Erich - Seven

Erich

            No one showed up. I probably should have expected as much. I really did want to help. The fighters certainly would have benefitted from some instruction in unarmed combat. But Hersch had warned me not to expect much. No one wants to learn how to defend himself from a guy he doesn’t trust. No one in here would willingly face off with the dangerous and unreliable German double agent. But I was still disappointed when I marched into Hersches quarters to find the room empty. Well, empty save for Jim and Gabe.

            Jim was hoisting a sandbag into the air by a rope looped through a beam in the ceiling. Gabe was spotting him. The bag crashed to the ground with a thud when he turned to look at me. I surveyed my measly lone supporters. Fought down the bitter disappointment and hot embarrassment that crept into my chest.

            “That goddamn Berezovsky.” This was his doing. He was counteracting all of Hersch’s efforts to build the community’s trust in me. He hadn’t wanted me to run this training session at all.

            “We don’t know it was �"”

            “It was him,” Jim cut Gabe off. He scowled and kicked the sandbag. “Doctor Kaminski and the nurses in medical all heard Peter was warning people not to attend anything you lead without Hersch, in case you’re planning an ambush.”

            I growled. “Perfect. Glad I went to the trouble.” Actually sneaking away from my post was surprising easy. Especially in the middle of the night like this. Guards on the ground made their rounds alone so no one really kept track of me. But sneaking off also meant I had to wear my uniform to Resistance meetings. I didn’t like looking like a soldier in front of the boys, and especially not in front of Peter. I shrugged off my coat. Tossed my hat on the table. I felt better in my white shirtsleeves and suspenders. Just my heavy boots gave me away.

            Peter made me angry. But I knew where he was coming from. Though I wouldn’t admit it. He threw everything into protecting the people in the ghetto. He didn’t have anything else to live for. Trusting me would never be worth putting them in danger. But that didn’t make me any happier to watch him undermine me. “Well we’ll see how the ungrateful b*****d likes this.” I reached in my bag and pulled out heavy metal bipod.

            Jim leaned in for a better look as I set the stand on the table. “What is it?”

            “It’s the base of a Maschinengewehr. An automatic.”

            “A machine gun?” Gabe asked. He sounded awed and a little scared.

            “Ja. I got it down at the armory, going to sneak it out one piece at a time.” I was actually deeply proud of this plan. I wanted to see Berezovsky’s stupid face when he found out I was bringing him the most valuable weapon around.

            “Neat!”

            “Push that table to the side, Banhart.” I hefted the sandbag over my shoulder. Hersch had hung two bright lanterns from the ceiling to give us more light. But that was about all the preparations that had been made. “Tie off the rope,” I said to Gabe.

            I hadn’t seen him since the rally. He looked alert but thin. I quickly calculated how hard it would be to sneak my own rations out of the mess hall. Immediately scolded myself for thinking so much about how to take care of Gabe. After he held my hand we’d stopped talking on the radio at night. It was a moment of weakness and I was angry with myself for letting it happen. I hadn’t slept well at all that week. Partly because I had no way of knowing whether he was safe. Partly because I knew he was waiting to hear me say his name over the radio. Partly because I just missed hearing him breathe next to me in the dark. Gabe quietly tied the rope off on the leg of the stove.

            I wasn’t sure how to start. Was I really going to teach Gabe and Jim to fight? It seemed like a ridiculous job. But they needed to defend themselves as much as anyone else, I figured. Honestly they probably needed more training than anyone. “All right, here,” I tossed a roll of thin bandages to Gabe. It was my own roll I used when I fought other battalion boys for money or cigarettes. “Gabe, wrap your hands and try out the sandbag. Banhart, you start with me.” He was already wearing his own fingerless gloves. “Show me what you can do with your fists first. I won’t hit you back, but I’ll dodge. If you can hit me, we’ll try something harder.” I had no way to gauge how good Jim would be at this. But my expectations were not high.

            Jim swallowed hard and put up his fists. I put mine up too. Close to the chest in the defensive. Jim started with a wild swing from the right. I weaved. “Keep it tighter.” The next try wasn’t much better. “Tighter.” The third one went straight over my shoulder. I never liked that he was taller than me. “Aim, damn it!”

            He got better when he actually listened to my instructions. But he had the habit of panicking when I did something unexpected. Plus he was so tall he had to aim low, which can be tough. He’d have an even rougher time with someone he had more than an inch and a half on. His ridiculous long arms were his best feature though. He could hit from far away. If I tried to hit him back I would have to make a move closer to him. After a dozen misses he was fuming. “F**k, Amery, this is stupid!” he whined as I bobbed out of the way again.

