's your rifle, eh, Obergefreiter?" «A Russian snatched it from me, sir. I'm miraculously alive." He prayed that the SS man would not miss the point. "Go get yourself a weapon, Obergefreiter, and hold on to it." Weinrich clicked his heels and breathed a sigh of relief. That same evening, still suffering from hunger, he was back in a trench, following orders. He fell asleep praying, exhausted, waiting for something to happen to him, hoping to receive a sign. In the morning he found him restless and slowed down, still far from rest. He felt the need for Pervitin, but there were no sergeants to distribute it for him. "Weinrich." Anguish assailed him when he heard a familiar voice behind him. «Krämer...» "Are you OK?" Weinrich cringed before such a giant. He felt ashamed. "Where are the others?" he asked his newfound comrade. "Dead, Weinrich, all of them." Private Krämer looked around and approached. He seemed even bigger than usual, and Weinrich was afraid for his neck. «He. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone that you ran away" he whispered to him. He almost pissed himself hearing that word. «Don't worry, I was scared as hell too. We're on the same boat." Krämer adjusted his dirty helmet. «Look, I have to ask you a favor, though. You can?" Another infantryman passed into the hole, and Krämer fell silent and stepped aside. For that day he didn't bring up the subject again.

25. Berlin, September 1940

They married in March 1935, shortly before the draft was reintroduced, closely following the example of their neighbor, Otto, who had married a maid five years his junior. Like them, Agathe and Albert had taken their vows in church, with a humble ceremony held by Pastor Kofler, in defiance of the bureaucrats who pushed for civil marriages. In reality, Agathe felt a certain antipathy towards Mrs. Elise, now Mr. Hampel, since her hard face inspired an instinctive distrust in her. Her feeling turned out to be right when, the following year, the woman joined the National Socialist Women's League. Yet she couldn't blame her, since everyone, each in her own way, was looking for the same thing: to try to get by. Despite the difficulties, the years had been kind: Albert, who had recently turned 22, found work shortly after his marriage as a delivery boy, and narrowly avoided the draft, but still found himself enrolled in the reserve; Agathe continued to work at the Adlon, where the rich American tourists and former aristocrats had over time been replaced by Nazi hierarchs, who had also opened some offices between the first and third floors - far from her, fortunately.She no longer had the chance to meet that idiot on the sixth floor who had almost made her lose her job. From what she had heard between one shift and another he had left the hotel at the beginning of the summer, in '34, and rumors said that he had suddenly married a girl from Hanover, or perhaps from Hessen , for what it was worth. In 1938 Albert had buried her elderly mother, who had been widowed in the spring of twenty years earlier, somewhere in southern Flanders. Then the war returned, and Albert began to live in the paranoia of the call to arms. "If only I were two years older, if I could have voted in '32..." Agathe consoled him from time to time, "...now we wouldn't find ourselves with a new Kaiser." «But perhaps there would still be the economic crisis and I would still be without a job, who knows» Albert always replied to her. "Let's not think about it anymore, please." «But, really, who knows...» «Do you think you can change the world alone, Agathe? Don't get your hopes up."

In September, after the conquest of France, there was another funeral: Otto had lost a brother-in-law, and for his wife it was a hard blow that he experienced in silence, closed within the home. Agathe saw her only a few days later, returning from shopping, while she was posting some letters in a mailbox. "Elise, good evening." The woman looked at her, her hard face contorted into a sudden grimace of fear. She stammered a quick goodbye and ran away, walking hastily towards the house, leaving poor Agathe there, taken aback, with condolences still pressing against her lips. Startled, she returned home to Albert, brooding over what had happened. "I think Elise hates me," she told him over dinner. «She will still be in a bad mood about her brother. You must have said something..." «This is the point: she didn't really give me time to speak, as soon as she saw me she ran away. She was really rude." Albert thought for a few moments. "I'm sure she didn't mean to be rude to you," he finally judged, trying to console her. "There will be an explanation." "I still think she hates me." «Let's do this, tomorrow I'll talk to Otto and see if he knows anything about it. Maybe I'll take this opportunity to ask if the veterans' association knows anything about what plans they have..." «Darling, Otto left the association years ago.» "Right." Albert paused and wiped his mouth. "I'll go talk to him anyway, for you." Agathe smiled slightly and leaned up to kiss his brown hair. He took her hand, kissed her palm. Even though she didn't show it, Albert was trembling. She held him close and closed herself around her, hoping to be able to instill in him that sense of protection that she had been looking for for a long time. They remained like that, wrapped around each other, cradling each other so as not to think about the future. In the silence, everyone murmured to their love: "Thank you."

26. Over the skies of Kent, September 1940

Leo had never arrived. Too much time had passed since then, too many unheard letters and too many deaths to leave that story with anything more than a warm and bitter melancholy. When Charles got used to no longer feeling the heat he enlisted and became a pilot in just under a year. Then came the war, and now here they were, chasing a decoy en route to London. «Vigor Leader, target ahead of us. Medium bombers, at 18,000 feet. I don't see any escorts." «Acknowledged, Vigor One. Keep your eyes open, it must be hidden somewhere. Received?" Charles attached the breathing apparatus to his headset and focused on the tight barrier of twin-engine planes straight ahead, still far from the English coast. The twelve small forts were staggered in narrow lozenges, each placed at a different height in a precise diagonal. Their two groups of Spitfires, about fifty vehicles in total in even tighter echelons, advanced in the same formation. Between the two sides the sky was clear and clear - a miracle, given the season. The radio buzzed: "Hey, Acton, usual bet?" "Of course, McAvoy. Whoever downs the most pays a pint, as always." «Don't occupy the radio channel unnecessarily, guys. Concentrate." The radio went silent and everyone looked up at the bright clouds. Here, Charles noticed, was a sparkle: it was them. «Here they are, Vigor Leader! They circle around us, above us!» "Received. Break formation, engage."The Spitfire squadrons fanned out and the engines revved up, pushing the fighters high above the still-distant enemy. The escort of Messerschmitt Bf 109s appeared high above them, from behind, outnumbered by at least two to one; smaller and more agile, the German fighters bent on the English formation, lowering their yellow noses in a dive, precise in their wing formation, and began to fire. "They've smelled the shit now!" ordered Vigor Leader, and a flock of Hurricanes descended from the east, protected from the sun, on the besieged bombers who bared their claws. The German formation broke, and some squadrons turned to return. "Acton, with me," the squad leader ordered, "Let's go after them." Charles and his men followed in their wake, but other Messerschmitts came to the rescue. One after the other, each was engaged in isolated duels. «Stay together!» the radio shouted, but Charles wasn't of the same opinion, too busy checking the wings of every enemy fighter. Sooner or later he would find the sign he was looking for, but now another tempting prey lowered his guard and called him to duty. «Vigor Leader, some bombers are isolating themselves, I'm starting the attack run» he announced, and pushed the throttle. «Let's stick together, Vigor two! Do you receive me?" Charles continued on his course and opened fire as soon as he was within range. Here, the first prey of the day. "Vigor two, go back, leave the bombers to the Hurricanes!" the radio called him back. Charles ignored her, facing the twin-engine planes which, having expanded their ranks, opened a merciless crossfire against the buzzing English interceptors. Some fell in spirals of smoke. Charles' cabin shook and shook, stricken. For a moment he looked away, looking for damage: nothing serious, thank goodness. «I have one in the queue, can you take it away from me?» he asked quietly into the radio. "Yes, if you come closer," McAvoy replied. "You're too far away, either you get closer or I won't be able to reach you." "Come on, Cam, I don't have all day." "Slow down, damn it." The cockpit shook again, and other Messerschmitts passed in front of him to cut him off. Charles veered and hit another, but it wasn't enough. «Vigor Leader, I've been hit!» the radio crackled. "They're upon us!" Charles cursed himself and dropped the bone. «Vigor Leader, I'm coming to the rescue, can you read me?» The radio went silent. «Vigor Leader, do you read me?» he repeated, but the radio was silent again and Charles, angrily, demanded revenge.

27. Berlin, September 1940

Agathe returned from work tired as always and as soon as she returned she leaned on the first chair she saw in the kitchen, finally giving up the good smile and the fake loyalty that she had to show in front of the hierarchs. So many were her thoughts and her fatigue that at first she didn't notice Albert, sitting in the opposite corner of the room, his head bowed in a well of fears. «Oh, Albert, darling, good evening. How was your day? Talked to Otto?" Albert didn't answer, he didn't raise his head; trembling, he dragged the crumpled paper he held in front of him along the table. "What happens?" Agathe asked worriedly, holding up what was a letter. She immediately recognized her letterhead: she was from the OKW, the high command of the armed forces. «Albert, you...?» "It finally happened, my darling." "No Please. You can't go." Albert raised his head. His dark eyes were veiled. «I have to» he insisted, «How can I object? I have to report to the recruiting center tomorrow." She sighed and gathered her courage. Agathe overturned her chair and ran to him, seeking her strong, hard hands, her narrow shoulders, her warmth. «Run instead! Hide somewhere, but don't go to the front. The fear of losing you will kill me before this stupid war." Her voice broke, she became uncertain and she gave way to sobs. «I would like to have your courage, my Agathe, my little jewel... but I... I can't resist, do you understand?» «I don't want to, Albert, I don't want to lose you... not you too.» Sobs shook both of them. "I am sorry." Agathe pulled away with difficulty, dragged by an invisible hand, and she turned towards the stove. She had to use her hands or give in to emotion. «Do you need to wash yourself? I have to prepare dinner." «Agathe, don't cry, please. Let it be.""Why? Why you? You're too old to be a soldier! Why? They don't need you, they don't need you. They already have enough to send to their deaths in damned England!' «Agathe, come here, please. Here, sit on my lap. There is... there must be a bigger plan for us that escapes us now. Agathe look at me, please look at me. God willing, I'll be back, I promise." «Your promises are not enough for me, Albert. The favor of your stupid god is not enough for me. I want you, tomorrow morning, by my side in bed, and so in the evening and every day again! » "Do not Cry." «Go wash yourself, we have to eat.» «Agathe...» "Albert!" Albert obeyed and ran away, and she was left feeling sorry for herself and fighting with the pans, wondering how she would have done alone, locked up there, in an increasingly... foreign city. Every bite was a punch in the stomach that evening, and Agathe hoped they would both choke, right then and there, but fortunately her hopes remained only hopes. After dinner Agathe let Albert go and pack what little she had to pack and left the apartment to escape their shared intimacy. She certainly didn't expect to find Otto Hampel in front of her. "Oh, good evening," he greeted her, dumbfounded. For a moment, fear crossed her eyes, the same fear that Agathe had seen in her wife's eyes the day before. "Where are you going so late at night?" she asked, wiping her cheeks. Now she would surely have received the same question in response. «To deliver some mail. Is everything okay, Agathe?" "They... they called Albert." «Was he in the reserve? I'm really sorry. But Albert is sensible, he will see that he will be fine." «I wish he wouldn't leave at all. Damn this war, and damn the Führer! Otto, more sensible, looked around her worriedly, and caressed the girl's shoulder. «He shouldn't talk like that, it's dangerous.» Agathe jerked away. «How can you tell me this? Hasn't he already lost a... a relative in this stupid war? "Yes," Otto admitted, looking around again. Sure they were alone, he reached into his coat, and pulled out a postcard. «Agathe, my dear, we think alike, believe me, but speaking so openly can be dangerous. Better to express your dissent in a more... constructive way, that is. Here." Agathe hesitantly took the postcard and turned it over in her hands. In the center of the back was a stamp with the Führer's face scratched out. «"The murderer of workers and his gang plunge us into the abyss, free press..."» Agathe looked at her neighbor with new eyes. "Eight, this is sedition." "Yes, Agathe, but I feel I can trust you." «I... I...» «It doesn't matter, you go home. I'm sure Albert needs her now." «I want to help you, Otto. No matter how dangerous it is, I want to be useful for something. Tell me what you need and I'll do what I can to help." Otto smiled at her and turned towards the door. "I'm sure we can talk about it more calmly tomorrow morning," he replied, and set off towards the road. "Yes," Agathe exclaimed decisively, and she watched him close the door behind her before returning to the house. Albert was in the kitchen, putting the last things in order. "You're already back," he told her, smiling evilly. "Albert, run away tonight." "Still? Why do you say that?" "Do it for me, please." «What do you have in your hand, Agathe? Let me see." Albert approached her, and the thought of hiding all that dirty business about her from her lover didn't stop in Agathe's head even for a moment. «Who gave it to you? Is this Otto's writing?" "Yes," she admitted. "Agathe!" Albert shouted, throwing the card to the ground, «Stupid, stupid, deluded girl! You'll end up getting into trouble like this!" "And what am I supposed to do, stand by while...?" «You can't move mountains alone, do you want to get it into your head? We can't escape this machine, just believe in fairy tales!" «Albert, if I try it's because I love you.» «Damn, this is treason! You can get killed!" "I don't care if it's for a good cause." Albert raised his hands and turned around. «It's useless, I'm going to sleep. Come too, I hope sleep makes you think." «You go first, I need... I need a few minutes to myself.» It was the last thing he said to him.She remained alone for a while, praying that this was just a nightmare from which everyone would wake up, but she was deluding herself. She reached the bed and lay down next to her beloved Albert, she caressed his chest under the sheets, but he didn't move and she abandoned herself to sleep, a sleep filled only with monsters.

28. Kent, September 1940

The officer threw his hat to the ground into the ring of pilots, who flinched at the impact. «Eight dead and twelve Spitfires lost in just one hour, damn it! Do you call them results?" "How many targets down, sir?" Charles, in front of all the other survivors, had exhausted his courage with those few words. "One." The officer - a captain - was livid, matching the blue of his uniform. In the audience of airmen, crowded into the small command center, no one said a word. «Today we lost seven excellent pilots and an excellent team leader» continued the captain, «Because we underestimated the situation. Everyone is allowed to make mistakes, but it costs us dearly every time. I know that the responsibility on your shoulders crushes you, but I also know that every fallen comrade increases that burden quite a bit... so find me that German ace who is massacring us, consider him a priority objective and face him together, united, and bring me his head .» The captain raised a hand and the audience dispersed. Charles, in the front row, remained motionless with his eyes fixed on the maps hanging on the wall. He felt his superior's gaze on him, until he shook his head and left. McAvoy clapped him on the shoulder and took him by surprise. "Come on," he told him, "I'll buy you something to drink." «But... today you won.» «This time it doesn't matter. Of course you're an idiot." The robust young man adjusted his tawny quiff before pushing him towards the door and accompanying him to the airport pub. "Well then, to Victor Lewis, the best crew chief Vigor ever had," McAvoy proclaimed as soon as they had the alcohol, he raised his mug and drank. Charles was still stunned: he felt his superior's eyes still fixed on him, and he couldn't help but think of that damned German ace. Was it possible that he couldn't catch it? "Did you turn down the promotion again?" McAvoy asked after a few sips of sweet dark beer, scratching his prominent nose. He had a terrible Scottish accent, which Charles sometimes struggled to understand. «Yes, Cam. I don't want to become an instructor." "Why don't you get a leave, then? Instead of having us transfer back to another squadron." Charles drank. After all, he didn't even know why. Or rather, he knew it, but he couldn't say it. The only thing they would understand was that he didn't want to go home, and that was true, but that wasn't the point. His voice came out dull and flat as he asked, "Why should I? I do not need." «You're the oldest pilot in the middle here. You need a break." "I don't need a break, Cam. I need company, and to stay in the air." «How is your sister?» 'Well, she went back to Hougcross a few days ago. I hope we don't have long left." "You should go see her now that she's here." «I really don't think it's the time. Every man is useful, right?" «Well, to hell with it. It's just rhetoric. If you want to go away for a day, all you have to do is ask, I'll accompany you.» "Are you that keen to see Hougcross, or is there something else you're interested in?" "And you? Are you that keen on going through the whole RAF?" "Fuck you, Cam." Cameron gave him a half smile and Charles, in his heart, warmed.

29. Dover, September 1940

To say that he found Dover exactly as he remembered it would be his biggest lie. When he got off the train for the first time, on a cold morning in late January, in 1929, he found the city just about to wake up, and up until there, with the houses and buildings asleep in the light breeze made crisp by the salt, nothing It was changed. But the patrol trucks speeding towards the coast or the military ambulances on the side of the road, well, those certainly smelled of something new.Charles had arrived on the same train as his first journey, not even an hour earlier, and he couldn't help but confront his past self: this time there was no Dickie sitting across from him in the carriage, too much in a cast to give him comfort , and not even old Arthur Acton, ready to welcome him coldly, gray in the face as he had never seen him, all imprisoned in an ashen suit that matched the sky. Looking back, that trip had been a descent into hell. This time he followed the River Dour through the city alone, without asking for her mother. At the time she had already gone mad, probably, even if she still didn't show it, even if he hadn't yet put the last nail in her coffin. No, she had abandoned that with her second trip to Dover, taken on the Silver Ghost that her father had bought in '18 to celebrate his return from France. She had left it there, right in front of the ferry ticket office, where she was now. And to think that eight years had passed since that third class ticket to Hamburg. If only Leo had been there now. She didn't ask for anything else. The seagulls called to him with their squawks, and he stood for a while watching them soar over the Channel. He was tempted to go down to the beach, right there, a stone's throw from the port, take off his shoes and dip his ankles in the sea. He felt like wasting time, since his day off would have been spent entirely on his whim anyway, but there was a timetable to respect. The salt burned his nostrils and gave him, even if only for the time of a breath, the sensation of still being alive. He set off slowly again, like a lizard left too long in the shade, struggling to put one step after another to slip between the castle and the port and continue further, in the direction of the lighthouse. He had no intention of getting that far, he knew perfectly well where to stop: a small road dug into the side of the white cliff right halfway between Langdon and Crab Bay, discovered with his father on that terrible January day eleven years ago. He tried to remember what they had said to each other, before facing the cliff and reuniting with dear Eleanor, already accompanied by her daughter there on the dark cobblestones of the beach, but she herself escaped him. Well, right, how could he have forgotten: his father hadn't said anything. Indeed, none of the three men present - ​​Arthur, Dickie and him - had said a word. A mournful, silent procession towards the icy waters of England. By now he had reached the descent, the wind whispered to him, pulling his hair. "Here I am, Sisyphus, I come to collect your boulder," he murmured to himself. The bottom of the path became slimier as he approached his goal, pushing him maliciously right towards the edge of the cliff. It would have been a matter of a moment: one foot placed badly and off he went into the void, with nothing to stop him, not even a simple rope. The idea didn't scare him at all, after all he knew how to fly, he had learned just to chase a very weak, childish hope. The merciless gusts blown from Holland brought the boiling of the sea to him, and he finally felt the pebbles under the soles of his shoes. "Hello, old boy, how are you?" he asked the water, "Yes, it's been a long time since I passed, the usual clichés..." He looked up towards the lighthouse, not far to the east. From there it was impossible to see it, just as it was impossible to see the three coastal artillery guns, hidden in some trenches nearby. He thought again of that January, when the war was a distant memory relegated to the continent and those cliffs were still virgin ground for cannons. He remembered the moment when he had taken his first step on those rocks, with his father behind him and his mother and sister in front of him, their calves bare under their dark skirts - raised almost to the knee - immersed in the cold water. His mother clutched the burnished urn like a newborn baby, and she waited next to an anonymous villager leaning against the side of a beached launch. Now, however, he was alone on that beach, his solitude broken only by the slightly rough sea, with no one to act as Charon for him. «I still carry you on my conscience, you can count on that.» The waves responded monotonously, and Charles began to walk along the shoreline, putting his thoughts in order.No, Charon had not accompanied them that time either, he remembered it well: Arthur had dismissed the villager and put Charles and Dickie at the oars, because otherwise what was the point of the rowing they were forced to do in college in Scotland? «So, let's see, what do I have to tell you? Yes, I haven't found him yet, yet I know he is there somewhere. I know, it's a weird feeling, but I mean, I'm talking to a dead body, I really don't think feelings are the weirdest part of me." A perverse image crossed his mind and made him smile: "Dad, I'm sleeping with a man. Actually, no, more direct. I get it thrown in my ass and I like it too." Yes, it would have been a tremendously funny scene, seeing him foaming immobilized in his bed, helpless already in the clutches of death. Nothing but apoplexy. «No, it's too much. He wouldn't have deserved it either." He stared at the waves. "Sorry, my thoughts, forget it." "You idiot, you're talking to yourself." They had rowed to within a mile of shore, enough so that the boat began to roll and Charles felt the emptiness in his gut. Eleanor, the mother who had agreed to reduce a son to the exile of the boarding school, who had undertaken to produce another child to make up for the shortcomings of a father who was perhaps too absent, who had never said more than was necessary, had uncovered that urn and had spilled its contents into the sea, while inertia took over the last rows. Beside her, Gwyneth sobbed as she would sob over a dead puppy. At the bow, Arthur was holding his breath, his eyes closed to two abyss. Dickie, with him at the counter, held on to the oar and stared uncomfortably now at the oarlocks and now at Pandora's box. So Henry Lewis Acton was gone. "Of course I'm really pathetic sometimes." He continued to scan the sea whirlpools and waited. But what did he expect, an answer? As if the ashes they had scattered there, between those rocks and the high water, could listen to him. As if the current hadn't washed them away, he scattered them who knows where. As if this had cleansed them of their sins. No, Charles Acton was a fucking invert and this had destroyed his family, there was nothing else to do but admit it and put your soul at peace. What was left of them? A distant sister committed to her family, a would-be suicide with his head in the clouds, and three graves, but only two headstones. Her mother had also insisted on having her remains thrown off that cliff, but old Arthur, from what dear Fitzgerald had told him, had categorically refused, as usual with her. "Bloody Christ," Charles blurted out to the sea, "He never changed." A wave rose higher, crashing so close that it soaked his suit pants. The wind was changing, perhaps it would bring a clear spell. «Exactly, Lewis. If only I could... I would introduce you to Leo.» He sighed, turned and clicked his heels. "You idiot, you're still talking to yourself." «Now I have to go, they're waiting for me at Hougcross and then I have to get back to the flying field. I don't know, maybe it's better if I change sector, this time too I feel like I've made another mistake. I can't find it, damn it, I've been chasing this ace for I don't know how long and all I need is confirmation, but... Hell, I'm petulant, how can you put up with me?" The waves calmed down a little, the insistent Dutch whistle became almost a rustling sound. Was he perhaps expecting some other response? «Well, I'll be back. See you next time, brother." Going up the path of the cliff, even with his damp clothes and the usual lump in his throat that had been tormenting him lately, Charles heard the footsteps lighter than him. Meanwhile, the Sun came out to dominate the sky.

