.png)
Katrine was buried on a hill behind the village.
In this cemetery, besides Katrine, other war victims were buried. Annette strolled slowly among the graves, holding a bouquet of flowers.
Birds chirped and darted across the grass, then flew away as she approached. It was a peaceful scene, seemingly free from any pain or suffering.
Finally, Annette stopped at a gravestone. A familiar name was engraved on it.
[Katrine Grotts
(AU 691∼722)]
The year that marked the end of Katrine's life felt strangely unfamiliar. Seeing that number, it finally dawned on her that she had died.
Annette placed the bouquet she was holding down in front of the tombstone. She briefly traced the engraved name with her fingertips.
Ss...
The grass rustled in the breeze. Annette let go of the tombstone and slowly sat down on the grave. After gazing at the distant landscape for a moment, she spoke quietly.
“...Why are you apologizing to me?”
Empty questions were scattered. No answers were returned.
“Thank you for forgiving me. I forgive you, too. If I deserve it...”
Her throat tightened. She took a deep breath, paused, and then added her now meaningless complaint.
“You told me to come back soon.”
The edge of her voice trembled precariously. Annette closed her eyes and lowered her head. Her chest felt painfully heavy.
How long does it take to let everything flow effortlessly?
How much more time must pass before this heart becomes stronger?
Annette opened her eyes. Her vision was dazzlingly blue. She gazed at the bouquet of flowers placed on the grave. The petals rustled in the breeze.
“...Thank you so much, sister.”
He was lying in the middle of a closed darkness.
His whole body was tattered, like a stale piece of bread eaten by rats. His rapid, rising, and falling breaths gradually became shallower.
At one point, a faint ray of light leaked in, accompanied by the sound of an old metal rustling. The guards rushed in and helped him to his feet.
Clang. Handcuffs were placed on both raised wrists. Someone approached with heavy boots. A strange heat crackled and rose from within.
“Dirty... your parents are all... like the Marquis and all...”
He struggled to lift his blood-caked eyelids. Through his dim vision, a man wearing rimless glasses was smiling bitterly.
“Dirty male prostitute.”
Annette Rosenberg.
He licked his chapped lips and muttered silently. The name, so desperately cursed and yet so terribly lovely, dominated his mind.
Then, a pain like an imprint was engraved on his heart.
Annette Rosenberg.
“Huh─.”
Heiner abruptly raised his upper body with a sharp gasp.
The surroundings were pitch black. His entire body was drenched in cold sweat. He rose from the bed, breathing irregularly, and staggered to the window.
Heiner opened the half-open window all the way. The cool night air touched his face. But once his breathing was disturbed, it wouldn't come back easily.
His vision blurred wildly. Heiner opened the top drawer and pulled out a white medicine bottle. With trembling hands, he tried to open the lid, but paused for a moment.
His gaze settled into the open drawer.
After standing there for a while, Heiner put the medicine bottle down on the shelf. Then he reached for the picture frame in the drawer.
He took out the picture frame hesitantly and looked at it.
The night air poured through the wide-open window. Heiner slowly sat down on the bed, holding the picture frame.
His careful fingertips touched the face in the painting. It was beaming with a bright smile. It felt as if the once-gloomy landscape had brightened.
Her blue eyes, narrowed by laughter, seemed to be staring at him. Behind her, the sea, glowing crimson in the setting sun, stretched out.
It was a painting he had bought on the coast of Glenford before his divorce from Annette.
It was something he had to take with him while moving the front line.
Heiner still vividly remembered this moment. The shock he felt upon seeing her brightly smiling face was also vivid.
From some point on, whenever he suffered from breathing difficulties in a confined space or was haunted by nightmares from the past, he would often look at this painting.
Even though it was just a picture, when he looked at her brightly smiling face... something poured out from his chest.
What poured out like that filled him, pushing away his anxiety and pain, like pouring clean water into a cup of muddy water.
