Battle of the Rhine

"This is mine, it's time to return it to me."

Michael woke up with a start, and a small piece of pale gray sky appeared through the gap between the blue-gray curtains, like hard marble.The street lights were on, and the clock was ticking.He grabbed the alarm clock and glanced at it. It was 04:30, 29:[-] to be exact.

Also get at least two hours of sleep.He lay back, closed his eyes, and stroked the military badge through his pajamas.Just now he had dreamed of Quincy again, vague shadows, the smell of cheap soap.Michael held his military badge and masturbated with his other hand in his pajama pants.Soon he fell asleep, this time without dreaming, blank until dawn.

Half of the military card is left.This he discovered only after he arrived in Bonn.The Germans pay attention to practicality, and this requirement for industry is also reflected in military equipment.Take the military registration card as an example, an oval shape, divided into upper and lower halves, which can be folded in the middle.Michael felt that this design was more refined than his dog tags, with a kind of German coldness and dark humor.He couldn't figure out when Quincy broke off the other half, maybe while he was asleep... He fell asleep that night, a deep sleep; he prayed never to wake up, and it was obvious that God hadn't satisfied him.

At seven o'clock, Michael got up.Toast, coffee, shower, breakfast. 07:30 Time to leave the house and drive his Ford through the city.The sun was rising in the sky, and the air was dry and cold.He turned on the car radio and listened to nursery rhymes for a while, but those songs always took his breath away.What rock, blues, something is missing.In fact, there are not many things that can make Michael's emotions turbulent. His heart is still beating, but it seems to be dead.

"What is the German Fatherland?" Michael hummed. "Is it Prussia? Or is it Swabia? Is it the Rhine where the grapes grow luxuriantly—" The tip of his tongue flicked across the word, and his recent uvula has been inaccurate enough , So I sang it again: "Is it the Rhine where the grapes grow luxuriantly? Is it the Belt of the Seagulls? Oh, no, no, no, our motherland must be stronger than this..."

How ridiculous!Michael Fiennes is not German, not even of German descent.His ancestors were from England, and must have committed some crime to leave the beauty of Europe and trek to the New World.He sometimes wondered about the blood of criminals when he couldn't sleep, and the calves born of bantam cows were also short, so there was a high probability that the offspring of criminals would also commit crimes.For example, he committed an unforgivable crime.

In July 1952, Michael returned to the United States.In the six months between Christmas and his departure, he did not write to Quincy, send Christmas cards, or send Christmas presents.He was busy working, working, working like a real German.The Rhine River flows through Bonn, and Michael took a tram to see the river when he had free time.The great gray river flows quietly, and the other side cannot be seen. "A bridge should be built here," Michael gestured in the void with his fingers, "Don't! It's time to blow it up again in a war..."

This is his last life in Germany, lonely, boring and cold.America also failed to warm him up.Regardless of the retainer, Michael resigned and went back to Arizona to rest for a few weeks.Because he wrote to Mary in advance that Karna had found another man to marry, and Mary was so angry that she refused to talk to him. "I've never seen a coward like you," she said. "Is it so difficult for you to propose?"

"I don't want to get married," Michael said. "If you don't believe me, ask Dan. Marriage is horrible."

"Fuck you, Mike," Mary said, throwing the rag on the table, "you're an idiot, I should have known. I still had hope in you—"

Daniel Pollison smiled while hugging his second son, and Michael shrugged, "That person treats her better. I'm an American, and our living habits are always different."

"Kana must be heartbroken," said Mary angrily. "There is no one who can hurt other people's feelings more than you, you scoundrel, I must keep my sons away from your bad habits. .”

After a month and a half of boredom, Michael headed to Detroit, where he quickly found a new job.The farm was better, he regretted it almost immediately, the noisy big city was not for him.The quiet town is great, but Michael can't help but think of Quincy in his empty home.He cleared out a sunny room and imagined what it would be like for Quincy to live in it.He's going to buy Quincy some pretty pots full of tulips and colchicums; A real apple tree, so that in the spring Quincy could sit and read in the scent of apple blossoms.Michael was lying on the floor, giggling, the only person Quinnessy knew here.They were on the farm and no one was seen.He could make Quincy strip naked, naked... Quincy would get angry and roll his eyes at him.The college student is not lethal when he is angry, and Michael can overwhelm him with one hand.