30. Over the skies of Kent, September 1940

"They arrive. Come on guys, have a little life." The two flocks, one in front of the other with the sole objective of annihilating each other, collided and intermingled in an orgy of white trails in the already gloomy sky. In the midst of that bedlam, everyone was looking for the same plane - Charlie first, launched with the vanguard. In a short time the first losses began to fall, while the prey waited, and then, finally, a sign. "There he is! He has crosses on his wings! » the radio crackled. "He IS above us!" "I see you, I'm coming to help," replied Charles, and yawed towards his companions in danger. "Get him off me!""I'm at your tail, move right." In front of him, his partner executed, but his opponent seemed to have foreseen the move. Charlie fired into the void. "Damn it, it's getting to me!" "I'm almost there, try again." The Spitfire banked to the right again, but the Messerschmitt was faster. The British plane began to lose altitude, leaving black smoke behind it, with holes in the cockpit just behind the cockpit. Charles cursed himself and chased the ace, but another German came to disturb him. Taking him down was a hell of a lot easier, a matter of minutes, enough to eclipse his real objective. «Where have you gone? After you..." The Messerschmitt broke through the cloud cover and jumped on him. Charles attempted a half-spin and got up. Cameron called him on the radio: "Acton, I'm after you." Charlie dove into a dive, praying that the carburetor wouldn't kill his engine: luckily for him it didn't. The German followed him closely, tailing him. Charlie felt the bullets hit his tail and ailerons. "Cam, get him off me!" he shouted into the radio. "Remain calm, I'm here." Charlie looked in the mirror above the cockpit. The volley grazed the empennage of his pursuer, who disengaged and fled. "Thanks, Cam," he said, breathing a sigh of relief. «You're welcome, you can count on me. Did he get you? «Nothing serious, I'm still operational.» "Don't expose yourself anymore, okay?" The clashes continued again, with rapid and calculated engagements. The German ace, spotted once again, kept just enough distance to tempt the more restless and inexperienced pilots, who thus fell into the trap set by his companions nearby. Every maneuver proved useless, so much so that they reluctantly had to give up when the team leader, struggling on the crowded radio, called them back into formation. "Yes they are retreating, sir." "Don't chase them, we're out of gallons." At the end of the day, having completed the patrol rounds and recovered the missing, they counted three dead, against four enemies shot down. Charles was in the throes of despair. Since Cameron hadn't taken anything, he paid for the drinks that evening and, against all expectations for a Scotsman, he was very generous. "How much longer do you think it will last?" Charlie asked him finally leaving the pub. "What? The battle? We're at the halfway point, I think." Charles looked up at the moon above, full and bright. Given the few lights in the countryside, he could enjoy almost all the constellations. They had undoubtedly had better evenings than this one, but the view might have brought comfort, had they been sober enough to enjoy it. «I was referring to the war. How do you think it will end?" he insisted. Cameron leaned against the wooden wall of a dormitory. "I'll tell you, I haven't a clue." "Tell me, Cam, do you have anyone waiting for you outside?" "No. Not yet, at least. Otherwise I wouldn't be here. You?" Charlie leaned against the cold wood next to him and, in the darkness of the dirt road, lit a cigarette. "No. Not anymore, actually." "How come?" Charlie stopped to think for a moment. Maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew? "You weren't English," he finally replied, unsure whether to trust her or not. «Oh, and where was she from? Ireland?" «No... Germany.» Cameron couldn't hold back a sigh. «Long story, huh? And do you know what happened to him?" "Dead, probably." Charlie took a final breath of smoke and passed what was left to his friend. Cameron accepted without objection. "What will you do when it's all over, then?" he asked. «I... I have no idea. I'll probably end up as an embassy secretary like my father." «I was talking about the girl.» A shiver went through Charles. "Will you return to the continent to look for her?" "I do not know. I think so, but I have little hope." «Come on, it can't be that bad for her. She certainly goes through less trouble than us." Charlie looked at his companion as he finished his cigarette. "I'm not sure about that either." "Jokes? She certainly doesn't risk her life every day like us." Cam nudged him. "Right?" Charlie didn't answer. "Right?" He felt himself flushing. Cameron pulled his arm away, and let out a simple, "Oh." Charlie was far away in Berlin. He wondered if he was still in that old hotel or if he had died in France or Poland, but he didn't know what to answer."You could get arrested," Cameron said, taking him back to England. His voice sweated embarrassment. "I could be the one to get you arrested for these indecencies, are you aware of it?" Charlie couldn't see him, but he guessed he had turned purple. He didn't answer, he didn't say anything; he didn't even ask him not to. They remained there, staring into each other's dark faces, in silence. "I'm going to bed," Cameron muttered after a while, "I've had one too many; I'll have holes tomorrow on tonight, for sure." Charles reached out, but only grasped air. «Take care, Charles. Until tomorrow." Charlie saw the shadow move away, and remained there for a while, with only the air raid sirens and the stars for company. Finally, while to the north the sky above the city was burning and the distant bombs were thundering and whistling, he too retired to sleep and, he hoped, forget.

31. Berlin, September 1940

Agathe didn't go to work that day, but she went out early in the morning on a desperate search. Luckily for her, she found a small studio just outside Wedding, willing to print in a few hours for a small fortune, and she accepted the wait. As soon as she was done she set off home, not before stopping by to buy a dozen postcards and other letter-writing materials. In front of the door of the building she ran into Mrs. Hampel, who was also returning home in a hurry. "Elise," she greeted. For once, much to her delight, the woman did not run away. "Agathe, good morning," she replied hesitantly as she crossed the entrance. «I... I talked to her husband about her, she told me what you do.» Elise puffed out her chest and hid her glare behind her. "And so?" she asked harshly. «I hope to be of help to you, from now on, with all my heart. Look, I've already bought something to help out..." Elise, seeing pens and postcards, lay down. «Thank you, Agathe. I'm glad you support our cause »she concluded, and she turned uncertainly towards the front door. "Elise?" "Yes, Agathe?" «I haven't had the chance to offer my condolences yet. I really feel sorry for her brother." Elise shook her head and entered the house. "Pray you don't lose her man too," she retorted, and she closed the door behind her. Agathe paid no attention to her abrupt greeting and went back into the house. The entrance was occupied by a thick leather suitcase and a few other packages, which she quickly stepped over. Albert was waiting for her in the kitchen, sitting at the table, one hand covering his face. "Albert, darling," she called. «Agathe... didn't you go to work?» "No, I had to do something for you." "But you're crazy, you'll lose your job." "It does not matter. Today could be the last time I see you, I couldn't leave while you were still asleep." "But you..." "I might never talk to you again, then." And it terrified her. "What do you have there?" Agathe took out an envelope and handed it to her husband. «Open it, come on.» «Agathe... oh, good God, it must have cost you a fortune! How much... love, I really don't think it's worth spending money like this, now that...» Agathe went around the table and pressed herself against Albert's chest, taking his hands and closing them on that precious treasure. «It doesn't matter, I'll be fine. But I needed to leave you something, to remind you of me." «My love, there were cheaper solutions than a photo.» "It doesn't matter, I said." Albert kissed her honey-colored hair. "Okay," he told her. "She's gorgeous. Now, shall we eat something? Then I'll have to go." "Certainly." But neither of them was hungry except for caresses and glances. After a while, Albert got up, held Agathe close again and took the suitcase and everything else. Agathe accompanied him to the last door, in silence, with her heart increasing palpitations. «Promise me that you will come back, that you will stay alive for me. And when you don't know what to do, look at the photo and think of me." She hugged him and hid her tears, she kissed him one last time. Albert attempted a smile. "Of course, and you promise me you won't get into trouble, my little one." Agathe had an earthquake in her chest and in her head, and at the moment it didn't occur to her to do anything but lie - just a little lie, to keep him calm. She couldn't do any harm, right? "Sure my love." "Swear it." "I swear." Albert took a step back, and for a moment he wavered. Someone, beyond the door, began to knock vehemently."I..." Weinrich stammered, but the words died on the spot. He turned the handle and left, escorted at his sides by two grim sergeants. They almost dragged him as he stumbled onto the avenue. Agathe still remained there, on her doorstep, watching him get into the truck and disappear noisily down the road. Finally alone, she let herself cry.

32. Over the Channel, September 1940

With the new dawn came a new battle. Charles and Cameron, along with three other airmen under the command of a new replacement sergeant, were flying over the pristine cliff between Hastings and Fairlight Cover, towards Dover, through a sky that promised nasty surprises. «No one in sight yet. What does the command center say, Vigor Leader?" «Multiple targets incoming, let's be ready.» "Look, it's started on Dover." "Here's the target, twin-engined, 15,000 feet. There are two of them." Charlie attached the respirator to his helmet and wrapped his hands around the circular handles of the control stick. «Good, yellow section, frontal attack. Red section, with me in line, aim for the engine. Adjust the gyroscopes." "Received." The two teams broke the tight delta formation and slipped into a bank of clouds below them. Beyond the hideout, two Heinkel He 111 bombers awaited them. Charlie, one with his deadly machine, crossed the blanket and emerged in front of the glass dome of the enemy in the lead. A short burst shattered the bow gunner's bubble. Behind him, Cameron hit the wing. The trio flew over the enemy and separated, preparing to strike again. On their right the red section descended on the second bomber and hit it head-on, along the entire fuselage. One of the two engines, hit, began to leak fuel and steam, but resisted. «He's dropping, let's chase him» announced Vigor Leader as the bomber lost altitude and yawed. Then its cockpit shattered and exploded into a red rose. Covered by the sun, a squadron of Messerschmitt Bf 109s swooped down on the three Spitfires and disrupted them. The two survivors, clearly outnumbered, panicked. Their screams besieged the radio. "Yellow One, let's go save them," Charles ordered Cameron. "Yellow Two, stay on the bomber." Red One and Two separated, each pursued by a pair of Messerschmitts. Charles entered in the wake of Red Two, closer, and immediately managed to shoot down one of his pursuers. The second one twisted and swerved to the side, disappearing into the clouds. Cameron called him on the radio: "Yellow Leader, one out." "Well. Red Two, get back to the bomber." Charles made a half turn and headed towards Cameron, in time to see Red One sway and fall, the cockpit open, the pilot thrown into the void. As he deployed the parachute, the Messerschmitt reappeared. Charles tried to intercept him, but he was too slow. The German vehicle fired and, to make sure it had killed its prey, passed close to the parachute. The turbulence of his wake caused the fabric to sag and the unfortunate man silently disappeared into the sea. Charles watched in terror until he saw the body swallowed by the waves, and only then did he start shooting again. The Messerschmitt overtook him and flew to the bomber's aid, ignoring both his own and Cameron's Spitfire. It was lightning, Charles couldn't find anything else to say. Their every action, in comparison, was banal, predictable, useless. «Look at the wings, it's him!» Cameron shouted, higher up. «Take it, it's the ace!» "They're onto him." Charlie chased him around the broken-down Heinkel under fire from Red Two. The bomber crew was intent on ejecting from the now lost plane. «Let them go, Red Two! Watch out in the queue!» Charles watched helplessly as the opposing pilot's rapid thrusts were terribly precise. In a few seconds the German got rid of the enemy and continued towards the last Heinkel. Under the crossfire of the ace and the twin-engine plane, Giallo Due was also hit, although he remained in the air. «Take it off me, I'm retreating» warned the pilot in distress.Cameron, with a fourth Messerschmitt still behind him, came into view of the ace and lured him away. Charles, taking advantage of the distraction, glided behind the Heinkel and aimed at the engine. The gondola exploded and the bent blades began to envelop themselves in a whirlwind of fire, which soon enveloped the entire lower wing. The bomber tilted and, with the embarrassing slowness of flying fortresses, crashed into the sea. «Charles, a hand!» Yellow One called him back. "I'm coming, Cam, hold on." Once the downed bombers moved away, the trio in front of Charlie lowered themselves to the water. He followed them and tightened the control stick. For a moment he thought back to the night before, and his thumb on the black button of the machine guns hesitated. "Charlie!" Charlie returned to the Channel, back to the Bf 109 ahead of him. He lined up and pressed that button. The Messerschmitt fell, three missing. "I'm here, Cam, veer right!" "I've got it on me!" "Veer!" Cameron veered left. And he was hit. "Cam!" His Spitfire swayed a little and lost altitude, but managed to land. Charlie prayed that he was saved, but he couldn't know that. Now only the two of them remained, the baronet of Kent and his duellist, the ace with the painted wings. The German turned, came towards him and hit him, piercing his cockpit. Charles cursed himself: he had truly been an idiot, and his idiocy had cost too many lives. He veered and twisted, while his adversary reared up to gain altitude; he followed him, but he was too slow and close to stalling, slowed down in his acrobatics by engine problems. The enemy swooped down and came at him again, silhouetted against the light to blind him. They both fired. Charlie caught him on the wing; the German hit him on the glass. He heard the bullet pass by him with a soft whistle: he was miraculously alive. The adversary disengaged and headed towards the open sea, lowering its altitude. Charles followed, keeping his speed constant. He finally saw them, never so distinct and close: on both dark wings of the enemy vehicle stood two crossed sabers, the curved ones - of cavalrymen - covered by a red carnation. Those swords stuck in his chest and brought back his memories. He couldn't believe himself. He took off his respirator and moved forward, equalizing the enemy, and slowly, synchronizing the stick with his breathing, he lowered. The two planes were now flying side by side, no more than three thousand feet from the still sea and less than a hundred yards apart; Charles bent a little and came closer. The German proceeded straight ahead, impassive. Charlie's heart was revving its engine instead. The adrenaline he felt during the battle was nothing compared to what was bombarding his brain at that moment. No experience could rival the ecstatic terror that blocked his hands on the control stick, perhaps only... that day in the hotel, when he was asked to walk under the lime trees. Charlie raised his goggles on his helmet, hesitantly tilted his head and looked into the cockpit of the Messerschmitt. The German peered into his soul, his face covered by the respirator. "Please undress..." Charlie whispered in German. The Prussian braked, abruptly moving to the rear. Charles closed his eyes and accepted his fate. All in all, he was calm. He waited for the moment to strike and thought of Leo, of the last time they had made love. His moment never came. Charles opened his eyes, shaken by the growling of the German machine, and saw his opponent overtake him and cower on the French coast, before starting to roll. He saw the plane overturn and held his breath as the cockpit flew away and the pilot let himself fall into the void, narrowly avoiding the now broken wing. He caught his breath only when the parachute opened and slowly disappeared among the vegetation. For a moment he thought he was right. Yes, it could only be him. The idea that the enemy's guns might simply be jammed, or that he had run out of ammunition belts did not even remotely occur to him. By now he was enraptured by his dream, and so he didn't notice the radiator light and the now missing fuel. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Charlie regained control of the drifting plane and glided gently into the sea.

33. Minsk, June 1944

Weinrich watched the dawn, and with the first light came the muffled and confused sounds of battle. He hadn't slept a wink all night, suffering from panic attacks and anxiety. Krämer, crouched next to him, did not fare much better. Every now and then she looked at him with those big dull eyes of hers and asked for his pills, with more and more insistence. Soon they began to prepare breakfast, and the sergeant arrived to distribute the manna among the other faithful. "Please..." Weinrich asked him, but the superior glared at him. At lunch he asked again, this time to a younger, softer NCO, and had better luck. "Okay, but I want your cigarettes and your chocolate," he replied. Weinrich had no opportunity to object. To avoid Krämer's punches, he would have given up more than a week's rations. In the evening he arrived together with the retreating armored divisions, decimated and demoralized. Weinrich heard some soldiers on lookout mutter: "We're in a pocket, it's over." "How many days do we have?" "I do not know. Few." "What we will do?" "Don't ask me, I'm not the general." Distraught, Weinrich fell asleep hoping that they would not be left to die again.

34. Not far from Calais, September 1940

Reaching the shore was more difficult than expected. The water was freezing, but at that time of the morning, at least, it was bearable. Charles was exhausted, kept afloat only by his life jacket; to encourage him to continue there was only a black dot on the thin empty beach. The waves were close enough to overwhelm him as the figure approached. Charles swallowed the salt water and coughed, ended up submerging his head, but still managed to move forward; He pushed himself to the surface and saw his opponent striding forward into the water, then he ended up under him again and his feet touched the muddy bottom. A hand grabbed his jacket and pulled him up. Together, panting, they reached the shore and lay down on the fine dry sand. Charlie coughed again. "I'm a damn idiot, aren't I?" he asked in German. "Yes, you're the biggest idiot in the world after me." "Leo?" he asked weakly, sighing uncertainly, full of hope. The German leaned on one elbow and took off his leather cap. In his gray uniform he was as magnificent as ever; it seemed nothing had changed since that day under the maple tree in the Tiergarten. "Charles Acton, you're a damn fool. You could have drowned" Leo whispered, getting up and fixing his hair. Charlie sat up, took off his jacket and finally took off his tie. His blue uniform was soaked and heavy on his trembling skin. He looked around: there wasn't a town for miles around, not a single house. He couldn't tell if this was good or bad. «Only you could have followed me to France and not beaten me down. You broke my wing." Leo gave him a hand to get up. "You remembered the hussars, right?" «How could I not do it. I've been looking for you since the war started, you're famous in your homeland." «You really are the craziest Englishman I know. Am I really famous? Is there a prize on my head?" "I was expecting some letters." Leo darkened, took him by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. «I sent you... only one, I admit.» "And you didn't even bother to explain yourself." "You should hate me." "I could never do it." «Charlie...» He kissed him, giving peace to a hunger that had been devouring him for six years. Their lips were salty and cold. Leo pushed him away, letting the recollection of the past last only a moment. He had sad eyes and tight lips. He hugged him. "I am sorry." Charlie's eyes filled with tears. "Everything is fine." Leo pulled away. «No that's not good! Look at us, we're enemies now. I should kill you. There's a war going on on this side of the canal, and there's nothing that..." Charlie reached for his arms again. «We are alone, Leo, no one can hurt us. We can disappear, flee to Provence, or try to escape to Spain." "You're a damned dreamer, Charles, and it's a wonder you haven't already gotten yourself killed." «Leo, I still love you. You're the only one I've ever loved." "Charlie, I got married." The news hit him like a .303 to his heart. "Married? When...? With who?" "With Erika." "Why? Are you the...?»At that insinuation Leo flared up and took a step away, deeply hurt by such an accusation. "No! I never loved her!" he shouted. She took his face in her hands and held him close. Both were on the verge of tears. "I haven't forgotten you, Charlie; I still love you. But I had to help a friend." "And you couldn't have escaped to England?" "They arrested Dalila." Tears began to wet the sand and get lost in the multitude of the sea. «They took her because she was Jewish. Nobody saw her again. We tried to look for her... but by then it was too late.» Charlie was seething with anger. "So you stayed." «Forgive me, I had too much... Charlie, I still love you too.» Leo pulled away and wiped his face. «Now you have to leave. It breaks my heart, but you have to leave before they come for us. It won't take them long." «Please come back to England with me, we can...» «What, you idiot of an Englishman? Swimming across the canal? I can't, Charlie, I can't. I have too much... I would like to have your trust, really, I would like to have it. Forgive me, I lost all hope wearing this uniform. I... Charlie, go, damn it, hide in the countryside and stay away from all this. Go away, please, and remember how much I care for you." Charlie was still trembling, closed in those damp clothes, tied to that earth. He also dried his eyes and looked at the invisible coasts of England. A terrible feeling devoured him that he just wanted to push back to where it came from, because he knew that his immortal Attic hero didn't deserve it: he felt betrayed. He would have been human, yet he didn't feel like hating him; in fact, he just wanted to hold onto him and apologize to him, admit that it was his fault, that he shouldn't have run away like this, like a coward, without him. "You're a damned bastard, Leo, a liar and a coward. You made me suffer so much and denied me every single word." Charlie uttered every word with an unspeakable pang of pain, without his beloved responding. «You left me completely alone for... I don't even know what for... and now... and despite everything I... I can't hate you. All I can say is that I still love you, you damned German..." He looked back at Leo, and saw him pointing the gun at him. «Take that weapon away, Leo. I'm not dangerous." "Yes you are, now." he answered him in age-worn English. His eyes were wide open and he was looking beyond, towards the dunes that closed the beach. Charlie turned: a patrol of German infantrymen was crossing the ridge and descending along the scrub. "Never have been," he whispered, suddenly feeling helpless. The infantrymen aimed their rifles. Charles looked back at Leo. "Don't let me take me away, please." "Put your hands up, Charlie, it's going to be okay, I promise."