Heiner now knew its name.
It was love.
He exhaled slowly. His previously unsteady breathing had become much steadier. A bitter mockery escaped his lips as he realized this.
He know.
This past, this memory, will haunt him until the day he dies. No matter how hard he struggles, he can never completely escape it.
The love that fills him paradoxically brings him another form of anxiety and pain.
Heiner stroked the picture frame, then took his hand away when he realized his handprint was leaving a mark on the glass.
Annette, the punishment of my life.
My beautiful shackles.
How much more time will it take before I can break free from you?
A cool night breeze rustled the curtains. His calm gaze lingered on the painting for a long time.
He already knew the answer.
The nib fell from the paper. Annette waited for the ink to dry, then folded the letter neatly and placed it in the envelope.
She carefully placed the envelope in her bag, making sure not to crumple it, and then stood up. The sunlight streaming through the wide-open window was warm.
Annette left the house, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her first stop was the post office, three blocks away on Godford Street.
The post office was packed. After a rather long wait, she finally managed to get her letter to the field post office at the front line.
Please include a small prayer.
Annette, back out on the street, hailed a carriage. Their destination was the Passau Central Prison, run by the local government, not far from Sinsier.
Annette stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the high wall. Barbed wire covered the walls that surrounded Passau Prison on all sides.
She entered the cold, gray building. After a brief glance around the bleak interior, she went to the reception desk and applied for a visit with an inmate.
“I’d like to visit a prisoner.”
“Let me check. What is the inmate’s name?”
“David...”
Annette said a name she hadn't said in a very long time.
“This is David Buckel.”
In Annette's hazy memory, David was a large, formidable man. In fact, she had never met him except once.
So Annette had only one impression of David: the one from that moment when he pointed the silver gun at her.
"...Hello."
But the David Buckel she actually encountered was a young man of average build and a frail appearance. The moment she saw him, Annette realized her memory had been distorted.
“Do you... remember me?”
David nodded quietly at her cautious question. He lowered his eyes and opened his mouth.
“...Miss Annette Rosenberg.”
The term "Rosenberg" that came out of David's mouth carried no particular sentiment. In fact, it was almost as if he were simply stating the facts.
An uncomfortable silence flowed between them. Annette struggled to find the words she had prepared, then managed to utter a single word.
“I’m sorry about your family’s situation.”
“...”
“Katrine was a truly wonderful person. I will never forget her.”
David's shoulders trembled. He looked even smaller and more dwarfed than his usual size. Annette made a strange face at this.
David Buckel.
He was a man who could never have good feelings. This had nothing to do with the letter of leniency written for him or Katrine's goodwill.
Yet, Annette felt resentment, discomfort, awkwardness, and at the same time... human pity for him.
David had lost his brother long ago, and now he had lost his sister. Annette felt that if there was any punishment he deserved, it was enough.
When she thought about it that way, her mind became much calmer.
"It's too late, but I wanted to apologize on behalf of my father for what he did. That's why I came. Now, you won't have to come back."
“...”
“I’m sorry. It was an innocent and unjust death.”
David didn't answer. Annette didn't say anything else. A myriad of emotions surged through the heavy silence.
They sat in silence for quite some time, with the bars between them.
“...My sister...”
David, who had been keeping his head down the whole time, muttered.
“She is an upright person.”
“Yes, she did.”
"I got a huge scolding from my sister. She told me I shouldn't have done that. It was the wrong approach. She told me to come out and receive the appropriate punishment for my sins..."
“...”
“...Also about the legacy.”
David slowly raised his head. His eyes, once consumed by rage and aimed at her, no longer held any heat.
Annette finally met his eyes again. David spoke with a sob.
"...Sorry."
“...”
"Sorry."
A tear ran down his cheek.
Annette's eyes trembled faintly. She took a deep breath, clenched her fists, then released them completely. Then she answered quietly.
“...I forgive you.”
