Reprise

PREVIOUSLY


It's been two months. First two weeks passed as a very long attempt of suicide by alcohol. I must be too well mannered to actually succeed. I tried to return to my normal life, but with this "unfavorable political climate" I was unable to do anything. I couldn't even teach music any more because they only let government approved people near anything related to culture. My apartment was searched several times, but luckily I disposed of anything that might have made me look suspicious. It felt unsafe, or rather more unsafe to walk down the street because I had been stopped and questioned several times for "suspicious behavior" or in other words just for looking like a person who prefers aesthetics to efficiency. They even resorted to public humiliation and physical violence, like beating a person in the street. That was not their worst. Twenty people were killed for crimes they had not committed. I knew many of those people. I could not stand for it. It was unbearable. So I began searching for a way out of the country and now I'm here, on a train station, waiting for the train heading to the Swiss Alps. Switzerland is the safest place to go from what I hear. I had a drink with one of the soldiers and he told me that this is the only viable transport out of this broken clockwork. I'm going on the train as a propaganda writer and spokesman. That's the only disguise I could take without raising suspicion. On this train my status is plankton, I have an excellent chance of blending in. Let's see now. I don't have much luggage, just a case with some propaganda posters I managed to obtain so as to prove the validity of my disguise. Also I'm bringing my violin along. Why can't a spokesman have a hobby? The train station is somewhat empty. Probably because there's some armed men guarding on every corner. It's not very pleasant, although it used to be such a beautiful place. I am a bit scared, those armed men don't seem to like me even in this disguise. Can't blame them, it's a cold, wet morning. I think I'd better get on the train before I catch a cold. And what a train it is. All of the copper pipes on the engine are cleaned and polished. There's five separate cars: the baggage car, two passenger cars, a dining car in the middle and another passenger car with the German army for protection. Luckily I also got a genuine ticket, so there won't be any hiding in the baggage car. Let's see: first passanger car ... and fifth compartment. How delightful, it's a lot more comfortable than those meant for civilians. It's like my own little functional living room, or rather a studio apartment, but pleasant regardless of it's size, which is unusually large for a compartment. Nevertheless it's modest and somewhat strict. I even have my own unified lavatory-bathroom, well ain't I happy now. If I'll find a piece of Swiss chocolate I might consider living here. I think I'll make myself comfortable. Put away my luggage, if you can call this amount of things luggage. Take off my overcoat. The scarf will stay, it's a bit cold in the corridor. Let's see now, what book did I bring with me this time? I sometimes like to take a random book from the shelf and only see what I chose when it's too late to go back. A tome of La Comédie Humaine by Honore de Balzac. What a wonderful choice. Depicting the true nature of people through various subtle details. He's more of a philosopher, than a writer. Objective observer would be an accurate description. For some reason as good as the book may be it seems rather boring to read just now. I'll just put this away for now. It's a long trip, I'll finish it later.
A loud steam whistle, some rumble, a sudden jerk and I see the platform moving away ever so further into the distance. The train keeps accelerating with the constant rhythmic knocking which is so soothing. It's rather enchanting, as if hypnotizing, creating a feeling unique to traveling by train. A cup of hot chocolate would add to the experience quite nicely. The spicy kind I mean. It will wake you up and give a little spark that will liven the dream-forest just outside the window. And indeed the view from the window looks similar to a fairytale: tall dark trees and illuminated grassy slopes with a hint of the morning mist. I can almost see a faun cautiously walking between the trees in search of his lost flute. Dear God, I am having hallucinations. I haven't eaten a while and apparently my body is trying to inform me. I'm not quite sure if I packed any food with me. It seemed such a pointlessly elementary thing to do that I just forgot and didn't bother. Still that just leaves me with a suitcase full of propaganda posters and an empty stomach. Now I remember. There's an entire restaurant attached to this train. Excellent , I'll go there.
This place isn't all that bad considering that it's a train, not a building. Dark wooden interior, chiseled wooden furniture, red drapes at the windows, Indian carpet floor, the room half lit... This feels awfully British. I'll just have a seat here. Well well, a young lad with a menu. For me? Why thank you. Let's have a look.
"Yes, I'd like the pork roast. Rare please." I prefer rare because it doesn't leave any room for disappointment.
"Very well. What would you like with it? May I suggest oven baked potatoes?" Germans...
"I was thinking more along the lines of vegetables. A raw salad perhaps? I'll let the cook decide."
"An excellent choice sir. Anything to drink?" Should have started with that choice.
Wait a minute now. I need to act German aswell. What was it they like to drink?
"I'll have a nice glass of ... milk." Almost said beer, but Germans don't drink beer in the morning. Something I like about them.

