The meeting crashed, nothing definite had been said. Silent scowl staring at the wall, then gone away trying not to look to each other: everyone understood – only losers left alone in the capital waiting for enemy troops.
- What with the archive, Herr Bök? – question hanged in the air. Tired officer with gray whiskey reluctantly gave a glance to the colleague.
- Nothing, – dry dropped into silence. – This doesn’t longer important, Herr Asada.
Makoto nodded, in fact asking for the sake of formality. «Though he’s from Asia, but real Aryan», – by these words Asada was described at the Headquarters on the first day of his visit to Berlin.
The corridor void seemed to be lifeless and pressing. Steep stairs, echo steps, old cabinet door with shabby handle. Sun rays inside made their way through the closed dusty curtains. The officer chuckled, removing fallen hair from his forehead: here nothing was been changed.
Cold fingers had drawn straight lines on gray countertop and memory film started clicking, bringing days that had passed many years ago. In Asada’s life, all went on a clear plan from the University to the final assignment to Germany, where young man was really amazed with black&white grandeur of the main city. Makoto couldn’t withdraw the delighted gaze of posters with smiling actresses and bold propaganda slogans, he understood: a new era in Berlin soared in the air. Most of all this Japanese guy wanted to become one day a part of this world.
Even after returning home, he resignedly took Catholic humility, learned the language, shoved in a close service apartment almost broken piano that took half of his small room. Not for himself – for his mate Yuu, whose musical talent Asada relentlessly praise, promising that one day they would build a new society, where world glory would be waiting for his dear friend.
Gothic candles were smoking. Yamaguchi considered curves shadows under the menacing portrait of genius nodding inattentively: unfortunately, Yuu was a bad student – and this fact sincerely frustrated convert adept of Nietzschean ideas. On the eve of departure, Asada had deathly tired talking with a wall, so showed to his friend a book that actually knew by heart.
- Put here, – said, deliberately slowly dropping a heavy cross to competently cutted sheets. – Sell it in bad times and become a rich man.
About the origin of this cross the officer tactfully omitted, however, Yamaguchi wouldn’t asked: musician was too fixated on himself and his fucking notes.
- You don’t listen to me, Yuu.
- It’s better not to interfere, Gara-kun.
- Gara-san, – Makoto straightened his school nickname. The conversation failed: both of them treacherously lacked eloquence.
Asada didn’t doubt the loyalty of the selected course, he grew up without father and unjustly endured insults, so had long made sure that people are not equal from their birth, scum produce scum, and the earth suffocates from excessive human beings, therefore the best people must stop this degradation.
- If you equate redneck to the slaves, it will degenerate, – Makoto frowned, with the hatred squinting on beggars at the gate of the restaurant. – In the new world only decent persons would live.
However, every time Gara raised this topic, Yuu always immediately stopped him, took his hand and looked at him with a compassion, as Makoto was mad. It seemed Yuu wanted to say: «Don’t worry, it will pass. It’s treated». One step from pride to vanity.
The cold muzzle of true Mauser burned the temple, putting fat point that prevented tarnish the honor of shameful court, no matter which: military or personal. Prayer removed last doubts on the run:
«...I believe strongly in all that it teaches one, Holy, Catholic, Apostolic, the true Church. Strongly praise that the charity of God releases me from all sin...»
He regretted no one: neither yourself nor those whom he’d deprived of life. Maybe only just a bit worried for the striped cat named Schneider left in Japan... Makoto saved him, still a kitten, from the wheels, brought home under a coat, named in honor of a colleague because stubborn creation copied Fritz throughout, except, perhaps, favorite caustic «Scheiße».
- Hope, Yuu-kun will take care of you.
Shot forced the glass flinch. Tank columns of liberators were already rolling flowers in the asphalt, although black walls of the cabinet hadn’t yet rattled by the noise. So, in the peace and faith, the best people were leaving away.
The end
Written and edited: 29.04.2015. Translate from Russian: 10.11.2015.
Minsk, Belarus