35. Minsk, July 1944

The lieutenant imposed the sentence at dawn. Verdict: all-out resistance. While the main army tried to escape the pocket, they would remain there, covering the retreat. The clumsy officer, made awkward by his inexperience, tried to encourage them: «They will arrive shortly, those red pigs. Stand firm and remember what you are fighting for: for your homeland, for greater Germany! For the salvation of the Aryan people!» Weinrich, among the condemned, looked at Krämer. Both sensed that the other no longer believed those words. "So? What are we doing?" Weinrich asked as soon as the officer moved away from the trench. Krämer looked at him as if he had said the most obvious thing in the world. "In your opinion? Let's escape." Weinrich felt his courage fail and his grip loosen on the rifle in his hand. «I don't know if I still have the strength...» Krämer moved away from the trench parapet and stood in front of him. Weinrich could feel his hot, heavy breath. The giant said nothing, simply raised his index finger and touched his chest, on his breast pocket. Where he still kept Agathe's photo. "You know what you're doing it for," he whispered to him, almost in a growl. Weinrich nodded and bit his tongue. "Tonight?" Krämer turned to look at the front. "If they don't attack first."

36. Towards Calais, September 1940

"How much longer will we have to walk?" "Be quiet, or you'll get us both in trouble." Leonhard spoke with broken English, while the other soldiers kept a wary eye on him.Having passed the dunes at the end of the beach they proceeded towards the North-East, slipping into the rural vegetation between the anti-aircraft nests. In half an hour they reached a beaten path and from there the first checkpoint, then they continued on foot along the asphalt road that would take them to Calais; after another half hour the soldiers stopped. One of them, the largest of the quartet escorting them, apparently had to urinate. Leo managed to scrounge up some biscuits, after much prayer. Trying not to seem too forgiving, he handed one to Charles. «Can you continue? Do you need the latrine too?" Charlie, his hands tied behind his back, bit into the biscuit Leo was holding. While he was chewing, an idea came to him. "Yes," he told him, "But obviously I can't with my hands tied." Leo looked at the other soldiers, sitting at the side of the road, too hungry to care. He snorted and reached for the chain holding the prisoner's hands tightly. "Don't be funny though." Charlie fell silent and untied his shoulders and wrists, then turned and took two steps away, shamelessly, whistling the tune of an old song he once heard in Berlin. If he remembered correctly, Leo adored her. "Hey, what are you doing?" one of the patrol shouted. "I'll keep an eye on him, don't worry," Leonhard replied, bowing his head. "Stop that. What do you hope to achieve by whistling?" "Nothing, Leo, nothing." "Don't call me by name." Charlie sighed. After all, what did he expect? As usual he had proven to be a real idiot, not considering the consequences of his actions, like that time in the hotel in Berlin, when he had forgotten the razor blades. But he couldn't always have luck. He refastened his trousers and walked back to Leonhard, who raised his head and waved the chain. With eyes full of shame he seemed to apologize to him. "It wasn't supposed to be this way," he murmured, moving closer and extending the handcuffs towards Charles' wrists. "Already." The Englishman pounced on him and grabbed him around the neck, with his other hand aiming for the holster. Leonhard screamed in fear and the German infantrymen screamed and jumped to their feet. The Walther P38 flew out of the holster and finding the safety lever, on the left, was incredibly easy. The soldiers aimed their rifles. A shot went off and then a second. Two soldiers fell, and the others crouched and fired, missing their target. "Charlie!" Charles threw himself backwards and sought shelter behind a tree at the edge of the road, dragging the hostage with him. Leo pulled and pushed against his arm around his neck. "Remain calm," he told him. Bullets whistled and crashed into the bark. "You are crazy!" "It's going to be okay, Leo." Charles loosened his grip and Leo took advantage of it, slipped under the arm that was holding him and twisted and grabbed his right hand. "Leo, no!" "Leave... the... gun." Both were trembling and pressing on the weapon. They heard the sound of footsteps. "Let her." A shot went off. Charlie jumped and moaned, went limp and collapsed onto his partner. "No!" Leo shouted. The gun fell to the ground, but no one noticed. Charlie pressed a hand to his belly, where his uniform was darkening. Leo bent and laid him on the ground, holding him close, pressing on the wound, holding his hands. But the bleeding didn't stop. "Don't leave me, Charlie, don't leave me!" Charles gasped and reached out to grasp the air, struggling to reach the face of his beloved. «I'm here, hold on. Give me some morphine, bandages, something! Please..." The two remaining soldiers did not move, stiff and impassive. The biggest one stared at him with large dull, vacant eyes, and he didn't react, he didn't seem to understand. "Don't go, Charlie, I'm sorry." They were both growing paler with each passing second. Charles groaned again. Leo took his hand and held it close, kissed it. «Leo...» "I know, Charles, I love you too." The light left both of their eyes, leaving only blood, sweat and tears. Leo was shaken by tremors and sobs and forgot the world around him and the war. It was just him and his crying.

37. Minsk, July 1944

They attacked well before dawn, announced by the artillery. Still under cover of darkness, Krämer and Weinrich hid in a hole, praying not to be hit, and when the first machine guns began to mow down, with weapons still in hand they crawled away from the front. In the rear they ran into troops still in full evacuation, heading south under the protection of what remained of the 5th Panzer Division. Krämer pulled Weinrich into an alley and taped his mouth shut as one of the iron giants passed in front of them, followed by a squadron of armored vehicles. Once the panzer and all the other vehicles had passed, they returned to the road, heading towards the camp which was being dismantled and demobilised. "You two!" an officer called them, "Where are you going?" Weinrich saw the pale reflection of the steel Totenkopf. "You speak, tell him something," Krämer ordered him in a low voice. Albert panicked. "We need ammunition, Obersturmfüher, sir!" Illuminated by the gibbous moon, the SS officer looked unconvinced. He brought his hand closer to the holster. «Move, go back to the front!» The mortars covered his words. "As?" Krämer shouted. "I said..." Krämer shot him. The officer's face fell unnaturally and the man fell backwards, dead. "What have you done?" Weinrich shouted querulously. The bear bent down and began to search the body. "Give me a hand, let's drag him into the alley." More mortars and heavier artillery lit up the sky and covered the moon near the horizon. Anti-aircraft added to the chorus. Krämer didn't find what he was looking for and cursed, kicking the motionless body. «He has nothing, the bastard! Let's go, there's nothing left to do here! They returned to the camp, past the troops crowding in disorder around the trucks, the tractors towing the howitzers to safety and the rubble buildings reduced to hollow carcasses; they ran through the hysterical crowd and across the empty desolation towards the West, before the enemy, arriving at dawn, closed the pocket. In the chaos, no one stopped them.

38. 50 km from Warsaw, August 1944

Weinrich, hidden under a bare bush, was spying on the front. "They've cut us off," he said, turning back to Krämer, who was hiding in a spruce grove. "We can't go on." "The Soviets?" "They're ahead of us." "And ours?" "They too. If the Russians don't shoot us in the back, the Germans will shoot us in the face." Krämer nodded and rocked, trying to reason. He couldn't do it. Albert ignored him and sat under a tree, burying his face in his hands - everyone dealt with his despair in their own way. During that month they had gotten by as best they could, pilfering from here and there. Once they had been discovered by a small farmer with a grizzled chin, and they had to kill him. Krämer had raped his wife before killing her too, while Albert, without batting an eyelid, had limited himself to emptying the pantry and the wardrobe. They had both abandoned their uniform and disguised themselves as civilians, but Albert had kept the Iron Cross and, obviously, the photo of his little Agathe for himself, and kept them hidden in a pocket of his trousers. Even now, under the pine tree, he touched the photo in her pocket and wondered if he would ever see her again, the beautiful Agathe with the golden hair. He was now doubting. From the city beyond no man's land came the sound of gunfire. Krämer shook himself, picked up the rifle leaning against a trunk and stood up. Columns of smoke soon rose from Warsaw, but no explosions were heard. "What happens? Did the Soviets attack?" Weinrich approached him, wiping his nose. «No, we would hear the artillery, or the planes. Instead they are all still." "So what happens?" "I do not know." Krämer crouched down, holding his stomach, his face contorted with the pain of cramps. "You need to find more pills." Weinrich scratched the first hairs on his stubbly cheek. "We barely have anything to eat." In truth he too missed their manna, in moments of melancholy, but he knew that there was much worse to think about. «We have to go south, there should still be our people on this side of the river.» Krämer began to think again. "Okay," he said finally.They set out at sunset, while shots still rang out from the city and the acrid smell of burnt bodies rose. They proceeded as long as the moon was shining, thank goodness until almost morning, and took refuge in an abandoned farmhouse, where they found some still fresh preserves, some cheese and an empty stable with straw that wasn't too moldy. Unfortunately for them, someone had taken away blankets and mattresses. Krämer helped carry what they found into the kitchen of the house, overturned the table and bolted the door. They slept peacefully all morning, then Krämer went out to hunt for something, or so he said. When he returned, Weinrich was ready to leave. "Let's stay here," his companion told him, leaving his weapons. He hadn't caught anything. "What?" "I said we're staying here." "But I have to go back to Berlin." «I don't care. We are safe here, if we go to Berlin..." Weinrich gritted his teeth and reached into his pocket, searching for his little treasure. «It was your idea! You told me to do it for her! » Krämer approached him, looked at him impassively, raised his arm and grabbed his fist that held the photo. He twisted his wrist, and Albert let out a cry of pain. He yanked and struggled, but the giant had an industrial press for a hand. «You are alive thanks to me» he told him, holding him under him, «And you should only thank me if now you don't get carried away by the Heer again or worse, if they took you prisoner or killed you.» "Leave me, you disgusting bastard..." Krämer let go and turned, putting the table back upright and starting to rummage in a cupboard. His large, close-set eyes darted from side to side. "I just want to find Agathe again," Albert complained. Krämer sprinted and with one leap was upon him again. He grabbed his wrists and tried to take the photo, which eluded him every time. His hands were sweaty and cold. Albert screamed again, curled up, and kicked blindly several times, hoping to push him away. He managed to stuff the photo into his filthy shirt, and the bear gave up after a while. They separated and each ignored the other. While he was massaging his sore wrists, out of the corner of his eye Albert saw Krämer take a small white tube out of his jacket, which was too small for him, uncap it and put the contents in his mouth. Who knows where, Krämer had found what he was looking for.

39. Berlin, June 1941

Agathe lost her job a few days after Albert's departure, but as the months went by more and more men were called to serve and more and more women crowded into the factories, so it was not difficult for her to find work as a cleaner in a small post office in the neighborhood. in Kreuzberg, not far from Skalitzer Straße. Now that she was alone, with the working-class neighborhoods increasingly deserted and the nights increasingly dark, leaving the house made her nervous. Only in Mitte, apart from the soldiers on the street corners and the Nazi flags on the windows of every ministerial building, the city showed a bit more life, and yet it barely slowed down through the streets of Wedding. In the time she had for herself, she wrote postcards together with Otto and Elise, and she arranged with them to distribute them in great secrecy between Wedding and Mitte, right in the pit of the demon they wanted to fight. Every now and then, in the evening, they listened to the radio together, to find out how the war and with it the regime was progressing. Thus they learned that on the 21st of that month the crusade to the Untermeschen of the East had begun, and that the last phase of conquest of Lebensraum, which the Führer had so boldly prophesied, was taking place. As soon as she heard the news, Agathe's mind flew to Albert: who knows where she was, among those divisions, who knows if she was okay, she wondered as Otto turned off the radio. Elise stroked her arm. «Did Albert write to you? How is he? " «Oh, the last letter is from a month ago. He was in Yugoslavia, but he did well, they made him a marksman and they even gave him a medal. I haven't heard anything since." Elise smiled and rubbed her shoulder. «I'll make some herbal tea, would you like that?» "I'd love that." The boiling infusion teased them with the smell of hawthorn, while sitting there in the empty kitchen they wrote their protest papers. Otto and Elise worked hard, their heads bent over stamps and postcards, their hands protected by white gloves. Agathe, however, hesitated."Everything is fine?" Otto asked her. "If you don't feel up to it today, don't worry, go home and rest." "I do not know. Every now and then I wonder if all this will really be useful... If it's worth the risk, yes, and I repeat to myself that we are doing the right thing but... sometimes we don't..." Elise, next to her, took her hand. «Take courage. I think all this will end one day, it must end. Those in power with violence condemn themselves to fall." «Yes, I believe you... but when and how will it end? I don't hope for anything else, but I'm afraid of what comes next." "We'll get through it," the woman replied. "Helping each other," concluded the husband, standing up and taking off a glove to caress his wife. «We must live with hope, because for now we have nothing else on our side.» Agathe nodded and little by little resumed writing and pasting stamps, slowly catching up with her two companions. When they were finished a couple of hours later, Elise walked her through the door and into the house. «Elise, I...» Agathe whispered to her before saying goodbye, «... I would like to give you a gift, to thank you for the help that you and Otto give me without expecting anything.» "But you do a lot for us, dear." Agathe smiled at her tiredly - ​​she wanted to shake her hands - and asked her to wait a few more seconds, just enough time to go into the room and take that simple gift from the bedside table. The burgundy book waited there, worn out by the constant reading and rereading she had dedicated to it over the course of those eight years. On the rigid spine one could read the title "Night and Day" in golden letters slightly worn by time. She took him and took him to her accomplice and her - she thought she could say it - friend of hers. "I hope you will like it. It's by Virginia Woolf." «Agathe! But where did you find it?" «I stole it when the fires happened, from Mr. Shöttel's bookshop, before it closed. He made me think about certain things, ideas that you too will approve of." «I appreciate it very much, thank you very much, I will read it tomorrow. Now I have to go. Goodnight, Agathe." "Elise?" "Tell me." "Thank you, for everything." The woman tilted her head and smiled at her. «Helping others is human, it is closing in on oneself which I consider to be bestiality.» "Goodnight, Elise."

40. 65 km from Warsaw, September 1944

Krämer got up under cover of darkness, took his rifle and went out the kitchen door. If he was hoping not to wake Weinrich, he was sadly mistaken. Albert opened his eyes; he couldn't sleep. He heard the creak of the floor and saw the shadow beyond the door. He stood up silently, grabbed the Kar 98k and the bayonet and followed his comrade in the middle of the countryside, among the fields left to weeds and among the irrigation canals. The idiot seemed too sure of himself to even look back and he didn't notice, barely bothering not to make any noise. They passed the crater left by a howitzer, a road now obliterated by the fighting and a withered hedge, to end up among what must once have been trees. All around were strewn rough canvas trench bags and green tin boxes, in one corner lay the overturned tripod of a missing machine gun; the nauseating smell of decomposition came from a hole. Krämer finally stopped to kneel, and Weinrich remained to spy on him. The former welder was stirring near a trunk torn apart by the explosions and almost growling, between one curse and another. Metallic noises of canning came from the trunk. Weinrich, keeping his gaze fixed on Krämer's bent back, slowly approached the hole. The ground under his boots was soft, freshly dug, and the stench was enough to make your nose wrinkle and dim the moon. Without haste, with one hand at his throat, he looked inside. At the bottom of the pit lay half a dozen corpses, their uniforms gray in the moonlight riddled with holes. Something around there, among the stiffened fabric, the gnawed faces and the loose earth, was stirring. He crawled. He bit back a groan of disgust and moved away from the worm pile. He was one step away from his tormentor. "What are you looking for?" he asked him with a determined expression. He already knew the answer. Krämer started and turned around, terrified. "What are you doing here?" Weinrich ignored him. "What are you looking for, I asked you." Krämer looked down at the rifle next to him."Do not even think about it." Weinrich approached and looked over his shoulder at the downed trunk. Leaning against it was a wooden box, the kind they always handled in camp. It was too dark to read the writing on it, but he could guess what it said. The outpost must have been hastily abandoned for a bombing raid, leaving equipment and supplies behind. "That's why we've been here all this time," he told him, "Because of your damn drugs." He kicked the crate over. It now contained only wrapping and string. Krämer stood up, furious. Weinrich punched him. He hit him square in the face. «You're an idiot, a selfish bastard. A fucking bastard, that's what you are." Krämer rubbed his affected cheekbone, his teeth creaking with anger. Yet he did not dare act, under the threat of the rifle. «Tomorrow we set off again, find a way to cross the Vistula and return to Berlin.» "Please, there must be more outposts like this around here..." the bear muttered. "No!" Weinrich shouted. «I'm going back to Berlin, with or without you!» Finally he calmed down and thought about the patrols he could attract with all those shouts. «Collect as many bullets as you can, we'll need them.» Krämer, dejected, slowly obeyed.

41. 50 km from Warsaw, October 1944

They delayed their departure for three days, waiting for the situation around Warsaw to resolve itself. The city west of the river, firmly back in the hands of the occupiers, was now a pile of silent rubble. In the center of the eastern bank, on the outskirts of the Prague district, the Soviet army was a mute spectator, immobile, indifferent. From the muddy bank, the two deserters saw them coming forward, like pale cows to the slaughter, emaciated and worn out. Women, children and old mutilated men marched together with the defeated men under the Nazi banner. With dignity, in order, the Poles crossed the river through one of the bridges to the south and abandoned the city, which in the meantime was razed to the ground, house by house. "Come on, we have to go," Krämer reminded him. They crawled under the bridge pylons for shelter. They had wasted all night trying to find something that would float enough to act as a boat, but so far they had had no luck. "What if we swam across?" proposed Krämer, desperately. The lack of Pervitin made him a lot stupider. "You are crazy? It would be suicide." "Then let's go back." Weinrich had to admit, the bear wasn't entirely wrong. The only other option - and even that would surely have killed them - was to cross the bridge. He looked at his companion, and suddenly realized that if he wanted to see Agathe again, they had no other choice. "Follow me," he said to the giant. They went up the bank and skirted the carcasses of the old destroyed and blackened light tanks, between the ruined houses and the river, going up the defeated column without attracting too much attention. "Let's leave our weapons," he ordered, and together they joined the defeated. They advanced until they returned to the river, under the menacing gaze of the Soviet sentries, and were on the bridge. Krämer, next to him, was visibly uncomfortable. "What if they find us?" he whispered. "Shut up, damn it." «Weinrich, that was a terrible idea. Let's go back." "Shut up, I said!" A man nearby murmured something towards them, and the people around started staring at them. Albert prayed that they did not recognize their language. «Weinrich... shall we run?» Someone let out a scream, echoed by another shrill cry of rage, and Weinrich felt his shirt being pulled. He began to elbow his way and picked up his pace. «Krämer!» The giant threw a woman to the ground and trampled her, now furious. Weinrich pushed an old man on crutches and looked at the shore on the other side, no more than two hundred meters away from them. He saw the German soldiers, at the end of the bridge, lined up in parade. "Run!" Other hands grabbed him, tried to hold him back, to no avail. The Germans became alert and moved closer. Despair turned to hope, and Albert smiled. The soldiers shouted something and raised their rifles, but the shouts in Polish drowned out their orders. Another hand grabbed Albert's shoulder, and he turned and threw a punch.Someone shot. The angry screams turned to terror. From the right bank the short bursts of a machine gun responded. Weinrich freed himself from every grip and threw himself towards the parapet. He looked down at the water, ten meters below. Some around him fell. He thought no further, climbed over the railing and jumped. The water was freezing, the impact was hard. Krämer dove immediately afterward, landing within a foot of him and nearly drowning him. They began to swim towards the right bank, from where they had come. Meanwhile on the bridge the crowd dispersed and the soldiers looked out onto the river below. Spray rose from the water, the lead whistled overhead. Weinrich dived, praying the bullets wouldn't reach him. When he returned to the surface he heard Krämer, far behind, screaming in pain. He turned to look for him: the old giant, with his face barely emerging from the murky water, was leaving a trail of blood behind him. «Weinrich!» shouted Krämer, gasping, and for a second he went under. «Weinrich!» Weinrich looked forward again and strode away, almost with relief ignoring that agonizing gurgle. «Weeeinriiich!» The bullets whistled again to suppress any screams, until silence fell.

