Forever Fleeting Read online

  Wilhelm tossed the suitcase and duffel bag into the empty room, and they hurried out of the apartment. They descended the steps three at a time and stepped out into the crisp Berlin nighttime air.

  “I will introduce you to Heinrich,” Erich said.

  Erich had met Heinrich after only his third day in the city, and he had quickly become one of his best friends. As Wilhelm and Erich walked down the road, Erich pointed out various buildings—a deli with the best pastrami in Berlin, Max’s grocery store, a pharmacy, and over half a dozen drinking establishments—that he thought Wilhelm should know. The one they approached had a wooden sign with a goat’s head dangling over the front door by two gold chains. It was called “Die Verdorbene Ziege”—“The Spoiled Goat.” Three-quarter of the bar was full, and the lightly stained wooden bar was covered with glasses filled with amber and dark brown beers.

  A man of their age with short yellow-platinum blonde hair greeted them with a smile. He was the perfect German in the eyes of the Führer. His drooping smile and the glint in his soft blues eyes told Wilhelm it wasn’t the man’s first beer of the night.

  “Erich!” the man yelled. He raised his glass of dark wheat beer, and the sudden movement caused the beer to slosh out of the glass and onto the floor.

  “Heinrich, this is Wilhelm,” Erich introduced.

  Heinrich slid over two beers to Erich and Wilhelm. Erich took a sip of his and waited for Wilhelm and Heinrich to shake hands before handing the beer to Wilhelm.

  “Nice to meet you,” Wilhelm said.

  “First night in Berlin belongs to Berlin,” Heinrich said.

  It was a peculiar comment, and Wilhelm wasn’t sure how to take it. But after having finished his fourth pint of beer in less than twenty minutes, euphoria set in, and he was laughing at every comment, he understood—Berlin and its beer was going to beat him to a pulp.

  Wilhelm had always been easy-going, and he got along with just about everyone. He could strike up conversations with strangers that could last an hour. But with alcohol, Wilhelm would almost profess his love for the entire human race. He developed an immediate liking for Heinrich—they shared the same kindred spirit and sense of life’s unlimited potential. Of course, Wilhelm had to mention Hannah—the unicorn spirit of a woman that had appeared in his life and vanished. Erich was well-versed in all things Hannah. He had heard all about her during their phone calls. Heinrich shared a smile with Erich—it was not the first time he was hearing about it either.

  “Berlin will make you forget about her,” Heinrich said.

  Wilhelm cast a doubtful look at Heinrich.

  “Made me forget twice,” Erich said, and the three laughed. Erich explained he had slept with two different women since his arrival in the city.

  After another beer, the room began to spin. Wilhelm was on an invisible, motorized merry-go-round with no way of stepping off.

  They stumbled outside, and the fresh air pushed Wilhelm off the merry-go-round—temporarily at least. The Nazi flag waved from every building as they crossed street after street. It was hardly the end of the night though, as they must have gone to a dozen more bars, and Wilhelm made the awful decision of switching from beer to liquor. He did not even remember making it back to their apartment. He woke up to the smell of vomit wafting out of the garbage can that had been placed beside his bed. He felt surprisingly well but, as soon as he shifted his head, he realized the grave error in his calculation. The only explanation to his pounding headache was that his brain was trying to break free from his skull. He thought he would never be able to leave his bed again. And, for most of that day, he did not. The first night in Berlin belongs to Berlin. But, based on how he felt even the next day, Berlin was in his debt.

  Heinrich had gotten them jobs helping construct the new Reich Chancellery, the headquarters of the Nazi Party and the Third Reich. Heinrich’s uncle was a member of the Schutzstaffel (SS) and had called in a favor. No other job instilled more pride in Berlin than building the headquarters of the Reich. The weather was still pleasant, and the work was good and honest. Each day ended with sore feet, a tight lower back, and dirt-stained hands, followed by drinks at the “Betrunkene Ente”—“The Drunken Duck.”