In this cemetery, besides Katrine, other war victims were buried. Annette strolled slowly among the graves, holding a bouquet of flowers.
Birds chirped and darted across the grass, then flew away as she approached. It was a peaceful scene, seemingly free from any pain or suffering.
Finally, Annette stopped at a gravestone. A familiar name was engraved on it.
[Katrine Grotts
(AU 691∼722)]
The year that marked the end of Katrine's life felt strangely unfamiliar. Seeing that number, it finally dawned on her that she had died.
Annette placed the bouquet she was holding down in front of the tombstone. She briefly traced the engraved name with her fingertips.
Ss...
The grass rustled in the breeze. Annette let go of the tombstone and slowly sat down on the grave. After gazing at the distant landscape for a moment, she spoke quietly.
“...Why are you apologizing to me?”
Empty questions were scattered. No answers were returned.
“Thank you for forgiving me. I forgive you, too. If I deserve it...”
Her throat tightened. She took a deep breath, paused, and then added her now meaningless complaint.
“You told me to come back soon.”
The edge of her voice trembled precariously. Annette closed her eyes and lowered her head. Her chest felt painfully heavy.
How long does it take to let everything flow effortlessly?
How much more time must pass before this heart becomes stronger?
Annette opened her eyes. Her vision was dazzlingly blue. She gazed at the bouquet of flowers placed on the grave. The petals rustled in the breeze.
“...Thank you so much, sister.”
***
He was lying in the middle of a closed darkness.
His whole body was tattered, like a stale piece of bread eaten by rats. His rapid, rising, and falling breaths gradually became shallower.
At one point, a faint ray of light leaked in, accompanied by the sound of an old metal rustling. The guards rushed in and helped him to his feet.
Clang. Handcuffs were placed on both raised wrists. Someone approached with heavy boots. A strange heat crackled and rose from within.
“Dirty... your parents are all... like the Marquis and all...”
He struggled to lift his blood-caked eyelids. Through his dim vision, a man wearing rimless glasses was smiling bitterly.
“Dirty male prostitute.”
Annette Rosenberg.
He licked his chapped lips and muttered silently. The name, so desperately cursed and yet so terribly lovely, dominated his mind.
Then, a pain like an imprint was engraved on his heart.
Annette Rosenberg.
“Huh─.”
Heiner abruptly raised his upper body with a sharp gasp.
The surroundings were pitch black. His entire body was drenched in cold sweat. He rose from the bed, breathing irregularly, and staggered to the window.
Heiner opened the half-open window all the way. The cool night air touched his face. But once his breathing was disturbed, it wouldn't come back easily.
His vision blurred wildly. Heiner opened the top drawer and pulled out a white medicine bottle. With trembling hands, he tried to open the lid, but paused for a moment.
His gaze settled into the open drawer.
After standing there for a while, Heiner put the medicine bottle down on the shelf. Then he reached for the picture frame in the drawer.
He took out the picture frame hesitantly and looked at it.
The night air poured through the wide-open window. Heiner slowly sat down on the bed, holding the picture frame.
His careful fingertips touched the face in the painting. It was beaming with a bright smile. It felt as if the once-gloomy landscape had brightened.
Her blue eyes, narrowed by laughter, seemed to be staring at him. Behind her, the sea, glowing crimson in the setting sun, stretched out.
It was a painting he had bought on the coast of Glenford before his divorce from Annette.
It was something he had to take with him while moving the front line.
Heiner still vividly remembered this moment. The shock he felt upon seeing her brightly smiling face was also vivid.
From some point on, whenever he suffered from breathing difficulties in a confined space or was haunted by nightmares from the past, he would often look at this painting.
Even though it was just a picture, when he looked at her brightly smiling face... something poured out from his chest.
What poured out like that filled him, pushing away his anxiety and pain, like pouring clean water into a cup of muddy water.
Heiner now knew its name.
It was love.