42. Berlin, October 1942

Elise knocked on her door one Tuesday morning, and when Agathe answered it, she fell on her chest, crying. «They arrested Otto» she told her, «They were waiting for him at the entrance to the factory. Some of his companions have just alerted me." "How could this happen? We didn't do anything wrong, we were so careful." "I do not know. Someone must have betrayed us, I can't explain it." "And now? You must hide, or run." Elise pulled away, wiped her round eyes and straightened her dress. «I have nowhere to go, and I certainly won't have enough time. But you... I hope they kept you out of this." Agathe was suddenly struck by a pang of fear, by the guilt of a broken promise. "If they ask you, you don't know anything, you don't even know my name," Elise continued. "Promise me." Agathe hesitated. "Promise me!" "Yes." Elise hugged her. "We'll be fine, Agathe. You think of yourself now, make sure everything goes well." «I will, Elise. I will continue your fight, even alone if I have to. I won't forget you" «I am grateful to you, Agathe, you are a dear friend.» It was the last time they spoke to each other. They came to get her that same day; without much kindness they knocked with terrifying calm and she let them in. They took her away in silence and ransacked the house, searching under every single carpet and on top of every bookcase. They took everything away. There was also a knock on the front door, and Agathe felt lost. She went to open the door, and three plainclothes officers greeted her with a kind smile. «Good morning, madam. We would like to ask you a few questions, can we come in?" "Of course," she replied, but her voice was shaking. They sat down in the kitchen and asked her if she knew her neighbors, if she frequented them, how regularly, if she knew that they had committed treason against their homeland Germany and had worked to damage the National Socialist Party and the Führer, if she knew that they possessed some forbidden books, if she owned any too. With each question a little piece of kindness went away with their words, and the little courage with which she had opened the door died. She managed with difficulty to deny every accusation and to do as Elise had told her, and she was so exhausted and upset that she didn't even recognize her signature, when they gave her to sign a report that she barely read with a wisp. of voice. While she was writing, one of the officers disappeared into the bedroom and started making a lot of noise, but she didn't dare argue back. Soon he returned to her, her bull neck swollen like a blister beneath her broad face. «I saw two wedding rings over there. Where is your husband?" Agathe searched for her last bit of strength. «In Russia, according to the last letter he wrote to me. He's a sharpshooter, you know? And he is also decorated." «You should be proud, your husband must surely be acting like a hero.» "He is." «Do you know that you could help the nation a lot by handing over her jewels? Every gram of metal counts. Everyone must play their part."«Those two wedding rings are the only thing I have left of my husband» she defended herself, «But... if you tell me they can help I will hand them over as soon as possible.» The three agents smiled, but they were the smiles of devils. Agathe accompanied them to the door, and when they were outside the palace she breathed a long sigh of relief and collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

43. Warsaw, October 1944

Albert dragged himself across the mud and sat down. He coughed and spat out the unhealthy water. The current had dragged him downstream, if only briefly, and now he found himself dangerously close to the Prague neighborhood. Far away, on the bridge, they started marching again. Albert, trembling, put a hand in his trouser pocket and clutched the iron cross. He took it out, looked at it, black and shiny and dripping. Had he still been in the Heer, he could have exchanged her for some rations or cigarettes; but now, there in no man's land, it was worth less than nothing. It was just useless tin. He stood up, arched his back and extended one arm, put his right hand to the back of his head and threw. The cross flew over the water and disappeared among the waves. He stood there staring at the swirling river, half expecting that she might return to the surface to ask him to account for his actions. But she had other things to think about now: how to deal with winter, hunger, loneliness. He turned, trampling the waste between the earth and the sand, and sadly returned towards the farmhouse, hiding among the ruins from the eyes of his hunters.

44. South of Bromberg, January 1945

With the start of the new year, the Germans retreated and the Soviet horde, like a swarm of locusts or a pack of wolves on a rotting carcass, poured into the gap left open. Even before the end of the month they arrived at the Oder, a bridge away from Germany. It was done now. Albert didn't dare think about what would happen next, he refused to imagine it. He had seen the plain that Warsaw had become. He continued walking from sunset as long as the moon permitted, descending along the Vistula towards the North; he followed the Soviet infantrymen closely, studying their tracks, feeding on their scraps and those abandoned by the Germans. Now his battle, apart from wanting to go after soldiers completely unarmed, was with lice. That sticky shit was deadlier than his time at the front, and he couldn't help but endure it. He slept in holes, under bushes, rarely lit a fire, and in the morning he had to shake off a layer of frost from the makeshift blanket he carried with him, wrapped like a sausage around his overcoat. One evening, now dejected and homeless, he did not resist, and he collected some wood before it was too late. He fell asleep there next to the small fire, hidden in a low depression in the bare ground. With the embers still glowing, he was awakened by a boot in the kidneys. He coughed and slipped out of the blanket, but raised his head only to receive a rifle butt to the temple. In pain and dizzy, he remained down. Four Russian soldiers looked down on him and laughed, pointing rifle barrels at him. They were probably wondering whether to bother matting him or not. At the slightest groan they hit him again, and in a short time the occasional kicks became a hail of punches and sticks. Albert put his hands on the back of his head and closed in on himself. Under the bombardment of knuckles he heard the unsheathing of a knife, but he ignored it. He began to pray, murmuring, until his thrusts stopped and he felt a hand groping his side and moving towards his thigh. Albert shot up, arching his back and grabbed the arm that was touching him. The Russian with the straw-colored hair and the round sunburnt face muttered something in his language, and next to him one of his companions showed the blade of the knife. Slowly Albert withdrew his arms, and the search resumed. They took off his coat, but left him the little supplies he carried in a makeshift bag, emptied his pockets and even checked his shoes. It wasn't difficult to find his treasure.Albert became agitated, raised his arms and shouted incoherent sentences in protest, but the only result was that he was pinned to the ground again. From the corner of his eye he could see the straw-haired soldier clutching the crumpled photo of his love interest in his hand, devouring it with vampire eyes. He groaned again and struggled. His companion knelt next to him and brought the blade close to his bearded cheek. It was a moment. His eyes filled with tears of pain and, as soon as his hands were free, he brought them to his torn cheek. His companion moved behind him, raised his blade ready to strike. Paglierino called him back. Maybe he told him that he was just a poor crazy farmer, or maybe that he had bought his freedom, Albert didn't understand. The three subordinates complained and snorted, but took their things and walked away, letting him go. Paglierino looked at him one last time, laughed and followed them. Albert, left totally alone, cried.

45. Berlin, November 1943

The Hampel couple were found guilty of high treason and sentenced to the guillotine, which fell on them in late January, a few days after the general mobilization. Agathe received the news with shock, and she faced the following months with a mixture of uncertainty and lethargy. The desire to make a difference and to honor the sacrifice of her companions still burned within her, but she was too afraid, too many doubts to be able to act. Perhaps, she later realized, it was this that saved her from the gallows, allowing the police to loosen their grip on her. They were certainly keeping the house, if not the entire neighborhood, under observation, in the hope of finding the third member of the gang. What if they recognized her handwriting? What if she had accidentally left a fingerprint on her card? What if someone had seen her or had already reported her with simple suspicion? Yet she told herself that no one had made mistakes, that she had not made any mistakes. If she had ended up like that, it was surely someone else's fault; who it was she would never know. She found the courage to act only in August, when it became known that the enemy had landed in Italy and that in Russia their holy crusade was not going well. While she cleaned the post offices, taking advantage of a few moments in which she was left alone, she occasionally let a postcard or two slip into some drawer, in the hope that they would end up in good hands. In reality, those reckless attempts to awaken the consciences of Berlin had been more than anything frustrating, but Agathe told herself in her heart that she couldn't - shouldn't - stop. When she came home in the evening she would sit in the bedroom and remain dazedly lost in the void beyond the window. She thought of Albert, she wondered why she hadn't written since early February, when he had told her that she was near a town called Kharkiv, in southern Russia, and that everything was fine. Despite the sweet words of comfort, the letter smelled of the Russian winter. It was clear that something was breaking and that Berlin was inside a glass castle about to collapse. Maybe it would have been better to leave the city while there was still time, but where to go? She didn't know, Agathe. She couldn't help but worry about her question and a thousand other questions and tear her hair out until she fell asleep. She often woke up before the sun and so she wrote her protest songs before going to work; she ate little and neglected the house, she barely cared for herself. Around her she saw pale and terrified faces, dramatically silent; only a lucky few appeared happy and confident, blinded by propaganda. And so every day was repeated identically for over nine months, until the bombs rained down.

That night he woke with a start to the sound of sirens and saw a burning sky outside the window. Flashes of light sporadically illuminated the squadrons of flying fortresses that dropped their deadly load on the city, distant, untouchable. Without giving himself time to think he abandoned everything and left the house, letting himself be carried away by the crowd heading to the air raid shelters. She didn't care about the other hysterical Berliners who were too close, too insistent, too loud, who touched her, pulled her, pushed her between the flashes and the darkness, hands everywhere who treated her like a ball of rags. She could have died right there in that moment and nothing would have changed, not for her, not for anyone else. And who else was there then? She was alone, alone in a city gone mad in a world too bigger than her. She had no other strength than to not fall and be trampled, and so they dragged her towards that fragile safe niche. Her shelters proved, as she stepped onto the first slippery step down, too small to accommodate them all. Many of the stragglers begged the soldiers to let them pass and were thrown back under the bombs. Among the desperate screams came the cry of a newborn baby, and Agathe turned in time to see a woman and two of her children being blocked by soldiers. She stared at her crying, shaking, holding her children to her chest and she remained there on the steps, more impassive than the soldiers. She couldn't take another step, she didn't want to be swallowed up by the earth. "Let her pass," she exclaimed finally, amidst a thousand uncertainties, "I'll give her my place." The soldiers at the entrance exchanged puzzled looks, but did not object. They let the woman in with the two little ones and dispersed the remaining crowd, telling them to go and seek shelter elsewhere; she didn't listen to them. She went back home and dropped under the stairs, thinking about that young mother, wondering if she would have been saved, if her house would have been spared. For a moment she thought about those children, and wondered why she hadn't had any yet. And perhaps, after all the difficulties, the money counted one by one, the ongoing war and the political regime... perhaps it was better this way, even if she was now almost thirty and didn't have a shred to hold onto, even if he had to endure the dirty looks of the fanatics and party men and women, the bad words and the punitive tax. Maybe she had done him a favor, hiding a world like this from him, but who knew? Maybe it would have been better for her not to be there too. She didn't even realize she had slept when the sounds of the street brought her back to reality. Rushing to work, she was able to notice that the city, all things considered, had not suffered too much damage: Wedding had emerged practically unscathed, while the embassy district and Charlottenburg had been devastated by numerous fires, some still to be put out. Chains of citizens crowded on the piles of bricks on the sides of the road, intent on emptying the rooms invaded by rubble with buckets, and the streets were dominated by army and police trucks. The offices where she worked had also been hit, but work inside them could continue despite the hole in the roof. She was this close to ending up unemployed or displaced, and this turned every day into a little surprise. It was not the first bombing, nor the last, but that night remained the most fearsome of the whole winter: after each wave the streets became more deserted, the city more desolate; the arriving trains became rarer, the factories continued to vomit weapons and metal, even though they were feeling the pinch; even the Tiergarten park was hit - Agathe she could see it with her own eyes as she hurriedly crossed Pariser Platz. The old Hotel Adlon, however, survived and solidly maintained its function. Louis Adlon, who had never stopped being its director since 1921, continued to keep that building open despite the constant loss of customers and staff. Many, including bartenders and waiters, porters and labourers, had been called up to arms like poor Albert. Perhaps, given the situation, Agathe could one day return to work there, but it was a dream in which she didn't believe as much as she did.In a corner of the square, not far from the hotel, an elderly mutilated man greeted her with a smile and a stump. "Hugo," she recognized him, surprised. "What happened to you?" «Bad luck in Africa, that's all. That was over a year ago." The bartender was several years older than her, but now it seemed like an entire lifetime separated them: her face was baked and cracked by the sun, and her right arm disappeared into its mouse-gray sleeve at the bicep. Hugo smiled at her. "Good God, what are you doing now?" «I live on welfare, and Mr. Adlon helps me and others who have been to the front. How are you? What happened to your boyfriend?" «He has been at the front for three years. We are married." «Oh, I'm glad. I should have known. Well, Agathe, I hope you're well, and have a good day." «Have a nice day, Hugo.» She remained there, dumbfounded, while he walked away to Unter den Linden. She recovered and approached the hotel. All in all, he should have hated the place for all the problems he had persisted in hindering her marriage. After all, he was a concentration of what was most hateful in Germany - after the Nazis obviously - and he had never seen anything good come from there. He entered the common room and stood watching the few bureaucrats and customers milling around the black elephant fountain. Every minute he remained there he became more and more convinced of one thing: his dream wasn't to return to that place, it was something completely different. But maybe it was just exaggerated envy. He put those bad thoughts out of his head and, before leaving to run back towards Kreuzberg, he left another of his protest leaflets on the bar counter.

46. Potulizt, 20 km west of Bromberg, January 1945

Prisoner 25810 timidly poked his head out of the wooden shack. As it had for six months now, the sun blinded him for the first few seconds, and he acquiesced without a word, until he was finally able to make out the whitewashed clearing of the Lager. The Kapos reviewed the prisoners who tiredly gathered in front of the row of barracks, shouted insults, hit the small trembling prisoners with their sticks. Nobody opposed it, nobody had the size to challenge the established order. 25810 limped forward, uncertain on his hollow legs, and got in line with the others, among his peers, waiting for the inspection and the weekly shave. When it was his turn, the SS man looked at him angrily and told him to stay still for once. It was a new face, the prisoner realised, older than the usual torturers. 25810 couldn't do anything about it, he had been swinging since his rectum had known the truncheons of the regime police and the SS themselves. Thank goodness they didn't do it anymore, but they made up for it with almost daily beatings. His malnourished body was now falling onto his fragile bones, hollowed out from the soles of his feet to his cheeks, under two eyes marked by inclement weather, of a sincere blue, tinged with white. The prisoner put a hand to his forehead, where he was beating a retreat of a once blond hair now reduced to a fine, dirty and bristly fuzz, and murmured his most humble apologies in German. At the end of the inspection, unexpectedly, they did not prepare for the cut: the occupants of all forty barracks in the camp were lined up in column and were ordered to march. When the braves asked where to go, the soldiers replied that they were moving them to Kulmhof, two days away, where they would wash them. Strange, considering that until two days earlier they hadn't given themselves time to continue shooting them. They crossed the fence and the barbed wire passing through the main gate - amidst the tears of many with emotion - and took them onto a path between the trees that surrounded the camp. The vegetation hid everything and covered every man and woman with shadows. Every now and then a shot was heard, not too far away, and after the first one, silence fell, already overwhelming, among those present. 25810 marched holding on to the shoulders of those in front of him, all too tired and hungry to look at each other and comfort each other more than that. He slipped on a root, stumbled several times, straightened up and continued walking, until he couldn't anymore. He let go of his grip on his companion, took a few more steps, faltered for a second and dropped, leaning against a trunk along the side of the road, panting.The prisoners passed by him, doing nothing more than giving him a fleeting glance of concern or indifference. The soldiers ordered him to get up, but when they realized that he no longer had the strength to carry on, they let him go, certain that he would die by sunset. They didn't even give him mercy with the lead, it wasn't worth it. The column passed to his rear. One of the last prisoners stepped out of the ranks and approached him, bending down a little. "Get up," he told him innocently, "We have to go." "Jesus, he's just a kid," he said to himself. The little wren looked at him with big green eyes, full of trust. "It's not long now," he continued. 25810 caressed his cheek. "I can't anymore," he replied in his broken Polish, "You go ahead, for me." The child tugged at his striped shirt, to no avail. The guards made him return to the line, along with the other little Poles - so many sent there to be re-educated. The forest emptied, and 25810 remained looking at the sun high in the west and the clouds that were turning white in the sky. It began to snow, with light flakes that gave him warmth and took him back to the Berlin of years before, to the snow-covered lime trees, to the white maples. He returned to Pariser Platz. He went back to his Charlie, went back to the last letter written, closed by two atrocious words: "I can't." "I am sorry. I haven't told you enough. I'm sorry, my love," Leo murmured. The snow melted. The sounds of war grew closer, each atrocious minute a little more intense. A patrol of riflemen appeared in front of him. A canteen was held to his mouth by a young man with bronze skin. When they saw that he was struggling to move, the four went away in the direction from which he had come, and left him there in the mud. Just before sunset, he finally saw him: he was little human anymore, and very much ape. The dirty, thin-profiled farmer almost didn't notice him at first; his gaunt face, with his receding chin hidden by a dark, bristly beard, was focused on the footprints in the mud, heading west. When he realized that that bag of bones was alive and following him with its eyes, he looked at it. His left cheek was crossed by a deep, crusted cut, vaguely hidden by his dirty brown hair. They stood there facing each other, with nothing to say to each other, both with their heavy luggage.

47. Potulizt, 20 km west of Bromberg, January 1945

Albert bent towards the unfortunate man. On the chest of the worn striped shirt, above a serial number, a pink triangle stood out. "Who are you?" he asked him, but he barely opened his mouth. She sat down next to him and undid the buckle on his saddlebag. Somewhere he must have had a leftover biscuit, if not a whole can of beans. He found the package of biscuits and handed it to the man, who rubbed his angular jaw and devoured everything down to the last crumb. "Thank you," the prisoner finally said panting, in German with a Pomeranian accent. "Are you thirsty?" The prisoner nodded, and Albert handed him the bottle he used as a water bottle. "What is your name?" he asked as he did so. «Leonhard Von Hinten.» "Did you see any Soviets go by, Leonhard?" the tracks in the mud were too confused, mixed with those of a column on foot. Leonhard thought about it for a while. «Probably they are in the Lager now.» «A camp? What were you doing in a camp? ...Or was it a prison? What happened to you?" Leonhard shook his head. «Help me get up, I'll take you to see.» Albert stood up and tucked his head under his arm. "Are you sure we'll find the Soviets?" he asked again. "I think so." "How many? Only four, right?" "I saw four of them." "Let's go then." They reached the barbed wire in the evening, crossed the fence and hid among the barracks. Beyond the front row and a second fence, a campfire glowed. "Stay here," Albert whispered, leaning Leonhard against a wall. "If anyone comes, shout my name." Leonhard looked at him, waiting for who knows what, and he didn't speak. Was he forgetting anything? "The name, idiot, you didn't tell him." "Albert." Leo nodded. "Do you know where I can find a gun?" «You can try in the main building, the guards' quarters. Right where they lit the fire."Albert abandoned the plan and walked away, circling the square, still keeping one eye on the fire. Three soldiers were sleeping wrapped in their coats, lying on the bare ground, next to their rifles crossed in a pyramid above which one of their helmets stood. "I wonder why they don't sleep inside the barracks," he wondered, and stuck his head in one of them. He almost vomited: the stench of shit and death was nauseating, so strong that it permeated the wood of the walls. Only the Devil knew what the hell they were doing in that place, and the idea crept into Albert that it was better this way: not knowing. He threw everything back down and continued his prowling, looking for the fourth enemy who was supposed to be on sentry duty. He heard it right behind the guardhouse, at the edge of the cone of light offered by the fire. He was panting, doubled up against the wall, with his back to him, his trousers undone. On the ground, behind him, lay the belt with the pouch. And with it the bayonet. He recognized him by his straw-colored hair and anger rose within him. He approached holding his breath and slowly bent down to pick up the weapon. The blade slipped out of the sheath with just a sigh, or perhaps it was Paglierino who sighed. He looked up and saw her, clutched in his hand, still wrinkled as the last time he had seen her: his little Agathe. Now a fury, Albert threw himself at the soldier, closed his mouth and brought the blade close to his neck; Paglierino let out a muffled scream and bit his hand. The blade severed the carotid artery and jugular with a spray of blood. The soldier, his winter jacket stained red, lost strength and fell to his knees. Albert released him and took his injured hand, letting out a grunt. Something moved around the fire, a soldier turned and muttered nonsense, raised his head and saw him; he screamed as Albert lunged at him and stabbed him multiple times. The last two woke up with a start and rushed towards the rifles, but they were too slow: Leonhard's shadow was already near the weapons. He threw his helmet at the head of the nearest enemy and grabbed a rifle, swinging it like a club over the head of the last unfortunate victim. He pulled the bolt with difficulty and a bullet flew up - the idiots had left them loaded. He closed it and fired at point blank range. The violent recoil made him lose his balance and Leonhard almost fell. The soldier hit by the helmet got back to his feet and charged at him, knocking him to the ground and throwing his hands around his neck. He was screaming in Russian, and so he didn't feel the dagger drop between his shoulder blades. "Take it off me, it's heavy," said Leonhard, crushed under the dead body. Albert freed him and helped him get up. "Are you OK?" he asked as he walked away to get his little treasure back. «Yes, although a little sore.» «I had everything under control but thanks for the help anyway. There was no need to put yourself in danger for me." They sat around the fire, shivering from the cold and stress. "What do we do now?" Leonhard asked, starting to rummage through the dead men's haversacks. «I have to go back to Berlin, I need to know how my wife is doing.» «And how do you want to do it? Reduced like this? Alone?" Albert rubbed a hand over his cheeks in the firelight. He really needed to clean himself up, and the wound on his face stung terribly. "Yes," he replied annoyed. "What will you do instead?" Leonhard was dumbfounded. The idea of ​​freedom had not even crossed his mind in the last year, and now he found himself not knowing how to take advantage of a prize so coveted by others. «I expected to die in here, actually. I would have deserved it." "Why? Are you a criminal?" "I'm certainly no saint." "No one is these days." Leonhard touched his bony ring finger. He thought of the coasts where he was born, of his father's house abandoned before all that nonsense began. "I'll go to Stettin," he concluded, "Maybe I'll find my wife again." Albert wrinkled his nose, but nodded in agreement. «She is not far away, but I can't tell you if she has already been occupied or is still in our hands.» «If I were to die, nothing would change. In fact, maybe it would be better that way." Albert had a thousand questions crowding his mouth, but he swallowed them all. «If you want... we can go a little way together, until... you get out of this pitiful condition, and when the time comes, everyone goes their own way.»«Yes... willingly. Thank you," Leonhard replied in amazement. «Just don't slow me down. I have no time to lose." "Certain." "Well." Silence fell between the two, until Leonhard began to unbutton his shirt. "What are you doing? Then you'll get cold." «We both need to change. Let's see what can be recovered from these poor unfortunates." With a bit of luck they managed to put together two uniforms that weren't too dirty, and there was no shortage of equipment and supplies. They would have covered their bloody jackets with overcoats, but the problem remained their faces. «Let's wake up early tomorrow morning» advised Leonhard, «In the quarters we will surely find something to wash and shave.» Albert nodded and they both went to sleep. The sniper spent the night tormented by insomnia, tossing and turning over and over until the sky cleared a little. He woke Leonhard, who took him to the officers' dormitory. Much of their stuff was still there, hastily abandoned. They both took a quick shower and Albert trimmed his beard, careful not to reopen his cheek. "Would you mind helping me?" Leonhard asked him, handing him the razor. "My hands are shaking." Albert agreed. "You left your moustache, I see." "Yes, is that a problem?" "They might find us." "I'm willing to take a risk." They both remained silent for a while, until Albert moved the blade away. «If you want, I can cut your hair. I don't guarantee anything but..." "No, don't touch me," Albert replied warily, ruffling his brown mop. "I'll tie them under my helmet." Leonhard did not insist. Just after dawn, with the sun behind them, they set off. Two hours later another Soviet patrol entered the camp, to find four naked bodies and nothing else of interest.