            “You can try something else… when you prove… you can hit even one guy,” I said between dodges. I didn’t tell him why I really wouldn’t fight him. My hand was no good. It had been stiffer than usual today. I’d almost canceled the training. I was afraid he, or worse Gabe, might see how weak I had become. I was wearing my thick gloves and hoping no one noticed.

            I’d weaved out of Jim’s way probably twenty times when I glanced over at Gabe. He hadn’t even started on the sandbag yet. He sat at the table. Slowly wrapping his hands. I lost my focus on Jim. Watched as he wound the cloth around his knuckles. His soft, graceful hands with their short ragged nails. His perfect hands. The lantern above him threw yellow light down on his glossy black curls.

            I couldn’t have been focused on Gabe for more than a few seconds. But that was all the time Jim needed to finally get a punch in. The blow was not particularly strong and it landed too hard on his knuckles. But Jim looked excessively pleased with himself as I rubbed my jaw. When I turned to snarl at him I he smile smugly. His eyes darted toward Gabe, who had finally started in on the bag. He had see me looking. I bared my teeth at him.

            “Congratulations,” I growled. “Try something else?” He nodded eagerly. I lunged at him. Jim shrieked. His long limbs flew straight up in the air as I tackled him. Threw him in a headlock.

            “You said boxing!” he choked.

            I shrugged. “You think any Nazis are going to set ground rules for you?” I heard Gabe snort and I smiled in spite of myself.

            “You mean any other Nazis?” Did he really think this was a good time to crack wise? I tightened my grip. “Ack! Lemme go!”

            “No.” I threw him forward. Looped my arms under his armpits and laced my fingers behind his neck. Forced his arms up over his head. I guess my hand wasn’t as weak as I thought. Jim waved his useless arms and protested loudly even though I knew I wasn’t hurting him. “Wasn’t Rebecca supposed to be here? Too bad she’s not around to see this,” I said jokingly.

            “She’s… ugh… she’s at the clinic,” he was trying to sound strangled. “Taking stock of antibiotics with Dr. Kaminski. Where I was supposed to be, a*****e! Instead of your stupid class!” He tried to wriggle free. I applied a little pressure to his neck. “Ah. Ah!”

            “I didn’t make you come. Why aren’t you there?”

            I couldn’t see his face. But I could practically see Jim pouting. “Peter went instead.”

            It was hard to disagree with him about Berezovsky. “A*****e.”

            “I know.”

            “You’re wasting your time being jealous of that b*****d.”

            That got Jim’s attention. It was supposed to be a friendly comment. But boy it made him mad. “Cram it, f****r! I’m not… jealous … of Peter!” He twisted in my grip and kicked backwards at me. He managed to knock us both backwards into the wall. I’d had about as much of him as I could take. I wrapped my arm around his torso and pinned him. Slammed him into a pile of long arms and legs.

            Jim wheezed on the ground but I knew he was all right. A backed off and gave him room to breathe. Gabe had stopped even trying to punch the bag. Jim pushed himself up on his elbows. I offered him a hand. He glowered at me but took it. “F**k this,” he coughed as I pulled him to his feet, “you big maniac.” He dusted himself off for effect. “I’m going to help with inventory. I would be surprised if Berezovsky can count to ten with his shoes on.” I gave him a look. “I’m not jealous!” he insisted uselessly. Gabe stifled a snort. “Screw you two,” he grumbled as he stalked away towards the ladder.

            “Come back next time! You’ll do better!” He really hadn’t done so bad for a very first try. He was going to have to keep at it if he wanted to be of any use during the real fighting. Jim held up his middle finger as he climbed down the ladder. I gave mine back to the hole in the floor even though he was already gone.

            I was laughing to myself when I turned back to Gabe. He was laughing too. I felt a small unexpected twinge in my chest. I hadn’t been alone with Gabe since that first night. I both wished Jim hadn’t gone and felt grateful that he had. I didn’t laugh much. But when I looked back at Gabe I found it hard to stop smiling.

            “Are you… I mean, how have you…” What was that? I wanted to know how he had been. I hadn’t asked if he was safe in a week. Goddamn it. I had to turn this off. I wanted to run away before I could say or do anything that went too far. But I was supposed to be proving that I could still be around him. If I refused to do this with him, Gabe would know why. I cleared my throat and started again. Washed the smile off my face. “All right. What have you got?”