  Wilhelm adjusted to life in the epicenter of Germany well, and he found his thoughts about Hannah lessen and lessen with each passing day. It was only when he would take the dried blue rose out of his pocket and place it on his dresser each night that his thoughts would drift back to her. He would spend the next thirty minutes tossing and turning in his bed. After Hannah would finally leave his thoughts, he would think of his father and mother. Even if his childhood had been anything but great since his mother had died, there were areas in the house where she still seemed to be. It was a comfort greatly missing from his new home. He could only hope that the comfort his mother’s ghost had given him gave his father the same. Wilhelm was constantly haunted by guilt for leaving him alone, but he knew that he needed to live his life.

  Every night, he would drift off to sleep and awaken with excitement. Heinrich and Erich had become like brothers to him, and if either Wilhelm or Erich ever missed a good home-cooked meal, Heinrich’s mother was more than willing to have them over. Berlin was everything Wilhelm had wanted it to be.

  Dance of Lights

  October came with a new cool breeze that signaled autumn was well on its way. October also meant the Oktoberfest. There was no argument to be made. Wilhelm, Erich, and Heinrich had all wanted to go. The bus they took was old, smelly, and jam-packed, but it was well worth the nearly eight-hour drive to Munich. They dressed in the traditional lederhosen—white, long-sleeve shirts, suspenders, and dark brown shorts, and they even wore festive Tyrolean hats. It seemed all of Munich, if not all of Germany, had gathered on the grounds. Every tent was filled beyond capacity. The day was filled with beer, pretzels, bratwursts, and schnitzels and the night, with only beer. With each sip, Erich and Heinrich’s courage and lust increased tenfold.

  “Time to meet a questionable Munich woman,” Heinrich announced.

  “Last one to speak to a girl buys the next four rounds,” Erich added.

  Wilhelm, although certainly feeling the effects of what seemed like a bathtub full of beer, was not at that stage to strike up a conversation with a group of women who gave the impression they were a pack of wolves.

  The tents were strung with golden lights, and the sun had set outside. A rush of cold air filled the tents—the type of breeze that alerted people about how drunk they truly were. With the number of people packed elbow-to-elbow, it was stifling. Wilhelm took big gulps of the crisp air before it turned into the same stagnant air he had been breathing all day. But in his moment of enjoying the cool breeze, Heinrich and Erich had begun talking to a group of no-less-than fifteen women.

  Both held out their empty glass pints for Wilhelm to refill. Wilhelm yanked them from their hands and ignored the smirks that had spread across their faces. He shimmied past the dancers and chatty drinkers toward a long wooden table. It stretched the length of the tent, leaving no open spot to stand. The bartenders were outnumbered and overwhelmed. The masses held out their money and empty glasses for them to take and to fill. The male bartenders instinctively went to the best-looking women—something Wilhelm couldn’t blame them for. Being caught up in the beauty of the lights and the laughter coming from every corner of the tent, he was perfectly content with having to wait. It was the sort of atmosphere in which every person was having the time of their life.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said from beside him.

  “Sorry,” Wilhelm said, snapping out of his daze and creating room for one more.

  He caught a whiff of perfume that put his senses on alert. It filled him with a sense of hunger. But this hunger had nothing to do with food, but everything to do with how intoxicating the woman smelt. He caught a glimpse of her hair first, as her back was facing him. It was nearly white blonde in color. When she felt his gaze, she turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were
strikingly blue. When she smiled nervously, Wilhelm smiled too. He had found her. It was the woman who had tormented his dreams and filled his thoughts since late April.

  “Hannah,” Wilhelm muttered, flashing a smile that would cause permanent wrinkles.

  “Hello,” she said, blushing as he stared at her, but she did not look away.

  “It is you,” Wilhelm said in disbelief.

  “I am sorry. Do I know you?” Hannah asked.

  She was even more beautiful than he had remembered her to be. Her face was tattooed in his thoughts, but it was only a photograph. It could not replicate the way her hair blew with the slight breeze or how she smiled tentatively at first before nearly laughing, nor did her eyes sparkle like they did inside the tent with the golden lights reflecting off them. And it definitely did not smell like her perfume—a scent of citrus and lavender.

  “You were in Schönfeld in late April. At the ‘Rote Blumen,’ the flower shop,” Wilhelm clarified.