So is work.Michael is not married, has no girlfriend, and looks like an out-and-out workaholic on the surface.He works overtime every day, and stays in the office until eight o'clock in the evening when he has nothing to do.What can you do in the rented house?Do you want to read a book?He only has one copy of "Salome", and the others are a few professional-related manuals, full of figures, tables and pictures, boring and boring, just like his life.

Because of his hard work and never refusing to work overtime, Michael was actually promoted and had a separate office in the building.This is more convenient, and he even thought about living here, but finally gave up out of hygiene considerations.Today, Michael worked overtime as usual.He sent the little worker to buy two hot dogs and gave him a few cents as a tip.Eating hot dogs with Coca-Cola was one of Michael's few recreational activities after returning to China. While he was reading the newspaper, he opened the can of Coke, and the foam burst out and wet his hands.

"What are you doing?"

Michael looked up, and “Laura” walked in without knocking.Laura is a man, whose real name is Ralph Hawke, a young man in his early twenties, with a somewhat handsome appearance.Michael had heard that the guy was a "gay" when he joined the company, and later found out that it was true, because Laura has never been taboo.

"Eat." Michael wiped his hands with a newspaper, "Aren't you going home?"

"Aren't you going home?"

"I have no home."

Laura laughed. "You're funny, Mike."

"I think you should call me 'Mr. Fiennes.'"

"Come on," Laura sat down on his desk, crossing her legs, "you crooked old thing."

"I'm quite old." Michael bit off the hot dog and wiped the glass on the table with a newspaper. "Okay, please go back, young man, and let the old man be clean."

"take me Out to eat."

"I have to save money, I'm sorry."

Laura had "a little feeling" for Michael, by his own admission.He teased Michael over and over again, but Michael just pretended not to understand.Tomorrow Saturday, Michael finishes his hot dogs and arranges the Coke bottles.He flipped through his blotter—it was a habit he'd had with Quincy, and he couldn't change it, and he didn't want to. "I'm going to lock the door, please—"

"take me Out to eat."

Michael tossed him the paper wrapping the hot dog, and Laura pouted, "Scrooge."

"I told you, I have to save money."

"What are you saving money for? Marry a wife?"

"This can't be said for sure."

Laura followed Michael all the way into the car.He closed the car door on his own and turned on the radio. "Where do you live?" Michael started the car, and Laura snorted, "Your house."

"Tell me quickly—"

"Take me back to your house to see?"

"No."

The car stopped at an intersection and waited for a red light. Michael turned off the squeaking radio, "I'm not like you, chick."

"Who's a chick!" Laura raised her eyebrows unhappily. "Fuck you, Fiennes!"

"You," Michael couldn't help laughing, "I don't think you look like 'Hawk' at all—you're just a little chick, aren't you?"

"Are you flirting with me?" Laura turned angry into joy, "Yes, I said you were dishonest."

"Okay, I'm not like you." Michael looked in the rearview mirror. "Where do you live?"

"Stay at your house."

"Don't make me throw you halfway."

"I don't believe it." Laura leaned closer, "How about you kiss me, give me a kiss, and I'll tell you."

"Go aside." Michael pushed that face away, "I'm not kidding, I'm serious."

"Come here," Laura yelled, "you bumbling—"

Michael hit the brakes and pushed Laura off.He handles this kind of young man with thin arms and legs like a fish in water. Before Laura could react, he closed the door and kicked the gas pedal away.

"You old ghost!" Laura jumped and cursed after him, "I'll let you—"

Michael snorted.The world was quiet, and he drove around the city in his car.The shadowy parts of the city are littered with whores standing in the streets, and some men, boys.He hid on the side of the road and looked at them silently. If someone came to knock on the glass, Michael would wave his hand, indicating that he didn't have such a need.

At 09:30, Michael returns to the apartment.The day passed like this, and he started to take a shower, the water tapping monotonously on the floor.

"Sing a song." Michael said to himself, scrubbing his skin vigorously, "What is the German motherland? It's Prussia, it's Swabia, it's Belt, it's Sand City, it's... Bavaria, it's the Rhine... "