He exhaled slowly. His previously unsteady breathing had become much steadier. A bitter mockery escaped his lips as he realized this.
He know.
This past, this memory, will haunt him until the day he dies. No matter how hard he struggles, he can never completely escape it.
The love that fills him paradoxically brings him another form of anxiety and pain.
Heiner stroked the picture frame, then took his hand away when he realized his handprint was leaving a mark on the glass.
Annette, the punishment of my life.
My beautiful shackles.
How much more time will it take before I can break free from you?
A cool night breeze rustled the curtains. His calm gaze lingered on the painting for a long time.
He already knew the answer.
***
The nib fell from the paper. Annette waited for the ink to dry, then folded the letter neatly and placed it in the envelope.
She carefully placed the envelope in her bag, making sure not to crumple it, and then stood up. The sunlight streaming through the wide-open window was warm.
Annette left the house, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her first stop was the post office, three blocks away on Godford Street.
The post office was packed. After a rather long wait, she finally managed to get her letter to the field post office at the front line.
Please include a small prayer.
Annette, back out on the street, hailed a carriage. Their destination was the Passau Central Prison, run by the local government, not far from Sinsier.
Annette stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the high wall. Barbed wire covered the walls that surrounded Passau Prison on all sides.
She entered the cold, gray building. After a brief glance around the bleak interior, she went to the reception desk and applied for a visit with an inmate.
“I’d like to visit a prisoner.”
“Let me check. What is the inmate’s name?”
“David...”
Annette said a name she hadn't said in a very long time.
“This is David Buckel.”
***
In Annette's hazy memory, David was a large, formidable man. In fact, she had never met him except once.
So Annette had only one impression of David: the one from that moment when he pointed the silver gun at her.
"...Hello."
But the David Buckel she actually encountered was a young man of average build and a frail appearance. The moment she saw him, Annette realized her memory had been distorted.
“Do you... remember me?”
David nodded quietly at her cautious question. He lowered his eyes and opened his mouth.
“...Miss Annette Rosenberg.”
The term "Rosenberg" that came out of David's mouth carried no particular sentiment. In fact, it was almost as if he were simply stating the facts.
An uncomfortable silence flowed between them. Annette struggled to find the words she had prepared, then managed to utter a single word.
“I’m sorry about your family’s situation.”
“...”
“Katrine was a truly wonderful person. I will never forget her.”
David's shoulders trembled. He looked even smaller and more dwarfed than his usual size. Annette made a strange face at this.
David Buckel.
He was a man who could never have good feelings. This had nothing to do with the letter of leniency written for him or Katrine's goodwill.
Yet, Annette felt resentment, discomfort, awkwardness, and at the same time... human pity for him.
David had lost his brother long ago, and now he had lost his sister. Annette felt that if there was any punishment he deserved, it was enough.
When she thought about it that way, her mind became much calmer.
"It's too late, but I wanted to apologize on behalf of my father for what he did. That's why I came. Now, you won't have to come back."
“...”
“I’m sorry. It was an innocent and unjust death.”
David didn't answer. Annette didn't say anything else. A myriad of emotions surged through the heavy silence.
They sat in silence for quite some time, with the bars between them.
“...My sister...”
David, who had been keeping his head down the whole time, muttered.
“She is an upright person.”
“Yes, she did.”
"I got a huge scolding from my sister. She told me I shouldn't have done that. It was the wrong approach. She told me to come out and receive the appropriate punishment for my sins..."
“...”
“...Also about the legacy.”
David slowly raised his head. His eyes, once consumed by rage and aimed at her, no longer held any heat.
Annette finally met his eyes again. David spoke with a sob.
"...Sorry."
“...”
"Sorry."
A tear ran down his cheek.
Annette's eyes trembled faintly. She took a deep breath, clenched her fists, then released them completely. Then she answered quietly.
“...I forgive you.”
Comments
Post a Comment