Apparently there aren't many passengers on the train, or at least in the dining car. There are some very indistinguishable people sitting at different tables. Nervous bureaucrats. Can't get through a business trip without a touch of alcohol, despite them being German, they're still paper pushers. Closed-minded and so thoroughly ignorant that it seams as though they actually have depth. And I'm disguised as one of them. I find it very convenient because I lack any further words to describe them and for that reason it's perfect.

To think I could be at home in Paris. Oh the things people could do given the chance. Unfortunately humans are such boring creatures that very few actually do something great, the rest simply continue to live their lives in fear of making decisions, because it might somehow change something and God forbid if that would ever happen, or society would have to evolve.

"Good day." Wait what?
"May I join you?" Stiller! How? Why? He must be on to me. Or perhaps not. I have to keep focused on my act. Stay calm. Look at him with confidence, don't smile, don't show any strong feelings unless ... no, just don't.
"Of course."
"Thank you. I find that food is best enjoyed with company." Ok, I'll play your game. I just hope that my disguise will fool him. Now that I think of it, it's not much of a disguise. I kept my French manners, I have no idea how to respond to anything he might through at me. I'm lost here. He is right in front of me, looking into my eyes, as if reading these very thoughts. I'm afraid to move a muscle, because I'm sure I'll start shaking all over. I must be pale. This is turning into an awkward silence.

Um .... oh right. "Isn't it interaction people are hungry for rather than food. I for one feel a lot more satisfied if I have a proper conversation, than when I eat lunch." There. That wasn't so hard. Just make sure it's believable. He's starting to get comfortable. Taking off his hat. His face as monotonous as it was in the concert hall. I can't tell if he's furious or calm and that's a troubling thought.
"Let's not forget, that as well as it is with communication, one must always make sure that the food isn't poisonous, as the poison is usually reluctant to leave it's victim." Oh no. He must surely be on to my act. I think I'm starting to sweat.
"Right you are. For it is in the minds of our own people that we battle this war." He looks at me for a slightly longer moment than usual and reaches out his hand.
"Gruppenführer Hans Stiller." I reach out my own hand. Carefully, delicately, not too fast. I shake his hand. A good strong shake. Formal. So very unnerving.
"Heinrich Pappelbaum, writer for hire. I mostly work on propaganda posters and flyers." This can't be right. Is that a smile I see?
"Oh, then you must be one of the people I'm going to be working with in the coming months." Oh God no! If there is a list of his future colleagues, and no doubt there is, they are Germans mind you, then essentially I'm done for. It's over.

"And what would you like to order?"
"Frankfurters and mashed potatoes." No comment.
"Anything to drink?"
"Coffee please." Coffee with that? No no no. I'll just keep quiet.
"Well then. Heinrich. You do know what you will be working on, or has it been kept secret as usual?" Dammit. I'll have to improvise something.
"All they said was that they were impressed by my work and that this job will require my skills to be completed."
"I wasn't part of the committee that chose our colleagues. Would you happen to have some of your work here with you?" Oh bloody hell! The flyers in my suitcase aren't exactly my own work so I can't use that as a cover. Let's try something else.
"Just look around Hamburg and you'll see."
"Alright then." Another smile. So it wasn't just a spasm."I'm not exactly entitled to tell you our further work, but all I can tell you is: this is going to be big." So they're planning some sort of propaganda attack. In Switzerland? This is interesting. I mustn't stress the subject or he might get suspicious.

