Battle of the Rhine

Tim was so angry that he didn't talk to Michael for days, and it was obvious that he was really angry. "Billy 'Bull' took your darling college student's ring," sighed "Little German," "for my God, it's a captive's ring—it's called a fucking trophy, you idiot .Even the superiors don't bother to care about this, no one cares, and they can't manage it. Open your eyes and look around, some guys don't even let go of blankets and water bottles!"

"Little German" throws a ring, but Michael misses it, and it chugs into the dirt. "I think you'd better pick it up. It's worth a little money, but it's not worth much—in times of war and chaos, antiques are always worthless." "Little German" crossed his arms, "You have to pay a little Understand Tim, his mother is Jewish... alas, alas."

"Little German" walked away with a sigh.Michael picked up the ring.The ring was very plain, with a very small gem set in a delicate torus.The inside of the ring was engraved with a name, "Emma," and he pocketed the ring and began to feel ashamed: he had wronged Tim, smeared a good man as a robber out of thin air, and it looked like he was going to hell when he died.

Quincy, at the center of the storm, oblivious to the little rift between the victors, tended the field carefully, for every day new dead men were buried in it.Michael watched for a few minutes under a beech tree. Quincy's blond hair was combed neatly to the right, and his chin and neck were surprisingly white.He stood there not at all like a prisoner, more like a fallen nobleman in a black-and-white silent film. "Little German" said that the surname probably represented his having a prominent ancestor. "At least he didn't have to be an apprentice at 13," "Little German" shrugged, "Thanks to my grandfather—if he didn't think of going across the ocean to America to earn a living, I would have been a carpenter after primary school. "

Quincy seemed to have noticed Michael's gaze, and his originally relaxed expression suddenly became tense.He raised his head and looked around, and when he found Michael, his face slowly relaxed—this is like training a dog, Michael thought strangely, you give the dog bones and meat to eat, and you will become good friends in a few days; Similarly, give him cigarettes, chocolate, coffee and socks, and even the toughest Nazi will show you a smile.He waved for Quincy to come over.The German second lieutenant did not hesitate. He was barefoot, but he still walked as if he was wearing military boots, with his waist and back straight.

"Well," Michael took out the troublesome ring from his pocket, "Is this yours?"

He said slowly, in German, "Your?"

Quincy's eyes widened in surprise. "It's mine—yes, my ring."

The word "ring" was guessed by Michael, whose German level covered a dozen words.The pronunciation of "ring" in German and "ring" in English are somewhat similar. It is said that German and English are relatives, and Germans and British are also relatives.But Hitler certainly didn't want to admit it.Michael's ancestors came from England, and none of his family's immediate or distant relatives, including neighbors, had German relatives. "Here you are." Michael squeezed the ring, "here, here you go."—in English.

Quincy held out a hand, with long, white fingers, the hands of a college student in Michael's mind. "Thank you," he said, also in English, "thank you very much."

"I also have a ring." Michael stretched out his fingers and gestured. Unfortunately, his hands were much rougher. Since he was able to walk, he had to feed cows and work, and his palms were covered with calluses.Later, when I became a soldier, new calluses were piled on the old calluses. "I bought it in the city, and my wife likes your European rings," he said, speaking at a faster pace, "What about you?"

"I didn't buy it." Quincy said simply, pulling up the collar button of his shirt and carefully putting the ring into his hidden pocket. "Anyway, thank you."

"Emma?" Michael asked. "There's a name engraved on the ring."

"Yes, her name is Emma." Quincy pursed her lips, "I hope she's still alive."

Before dinner, Michael asked Tim to apologize.Tim didn't look well, he was pale. "It's all right," he smiled wretchedly. "I shouldn't have said that nonsense—forgive me, man, you're right, it's not right to propose with someone else's ring, and I shouldn't have done it."

"Are you all right?" Michael asked worriedly. "Are you—are you—"

"She turned me down," Tim said, lips trembling, "Uta turned me down... She said, well, she said, she could stay with me, but she couldn't come back to America with me... She has a fiancé, she The fiancé is on the Eastern Front; and her father..."

Michael didn't know how to comfort Tim for a while, "She can't go back to the United States with you? Then... um... I think..."

"I'm fine, I'm thinking about it," Tim smiled wryly, "at least she was honest, quite honest. She told me that her fiancé was her middle school classmate, and they lived across the street. Where did her dad go?" , she didn't know... Maybe it was outside the city, or it could be on the other side of the Rhine. She cried, Mike, she cried and said that her father had a lame leg, but there were no young people in the city going to serve in the army, Cannon fire every day, bullets whizzing through roofs, plane engines blaring terribly. They want her brother too, but he's too young to hold a gun. God, that kid Nine years old..."

"She can't go back to America with me, she wants to wait and see. Maybe her fiancé and dad are still alive." Tim rubbed his nose, his eyes were red, "Don't look at me like that, bro, I'm fine, really. I just want to No way, you say, why the war? It's fucking idle. Never in my life would I ever want to come to Europe, the goddamn place so far from my house... What do the big men in the world have on their minds? Fuck him Yeah, I didn't want to come to Europe, I just wanted to be an honest worker, is that a problem? Fuck war, son of a bitch war!"

"No problem," Michael said, "no problem, of course no problem. I didn't even think about running this far...for a stupid war. Mary," he said in a flash of inspiration when he mentioned his wife, "you know, Mary She went to work in the factory and is now in charge. She wrote, the factory is full of girls, beautiful American girls, single. If you are not too far, you can come back with me when the war is over. Mary can introduce A dozen girls for you- well, you better marry an American girl, they do the housework like a heifer. You can't expect a delicate European girl to do the housework. I was married, and no one I'm more aware of that."

Tim nodded vigorously, "It's a deal. Introduce me to a dozen girls when the time comes, and I won't do without one."

He thumped Michael's shoulder heavily with his fist, "I'm going to be quiet, buddy." Michael looked at the back of him leaving, his shoulders slumped, full of loneliness.It'll pass, Michael thought, and tomorrow, when Tim meets a new girl, he'll pick himself up...no big deal.