  He had rehearsed so many lines—he had thought about this moment ever since he had first laid eyes on her. But his mind had now been wiped clean. He was only aware of how beautiful and intoxicating she was. He could do nothing but smile.

  “Yes, I was. You were working,” Hannah said, smiling once again.

  In a span of seconds, the line for the drinks had diminished by nearly half. Somebody would soon grab the glasses he had been dangling over the table for over ten minutes. He had waited two eternities and three lifetimes, but now that Hannah was here—the woman he had longed to see again—the line moved faster than cars on the autobahn.

  An uncomfortable silence fell between Hannah and Wilhelm. She looked away. Wilhelm had always found having something in his hand to be comforting, but he had set the three empty pint glasses on the wooden table, and to pick them up while they were still empty would be awkward. Instead, his left hand disappeared into his pocket, and his fingers found the dried petals of the blue rose.

  “You were looking at a blue rose,” Wilhelm said, breaking the silence.

  She turned back to him. “Yes. They are my absolute favorite,” she said.

  Wilhelm removed the rose from his pocket and held it out for her to take.

  “This is the rose,” Wilhelm said.

  Her eyes went from the rose to his face. She took the rose and twirled it in her hand.

  “You kept this?” she asked, her face blushing ever so slightly.

  “Yes. It’s been with me since the day you left. My name is Wilhelm Schreiber.”

  He offered his hand and hoped it was not too sweaty.

  She shook it. “Hannah Goldschmidt.”

  Her hand was smooth and her grip, gentle. His was strong and confident. He held onto her hand longer than deemed appropriate. He could not help but think about how their hands fit perfectly into one another—like pieces of a puzzle. Hannah broke their gaze and looked at their hands.

  “Sorry,” Wilhelm said, realizing what he was doing.

  Hannah laughed. The server came and took their order—Hannah another Spatenbrau and Wilhelm, three of the Oktoberfest special.

  “Where are you from, Hannah?” Wilhelm asked.

  “Berlin,” Hannah answered.

  Wilhelm’s heart skipped a beat—two beats. But it made up for it and could be seen beating through his white shirt.

  “I live there too now,” Wilhelm said.

  Their four pints were set down, sending a fresh coating of beer on the table. Wilhelm paid the server before Hannah got the chance to.

  “Thank you,” Hannah said.

  “No need. Are you here with friends?” Wilhelm asked, hoping the dreaded word “boyfriend” would not follow.

  “Yes. My aunt is here with me as well. They are probably wondering where I am,” Hannah answered.

  She cast a nervous glance at the hundreds, if not thousands, of people. But she did not appear eager to leave Wilhelm, only anxious about the idea of not being able to find her group.

  “Let me take one for you,” Hannah offered, seeing Wilhelm struggling to try and carry three large, filled-to-the-brim pints.

  Wilhelm let Hannah walk in front so they wouldn’t get separated. Hannah was much shorter and petite than him—where she was able to gracefully slide and shimmy past, Wilhelm bumped into nearly every person. Heinrich was well over six-feet tall, making it easy for Wilhelm to spot him. Wilhelm nodded in his direction, and Hannah followed the invisible line to the tall, blonde young man.

  “Here you go,” Wilhelm said, extending the pints to Heinrich and Erich.

  Both of them were still talking to the group of women, but Heinrich paused mid-sentence when he noticed Hannah.

  “Hannah, these are my friends, Heinrich and Erich,” Wilhelm introduced, smiling arrogantly for every painfully long daily description of the mythical Hannah was now proven true.

  “Nice to meet you,” Hannah said.

  “We cannot stay. I must help her find her friends,” Wilhelm said.

  It was probably unwise for him to leave Heinrich and Erich, as the likelihood of finding them again was marginal at best, but he did not care. He would rather be lost with Hannah than found with Erich and Heinrich.

  He and Hannah made their way through the sea of dancing and conversing people.

  “Tell me about yourself, Hannah,” Wilhelm said, loud enough to be heard over the chatter and music.

  The atmosphere was filled with a blend of beer and sweat.

  “What do you want to know?” Hannah asked.

  “Everything,” Wilhelm said.

  “I cannot believe you held onto this rose. You never even spoke to me,” Hannah said.

