Battle of the Rhine

Like a dream but not a dream.Michael brushed his teeth a third time, confirming that he slept with Quincy last night. "Sleep" is a word with rich meanings. It can be simply sleeping or not.Michael touched his chest and spit out foam.Last night, too, he had brushed his teeth three times, with a toothbrush that Quinnessy had found somewhere, the bristles piercing the gums and the toothpaste foam turning pink.Then he took a shower in the bathroom on the second floor. The water was cold, which calmed down his excited lower body.And then, he climbed up to the third floor, wrapped in a nightgown—the only thing Michael had ever seen in movies.Apart from his nightgown, he didn't even wear underwear.

The next details Michael could not confirm because Quincy turned off the lights.Clouds covered the moon, and the room was pitch black.He remembered bits and pieces, the warm touch of his skin, the wheezing and the smell of soap.The last Michael remembered most clearly: Quinnessy turned on the light and staggered to the shower; when he was done, he changed his face and snapped at Michael to "get out."Michael put on his nightgown, the living room and the second floor were as cold as an icehouse, but there was a bed on the second floor, with nothing but the bed board.

Michael returned to the third floor, and within ten minutes, Quincy had fallen into a coma. "Damn it," Michael felt that it was unfair, so he simply lifted the quilt and got in.The third floor is also terribly cold, but with the quilt and human body temperature, it can be called comfortable and comfortable.As for what to do when you get up the next day...Michael didn't have the energy to think about it.

"For God's sake." Michael held his military badge and made several crosses on his chest, "It's terrible."

Last night, Quincy had several chances to kill him.While Michael was taking a shower, he thought Quincy must be waiting outside the bathroom door with an ax in hand; there was no one there, just a single nightgown, which was a fancy shroud; Under the quilt, death has long been forgotten—death is not terrible, Michael kept hearing such sayings during his service, "If you can't sleep with a woman before you die, then you will die unjustly."

Michael thought about it seriously, if tomorrow was his death day, he would not have the desire to sleep with a woman.Quincy, frantic with a chef's knife, suddenly produces a particularly inappropriate, absurd simulation: If he's destined to be killed by Quincy, then, before he goes to hell, he wishes he could kiss Quincy's Mouth.

Did he kiss Quincy?Thoughts stop here.Michael washed his face and dried it on the sleeve of his nightgown.There was a jar of Vaseline in the bathroom, and when the lid was unscrewed, there was only a little bit left in it. He wiped the Vaseline the size of a fingernail on his face, looked at himself in the mirror, and felt as if he was snickering.

It was five past eleven, and Quincy was still curled up under the covers and fast asleep.It was so cold that Michael walked around the house and felt that the place was frighteningly deserted.There was no food in the kitchen, it was empty.Seasoning is just a little salt and white pepper.Fortunately, Michael didn't find a second chef's knife, nor did he have a reserve weapon like a rolling pin that could crush a skull.With no wood, no charcoal, and no coals, the stone fireplace is just a decoration.Michael left the kitchen, picked up the chef's knife under the stairs, and stuffed it into his backpack.The poor coat was still spread out on the floor, and there was a strong smell of wine. Michael had to think about how to clean it.

At eleven twenty, Michael was hungry.He went back to the second floor, found his pants and shirt, and took a gray sweater from the closet.There should be something edible on the living room table, and he counted two plates, which contained almost the same amount: two slices of bread, five slices of sausage, and a block of cheese.One cup of coffee was spilled, the other was as cold as ice.Michael was going to boil a kettle of water, but when he was looking for the kettle, the doorbell suddenly rang, tinkling, as if someone had hung a huge copper bell outside the door.

On Saturdays, probably only the postman is still working.

Michael glanced at the ceiling. Ten minutes ago, Quincy was still sleeping, and he probably hasn't woken up yet.It wouldn't be a bad thing to pick up someone's letter... Maybe it's the newspaper delivery kid.Newspapers are very convenient starters, Michael started to think about it, and after a while he went to the backyard to search carefully, maybe where Quinny hid the wood.

The doorbell rang again, jingle, jingle. "Come on," said Michael in German, "just a moment—"

If time could go back five minutes, Michael would have pretended he hadn't heard the doorbell.He was standing in the doorway, and outside was a pair of beautiful young people—the girl was blond and blue-eyed, with a few small freckles on the tip of her nose.This not only did not damage her beauty, but added a bit of playfulness.From her looks, Michael would have guessed: her eyes and Quinnessy's were definitely created by God in the same mold... She must be a close relative of Quincy.

"I'm sorry," the girl took two steps back, looked up at the house a few times, her German didn't have such a strong southern accent, "I'm sure this is my brother's house. Are you—"

The boy pushing the bicycle looked wary.He was taller than Quinnessy, a solid young man with blond hair. "Who are you?" he asked. "You live around here?"

"I," Michael said, moving his tongue, "good morning, I'm—"

"Charlie."

"Ah, Carl!" the girl let out a long breath. "Are you home? I thought..."

Michael looked over his shoulder to see Quincy coming down the stairs in a nightgown, white shirt, and dark gray trousers. "Of course I'm at home." Quincy seemed to have no intention of inviting his sister to come in and sit down. "What do you want?"

"I guess you're done with your bread." Charlie held up the paper bag in her arms, "I baked a lot, and Pretzel. Have you finished your milk too? I brought a few cans. And—"

"I won't go to church tomorrow," Quincy interrupted his sister. "I told Father Hoffman that I had given up Catholicism."

A dark cloud passed over Xia Li's face, "Everyone is very worried about you, brother."

"I'm very good."

"The choir is short of piano accompaniment. This has nothing to do with faith. Can you help?"

"Do not."

"Then let me go in and sit down," Xia Li begged. "It's really cold, if I stand at the door again, I'm going to catch a cold."