"Rare pork roast with steamed vegetables and milk." Finally! I was getting too hungry to think properly.
"Tell me about yourself. I'd like to know the people I work with." Should I go with the almost cliché like German stereotype or some classy and even more improbable made up personality?
"I was born and grew up around Rein. It was a quiet and peaceful childhood."
“No no, I'm much more interested in your personality as it is now. Childhood memories can have a strong effect on our lives but we never really look back from an objective standpoint. You do know that we only work with the best, so please tell me: what makes you so good?” Alright. I'll see what I can come up with.
“I can think like the general public and understand what moves them. That's why I'm good at what I do. I know how to get into the mind of the people. There's always a personal touch involved.”
“Well then I see that our project is in good hands.” I honestly don't wish to discuss the subject any longer.
“Coffee, Frankfurters and mashed potatoes.” For some reason it looks better than I though it would. Nonetheless it is still disgusting.
“You wouldn't happen to know how long this trip will take?” Just out of curiosity.
“Already bored? As far as I know we will cross the border in the afternoon. I know a great way to pass the time. Games. Would you like to play?” Now this is something new. I'll go with the flow.
“You have my undivided attention. What exactly do you have in mind?”
“You see Herr Pappelbaum, I know a game with the help of which I can get to know the real essence of a person I play with. It is a game of question and answer, but the actual answers do not matter.”
“I see. A mind game.” Or should I say an interrogation?
“Indeed. Care to have a go at it?”
“Alright. I have a feeling this is going to be interesting.”
“Are you sure? Perhaps you doubt my ability?”
“No no, go on. I'd love to see how this turns out.”
“You are so nervous that you didn't even notice the game has already begun. Now then, what would you do if one morning you were to be placed under arrest for a crime you know you have not committed?” I'll go with the honest answer.
“I could try standing trial, but how can I be sure they're not trying to frame me, since I have not committed a crime as far as I know. In that case I would try to disappear and leave the country. Then there is a chance that I actually committed the crime, but either had no knowledge of my actions being a crime, or maybe I knew it was a crime and did it in spite the consequences. Either way there is no easy way out of this situation, but if I take the later chance into account then I might not need a way out because I have already accepted my fate and already won the battle.”
...
He is just sitting there and staring at me.
“You are truly a master of your work herr Pappelbaum. You knew exactly the words I wanted to hear. There is never a straight answer but you managed to expose as many possibilities as could a trained SS investigator. As for getting to know your true way of thinking, I think we can discuss that over a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon?”
“You have good taste herr Stiller.”
“Well then, shall we go to my compartment?”
This could be a trap but he seems very sincere. It would be bad tone of me to reject the offer.
“Indeed, let us go.”
He is leading me to his compartment. I really had no choice because it would have been very suspicious and seeing how he likes to get things done he would have investigated further.
“Here we are.” Two doors away from my own compartment.
It looks almost the same as mine but he has a few more cases with him than me.
“Go on. Have a seat over there.” His voice is a bit different.
“Monsieur, I do not know how you managed to get on this train, or why you are doing this but you see, I am curious. I must admit that your disguise is very nice and your German is almost perfect, your manners and subtle behavior nuances match the stereotypical German, but I regret to tell you that there isn't a single German who would follow the stereotype so precisely. You have quite the skills of a spy but you were too nervous. I could actually see your heartbeat echoing off your jacket. You are, or at least were pale when I sat at the table. Monsieur, I would like to congratulate you on such an achievement and as promised I have a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.” My God. All this time he knew? How could I have been so ignorant? This is it. I signed my own death pact when I came on this train. I wish this was just a dream, but no. This is real. Hans Stiller is right in front of me bending down to reach for a bottle of wine which will be my last. His gun-holster is open. I need to do something fast. I'll grab the gun and point it at him.
“Now now, calm down. That is unnecessary. Wouldn't you rather be holding a glass of wine?” He is somewhat startled. He puts the bottle down and reaches behind his back.
“Back away! Don't move or I'll shoot!” He pulls out his knife. The very same.
“I'm sorry, I didn't even ask your name.” Hes eyes are digging a hole in my forehead.
“It's Francois Perren.” My hands keep on shaking.
“Francois. Think of what you are doing. You are on a train restricted for high importance officials and high rank officers. There is an entire car full of soldiers with their guns ready to fire. I want you to put down the gun and sit down.” What was I thinking? I can't win this.
“No! You put the knife on the floor and step away!”
“I'm sorry but I can't let you do that. You don't really have a choice. Either you kill me and alert everyone with the shot or you give me the gun and you'll live.” There must be another way! He starts slowly walking in my direction, his hands slightly elevated. This is insane! I wish I was back in Paris at my old apartment with the view to the street lit up at night. I would be sitting on the window frame writing a story about some young lady I see walk by in the street. She would never know that she became my muse for a moment.
“No! I said stay back! Don't come any closer!”
He rushes. Gunshot. His face is an inch away from mine. He falls to his knees and then to his side. The searing pain in my stomach. The room is turning blue, darker, darker.

###

I died running away from the demons of my life. The life that I wasted trying to live. Now I'm in a better place. A place with white ceilings and nurses wearing red crosses. No. That's not a red cross.