  “I have not stopped thinking about you since that day,” Wilhelm said.

  He had a nervous energy and a great smile that made his words seem innocent.

  They made their way out of the tent and into the mass of people. Lights, both artificial and natural, shined and sparkled everywhere while music poured out of accordions, fiddles, and flutes.

  “So, why did you leave Schönfeld?” Hannah asked.

  “To see the world,” Wilhelm answered.

  “Don’t you miss your family?” she asked.

  “My mother died when I was young, and my father and I never really got along. It was my mother’s shop, but I think my father is only truly at peace when he is there. But not me,” Wilhelm explained.

  “To your mother,” Hannah said, raising her glass. Wilhelm smiled and clunked her glass with his. “I feel so sorry for you that you lost her at such a young age. I cannot imagine,” Hannah said.

  Her parents were her best friends. It was just the three of them, and she could not dare to imagine losing one and not being close to the other.

  “I cannot believe I am standing here, next to you. I never thought I would see you again,” Wilhelm said, still staring at her in disbelief.

  Hannah smiled nervously. Wilhelm had a deep unabashed stare. He simply loved her eyes. They exuded a hidden strength that not even she was aware of, but there was vulnerability in them too.

  As they watched the band and dancers, both kept stealing glances at one another. When they both caught each other, they laughed nervously before burying their faces in their beer.

  “Will you dance with me?” Hannah asked.

  “Always,” Wilhelm said.

  He took her empty pint and set it down on a close-by table. The music was fast, and the more advanced dancers slapped their hands against their thighs and feet in the tradition of the Schuhplattler. Wilhelm and Hannah laughed, for Wilhelm was not an innately gifted freestyle dancer. The music ended, and they both hunched over from fits of laughter and sore jaws from smiling too much.

  “I need to get you another beer so that you do not remember this in the morning,” Wilhelm joked.

  “I am afraid this memory is going nowhere,” Hannah said.

  The music took an unexpected slower pace, and husbands pulled their wives in close while bachelors looked for eligible women. T
he single men stared at Wilhelm and Hannah, trying to figure out if they were a couple. Wilhelm had but seconds before a bold drunk grabbed Hannah’s hand.

  Wilhelm offered Hannah his hand. She smiled and took it. Wilhelm pulled her close with a sure, strong hand—one entwined with hers and the other wrapped around her waist. She was drawn to his confidence and the way he stood tall as they danced. Wilhelm may have struggled with the faster-paced dancing, but he knew how to waltz. Hannah was taken away by his ability and was no stranger to traditional dancing either. As a child, when her father and mother would dance in the silence, she would join them.

  “You are very good,” Hannah said.

  Wilhelm led her into a spin.

  “It is my strongest memory of my mother. We used to dance together in the kitchen,” Wilhelm said.

  Hannah could tell the reverence he held his mother in. The deep respect he had for her was the same way he treated Hannah—the constant gentleman.

  At first, Wilhelm’s stare was intimidating. Hannah had never liked people with such strong stares. It made her feel she was being judged—being watched. But his stare lacked judgment, and she was quick to admire it. When she spoke, he did not look around and half listen—he hung on every word. To him, it was as if all the other thousands of people had vanished—there was only Hannah.

  The music died out, but the momentary silence was soon filled with applause. They both smiled nervously as they pulled away. The music came back with fervor and life. Hannah’s hand was grabbed by a woman, and she was pulled into a long train of people. She grabbed Wilhelm as hundreds, linked together by clinging hands, skipped along. But the train split and Hannah’s grip broke, and before Wilhelm could grab her hand, ten people separated them. The number doubled when the train broke off again, and by the time the song ended, Hannah was gone.

  Building the Reich

  The next couple of days started and ended much the same way—Wilhelm awoke with a new sense of hope only to have it crushed. He had not seen Hannah for the rest of his time in Munich. Though there were nearly a thousand women for him to talk with, he had no desire to. He had nothing but odds on his mind—the odds of Hannah living in Berlin, the odds of her finding herself in the “Rote Blumen,” the odds of her going to the Oktoberfest in Munich, and the odds of him running into her amidst thousands. But, to Wilhelm, there was only one easy explanation—fate.