48. Schneidemühl, 75 km west of Bromberg, January 1945

It took them three days to cover the distance that Albert, alone, would have covered in one. But damn it, he told himself at every farmhouse that appeared after a turn, he should have seen it coming. "Keep marching," he ordered himself, "put one step in front of the other, Albert." "Albert" he often heard behind him. "Keep marching." "Albert, please." "Come on, one more step." «Albert...» "What's up?" "Give me a break, I can't take it anymore." "We can't stop, it's not evening yet." «Come on, Leonhard, there is still a long way to go.» «We've been walking all day, I'm just asking for some water.» "Did you finish yours?" "Yes." Leonhard stared at him imploringly, holding on to a makeshift stick he had recovered on the first day, when he had left him to carry his damned rifle. He already had enough. "I told you not to burden me." "I beg you." Albert looked around: the countryside was deserted towards the East, while to the West, not too far away, there must have been some small village, of which a destroyed bell tower could be glimpsed. "Okay, here." "Good God, thank you." "Go easy. Give me here. You're cold, aren't you?" It was distressing to see him nod. He struggled so much to march that, when he could, he saved his words. "Let's do this, Leo, all the way to those houses at the end, okay?" "Okay, I think I can do it." "Force. Wait, I'll help you." He had asked for no ballast, and instead there he was, with a wounded man on his shoulder. He should have left it to himself on the first day, instead of taking it with him, and instead there they were, dragging themselves towards a small town controlled by whom they didn't even know. "We should get off the road, Leo." "It's not a problem." "Really? I do not think." Leo nodded again and tightened his arm around Albert's shoulders, raised his stick and moved forward, towards the low wall that ran alongside the path. "Okay," Albert told him, pushing to loosen the grip around his neck. "Let's go." "Albert?" "Yes, tell me. Come on, climb over." "Thank you." Albert pulled himself onto the stone and jumped into the damp grass. His backpack was far too light. "What, sorry?" Leonhard swallowed. "Thank you." They started walking again, one still arm in arm with the other. "You're welcome," replied Albert, snorting, "You can be sure."

49. Berlin, January 1919

The revolt began on a Sunday morning, with the crowd invading the streets of the city and shouting to take over Unter den Linden. He still remembered it, even though he did everything he could to forget. He remembered that in the afternoon, with most of them armed, the workers had occupied the hostile newspapers and eliminated the police; he remembered finding themselves on the barricades in the evening, chanting for a woman. What was her name? Yes, Luxemburg; her name escaped her. How long had it lasted, three days? What a nightmare that had been. What a nightmare it was. He also remembered the boarded-up windows of that dark basement they called home, from which he could witness the unfolding tragedy from the front row: the Spartacists stockpiling weapons and ammunition for the orchestra in the streets, the mortar shells ripping apart the barricades of typographical paper and piles of newspapers... the Frankish Corps, who burst onto the scene and besieged the besiegers, in a fight of poor against poor. It couldn't be reality, even if it was so vivid, even if it was so real: she remembered perfectly the place under the stairs where she had fallen asleep, she wasn't there, she was no longer that five-year-old girl who understood nothing of the chaos around her that escaped her attention. control and twisted and pinched the buildings, it wasn't real... yet like then he found himself looking through the improvised peephole and crying and sobbing. Agathe cried for her mother, whom the factory had devoured and regurgitated into the street like a broken and hungry slave, and for her father, who had disappeared along with his old veteran's uniform. She cried because she didn't know how to pray, she cried in the dark and watched her, even though her mother had told her not to stay close to her window, and she had promised her that she would return, but only after finding her her father. Agathe had never seen either of them again. That time too she cried until she fell asleep, lulled by her own sobs, while the uhlans lowered, pulling the curtain. Then came the orphanage, that squalid childhood, poverty and finally a job, and Albert, met by chance on a wet sidewalk. But between that love shot on a puddle and the nightmare of the Berlin uprising... it was emptiness. It was her only nightmare, which often came back to haunt her at night. And then she had to force herself, tell her mind to wake up, push it back to where it came from, the trauma. Open your eyes, Agathe, come on. Here, above your head, is the basement from last night. You still have a roof over your head, thankfully. Fortunately? Yes, fortunately. You are safe for this night too.

50. 80 km north of Posen, February 1945

Once that initial difficulty was removed, Leonhard demonstrated a steely temper, recovering rather quickly from his two years of imprisonment. Together, he and Albert made a strangely effective duo, and the closer they got to their goal the more confident each became. Disguised as riflemen, they could get a little closer to the front every day and march in broad daylight, following the road that would lead them from Schneidemühl to Brandenburg, to Küstrin, and from there each on their own way. The ice and snow began to give way to storms, the nights became less cold - even if only slightly - the mood a little more serene. "How did you end up in that camp?" Albert asked one morning, taking advantage of the rain that blocked them in an empty and ruined industrial building. Leonhard stopped to listen to the sound of the rain. "I... I killed the person I loved," he replied after a while, his face turned to the water flowing over the broken glass. "But why? Your wife? Weren't you going back to her?" Albert insisted in confusion. "No, not my wife." Leonhard finally turned to look at him and searched for words. "Take your time." «My marriage... was just a favor to a woman seeking protection. I... I loved someone else." «And why did she... why did she die?» "We were enemies, that's why." Albert racked his brains but refused to put the pieces together, as could be guessed from his small, round face.«He was an English pilot, who I shot down in France. We captured him, but he... he tried to escape." Leonhard paused briefly, sighed. «I couldn't let them doubt me, while he... put too much trust in the wrong person. Because of me he died, and it was then that I didn't... I couldn't help myself, hide... They let me bury him with due honors. Then I ran away, before anyone who had seen us could testify against me. I still remember what the soldier who wanted to hand me over to the Gestapo said: that they would allow him to be transferred to the maintenance departments." Albert frowned and opened his mouth, but remained silent and let him continue. «They chased me for a year and a half, first in Berlin and then in Pomerania, where they arrested me. I was transferred a couple of times, and each camp was worse than the last. You don't want to know the things they do to you in there. Don't make me tell them." It thundered outside. "Forgive me," Albert whispered in a feeble voice. «Do not pity me, let me bear my sins in peace.» In the distance it thundered again. "I'm sure whoever caused this will be punished at the end of this damned hell." Leonhard looked at him, his eyes wet. "I don't know, I honestly don't know." They continued to watch the rain, with only the roars of the sky for company. «Albert, why were you looking for those Russians at the camp?» "As?" «You were looking for that particular patrol, when you saved me, I saw you pick something up from one of the bodies. What was it?" Albert reached into the pocket where he kept his treasure. For a moment he ignored the roars of the countryside. "It doesn't concern you," he told him, and Leonhard didn't insist and went back to getting lost in the drops on the glass. When the sun rose four spans above the horizon, he finally stood up and picked up the cane that he still, though not always, used. "Come on, he's almost done." «Not yet, keep thundering. It could start again at any moment." "It's not thunder." Leonhard pointed north. "Did they resume the attack?" «Grab your helmet, we'll get back on the road.» They abandoned the building and the road in the direction of Stettin, walking all day. Towards the evening, being careful to keep far enough away from the patrols, they spied the retreating Soviet columns. "Apparently it wasn't the Russians who attacked," Albert observed. «We'd better go back, we're too close.» The following morning the offensive resumed, and the Soviets managed to regain their lost ground. At lunchtime the two found a field where they had fought that morning, still fresh from the blood shed, still littered with the corpses of soldiers. They took what could be useful. "Leonhard," Albert told him when they had finished their dirty work, "How long until Stettin?" "Two days, if all goes well, maybe three," Leo replied, seeking shelter behind the hull of an abandoned panzer. "Then I'm afraid it's time for us to part ways." Leonhard looked fearful and looked at the death zone in front of them. "But I still have to get over the front." "Don't do it, wait until they come into town." "What if they stop?" Albert shook his head and looked around to make sure they were alone. "Then you better wait." "I don't think I'll succeed." "Leonhard, crossing no man's land is suicide." The Pomeranian didn't answer, and Albert began to hate him. «Listen to me, damn it: if you're still alive there must be a reason, there must be. I didn't save you just to watch as you throw yourself against barbed wire or a bayonet. I wouldn't have been brought to you." «Albert...» «Perhaps, Leonhard... perhaps it is not your wife you are looking for, perhaps it is not for her that you came here. There is surely still something to live for, somewhere on this Earth, for the sake of it! Leonhard stood up and reached out to strike him, but stopped himself. His eyes were cloudy, as they were almost every night before falling asleep. «I'm looking for what I can never have, damn it! Why don't you understand? And if I can't have it, what's the point then?" Albert sketched a smile, faint and lifeless. «It certainly exists, you just don't know it yet, and you're hurt because you think you know it instead. God knows the plan..." «God is dead, Albert! He died in France, he died with those Polish children! » Albert punched him.Leonhard was this close to hitting his head on one of the panzer's cogwheels. He landed on the torn links of the destroyed track and rolled over, raising his hands to protect his face. Albert grabbed him by the jacket and put him back on his feet, smoothed out his uniform and took his head in his hands. «Follow me to Berlin then, if you don't know where to go. We'll see what to do then." He released his face and waited for a response. Leonhard remained silent and then, suddenly, he hugged him. Albert heard him sob, and among his sobs he heard a murmur, a faint name: "Charlie."

51. Berlin, April 1944

The bombings gradually became less frequent and extensive as the winter ended, and ended on the last day of March. Berlin had not been the only city affected, but its devastation had affected everyone's consciences more than anything else: it had instilled in them the terror of not being invulnerable. Yet he held firm and moved forward. Agathe still worked at the post office, even if she had changed duties: now she sorted the mail all day and delivered some smaller packages now to one office now to another, from time to time, and a kind and experienced section manager was trying to teach her how to type, with not-so-terrible results. Given her understaffing, Schulz - that was the man's name - had guaranteed her a promotion if she proved herself capable of it by the end of the month. So she promised herself not to disappoint him, and not only because she was tempted by the salary increase, but also because then she could write some anonymous letters that would pass the checks and spread the word about her. She felt that the day was near, and she hoped that by then the people of Berlin would be ready. Every progress she made brought a little light back to her body. «There is always a lighthouse» she repeated to herself when the police officers came to investigate the offices, initially to verify the integrity of the building, then to check if there were any subversive tendencies among the workers. Luckily for her they didn't seem to have any suspicions towards her. At the end of the month she got her promotion, with warm compliments from Schulz, who moved her to her broadcast section. The man, now her direct superior, even offered to take her home that day. "You are truly a special woman," he told her as they reached the driveway in front of the entrance. «Indeed, a wonderful woman.» Agathe blushed at the compliments and uttered a few greetings and a goodnight. Closing the door behind her, for once, she didn't breathe a sigh of relief, she didn't feel the need to: the fatigue of that day had been light, and she felt calm, and she went to bed holding Albert's pillow as she would have liked. tighten his chest. The following morning she woke up refreshed, fresh, confident. Before going to work, remembering Schulz's compliments and attentions, she decided to wear her wedding ring.

52. Küstrin, April 1945

The Soviets conquered Stettin only at the end of April, after a siege that occupied the entire month of March. Along the southern course of the Oder, the situation was not so dissimilar: the Red Army was based on the right bank, while the Heer held the left and guarded the highway that ran straight to Berlin. From the eastern bank you could see the hills - fortified in that momentary respite - that the highway crossed; the surrounding plain, washed by the Oder, had been reduced to a marsh. Albert and Leonhard had abandoned the road from Schneidemühl a few kilometers north of Küstrin, waiting for the front to advance. From their hiding place a few kilometers behind the lines they could see the convoys arriving at Küstrin, loaded with ammunition, and incessantly supplying the artillery positions which were piling up shell after shell. "It's going to happen," Albert said one evening before taking guard duty. "How long has it been since we met, Albert?" Leonhard asked him, turning over on the saddlebag used as a pillow. «What month was it? December January? I don't remember, I lost track of the days." «It's been three months, Albert. Three months to cross Poland.» "Did you think they would have put in less?" "Yes." "I thought so too.""How long have you been on the run, Albert?" Weinrich raised his head to the west. His jaw was shaking, but it wasn't the cold of the evening. «At the end of June it will be a year» he replied. "How did it happen? Did you stay behind?" The air froze for a short while before Albert decided to speak. «No, it was my choice. I was scared, and I ran away. They told us to stay in place to die and so... I ran away, that's it. «And now you're going back...?» "To see my wife again, Agathe." Leonhard raised his head from his bed. "Agathe?" Albert approached him, taking a crumpled photograph from his jacket. «She IS beautiful, see? We've been married for ten years now. She's still in Berlin waiting for me." Leonhard looked at the photo with different eyes, then raised his head to look Albert in the face. He was shaken by a sob, and another, before letting out a weak, bitter laugh that soon turned into a cough. «But I know you!» he said, sitting up. «That couple from Adlon was you. Is this what you were hiding from me? Really?" Albert didn't understand. He put the photograph away, convinced that Leonhard was laughing at him, then little by little the memory resurfaced: the wedding postponed for two years, the fight in the hotel common room, the lost job... the money of the very kind Leonhard. He blushed with anger and embarrassment. "I have to keep watch," he muttered. Leonhard took his wrist, and he turned, surprised, to look at him. He barely remembered the face he had seen fleetingly almost fifteen years earlier, but he was certain of one thing: what he had before him was only the ghost of what he remembered, with his thinner hair, his square face, his white-veined eyes. , pale. Leonhard smiled at him. "I have to thank you, Albert." "Go to sleep while you can." "Without you I wouldn't be here." Albert walked away, without asking the meaning of that last sentence.

53. Berlin, July 1944

That morning, as he copied the first dispatches of the day onto the teletype, Schulz came to his desk. "This came from OKW," he told her, handing her a letter. She had sad eyes and the look of someone who wants to help. Agathe took the envelope and opened it without thinking twice. A curse escaped her mouth. "Everything is fine? Can I do something for you?" Schulz asked, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. She pulled back and looked at him, full of anger and bitterness. "Can you give me a minute?" he asked with broken kindness. "Certain." Agathe moved away from the desk and sought some privacy in the bathrooms. There, in solitude, she lost control and burst into tears, cursing creation and punching the wall. Albert was missing, almost certainly dead fighting strenuously for his homeland, demonstrating great valor to his comrades during the difficult retreat from Minsk. "To hell with it all!" she said to herself, wiping her eyes. She had to go back to her desk, start writing again, move forward and find the time to scream her anger at the world once she got home. Schulz was still waiting for her at the desk. "Do you need a day off?" «No, but thank you for the offer. I can do it, really." "Certainly. Whatever it is, I'm here, especially for you." Agathe glared at him and drowned herself in work, trying to be more mechanical and colder than her typewriter. But her keys were typing slowly, the paper was not moving forward. She arrived at the end of the day when she had accomplished little or nothing, and the only thing she had left was a great weight on her heart. Schulz offered to take her to her house but she refused, preferring her solitude. As they approached the crowded entrance together, several men in black entered the office. "Good evening, we're closing," the section head said wearily, but they didn't listen and pushed him aside. Agathe held her breath. Despite their civilian clothes, it was clear who they were: regime police officers. Indeed, among the dozen policemen she recognized one of those who had interrogated her almost two years before her, the bull-necked one who had turned her bedroom upside down. He saw her, and she instinctively hid her hand, but it was clear she had been too slow.They took them to the street, where the other employees who had come out before them were waiting, all lined up against the wall, their hands above their heads. It was just the usual check on the efficiency of the employees, they explained to the manager. The office was searched from top to bottom for the umpteenth time, and in the end the agents took away two employees - two anonymous, two above suspicion - and let the others go. Agathe walked home with a dry throat and trembling fingers, startled by the sound of her own heels on the paved sidewalk, and all the way she couldn't help but feel like she was being watched.

54. Küstrin, April 1945

They were woken up just before dawn by cannon fire and the whistling of rockets, so deafening that Leo and Albert were forced to cover their ears, even at that distance. The sky everywhere was a fire, crossed by streets of smoke and shooting stars heading west. After just under half an hour it cleared of smoke and night and was covered in thousands of flocks of black dots, hovering overhead in perfect synchrony. "They're attack planes," commented Leonhard. «They will devastate the armored columns and the city. Are you sure Agathe is safe?" «I really hope so, but knowing her...» "Pray she's not already dead." "I already did." Leonhard gathered his things and prepared to march. «We're going towards the Oder, we have to follow the attack» he said. With the first sun they saw the columns of armor set off on the highway, the trucks full of infantrymen stretching along the entire shore, where hundreds of barges and boats were waiting. The air filled with the stench of burnt fuel and exhaust from vehicles and rockets and became electric with rain, and with the water came mist. As they approached the mud to which the front lines were reduced, they saw the sky lit up with columns of light that rhythmically lowered to the ground, cutting through the fog. Leonhard had already seen similar lights on his flights over France and England. They stopped about a kilometer from the shore, but it was impossible to follow the fight, since he could not see beyond the tip of his bayonet. The air echoed with explosions, distant, close, accompanied by shots, volleys, the fearsome howling of planes. Late in the morning the rain finally dispersed the terrible mist and finally lightened and cleared. In front of Leonhard and Albert, beyond the road bridge and the Oder railway, the wooded Seelow plateau appeared. The Soviets had taken the bank and were slowly advancing towards the heights, but for every armored vehicle that disappeared among the trees a company of infantrymen came back; the Germans, who must have retreated in time before the bombing, defended themselves ferociously. "It's useless. We can't go any further today" commented Albert, close to despair. "Let's hope they at least don't lose their beachhead." «Why don't they stop? They've lost the moment now, they should regroup." «Because the damned Soviets are crazy, wild devils. If you haven't seen their attack up close you can't understand, they are like hungry dogs: once they grab the bone they never let go. It doesn't even cross his mind to look for a better opening to attack." The assault continued until the evening. The Soviets occupied the entire left bank, but the advance stalled close to the hill. Leonhard and Albert took a few steps even closer to the river, in the hope of being able to steal a boat just before the next dawn. Hiding in an abandoned trench, they fell asleep, hoping that those few hours of sleep would give them the courage to face that last effort again.

