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It’s strange, thought Monika, how a lifetime’s perception of a person can change overnight. She’d never considered before that Martin’s swaggering might only be a cover for the real man who lay beneath. And yesterday, in the park, she’d discovered the real man, the real Martin. The twins were more alike than she’d thought. While Peter carried his geniality for all to see, Martin hid it away behind a screen of bravado – but it was still there nonetheless. Her mood lightened and then, as a consequence, soon darkened again. When she thought about this chain of emotion, she knew why – as well as Peter’s face, his personality would live on in his brother, albeit in a diluted form, but it meant that through Martin, Peter was expendable.
Peter himself was failing fast but there were still periods when he was conscious and able to elucidate. But these periods were becoming increasingly rare. She did her best to keep him warm, to feed and wash him, to hold his hand. At other times, she scoured the area, still trying to find a doctor, queuing for food, finding fuel.
Martin, as well, was subdued as they ambled aimlessly through the alleyways and avenues. It was as if his admission the previous day had sapped his energy. The fight had left him. They walked what felt like miles through the wounded city, in silence, unable to talk about what happened in the park yet unable to talk about anything else.
More cafés were reopening, the staff having made an attempt to sweep away the glass and the worse of the debris, to shake the tablecloths free of dust, to wash down the counters and machinery, to find new light bulbs to replace the shattered ones. People, thankful for a hint of normality, flocked to the cafes offering half-priced coffee. Monika and Martin sat inside the Café Von Bismarck with its nicotine-stained walls and a low ceiling that gave the place a claustrophobic feel. They took a small table near the doorway and, sitting side by side, nursed their cups of coffee, pleased to rest their feet after walking so long, to feel warm for a while. Behind them, people came and went, a constant stream of customers passing through, the place abuzz with animated conversations, of laughter even, the smell of coffee and tobacco smoke.
Monika watched Martin as he stared into his coffee, his shoulders hunched. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to reassure him but of what she wasn’t sure. How beautiful a man, she thought; his beauty even more striking than before – now that his was the only one.
Martin reached for the sugar bowl and added another spoonful to his coffee. ‘What’s that brooch?’ he asked.
‘Oh, this,’ she said, looking down at the rose-shaped brooch she’d pinned to her coat. ‘It was my sister’s. I’m rather fond of it. I wear it occasionally.’
‘You know,’ he said, stirring, ‘it’s strange you mentioned the tightrope contest yesterday. Did you care who won?’
Monika stretched her memory back. ‘Yes. I wanted Peter to win.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps because Peter seemed more manageable. I’m sorry, that sounds silly.’
Martin laughed. ‘No, I think I know what you mean. I think we both loved you.’
Monika smiled coyly. ‘And perhaps I loved you both.’
‘Perhaps you still do.’
His words shocked her not only because of his presumption but because of their accuracy. ‘No,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I don’t, it wouldn’t be right, I...’
His mouth against hers felt so deliciously natural, so perfect, but she pulled away. It wasn’t right, like she’d said, it wasn’t right at all. Holding hands under the table, she felt the need to run, to run away from both Martin and his brother. But she knew she couldn’t – not now, not ever. She leant against him, feeling his warmth. He put his arm around her. The gesture made her shiver with cosiness. She wanted to drown in his kiss, to float away from all the chaos in the world, such a beautiful, beautiful man. It’d been him, Martin, always had been, the exciting one, the one with fire in his eyes. Oh, Peter, I’m sorry, I don’t want to lose you. She loved them both, she didn’t want to but she realised now that she did. Martin was right, she always had, always will – Martin and Peter, the beautiful twins, she didn’t want to lose them both, couldn’t face a life without them, without him, without Martin. She kissed him. Don’t leave me, she thought, don’t stop kissing me. ‘Don’t, Martin, don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t you leave me too.’
*
With their arms wrapped round each other, they wandered back towards the apartment. Leaning into him for warmth, she didn’t want the moment to end, didn’t want to face Peter again. She couldn’t bear the thought of Peter dominating her thoughts, wanting desperately instead to enjoy the smell and aura of Martin, but Peter’s face refused to fade from her mind. And the face she saw was not the Peter she wanted to remember, that face belonged exclusively to Martin now, but the gaunt face of a man being eaten from within.
The pavement was awash with loose stones and rubble; Monika stumbled; Martin scooped her up. Without words, they kissed, blind to passers-by, to people talking, to trucks rumbling along, to newspaper vendors shouting their publications.
‘My God,’ said Martin suddenly. ‘That’s Albert.’
‘Who’s Albert?’
‘Don’t you remember? Tomi’s friend – you know...’
She caught sight of him, hands in pocket, a man scurrying towards them. Yes, she remembered – remembered catching him on Hitler’s birthday kissing another boy behind the café while Martin held his bottle of Coca-Cola behind his back. He almost walked into them, muttering an apology.
‘Hello, Albert,’ said Martin.
The man stopped, his eyes wide with fright. ‘Oh, shit, it’s you. Peter. Monika.’ Monika could see that Martin was about to correct him but decided against it. Albert seemed in no mood to chat and made to leave.
‘Hey, hey, Albert, not so fast. Haven’t seen you in years.’
‘So what?’ He tried to step round Martin but Martin blocked him.
‘Not so fast, Albert. Not so fast. So, how goes it? What you doing now?’
‘What? Do you care?’
‘Yeah, I do. Tell me.’
‘I’ve got a job if you must know. An important one.’
‘Have you now? An important one? Doing what exactly?’
He looked round as if he was about to divulge a secret. ‘If you must know, I work in the Army HQ, Transfers Division.’
Martin’s eyes lit up. ‘Transfers Division? Well, that’s useful to know.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes. Yes, indeed.’
‘I’ve got to go. Good to see you both still alive, you never know these days who’s going to cop it from one day to the next. How’s your brother?’
Martin couldn’t help glancing at Monika. ‘Not so good, he was hit.’
‘Serious?’
‘It is now. There’s nothing left in the hospitals, and no one will come out to him.’
‘Happened to a friend of mine – died for the lack of plasma.’
‘He’s got a terrible infection,’ added Monika. ‘It’s destroying him.’
‘You married, Albert?’
Albert eyed him. ‘I really have to go now.’
Martin stepped to one side. ‘Yes, yes, of course. You have an important job to get to. I’ll pop in and see you some time.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
Martin watched him leave, stroking his chin.
‘What was that about?’ asked Monika.
‘Hmm? Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.’