Battle of the Rhine

Michael also wrote a contract in his "dog gnawed" font, a page and a half written during lunch, with two greasy fingerprints on it. "You are forbidden to drink, no to drink," he pointed to the first line, "this is the most important thing, no alcohol - this stuff will damage your brain, if you don't want to be thrown into the hospital as a red-nosed drunk If you accept the electric shock, you will sign honestly."

The terms are not too harsh, no drinking, no smoking, you must eat on time, go to bed before twelve o'clock, you can eat mints and chocolate candies, you can chew gum, you can drink two bottles of Coke at a time, "You can hit me, I won't fight back, "Michael said, "The premise is that it is forbidden to hit me in the face and neck, and only with hands, not with knives or axes."

Quincy's head was listless, and he always looked listless every time he went mad, probably going mad consumed most of his energy.He signed it and ate two-fifths of the chocolate cake in dejection.When he had finished his milk, he went upstairs, his feet aching as if he had just been at a funeral.Michael continued to sit at the table, writing to Mary.Mary asked him if he found dear Karna, and if he found it, he would marry her as soon as possible and bring the beautiful female college student back to the United States. "I will take her around and help her quickly adapt to life in the United States."

"Dear Mary," Michael bit the end of his pen, he loved cheap ballpoint pens, "I found Karna, she's not doing well - her husband died..."

Karna is a name that belongs to the quick-witted, there is no girl named "Carl" after all, "Her husband fought and died in the war, and I think that hit her hard. She had to go to work...she got infected The drinking problem, I don't know what to do."

Given Mary's temper, Michael could imagine the tone of the reply, which must have been accusatory, "You fool, Mike, you can figure out what to do with your farmer's toes - marry her, of course! I said 300 Thousands of times, get married, get married, get married, bring her back to America. Get some sun and take care of her, she'll be fine!"

It's going to be a while before Quincy "gets better," poor fellow, confused and misspelled his name.Michael noticed that he didn't capitalize his middle initial, so he used a ballpoint pen to smudge and extend the "V."After doing all this, he also went upstairs, brushed his teeth and took a shower, turned on the wall lamp and recited a few words.He called "soft tail" a dozen times today, Mr. Franz was a little taken aback, and Michael told him he learned it from his landlord.

"He has a bad temper, doesn't he?"

"It's okay, but he has a naughty cat...it often breaks the flower pots."

It was nearly eleven o'clock and Michael was going to bed.Winter was coming, and he had to get a thick quilt.To be honest, what happened last night left him with lingering fears.Had it not been for the sudden thunder, he would have killed Germany in peacetime.Mike lay down with his hands on his pillow, the wind was howling, not only was he short of a thick quilt, but he was also short of a coat... He still remembered that in the winter of 1944, the big guy was squatting in the forest, with snow falling on the tip of his nose and eyebrows, and Tim said he looked like A Santa who lost three sizes, with no presents in his pocket, only bullets and cigarettes.

Tim, Michael turned over.The snowy forest is very quiet, you can hear the soft sound of snowflakes falling.The pure snow smelled sweet, maybe he had hallucinations because of the cold.Tim laughed at the old man and laughed at Michael as a rustic hat, a rustic suit, "what" to "what" to go. "What are you thinking about?" Tim asked himself and answered, "Missing my wife!"

What a bad guy, sighs Michael.They could all go back to America, and Tim probably wouldn't, lying under the mud of a foreign land like his brothers who died in D-Day.Michael thought of Quincy again, "...what number is your dear Tim?"

A college student's idiot question, Quincy's blue eyes widened when asked this sentence, panic, resentment, fear... "How is that possible, Tim." Michael didn't even have to think about it.Tim was his friend, his comrade in arms, and he could share a glass of wine, a cigarette, and a pair of pants with Tim, but he would never want to kiss Tim.It's disgusting, isn't it?Likewise, Peter, "Big Girl," Oliver...every one of them, Michael doesn't feel the urge to kiss.I mentioned it to some guys from the Soviet union that some Soviets like to kiss everyone, mouth to mouth, and they say that is "Slavic etiquette".To his Slavic etiquette!If a man came up and kissed Michael, mouth to mouth, Michael would pull out his Luger and have a serious fight with that jerk.

But all he wanted was to kiss Quincy, to kiss him, to hug him, to touch his hair and his face, to "do that" with him.Michael was very frustrated, and something must have gone wrong.His brain had probably gone awry, and he mistook a handsome blond young man for a girl.However, he also lacks sexual desire for blonde girls, isn't Mary a beautiful blonde girl...

The sound of footsteps interrupted Michael's cranky thoughts.Someone was lingering outside the door, pacing in a circle.One step, two steps, three steps.Michael raised his guard, not that Quincy was drinking again.When he found time, he had to go up to the third floor to search and confiscate the entire collection of the Germans.

"... What's the matter?" Michael pulled the door latch, "What's the matter?"

Quincy stepped back, wrapped in her nightgown.He bit his lip and uttered a few indistinct syllables.There was no smell of alcohol, which reassured Michael somewhat, "Do you want to talk?"

"..."

Quincy was silent, and Michael noticed his bare calves, which meant there was at least one pair of pants under the nightgown.Not good, Michael also stepped back, "If you're okay—"

"Good night," Quincy whispered.

"Well, ah, okay, good night. See you tomorrow morning." Michael quickly closed the door.For God's sake, he'd have to add a clause to the contract that strictly forbade Quincy to be naked in front of him.

The heat made it difficult for Michael to sleep for a long time.He imagined Quincy masturbating naked before closing his eyes barely.Despicable, Michael spat at his own wicked soul, "You're such a poor rogue...Maybe letting him kill you is the only way to wash away your sins."

In the second half of the night, the dry heat returned.Michael was half asleep and half awake, feeling something tugging at his arm.The thing was very hot, Michael lifted a corner of the quilt, and when he woke up a little, he found that there was another person on the bed besides him.

Quincy was in a deep sleep, her soft blond hair spread out on the pillow.In the twilight of the morning light, that quiet look was like a statue of an angel carved in marble.

Michael held his breath, and he heard blood rushing, heart beating, wind and birdsong.Trembling, he pushed back the hair on Quincy's forehead, and gently kissed the small piece of hot skin between his eyebrows.