55. Berlin, July 1944

Someone knocked on his door two days later, in the early morning; Agathe was now waiting for them, she had let herself be carried away by paranoia. She went to open the door and found herself faced with the same three agents who haunted her nightmares day and night. "Hello, it's nice to see you again," she began, trying to hide her terror behind a veneer of cheekiness. "Mrs. Weinrich, be kind enough to follow us to headquarters," the tallest of them said mechanically. "Of course, time to grab a bag." "Impossible."They grabbed her and pushed her into the corridor and from there onto the entrance path. From the surrounding windows someone was timidly observing, in the street there was a regime of silence. Agathe let them take her to the Mitte district, through Wilhelmstraße and from there to Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, dominated by the buildings of the party's security and police forces. Once inside the granite block of number 8, which had once been a hotel, they locked her in a tiny, bare and empty room, with an uncomfortable stool as the only piece of furniture. They left her there for a good half hour, before a tall man with her pale face and bushy eyebrows came in to question her. "Do you know why you are here?" he asked her. «Not really, sir. Could you be kind to me...? "Why didn't you show up for work today or yesterday?" «I asked my superior for the day off to go to the War Ministry to ask for some well-deserved explanations.» «Yes, she was seen leaving the Wedding neighborhood by several witnesses yesterday morning, and others confirm her presence in the Tiergarten, as she entered the Benderblock. She hasn't explained why yet." «But how, don't you know? Damn..." "What should we know, Mrs. Weinrich? Tell me, please." The tormentor stared at her intensely, frowning his ruffled brow. Agathe felt her skin burning, as if she had been penetrated by red-hot prods. «But it's obvious, careless.» "Stop it." "To do what?" "Just stop." The man took a deep pause. "Continue." «I was saying, it's obvious. My husband is at war and has just been reported missing in Russia. They owed me some explanations, that's the minimum, they had to tell me if there is any way to recover his body, given that they've already given him up for dead. I'm owed a pension now. Am I right, officer? You can definitely help me." The man interrupted her with a backhand. "Tell me the truth," he asked again a little later, "What did you intend to do at the War Department? He was carrying information to whom? On whose behalf? We know that five days ago you received and forwarded an early warning order for the territorial reserve from General Fromm. Her superior was questioned and swears that he was not asked about it. Tell me, are you loyal to the party and the Führer, Mrs. Weinrich?" Agathe spat a glob of saliva mixed with blood onto the ground, not so much because she really had to. "I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about, sir, I didn't pay attention to the dispatch, I had no idea what it meant." "And you had nothing to do with your absenteeism yesterday?" «Absolutely not, I only went to the ministry because I wanted justice for myself and my husband, justice as you gave it to our neighbors is fine at this point.» Agathe had no idea what she was getting into, but she had already started this drama, she might as well continue it. "Come on, my throat is here." The man sighed and rubbed his injured knuckles. "Who did you talk to at the ministry?" Agathe took a deep breath and lowered her chin to hide her exposed chest. «A stunted employee, more glasses than head, who spent the morning telling me I had to go home. I told him "I don't have the slightest intention of leaving" and he shrugged. But does he believe it? Is it ever possible to talk to a bureaucrat these days? He told me "if your husband is dead, let him rest his soul", tell me if these are ways of treating a lady. "And did you always stay at the ministry in the afternoon?" «Of course, where should I have gone? I tried to talk to one of the soldiers on the third floor. A poor man with one hand missing and an eye patch, I snuck up behind him and stopped him before he joined a meeting, I think. He was full of officers, but I don't understand, understand me. I asked him how I could find out what unit my husband served in, but he brushed me off in annoyance and they took me out of the Benderblock. He seemed agitated, thinking about it. He was champing at the bit." «Did he know Him? Did he even know the officer's name? «No, but how many soldiers without one hand and one eye could there ever be? Certainly very few nowadays." "I told her to stop." Agathe smiled, appearing conciliatory. "Why? Have I done something wrong?" she asked innocently."You would make a perfect movie star, Mrs. Weinrich. Tell me, are you familiar with Soviet ideology? Have you ever served or do you have any acquaintances or relatives who served in the communist party before 1933? "But how, sir?" Agathe asked pouting. «I spent my whole life in an orphanage, before I met my Albert.» "So it makes sense to ask her if she can write." "Obviously. What do you allow yourself to insinuate?" The officer sneezed. «Do you know that her neighbors wrote protest leaflets against the Führer, inviting the people to sedition?» "Really? I... Oh, good God, that's why." Agathe swallowed, realizing that she was the one in the final act. «No, I didn't know. They were very private, I barely knew their names were Otto and Elise. My husband knew Otto a little longer, he accompanied him from time to time to the neighborhood veterans' association." About her She looked at the tall officer in front of her, and he didn't bat an eye. "I've basically never had the chance to talk to them, believe me." The man approached her, reached out to her jaw, perhaps to hit her again, but at the last moment he held back. «Do you know that rather similar flyers were also found in your workplace? Can he explain to me why, if the two are no longer around? "We're a post office, sir. Sorting mail is what we do." The man clenched his fist; his joints creaked. "We're done for now," he told her harshly as he approached the door. «You will remain here for the moment, at the complete disposal of the Geheime Staatspolizei.» Agathe looked around. «Like here? You mean... right here?" "Yes," replied the torturer, more icy than the room, and left. Agathe remained in the dark in the center of the room, sitting on the uncomfortable stool. At that moment, she remained unsure of what to do, whether to abandon herself to despair or let herself be overcome by hysterical laughter. «I swear, it's an annoying bullshit race of sarcasm. And I'm losing, too." Rupert Lehmann lit a cigarette and surveyed the sparse crowd walking down Prinz-Albrecht-Straße. For every three civilians there was an SS soldier, he counted. "She Is a hateful woman, I should beat her." "Do it, then, what are you waiting for?" asked Klaus-Heinrich Schmidt, who was smoking next to him and counting the minutes at the end of the day. "What's stopping you?" «I'd like to make sure she's a redhead first, so I can beat her up. I would prefer to avoid her, if she proved to be a true Aryan." Smith snorted and blew through his nose, his neck already thick unnaturally swollen. "She is, believe me." «Heinrich, you've been following her for two years. Prove it to me." «She's the one who writes those flyers, I'm sure of it. Also look at her hand. I am sure that you have never participated in an iron or gold collection. Look at her hand, I say." Rupert threw what was left of the cigarette on the ground. «But yes, you're right. And what else? You don't have any children, right? "No, she lived alone in the house." "Bad. However, the Wedding flyers have no fingerprints and the typed ones are an indecipherable mess." Klaus-Heinrich also threw his cigarette butt and followed him onto the sidewalk. "But you'll see that her footprints will come out among the many, and that's enough." "Yeah, that'll do it."

56. Küstrin, April 1945

They were awakened by shouts in Russian and swears that morning. Albert opened his eyes and saw above him the brown cap of a grim commissioner pointing his gun at them. Instinctively she cocked her head and reached for the rifle a foot away from him, but felt her arm being grabbed. He followed the hand and saw Leonhard with his eyes begging him not to move, and finally awake he noticed the other soldiers all around them. He stood up slowly and remained silent. His companion stiffened in front of the Soviet commissar and, snapping to attention, put a hand to his visor. The officer seemed to ask him something, or simply barked at him, and he responded with a few words. In Polish. Albert rolled his eyes and stood at attention too. He didn't move until he saw Leonhard picking up his rifle, pouch and helmet, and promptly followed suit. They soon set out and joined other patrols, proceeding along the shore. "What did you tell him?" Albert whispered to his companion, confused. "Do you know Russian?"«No» Leonhard replied, lowering his voice even more, «The Pole. The little they taught me at the Lager. Be quiet and follow me." They put them on a barge together with another sixty infantrymen, and left in silence for the left bank. Even that morning the river was immersed in fog, and the soldiers were restless, you could sense it even without seeing them. Albert wanted to ask Leo where they were taking them, but he could tell by opening his mouth. Little by little, in the midst of the fog, the sounds of battle came, and some of the younger soldiers let themselves go over the parapet, vomiting their fears into the river. This was not the case for Albert: an instinct that had never died was reborn in him, and he found himself once again in Belarus; next to him he saw his lost companions, he saw Krämer's livid and emaciated face. But it was only the fog. He checked the bullets and bolt and relaxed his shoulders, trying not to think about hunger. Soon his stomach would close and he wouldn't eat any more food until the evening, but he had long since gotten used to it. They touched down in front of another military commission, and Weinrich grabbed onto Leo's belt to let him guide him through the crowd, through the sorting and off towards the camp. They walked for a good kilometer before they could stop, and another two kilometers and then the battle awaited them. Every now and then someone would ask a question, and Leonhard would answer in Polish every time, which often caused their interlocutors to walk away. They were assigned to a scarred and grim lieutenant, who must have been a handsome man before the war. It didn't take them long to notice that he wasn't wearing a Red Army uniform. He didn't bother to ask where they came from or how they ended up there, or why one of them didn't speak and the other spoke very badly. He didn't care, as long as they kept the rifle pointed in the right direction. He explained to them in a damn hasty manner that Zhukov was gathering the reserves, and that whether they wanted to or not they too would participate in the frontal assault. It was their welcome to the 1st Polish Army.

57. Berlin, July 1944

Agathe hadn't broken yet, sitting on that damned stool. The washed-out man kept asking her questions, but the only response she received with each slap was, "I don't know, damn it." She had only her insides to give her a sense of the passage of time, while her punches and violence numbed her face. It must have been past lunch time by now, and she hoped she wouldn't need any slop either that day or the following ones. «Who should you contact at the ministry?» she repeated the tormentor, who like her had skipped the meal so as not to give up. "Please, I don't know." She agathe thought about letting herself slide off the stool and hit the hard floor. «I don't even ask to be able to go home. Kill me instead, but don't ask me any more questions." The man raised his hand, and Agathe bent backwards and she fell before she was even hit. He picked it up and held it within an inch of her face. "It's not time yet, Mrs. Weinrich. You will have what you want when you have given us something. Who writes her dirty propaganda for? Who pays it? Is he in General Fromm's service? » "Go to hell, sir." The officer threw her to the ground and approached the door. "Believe me when I tell you that up to now we have used good manners," he said, silhouetted against the opposite dark corner. «Now I will go out and my colleague will come in, and I assure you that he will not be as kind as I was. My colleague took this investigation personally and ran with it for two years, so believe me when I say he won't go easy, oh no. If you want to get out of this building vertically, for the last time, you better talk." Agathe swallowed and pretended to be determined, but her tremor gave her away. «Do you have anything to add? No? Well, ma'am, I wish you good luck. You'll need it a lot." For a few minutes they left her alone. No sound came from the corridor beyond the door; then some excited shouting was heard, and finally the bull-necked agent, with his ruddy and breathless face, entered.Agathe listed her saints and wondered if she would find her husband again or if it had all been a huge mistake, from the first rebellion until now. With anguish she realized that she didn't know what to hope for, she didn't know how to justify herself in front of something higher, to say why she had done it. She remained with her chest exposed, waiting for her blow, but it was her surprise that killed her. "Come on, we have to go," the policeman said, holding out his hand. Stunned and confused, Agathe accepted the offer of help and she approached, only to be rudely put back on her feet. "What? He died? " Klaus-Heinrich swallowed and began to moo. "How can the Führer be dead?" Kriminalkommissar Rudolf Hofmann of the A-1 subsection for the fight against communism nodded repeatedly, while he dug his nails into the wood of the desk. «That's what they just told me. A bomb attack in the Wolf's Lair. We don't know who did it." "But that means..." "It means they will mobilize the territorial militia reserve, to make sure there is no disturbance, but if it was organized from within, as I fear, we have to watch our backs. You don't know about the Valkyrie plan, I imagine." «No, Kriminalkommissar. What can we do?" «Nothing, except hoping they don't arrest us and waiting for orders on what to do.» A telephone rang, Hofmann picked up the receiver and listened, and when he put it down he stared at the subordinate in front of him. «They entered the Ministry of the Interior.» «We must act, they will be here soon!» «Gather the agents and block the entrance, they will be here shortly, yes.» «Kriminalkommissar, we don't have heavy weapons, we can't...» There was a knock on the door and Rupert Lehmann entered the office. «Heil Hitler, Kriminalkommissar. The prisoner awaits Agent Schmidt.» "I'll be right there." "To hell with your interrogation, Schmidt! Our current problem is not a woman, but the army high command at the Benderblock! «I apologize, Kriminalkommissar, I will immediately carry out his orders.» The two agents left and headed towards the interrogation wing. "What happens?" asked Rupert. «A coup d'état.» "Impossible! Really?" «We don't know anything yet. But we have to lock ourselves in here, according to the boss. You take care of it, Lehmann, I have to look after the prisoner." «Don't you think it's time to let this investigation go? She won't take us anywhere now." Klaus-Heinrich turned red in the face and swelled up. "And what should I do, release her?" he shouted. "You can take her out into the yard and shoot her in the head, you decide. Now I'm going to do what you should do." "Lehmann, you big bastard!" "Not scream." "I've been chasing her for three years now, do you think I'll let her go like this?" Rupert Lehmann stopped and raised an arm towards the closet door. "Have you ever shot a person, Klaus?" Klaus-Heinrich fell silent, put a hand to the holster hidden under his jacket, rubbed a hand on his forehead and took a deep breath. "I can do it without any problems." Rupert shook his raised arm. «Then do it, the choice is yours alone.» He turned and left. Klaus-Heinrich Schmidt twisted his fingers and cursed.

«Walk, forward!» the officer said, jerking her. "If I saw something, I would," Agathe muttered. She almost tripped. "Where do we go?" "In the courtyard, walk." The man pushed her out of the building and placed her against the wall. Agathe sighed and tried to look at the executioner. Not that she couldn't find the courage, but her bruised eyelids made it difficult. "Any last words?" "Hell, shoot me." The officer drew his gun and aimed it, and waited. "Do not look at me." "No, I will." "Why?" "Because I won't carry around the same burden of your shame." "Hell, look down!" Agathe stood still. Schmidt screamed, lowered the weapon and slapped her. "Get out! Don't let me see you again!" Agathe took the blow and looked back at him, as brave as she was confused. Was this really happening? No, it was definitely all a hallucination. Yes, she had probably already shot her and she was actually in agony drooling right there on that spot, on the floor. "Go away!" She crawled along the wall to the first corner, took a step back, then another, and uncertainly she turned and little by little, fatigued by her blurred vision and the pain in her face, she began to run.Officer Schmidt watched her walk away across the yard, groaned in pain and gripped his gun. She took aim and fired.58 Seelow, April 1945 On the third day the Heights were attacked. In the early afternoon the last German forces, now disorganized and routed, were completely surrounded and annihilated. Albert had watched in horror as the dense lines of Soviet riflemen attacked the enemy positions en masse, as if they were insensitive to the danger and pain. Once at the camp, when the drunkenness and adrenaline gave way to reality, the moans and tears tormented him until the dawn of the new assault. In the midst of the swampy holes in front of Seelow he had escaped death again and again, and regretted his service in the Wermacht every time. That afternoon they were finally allowed to rest, and new rations were distributed to the troops. At least we couldn't complain about that. The lieutenant came to visit them while they wasted time watching tractors tow artillery pieces. "You, take off your helmet," he said to Weinrich, who was careful never to be seen with his head uncovered. Obviously Albert didn't understand, and stared at him worriedly, unsure what to do. Leonhard touched his forehead and tried to explain himself with gestures, but only succeeded in instilling even more fear in Albert's body. «You're not Polish, are you? What are you, Germans? Czechs?" "Germans," Leonhard replied. «Take off your helmet, Albert. Political prisoners, sir." «And how should I trust you? I could have you shot for espionage. Pitiful spies at that, your friend speaks neither Russian nor Polish." "This proves we're not spies, sir. What little I know of your language I learned from my fellow prisoners. Please, we can fight, and we just want to go home." "Fight? You?" Albert turned his head at every sentence, without understanding. «Leonhard, do they want to arrest us? Tell him my wife is a communist." «Now is not the time, Albert. Sir, we are not Nazis, my serial number was 25810, interned in Potulitz for two years, a prison that you liberated.» The lieutenant scratched his chin, and Albert prayed that he knew nothing of the four soldiers who died in the camp. "God, there's only one thing I hate more than Germans... Take your friend to the company barber, then go dig latrines." "Thank you sir." "Don't thank me, but the communists," concluded the officer with a contemptuous tone. "Go." Albert suddenly became docile on the way to the barber, but he insisted and was allowed to leave his moustache. The work of hoe and spade proved rather useless, and he only served to break their backs and send them to bed broken. The next morning the artillery woke them up, and the slaughter resumed with more vigor. Their company, battered and worn out, was sent a little further south to clean up some pockets, and then back again, waiting for the encirclement of Berlin to close, now incessantly battered by air and ground bombing. That evening, before falling asleep, Albert prayed once again to see Agathe again.59 A few kilometers east of Berlin, April 1945 Over the next five days they tightened their grip on the city, awaiting the order for the final assault. Albert and Leonhard spent their days under the wary gaze of their companions in the Northern sector, but no one dared to touch them. Both slept little, and often found themselves looking at the city, wondering how much blood they would get on their hands tomorrow. That evening, it was Leonhard who remained awake. "You've never been in a land battle before, have you?" Albert asked, crawling next to him. «No, I was just a pilot. Can't you sleep too?" "How could I, so close to our destination?" "Maybe we should run now that it's dark," Leonhard suggested, searching the darkness for the sentries around them. «And find ourselves tomorrow on the other side of the barricade? Look at how we are dressed, they would shoot us before even asking us where we come from. Go to sleep, the sentry is coming and if he sees us both awake he will become suspicious." Leonhard turned to leave, crawling towards the bivouac, but stopped a little longer. «Albert...» "Yes, Leo?"«I wanted to say thank you, truly, for everything you did. Probably ten years ago, without you, I would have lived a less happy life." "What are you saying? Stop talking nonsense and she goes to sleep." "You know, Albert, it's so crazy, how our paths crossed. Perhaps there really is some superior plan that eludes us. I'm starting to think I'm here to pay back." "Okay, now go." "Goodnight, Albert." "Good night." Leo retreated to his corner of the trench, but couldn't sleep a wink for much of the night.

60. Berlin, June 1932

Leonhard remembered that corridor on the sixth floor perfectly, so vividly despite the fumes of sleep. It must have been an afternoon, yes, when he began to complain of the first shortages and to wonder how much longer he could live in that limbo of Bohème pretending that everything was fine with him. By now his stay there depended on the British Embassy and another, small, damned insignificant detail depended on his stay... While he waited leaning against the balustrade, he heard the elevator doors open and immediately turned around. «Charlie, good evening...» «Leonhard...» The Englishman approached the door of suite 674, paused for a moment before turning the key. «...please excuse me.» «Please excuse me, Sir» Leo cut short, repressing the pain of that missed you. «I was rude the other day at the pool. Is that why you avoid me?" Charlie avoided showing her embarrassment. «I... would like to talk to you again, just... not now. When I feel less clumsy, yes." «Of course, Charles, I understand you...» The door closed before he could say anything else. Leonhard entered his room, 675, and leaned against the wall, hoping to hear through the wall some heartbeat, a simple sigh. Something that told him "I'm here, just waiting for you." Damn, if he had fallen for it, if he wanted it, if he felt attracted to every glance innocently exchanged in passing. He remembered how much he was in a hurry, how suddenly the fear of losing him rose within him before it all began. He remembered how he had looked for him and pretended to be surprised to find themselves at a table together, to be able to sit next to each other. He remembered the selfish idea of ​​provoking him in some way, just to be able to have him for himself again, like in those few moments spent sheltered by the warm vapors down there. And he remembered where it all had taken them, 5000 meters above the waters of the Channel and lying on the French coast, damp and panting. "But it was worth it," Charlie whispered to him when he hugged him between the sheets and let his fingers walk between his broad shoulder blades and his neck, "It was really worth it."

61. Berlin, July 1944

Agathe heard the shot and ducked, running until she was out of breath among the arches of the old hotel. She passed some policemen who, hearing the explosion, ran towards the courtyard, but luckily for her they ignored her. She nearly tripped over the loose laces of her own shoes, and she was thankful she was wearing fairly sturdy heels. She stopped only at the end of the block, unable even to scream due to her fatigue. Trucks full of soldiers were advancing on the road, roadblocks had been created with barbed wire and cannons and machine guns; the few men and women who were still on the streets hurried to find shelter in the niches of the buildings, sniffing the air which smelled of plastic explosives and lead. No one paid her any attention, no one bothered to look at her face or pay attention to her torn and bloody dress. She walked up Wilhelmstraße and reached Unter den Linden, looking for the way that would take her home. But she knew they would still look for her, and that Wedding was no longer a safe area. Where to go then? She looked to the right, towards Opernplatz at the end of the avenue. Take the subway and disappear who knows where? No, she didn't have a penny in her pocket, they hadn't let her take anything from home. She turned the other way and found herself in front of the Brandenburg Gate in Pariser Platz. And on the left, still lit by street lamps, the Hotel Adlon.She advanced slowly while some soldiers called her and ordered her to leave, but she paid no attention and entered the hotel, where the waiters and the few isolated customers looked at her worriedly. Someone grabbed her and she lost her strength, she felt delirious and asked for Mr. Lüthenmeyer. «Please take me to him. Where's Hugo? Where is Mr. Adlon?" They made her lie down on a bench in her staff rooms and gave her water, bandaged her wrists and wiped away the blood dripping from her nose. Now late in the evening, someone came and sat next to her and lightly touched her hand. «Agathe... is that you? How... What happened to you?" She recognized the voice of Erwin Lüthenmeyer, the personnel manager, and even a deeper voice. "Who is she?" asked the stranger. «Agathe Shwartz... an old employee of ours, Mr. Louis. Nothing to worry about." "Is he sure?" "I think so. Do we wait for him to regain his strength and send her home? Louis Adlon bent down to look at her better and scratched his white mustache. "No. Put her in a room on the top floor, let her rest and give her what she needs. You will stay here as long as you want. If anyone, even the police, comes looking for her, let me know, I'll decide what to do. Good God, what a mess they've made of her face." Agathe murmured something - perhaps a name, perhaps a cry for help - while Mr. Lüthenmeyer replied: "I'll take care of it immediately, Mr. Adlon." She felt herself being lifted and now on the verge of fainting she was carried away.