            Gabe looked down at his fingers. His knuckles tightly wrapped. He knew what I knew. He wasn’t cut out for fighting. He would never be able to do this. “Don’t go easy on me,” he said quietly. I grunted in response. Gabe looked sad. I hadn’t meant to make him stop smiling.

            I punched my left hand in my right palm. “Here, why don’t you try hitting me right here? You know, find your target.” Bobbing and weaving out of the way had only agitated Jim. And I had proved my hand was strong enough to take a little pounding. Besides my gloves were thick enough that I wouldn’t feel much anyway.

            Gabe’s eyes lingered on my curled left hand. I felt myself go red. Gabe looked like he wanted to say something. But he knew better than that. He put his fists up. Reluctant. Even in the stance of a fighter he wasn’t convincing. Not that he wasn’t strong. But his heart wasn’t in it at all.

            His first punch was as weak as I expected. Didn’t even shake me. “Open up your stance a little. Hit in twos,” I told him. I didn’t want to discourage him. Gabe nodded and gave it another go. First with his right and then the left. It was better this time. “Harder,” I instructed. He bit his lip. Tried again. Right left right left. “Good. Harder. Fist outside your thumb.”

            Gabe got more determined as he went on. I watched his face. His brow furrowed seriously in concentration. Teeth digging into his bottom lip. Curls flying in his face. Don’t look. He took quick breaths through his teeth. His punches were fast and even. Not wild like Jim’s. He wasn’t bad. He still wasn’t a fighter, though. He didn’t have a mind like a fighter.

            “All right,” I said to stop him. Gabe kept his fists ready in position. “That was good. But…”

            “But what?” Gabe asked breathlessly. He put his arms down. “Come on, Erich, I have to get better!” It was the most words I had heard him say together in a week.

            I just looked at him for a second. Trying to place what he was doing wrong. How could I put what I wanted to say? “But you’re not fighting anything. You, I guess, something has to make you want to fight. You’re not a fighter if you’re not angry.”

            No. I wouldn’t tell him what I was really thinking. I was thinking about the one time in my life when I had felt the sting of his punch. After he kissed me on the roof at Wellington’s. That warm night in May. When I rejected him. When I hit him. Oh God how could I ever justify hitting Gabe? Gabe had been angrier than I had ever seen him. And when he punched me he meant it.

             I didn’t say any of that though. I put up my hands again. “Come on. What makes you angry?” I had never needed to dig deep for anger. It was right under the surface. But Gabe. Sweet Gabe. He would need to search for his anger.

            Gabe flexed his fingers. Put his fists up his fists again. “My parents,” he said quietly. His punch was even weaker than before.

            “Not sad. Angry,” I barked.

            Gabe breathed in sharply. “Leo.” Right left.

            A bolt of shock jolted through me. I hadn’t expected him to be willing to use Leo for this. But it made him angry so I went with him. “What about Leo?”

            Right left right left. “What he did to me.”

            “What did he do?” This wasn’t a good idea.

            Right left. “He made me love him.” Right left. “He… he hurt me. He used me.” Right left right left. “And then he threw me to the dogs.”

            He was starting to shake my stance. He was getting it. “F*****g b*****d,” I growled. To encourage him and because I meant it. Gabe threw an especially hard punch. Knocked me off my balance. “Whoa. What was that?”

            “They bombed Wellington’s. They took everything from me!”

            “What else?” We were both shouting now.

            “You never came back for me!” he cried.

            “What?”

            “You left me behind!”

            Then he punched me. I don’t know if he really meant to. I had dropped my hands in surprise. Not protecting myself anymore. But however it happened, all of Gabe’s anger and grief took boiled over in a powerful blow to my cheek.

            I was so surprised I had no chance to respond. I staggered back against the table. Cheek stinging. Jaw throbbing. I couldn’t do anything but stare at Gabe. He just stood there for a second. Breathing hard.

            There was a tear in the corner of his eye.

            I watched as he realized what he had done. Comprehension washed over his face. Gabe rushed over to me. I sat back on the table. Dazed. “Oh God! Erich, I’m so sorry.” I was too stunned to stop him from bending over to inspect my face. “I’m so bloody sorry, Erich. Here, let me see.”

            He took my face in his hands and the whole world shifted under me. Let me see. He’d said those words before. When he wrapped up my hand at Wellington’s. I think he remembered too. I remembered the feeling. Like I was tied to him at my very core.

            I can’t say it was Gabe or me who did it. It was both of us. A common current of electricity that passed between us. Easy as breathing. I grabbed onto his shirt collar at the same moment that Gabe pulled my face to his.

            And I did what I had promised myself I would never do again. I kissed Gabe.