62. Berlin, February 1919

She had asked not to be left alone anymore, when they took her away from the basement where she had been abandoned, she had asked not to leave her in the dark anymore. In the suburban hovel where she found hospitality, she actually forgot what her solitude was. They told her that she would no longer have to fear anything, that she would always have the company of the other girls in the dormitory - always, from the first piss in the morning until going to bed in the evening. Even at night she could hear their light breathing. And she found, among other things, the company of punishments, of sticks on her knuckles and spikes on her thighs, surprise tips, so fast that they didn't leave their mark except on her soul. She remembered how hard they hit as soon as a mistake occurred during work, classes and even rest. And she remembered how crowded that hovel was, not like now. It was still the same damned nightmare as hers, after all, with always the same sick people tormenting her, lying in the beds of the hospital wing that scared her so much. She hated the smell of emptiness and disease, she hated infected bodies and the elderly governesses who treated her badly if she didn't help those in need. She hated the parish priest who spent every day praying with them, who forced the consecrated bread and wine into their mouths, without even asking permission. She once tried to bite him - it was a recurring part of her dream - and she was restrained by the old women and beaten. The slaps from the teachers were added immediately afterwards, between one flash of memory and another. Here, the parish priest had already vanished, dissolved into the oblivion of sleep, and came the fear of menarche, the teasing of the little ones, the dirty blankets, the sense of guilt and shame. That fleeting moment of understanding on the part of the elderly - a real surprise - was often skipped over. The hovel ended up getting smaller but always remained crowded, even if many passed through the cemetery next door. So he had lost a doll that he cared about, he still remembered, picked up by sewing together old cushion covers: a little girl had stolen it from him and wouldn't let go of it even to sleep at night, and so she had taken it to the grave when she got tuberculosis. . She too had once ended up on the hospital beds, right where she felt the most disgust, due to a bad ringworm that had eaten away at her hips and legs for over a month. God, the horror of the plagues, still fresh... But it was already the next memory, when, at her first mature breast, her elderly supervisor had called her into her office to tell her that it was time to abandon the old hovel. They gave her a new dress and said, "Get a real job."They had taught her to cook and clean up to that point, and they handed her over to an old bourgeois who was waiting for her there in the superior's office, a man who seemed enormous seen from so low down, with a thin dark moustache. He accompanied her to the door and took her home as a scullery maid. The first money she got that way she spent on buying two new shoes that wouldn't make her heels bleed in the summer and her little toes freeze in the winter. She was finally able to forget the mud that infested the courtyard of the hovel, the mud that covered the bricks of the first floor and hid the century-old lime. Her life continued for a year, before arriving at the Hotel Adlon with a letter from the old master. Mr. Lüthenmeyer had hired her after an intense interview and a good look at her entire body, from the shoes she wore to her pretty face. She was fine, he said, presentable enough. Not that it took her much to make 90 beds a day and clean as many toilets. Albert had arrived shortly thereafter, with a delivery of new stoves for the North wing and the offer to spend a nice afternoon in Monbijoupark. But it wasn't what her brain was telling her to dream about, no, it was something else she could torment her with. It was uncertainty, the fragility of the very bricks that Berlin was made of. Their feet sank into the clay and the storm approached. Yes, Albert always understood it, when the air smelled of rain. She would arrive sooner or later, she was arriving right now, and would she be ready? How would she have dealt with it? Her brain didn't respond to this, he just kept repeating, "It will come and you won't be able to do anything about it." And she will be the darkest hour of our existence, yes, she knew it. She was tired of all that rigmarole, she was tired of suffering those memories that hammered her skull. Was there any way to control it? Maybe yes, maybe she was succeeding at that very moment. Her head throbbed as her nightmare was lost in a valley of fog. She still heard voices, now imaginary, now real, little by little more and more the latter than the former, nothing that she could fix, focus on, until only one of her dominated the others and filled her ears. "My German brothers, I speak to you tonight for two reasons: first, so that you may hear my voice and know..." Radio? Who was listening to her? Who was she? In the other room? Next door? She didn't understand either. She had to get up, turn that thing off, she didn't want to listen to anything anymore. But she was all so stiff. «...The details of a crime without parallel in the history of Germany.» She had to concentrate, she had to force herself to react. Here, she could bend her index fingers, she noticed. «A little clique...» She didn't want to listen anymore. «... You conspired to eliminate me.» With another effort, she felt her middle and ring fingers, and from there, little by little, all of her hands. «...I was completely unharmed. I see the hand of providence in this..." Agathe finally opened her eyes again and cursed her damned providence.

63. Berlin, April 1945

The first thing she remembered waking up was the Führer's voice on the radio, and his condemnation of the military who had attempted to overthrow the regime and take Berlin. Yet Agathe had not deluded herself in those months, and she remembered those anonymous strangers as saints, whose sole aim was to save Germany. Their failure had only dissolved any residual illusion and had slammed the harsh reality upon everyone: that as long as the man at the head of the machine was alive, each of them was doomed. Each breath she took brought the enemies from the East one step closer and any surrender to the Allies further and further away. Everyone feared the enemy from the East, everyone knew how cruel Germany had been towards him, how great the hatred he had instilled in her children, and they knew that he would take revenge by repaying all suffering. But what was left to do now, after the lair had proven so impregnable? Agathe had now given up, and she spent her days taking care of the wounded who in the last two months had begun to crowd the wings of the hotel, which had been reduced to a dirty hospital where soldiers and evacuees passed before reaching the tomb. . "How long until the end?" she wondered looking at the ceiling when she closed her eyes and as soon as she opened them again. "How much longer?"Everyone hoped they came from the West, or from the South, but please, God, not from the East, not from there. It would have been a massacre. Would their freedom have justified all that blood? Agathe didn't know, and maybe it was better not to know.

Every day they listened to the latest news: how far the enemy had gone, how far their resistance still stretched. One day it was Warsaw, then Posen and the Oder. they had a brief March of respite, then Königsberg fell and the bombing of the capital began, and the hotel was filled with even more wounded. A week after the fall of East Prussia, they crossed the Oder and by now there was blood in the hotel. Every day Agathe bandaged and swabbed every wound and then ended up abandoned in the first chair that wasn't occupied by a dying person, every day more often, every day for longer. "Go home," Mr. Louis advised her. «There's nothing left to do here now, and it's impossible that they'll come looking for you now. Go home, you'll be safer." Agathe found new strength for a moment and she tried to comfort him. «Lord, as long as I can ease someone's suffering... as long as I have something to protect I will have to do. Don't worry about me, you go to your wife." «Do like me, do like the others, don't stay here. The storm will arrive in a couple of days at most, and this square will be the center of it." Agathe shook her head and Mr. Louis left dejectedly. That evening Hugo and other men brought some boxes into the palace. Above their arms stood the eagles of the Volkssturm, the militia of the desperate. "What do you want to do?" Agathe asked Hugo. He looked at her, jaw clenched. "Get ready, it's tomorrow." Agathe stood up and touched his stumped arm. "Yes," she whispered in a small voice, "I'll be ready."

64. Berlin, April 1945

They began the assault after repelling enemy reinforcements from the West, and crossed the railway ring between Bergfelde and Neuendorf. Albert and Leonhard encountered the first defenders even before entering the city: old men armed with rocket launchers, suicidal, desperate madmen. "Stay close to me," Leo murmured, squeezing his companion's shoulder. Albert returned the hold. "Come on, we're almost there." They advanced through the northern townships, as far as Wittenau; they saw the German soldiers retreating towards the center, they clashed with snipers; they cleared every street, every building, took the machine gun nests, captured the cannons until they ordered the engagement to stop. "We move towards Tegel and from there to the eastern sector," Leonhard explained in a moment of rest. Albert despaired. "But we're so close to my house." "What do you want to do?" "Madness."

Adolf Schulz dismissed the courier, went upstairs to the post office and clutched his rifle. "They've passed Teltow, they'll be here soon." His voice was far from conveying courage. The few employees who remained at his side huddled against him against the windows and checked their weapons. Almost no one knew how to use them. "We're ready, sir," one of them said. Adolf swallowed saliva in his dry throat, and wondered if they really were. He, in his heart, wasn't.

Agathe rolled up her sleeves and tightened the strings of the apron she found in a closet. "Here, the first ones are coming," warned Hugo, standing sentry at a shop window. He glanced at the cots lined up there as in every other room in the hotel, still immaculate, which he would soon infect. "We can do it." «Look how the building is shaking. Let's hope it doesn't collapse on us." "Hugo." "Yes?" "Give me your hand."

Superintendent Lüthenmeyer clung to the officer in front of him. «You have to give us something! You can't send us to the slaughterhouse unarmed!" The soldier moved away and pushed him out of the barracks, together with the others - young and old, disabled and mutilated, now soldiers. "We have nothing left, do it yourselves." "But it will be a massacre." The soldier yanked him and pulled the handle of a hammer grenade from his belt. "Keep this." "And what should I do with it?" "Unscrew the cap and pull the rope when they catch you."

Louis Adlon held his wife Hedda close. They hid in the cellar of their house, hoping the Soviets would not find them.He thought about all the sacrifices he had endured to keep his business open, how much he had bowed his head so as not to see the hell that reigned in Europe, what he had done and not done. "I shouldn't have joined the party," he repeated to himself, while his wife cried and the soldiers' boots came knocking on the door. "I really shouldn't have joined the party."

"Come on, Heinrich, we have to go." "Hold me again, Lehmann, I can't feel my leg anymore." «If I could, I would pick you up, Heinrich. Come on, we're almost to Tiergarten." «I feel cold, Lehmann, the numbness has taken over my hands.» «Stay on your feet, Klaus, I can't do it alone.» "Be careful, they're shooting at us." «Don't get carried away, Klaus, please. Stay upright." «I'm just in your way. Leave me here or they'll take you too." Rupert Lehmann leaned his companion against a crumbling wall and sat down on the rubble whitened with dust. Where had he left the gun? He didn't remember. "I won't leave you alone, comrade," he said, and panted. «I'll rather wait here with you. But I won't leave you alone, no." Klaus-Heinrich looked at him. His eyes were dull, he was breathing hard, he was losing blood from his neck and side, where the mortar splinters had hit him. «Nothing makes sense anymore» he whispered, drowning in his infectious liquids. A cannon shot shook the street. "Nothing makes sense anymore, Rupert."

Agathe pulled yet another wounded man onto her cot, took off his belt and pouch and stripped him of his jacket and shirt. He had a hole in his abdomen: he would not have survived. She caressed his hairless cheek, his pale skin, and fought back tears. He wasn't even twenty years old.

«Agathe! Agathe, my love! » Albert banged his fists on the door and, receiving no response, kicked it down. Leonhard lunged at him and pushed him to the ground. "Stay down, or you'll get hit!" "Move, let me get up!" They heard shouts coming from the second floor, they fixed their eyes on the stairs at the end of the corridor and waited. «What do we do, let's go up?» asked Leonhard. "No, it's none of our business." Albert approached the apartment door and knocked. «Agathe! Are you there honey? Agathe, answer! » In the silence that followed Albert made the butt of the rifle speak with the lock. Finally he came in, home again. The apartment appeared abandoned before him, every surface covered in a fine layer of dust. There was a musty smell in the air. "Agathe!" «Albert...» "Agathe!" «Albert, there's no one here. Stop, it's useless." Albert shook his head and ran into the bedroom, opened every door and closet, checked every room. «And yet it's still all here... where could she have gone?» "Albert." "What's up?" Albert asked, turning away in exasperation. Leonhard had his hands raised and was looking towards the entrance. A ragged boy stood in the doorway and pointed his rifle clumsily at them. "Listen, we're not enemies..." she tried to say Albert, but the boy waved his rifle and silenced her. Leo wanted to draw attention to himself. «Boy, look at me. If you shoot you'll only hit one of us, and the other will be on you before you can reload, as long as the rifle doesn't break your shoulder. We don't want to hurt you, we are Germans like you, so lower that weapon and let us go." «Who are you, some neighbor's son? I'm Albert Weinrich, this is my home," Albert insisted. The boy moved the weapon now on one, now on the other, unsure what to do. He was trembling with fear. "Listen, boy," continued Leonhard, "Do you hear that? Do you hear the noise of the shots, the screams, the panzers? It's the Russians who are approaching. Throw down your weapon and get to safety with your companions, escape from here while you can." Albert slowly took off his helmet and looked at the boy, but he didn't dare come closer. «Listen to us, please. How long has it been since anyone's been coming in here?" A few uncertain moments passed, then the Kar 98k hit the floor and the young man disappeared towards the stairs. Albert breathed a sigh of relief. «Put your helmet back on, we have to leave now» Leonhard commanded him. "Let's look for Agathe elsewhere." "Yes but where?" "Only place I've ever seen her."

Kriminalkommissar Rudolf Hofmann opened the small safe and threw the lighter in without even looking, took out his old medals, threw them into his bag and grabbed his hat. «Where did I put the gun?»As if it could have been enough, but it gave him that little bit more security. Yet he no longer had time, he had to go, they were now marching on Potsdamer Platz, behind the palace. A Panzerfaust grenade hit a few windows away and shattered the few panes still intact. Rudolf took the bag and ran to the ground floor. He had to get out of a back street: he could still make it, yes, there was hope. He made his way through the abandoned offices and overturned desks, the destroyed archives and empty cells; he reached the rear courtyard and ran towards the center, climbing over the corpses and disappearing along Wilhelmstraße, before the Soviets caught him too.

Boleslaw Jaruzelski of the 1st Polish Army passed a hand over the gash that disfigured his nose and cheek, crossed the railway and ordered the assault on the zoo in the middle of the park - or what was left of it. In front of its ruins, a cubic concrete tower dominated the neighborhood and wreaked havoc with anti-aircraft fire that crowded the terraces at the top of the ramparts. Wave after wave, Boleslaw became convinced that they could not be moved, that they were unbreakable by the continuous mortar shells and armored attacks. No, they wouldn't have made it at that rate, he concluded. He called the men to him and counted the dead. "Where the hell are the two fucking Germans?" he asked himself as soon as he finished. During the fighting of the last two days he had completely lost sight of them. He ordered yet another attack and pushed up to the first trees together with his men, regardless of the continuous and constant fire above their heads. While he threw a grenade, he hoped that the two deserting bastards were dead.

«Agathe, you need to rest, it's evening now.» «No, Hugo, I can do it.» "Agathe, you're about to faint." «No, one more wounded man, bring one more.» "You will continue tomorrow, Agathe, you must sleep." «Hugo, what do you know? Will we be there tomorrow?"

65. Berlin, April 1945

«They're coming, stand firm!» an SS non-commissioned officer shouted, alternating orders with loud curses in some Scandinavian language. Adolf Schulz looked at the Moltke Bridge, behind the Ministry of the Interior, and pressed himself against the sandbags. The cannons across the water-filled moat that spanned the square began to thunder, and the bridge disappeared in a cloud. Blood-curdling screams came from it, and Adolf Schulz very frankly thought of running away.

"Hugo, are they here?" "Yes I'm here." "Hugo, I have a favor to ask you." "Tell me, Agathe." "Pass me the rifle."

Boleslaw Jarusleski saw the T-34 on the Moltke bridge disappear in a cloud of dust and flame, and he cursed himself for not having been able to take the zoo tower, still under siege but free to fire up there. But now he had an opportunity to exploit. He rushed forward with him and charged the garrison on the other side of the bridge. The grenades and rockets flew and the cloud thickened. Blinded by the dust he advanced a few more steps, his ears blocked by the bombardment. The cold of a bayonet grazed his side. Someone screamed, he slipped on blood. When the cloud dispersed, just before a new volley swept across the river, Boleslaw could see beyond the fortified buildings and trenches the twisted and disfigured shape of the Reichstag.

In the labyrinth of the anti-aircraft tower he could hardly breathe. Rudolf Hofmann, crushed by the mass of defenseless civilians, was terribly thirsty and had no one to listen to him. «Please, give me a drink or let me out, please, it's suffocating in here. We are now surrounded, there is nothing left to do. I beg you..." In the labyrinth beneath the Berlin Zoo, Rudolf Hofmann was terribly thirsty and fucking scared.

«Come on, we're almost there. I see the Reichstag." "Albert, slow down, I can't feel my legs anymore and we have to find a way to cross the Spree." "One last effort, Leonhard, please, one more effort."

Schulz coughed and spat blood. A soldier kicked him in the face and sent him tumbling down the steps of parliament, breaking his fingers and breaking his nose. Surrounded by pain, Adolf raised his head for the last time and looked at the morning sky. Blinded by the sun, he saw the roof of the Reichstag, which still after all those years bore the marks of the flames that had changed Germany. On it flew the red flag with the hammer and sickle.He closed his eyes, blinded by the sun, and gurgled his last agony. It was May now.

66. Berlin, May 1945

Agathe looked at Pariser Platz from a second-story window. Beyond it, beyond the Brandenburg Gate, beyond the light rain of that terrible morning... the Reichstag had fallen. Hugo touched her shoulder. «Here they are, what do we do?» Agathe saw the street where fighting was still going on, she saw Tiergarten devastated by bombs and flames that light drops were unable to put out. She took up her rifle and aimed. "They will massacre us all, Hugo, both us and the wounded below." She took better aim at a soldier who was running towards the hotel, followed closely by another. That, if you think about it, was the first time she had shot.

Albert heard the shot and instinctively ducked. The bullet whistled and he felt a steel club hit him on the skull. He stumbled and rolled to the ground. "Albert!" Leonhard shouted, throwing himself at him and covering him with his body. «Go away, stupid» muttered Albert groggily, «Now he will shoot you too.» Leonhard dragged him into the entrance of a building and took off his helmet. "How are you?" Luckily the bullet had grazed the protection and ricocheted without penetrating the metal. «Good, I'm fine. Give me a hand to get up. Oh God, now I'm vomiting..." "You risked dying like a fool." Albert swallowed and raised a thumb. "We have to be more careful." "Why are you only realizing this now?" "Because the shot didn't come from the park, for Christ's sake, but from the opposite side."

Boleslaw dragged himself across the square and led what remained of his company towards Tiergarten, where the last SS were hiding in desperation. God, he hated the Germans. There was nothing that poisoned him more, ever since he was born in Lwów. No, there was something else. «Come on, comrades! Not long left!" A sniper hit a soldier nearby, and those around scattered and ran for cover. Only one brave man rushed towards the wounded man to drag him to cover. He looked at them with a mixture of amazement and pride, then in the red light of dawn he recognized them, and anger rose within him.

Erwin Lüthenmeyer wandered around Tiergarten in a catatonic state. After all those days he still held his grenade. Among the destroyed trees he glimpsed the Soviet soldiers, heard their shots. Someone shouted at him - in French, he thought. The grenade slipped from his hand and he fell to the ground as if dead before he was even shot.

The soldiers broke through the barricade in the common room and went upstairs. Agathe fired another shot, not sure where to aim, then she threw the weapon on the ground and ran towards the staff rooms, escaping towards the boiler room. Some of her chased her, grabbed her, she screamed. They dragged her back to the common room and brought her to the dented remains of the fountain, where other soldiers held prisoners who had tried to resist. They had already begun to drown them, one after the other, pushing their heads into the shallow water amidst laughter and insults. They put her in line too, right behind poor Hugo, whose face had been reduced to a swollen mask. Agathe pulled and tried to free her restrained wrists. «Stop, stop!» she screamed. One of her tormentors approached her and backhanded her, arousing laughter from the others. Someone went away to destroy the bar counter and raid the cafés and restaurants for the few bottles of liquor left unattended and which survived the siege. They celebrated, and in the meantime they killed the prisoners without making a distinction between civilians and soldiers, all together under water like dogs, for the pure pleasure of joking. They forced her to advance, but a soldier noticed her and came towards her, stopped his companions and grabbed her chin, unleashing a second scream and a kick between her legs, which doubled him up and moaned. They slapped her again, dragged her out of the line. «Hugo!» she called, but the one-armed old man was immediately stopped with a stick in the face. Three of them held her, the football guy led the procession - all busy rubbing his scrotum and mumbling. They took her downstairs, towards the kitchens and from there to the cellars. Agathe moaned at her as they pushed her against the wall that sealed the entrance."No!" she repeated, and she pushed their hands away as they crept up her arms and explored her skirt. They laughed again, tried to hold her face still and squeezed her throat, ignored her tears and crying and undid her belts. They tried to cover her mouth, she bit the wrist of who knows who and was hit in the face again. "Mercy, mercy..." she begged, as she closed her eyes and asked not to be there, to no longer feel anything or simply for the suffering not to last long, before giving way to death.

"You two!" shouted the Polish officer. «Albert, run!» Leonhard ordered him, dragging him into the ruins of Unter den Linden. As they ran away every now and then he looked back, desperately looking for the scarred man who was chasing them. Fortunately he was struggling, keeping one hand pressed against his left side, and after less than a block he was forced to give up, disappearing among the rubble. "We have to go back," Albert pleaded, "The Adlon is on the other side!" "Shut up! He's following us! » Leonhard wiped his forehead and sighed. «We have to wait, Albert. We have to wait a little longer." The other lay down in a sprawling manner and put a hand to his injured temple, covering his eyes. "I can not wait anymore. I can't anymore » he whispered, sobbing. Leonhard squeezed his wrist, trying to brace himself. Soldiers ran around, unaware.

Lüthenmeyer regained consciousness after dark. He sat down and, still stunned, he heard the excited shouts and the noise of the panzers and cannons that was becoming rarer. He cleared the last haze from his eyes and focused on the SS soldiers milling around the bare trees. Yes, now he was sure of it, they spoke French. In that mixture of languages ​​and commands he no longer understood anything. «Where... where are the German soldiers?» he asked stammering, but all he got was being dragged to his feet. They forced a machine gun into his hands and sent him south through the paths once surrounded by greenery. He had to escort the civilians, they told him, and escape taking advantage of the darkness. Among the trees he glimpsed the square anti-aircraft towers, but he did not reach them; instead he joined a river of people fleeing in a winding stream towards the East. He tried to understand who his companions were, but it was difficult for him to distinguish between soldiers and civilians, and not only because of the darkness: every face was livid with terror, every voice - whether German, Norwegian or Czechoslovakian - broken by fear. He, in the midst of that hell, didn't feel any different. As he struggled and lost ground he recognized the sumptuous uniform of some senior general, the greatcoat of a party police officer, a familiar face perhaps seen in a portrait. For a moment he even thought he recognized some of the ministers, but they must have been hallucinations by now. He didn't even notice that they had reached the edge of the park. And that the last group of fugitives had left him behind. He shook himself and called out, hoping someone would answer. A lighthouse swept through the forest, and Lüthenmeyer felt the blood drain from his veins and was once again on the verge of fainting. He heard screams and cries of terror coming from the road beyond the trees, and as soon as they were joined by bursts and shots he dropped the machine gun and turned to run. Someone tripped over him and they both rolled on the ground. "Shit!" he heard shouting, and recognized a German. He raised his head and a hand for help, but a gunshot exploded in his ears. He ground his fist into his shoulder and didn't make a sound, just a soft snort. He fell backwards, his back against a trunk, and in the darkness he made out the long coat of a small, dull man. Scared. He didn't understand. He no longer understood anything and meanwhile the cold squeezed his shoulder and stretched towards his chest and neck. He was too tired to understand why the dull little man - perhaps a policeman - was holding the gun with a trembling hand, why he was pointing it to his head... He was too tired to even hear that shot.

"I think it's over," Leonhard whispered, leaning into the road. "I'm not sure, I still hear shooting," Albert slurred. The blow to the head from that morning was still being felt, somehow. "Do you want to back out right now?" Leonhard stung him to the quick.«Absolutely not, let's go now that it's dark.» Always on the alert, they crossed Unter den Linden and returned towards Pariser Platz, now firmly in Soviet hands. "Albert, are you aware that she might not be there?" «Yes, and I don't want to think about it. Don't destroy this last hope." «There we are.» «Leonhard, I feel tired... do you see the Pole?» "I don't think so, no." "Let's go in, then." They sneaked into the hotel and were horrified. The soldiers were scattered throughout the common room, and were having fun demolishing the entire palace room by room. Around the fountain with the now unrecognizable black elephants, numerous corpses lay abandoned, damp with water and blood. Leonhard focused for a moment on a man with a mutilated arm, but quickly looked away. Albert took off his helmet and looked at the vandals in amazement. «Leonhard, tell them to stop, ask if they saw a woman...» More with gestures than words they managed to get directed towards the wine cellar, under the unconvinced gaze of many of the troops. Despite the fatigue, Albert, one step after another, hurried and started running, risking several times falling on an elusive step or getting lost in that tangle of corridors. "Agathe!" he shouted, and down yet another corridor they heard distant groans. «Agathe! I am coming!" "Shut up, stop speaking German or you'll get us in deep shit!" Leonhard tried to hit him and hold him, but Albert eluded him and ran forward. They found her there, in a corner of the cellar, tied to a protruding pipe, her clothes reduced to torn and filthy rags. "Agathe!" Albert shouted, throwing himself on her to free her. Leonhard arrived soon after and didn't pay much attention to the woman, but rather to the three Russian soldiers who were fiddling with the wall behind which the liquor was hidden. They stood up and looked angrily at the new arrivals. Around them lay the machine guns and bottles that had not been lucky enough to find themselves locked away, empty. "No one take a step," Leo ordered in Polish, aiming his rifle. He heard Albert snort in anger and saw him draw his dagger. One of the soldiers staggered towards him and approached the now free Agathe. She fell without even realizing it, the bayonet lodged in her chest. The other two screamed and rushed at Albert, pushed him to the ground and put their hands around his neck. Leonhard fired, missed his target and rushed towards them, brandishing his rifle like a club, but he was thrown against a wall and hit his head. He felt someone pull his bayonet from its sheath, but he was too stunned to react immediately. Albert was suffocating, his throat crushed under the weight of an entire body. He steeled himself and kicked, pushing his opponent away from him. His companion immediately took his place and squeezed more forcefully. Albert gasped and searched for God. The soldier loosened his grip and slowly stood up. Agathe, behind him, was pressing the knife to his throat. "Agathe..." Albert called her. "Agathe." "Go away!" Leonhard coughed and took off his helmet. He limped to his feet. "Agathe, let him go." "As..." Albert uncovered his head and opened his arms, and she burst into tears. Leonhard picked up the machine gun of one of the soldiers. "Let him go, Agathe, everything is under control now." The woman dropped the captured soldier and threw herself into her husband's arms. She cried and covered her red, scratched breasts, devastated. Albert held her close and tried to console her, he kissed the bruises on her face and thighs and gave her his jacket. Her narrow shoulders couldn't hide her anger. They lined up the two prisoners against the wall, under the surveillance of Leonhard, who still felt his head throbbing badly. "Go," he said shortly after to Albert and Agathe, "There's nothing to keep you here anymore." "Are you taking care of it?" asked Albert. His voice vibrated with dormant fury that was on the verge of exploding. «Yes, I'll take care of it. Take her home, Albert." "I'd pull the trigger right away," Albert hissed, clutching his beloved. "No," Agathe said, her spirit resolute despite her physical weakness. "It wouldn't do any good..." she whispered before Albert dragged her away.Leonhard remained with the two prisoners, who continued to stare at him drunk and frightened. He placed a hand on the drum magazine of the machine gun and stood watching them. He caressed the trigger guard and reached for the trigger, convincing himself that if they survived, they would all end up in court martial. He was the enemy, wasn't he? Two more or less wouldn't have made a difference. He thought back to the last two weeks, to every shot fired at fellow Germans. What had changed since then? Nothing. So why was he holding back? He returned to the two survivors in front of him: he didn't see two adversaries; he simply saw two idiots, like everyone else there. The war was over. It wasn't worth it anymore. «Go» he ordered them, pointing to the cellar exit with the barrel of the weapon. "Before I regret it, go..." His eye fell on the part of the wall where the three soldiers were bustling when he arrived: they had dug a hole between the bricks and filled it with grenades. "Go," he repeated as an even more idiotic idea entered his head. Even though they didn't understand, they didn't ask him to repeat it a third time and left him there, alone, to mull over his plans. Leaving everything like that, they would still have things to explain, Leonhard thought... unless he found a lot of paper and something to act as a fuse.

The explosion shook the damp walls and continued muffled towards the stairs. "What happens?" Agathe asked herself, turning around, but the only thing she saw coming out of the darkness were the silhouettes of the two soldiers. For a moment she was torn between fear and anger, before finding the strength to forgive them. Albert certainly wasn't of the same opinion, and was already holding his hand to the scabbard. She stopped before reaching him. "Raise your hands and don't make stupid gestures," Boleslaw ordered from the top of the stairs. Behind him, four of his men were waiting, ready to fire. Albert and Agathe froze and never took another step, while the two soldiers behind them passed them and struggled up the few steps between them and safety. A dark cloud of smoke was gathering on the vault of the corridor. "Let us go," stammered Albert, forgetting that he couldn't be understood. "Please, that's all I ask of you." Boleslaw clenched his fist and pulled out his gun. He ordered something from the two Russians and his men took them over, treating them like prisoners. «What happened down there? Can someone explain it to me?" he asked contemptuously. Agathe was shaken by a coughing fit. "Please..." Albert insisted. «Albert, damn it... he can't understand you» Leonhard reminded him as he came up behind him. "Let's go away before we suffocate to death," he advised between coughs. The officer lowered his weapon. "Did you find what you were looking for?" Albert also began to feel his throat burning and doubled over. Leonhard stared hard at his superior. "Let us go, please." "Why should I let you live?" "Why would he kill us?" The Pole sighed. "So you found him?" Leo turned to look at Albert and Agathe, together again. "Yes, we found him." «Good for you... and did you kill some Russians too?» Leonhard was dumbfounded for a moment, shook his head and nodded weakly. "When you chop wood, the chips fly." The Pole lowered his weapon. «Go then, and don't let me see you again. I'll take care of what these drunken bastards have done. God, if there's only one thing I hate more than Germans..." Leo was surprised. He expected to die down there, after all. A nod to Albert was enough: he too expected to have to act rather than speak. It reminded him a little of Charlie, with his impetuous ways and his constant forgetting of something later. He envied him now. They passed the stairs and the Polish picket line, which opened to let them pass - all that was missing was the introducer to make the scene even more absurd. The officer and his men followed them into the common room where the victory was still being celebrated and began shouting at the other soldiers, ordering them to evacuate the burning building. Smoke rose through the common room and up the flights of stairs to the top floor, pushing the occupants towards the exit. Nobody had enough energy to try to tame the flames; they didn't even try, not that they cared.Agathe, Albert and Leonhard fled to the square together with all the others, abandoned their weapons and, watched by the waning moon, sought refuge in the ruins of Unter den Linden.

67. Berlin, May 1945

They kept their bare feet immersed in the damp sand, sitting on the same gray sand that covers the coasts of the Baltic Sea. Yet Leo was sure he had never taken him to Stettin, no. She cuddled up next to him, kissing his cold cheeks. "I miss you," he whispered in his ear, "I wish you were still here." Charlie turned to look at him, pursed his lips and touched his golden hair, which at that moment was as thick as it no longer was. He searched for his neck and his hands, explored his body as they had done a thousand times together years before. He stood up and held out a hand. Despite the cold he smiled happily - indeed, confident. Leo sank into the bright green and ocher, touched the offered hand, and hauled himself to his feet. "I wish you were still here," he repeated. His beloved did not respond, yet Leo could hear his faint call, as if coming from the other side of the sea there in front of them: «I'm here, again. I'm by your side. I'm inside you." "Always," he replied softly, before holding that distant ghost again. A delicate hand touched his shoulder and turned him around. «Erika...» He turned back to Charlie, but his shadow was no longer there. In his place, the desk of his study, in the house he had in Szczecin, waited. In his hand was found the paper that he had clutched for days, unsure of how to fill it. «I don't know what to write to him» he sobbed, «I don't want to hurt him, I'm afraid... of hurting him. I'm afraid that someone will read it and hurt us all..." He shook himself and looked for his pen, in vain, and was dismayed for not having acted in time, for having held back. Erika reached down to touch his arm. "You'll find the words," she comforted him. «Everything will be fine... now go.» Between his bare feet, Leo still felt the cold, damp sand.

Germany surrendered on the morning of the 2nd, after the last unfortunate defenders had taken advantage of the nighttime confusion to abandon Tiergarten and flee to the West, through Spandau. The fighting continued until early afternoon, when the light rain stopped falling. Boleslaw learned shortly thereafter that the zoo tower had been spared and he had signed a surrender. Among those who had sought refuge there, many had committed suicide, driven by madness and terror. So he knew later. He also learned that Hitler had been found dead and charred, wrapped in a blanket. The Hotel Adlon also burned that day: the flames engulfed the roof and the cellars, devouring its deepest foundations, shining in the Berlin night like a beating heart, a star on Earth. Only a smaller wing of the building was miraculously spared, while the rest of the fire left nothing but sad piles of bricks covered in ash. Bitterly, Boleslaw thought, they matched the view. Ironically, some Berliners might have said that the Nazi parable had ended as it had begun, all things considered: with a terrible fire. But Boleslaw Jaruzelski could not imagine it. Sitting on a wagon, he looked out over the desolate wasteland that was Berlin, and wondered what awaited them in the future.

Albert held his beloved Agathe close to him and kissed her. He hadn't waited for anything else for five years now, and he was dismayed for not having arrived in time, for not having been able to avoid that damned torture. He felt guilty, but he would find time later to apologize to the world, to ask for forgiveness for everything he had done. She broke away shortly thereafter and looked sheepishly at the man who sat between the bricks, his gaze turned towards a window that no longer existed. "I will never be able to repay," said Albert, shaking Agathe's hands, his face and body still damaged by the violence, "Really." Leonhard breathed in the breeze that passed through Unter den Linden: he smelled of ash. Maybe he would rain again. «You must not» he replied, «I am the one who owed you a debt. You did more than just help me regain my senses."Above them, in the milky sky of the early morning, the smoke of the Adlon still hovered, consumed from the foundations up to the top floor, right into those rooms where they had met, where they had kissed and found each other again. Was it worth it, carrying that open wound, suffering so much for so little? Yes, it had been worth it, for every moment spent, for every breath, for every fleeting glance. She would have liked to hold his hand that day, to escape with him to Provence, to Franco's Spain, or even further to Africa in the Deep South or somewhere on the Brazilian coast, anywhere far from there, from that time. And yet... that couple behind him was proof that he had also done good, remaining, even after all the bad he had done. "But is it really you?" Agathe asked, calling him back to the ruins. «Are you really that Leonhard? I can hardly believe it." «I can hardly believe it too, and yet here I am.» Agathe leaned on her husband and squeezed his arm. "Come on now," she begged in a weak breath, "I need to get... this crap off of me." "What will you do now?" Albert asked, lingering a little longer before following his wife home. "What will you do?" «Oh, we have our wounds to heal. We will return to Wedding, we will see how Berlin will rise again. But you?" "I..." Leo stood up and dusted off his uniform. He needed civilian clothes, everyone needed them. «I will cross the Rhine, I have... I still have a debt to pay.» He turned back towards the street, towards the destroyed buildings and the trees that were already budding again. "It's my biggest worry."

68. Hougcross, Kent, January 1946

The Bentley 8 Liter hurtled across the country road, fast enough to make its shiny black body vibrate. In the driver's seat sat Philip Fitzgerald, terribly, sadly silent; next to him stood Leonhard, with an enamelled wooden cylinder resting on his legs, held with the attention given to a newborn baby. It had not been easy to obtain it, if not thanks to Philip's help and a careful search along the coasts of northern France. He remembered perfectly where he had buried him, there in that nameless grave not far from Calais, marked only by a dry stump, the dead and hollow trunk of a... but it couldn't be, anything more than a coincidence, that they were the remains of a lime tree. He had dug with his own hand among those roots, then extracting nothing but the bare bones preserved intact by the earth, still wrapped in his blue uniform. They burned them in the city, before embarking for Dover, where the car was waiting for them. Philip fired the driver, saying that he should be the one to accompany him, and no one else. And now here they were, heading towards a house Leonhard had never seen. Both had emerged from those years worn out, worn out in body and spirit, each in his role. Phil, who had always been thin, now that he was well into his sixties, looked gaunt and cadaverous. His skin hung thin and thin around his thin, pale lips; his eyes had become surrounded by a wall of thick dark wrinkles, and his receding hairline had advanced towards the nape of his neck which was now more gray than black. Leonhard wasn't that different, even though he was thirty years younger: imprisonment had thinned his torso, limbs and face, and his pale hair had thinned out. But the most profound change remained his eyes, which with each passing day turned more and more milky grey, a sickly colour. Leonard tilted his head and looked out the window at the countryside, sighing. He was tired, but calm. «You may have been accompanying me for a month, but I still haven't had the chance to ask you how dear Dortha is, after all this time» he asked, in the hope of making his companion from that last trip melt too. Phil didn't move, he remained bent over looking at the road. «She is surrounded by doctors, even though she enjoys excellent health. She almost doesn't talk anymore » he replied in a toneless, monotonous voice. "And what about you? I heard you got married before the war." «We just got divorced. Erika is still a dear friend of mine. We think about doing business together now in the restaurant sector, but it's all a maybe, given the current times.» «I wish you all the best, then. The future deserves to smile at you at least a little, now. Did she end up interned too?" "As?""I was wondering, was she also interned like you?" «No, thank goodness no. She doesn't... she has no faults, perhaps the remorse of an abandoned friend but... No, she has her innocence." Phil gave a grunt of agreement and fell silent, continuing to look at the road. Shortly after, they stopped at an intersection and turned right. «How come I never heard from you again after Poland? I was waiting for some request from you, some order to respond to that I couldn't." «I was told not to contact you, you were not considered reliable enough. I am sorry." Leo stared at the old man beside him, dumbfounded. Yet he shouldn't have expected anything else from them. «I lost... for...» «I'm sorry, I said. He didn't depend on me." Fitz continued to look at the road and avoided meeting the eyes of the man next to him. He was visibly uncomfortable. "We're almost there," he finally murmured. «Are you sure you don't want to come with me? I don't know the house." «No, I couldn't stand it. You go alone, it's your right. You will find servants, a lot. The baronet, or rather, the countess, maintains it. Although I think it's gone again now. But just in case, never call her by name, remember." "Okay, Phil." The car slowed down, stopped in front of a heavy gate that hid a lovely garden and, beyond a row of hedges, a small red-toned Georgian villa. Leonhard took the urn in his arms. "How are your children?" he asked as a gatekeeper opened the gate. Phil replied without batting an eyelid: «The major died in Dunkirk, in '40. The smallest in Holland last winter.» "I... I'm sorry." Fitz sighed. «He doesn't do anything. This is how war goes, and we can't do anything about it, except bury our children. But I would have preferred a peaceful life for them. I would have preferred them to bury me." Leo hesitated as the car stopped for the last time. At last he had come, and as he had predicted twelve years ago, he was afraid. But he was now almost thirty-six years old, and he was tired of that useless fear. "Thanks for everything, Phil, I can never repay you enough." «You will keep me on your conscience until the grave, dear Leo, I've heard this thing before. Now go on." Previously, Philip would have laughed maliciously and not even secretly - Leonhard was sure - at his condition, but now, in front of him, there was only a resigned man, a tired old man. And he couldn't feel anything other than the most human pity. "I will, Fitz, rest assured." He closed the door and approached the entrance, allowed himself a deep, interminable breath and took a step forward. An elderly butler came out of the building, looked at him, looked at what he was carrying and without saying anything welcomed him into the house. Leonhard was accompanied through a large hall to the sumptuous dining room, where waiting for him, sitting at a long mahogany table, was a female figure with brown curls and green and ocher eyes so familiar to him. God, they would have been so similar and not even that far apart. "Who are you?" she asked, breaking the echo of footsteps that still hovered around them. The butler, even more silently than he had introduced himself, took his leave. "I..." Leonhard hesitated for a second, unsure of the words and the language, "...I am the man who killed your brother." The woman didn't move, she just clenched her fist on the table. «And I am the man who loved Charles Acton, from the moment I saw him to the moment I pulled the trigger. And I still love him now, and I will continue to do so until my last spasm in my chest." The woman slowly got up and slowly approached. She must have been little older than him, and despite all the pain, suffering and deprivation she had endured, she was still as beautiful and shining as the day she blossomed. Or at least, that's what Leonhard imagined: she was as beautiful and shining and unchanging as Charlie had been. She looked at him harshly and held out her hands. She said nothing. Leo jealously looked at the urn one last time and placed it on those palms. It was like taking a pound of flesh off her chest. "But who are you?" the woman asked again, clutching the urn to her heart. "Really, who are you?"«I am Leonhard Von Hinten, Lady Countess, and today I would have been a baron like my father was, had the empire not fallen. I was a pilot like your brother and a fighter on the opposite side, I was an internee and a refugee and a soldier, I was..." Leonhard trembled and held back a long, liberating sigh. «...simply a man.» The woman turned, walked away from him and placed the urn on the table. She continued to stare, perhaps hoping he would talk to her; she continued to run over its smooth surface with loving caresses, but all she got in response was only the distorted reflection of her in the enameled wood. "You may go," she ordered him without turning, "And thank my love for Fitzgerald if you can get away safely; he vouched for you." «Of course, Gwenny. Thank you for the time you dedicated to me.» The countess was shaken by a sob. Now she was the one who had to take away the pound of her flesh. "Von Hinten," she called to him as he left. «Yes, Madame Countess?» «You... you can... you can come and visit us, whenever you want, from now on. You are... you are welcome in the Acton house, for the good you have loved Charles.» «I am grateful to you, Madame Countess, and I greet you. May you find peace with your soul as I did with mine. Goodbye, in the hope that it isn't goodbye." Leonhard found the way alone. Phil, leaning with one elbow on the roof of the car, was waiting for him on the avenue. And so, light-heartedly, hand in hand with his ghosts and his present, Leonhard got into the car and left the scene.