He takes both and tosses the pills into the back of his throat then washes them down, finishing his glass of water.
I take the glass from his hands and set it down next to the aspirin, and turn back, finding him squeezing his head between his hands so hard his fingers lose blood circulation. “Stop it. You’re going to hurt yourself,” I scold him. “I’ll get you another cold compress.”
“No, no, I don’t need another compress,” he groans. “I—I want to go fly a plane.”
“What?” I ask, moving closer to his face, wondering if I’m misunderstanding him.
“I just wanted to be a pilot. I wanted to fly and see the world from the sky. I wanted to feel the rush of the wind taking me on its back and soaring me through the cloud drops. I never got to do that.”
“There’s still time. You will be able to fly. You don’t have to be a doctor. You can be a pilot or whatever you want to be. We’re young. You still have your whole life ahead of you. It’s not too late to change our direction.” I speak as if it would be so easy to pick up and choose a different life, knowing it’s impossible. He might have options and yet Danner and all the others in that camp seem to have had their fate already determined. No one knows if this war will end. It’s not even a matter of when…it’s just, if…
“I’m not getting better, Emi. Something inside of me is dying. I can feel it.”
“No, you’re going to get better. You need to stay positive. You need to fight. That’s the way through. We fight for what we want.”
“At whose expense?” he asks, his mouth hardly moving along with his words.
“Emi,” he cries out. “Help me, please. Make it stop.”
I cup my hands around his cheeks, staring him in the eyes. “Take a deep breath, try to relax your muscles.”
“Stop,” he cries again. “I need to tell you that Danner was at our wedding. I don’t know why, but he was there, and I’m sorry for never telling you that he came back from Poland to be there.”
I choke on my breath, trying to inhale. “What do you mean?”
“He was in the back. He loved you that much. He just wanted to make sure you were happy. I know. I just know. If you can help him, you should… Promise me you will?”
Danner was there. I repeat the words in my head several times, my face burning with pain and anguish. Why was he back in Germany? What if it was because of me? God, I hope that wasn’t why. He could be in the camp because of me…I’ll have to live with that now.If I’d known Danner was in the church that day…I’m not sure our life would be what it is right now. Maybe I could have spared him from suffering in thathorrid camp. But the other prisoners should have been spared too. They all deserve to be saved and helped. I can’t understand why Danner wouldn’t want me to know he was there. Did he know I was thinking about him in the moment I took my vows? How guilty I felt for what I was feeling and not feeling. And Otto kept this from me.
“I—why—I don’t understand.”
“Promise me,” he demands again.
“Okay,” I whimper. “I promise, but we can talk about this later…”
“We won’t,” he says, sniffling. “Idolove you with all my heart, and I should have been a better husband. I should have supported your dreams. I have so many regrets, Emi, but you aren’t one of them.”
“Otto, you are?—”
“Could I have more water please and ice for my head,” he cries out.
In a frenzy, I glance at the pitcher of water, finding it empty. “I—we—I ran out of ice this morning—I’ll go next door…just take a—take a breath,” I say, grabbing the pitcher and running out the door. I should have refilled it earlier. I race down the steps and out the front door to bang on Ingrid’s door. She’s quick to answer.
“Emilie, is everything okay?”
“No, I—I uh—” I press my hand to my forehead. “Do you have any ice?”
“I don’t, but I believe Helga does. I’ll go see if she does. Is it for Otto?”
“Yes, please, hurry,” I say. “Thank you.” Before she can say another word I rush back home to fill the pitcher of water.
I return and fill his glass, my hand shaking as I do. “Here you go,” I say, holding up the glass.
He doesn’t take it from me. He just stares forward, passed me toward the wall.
“Otto?” I whisper, placing the glass down on the nightstand.
I move to wrench his shoulders and shake him out of this motionless position, but his head falls back against the pillow, his eyes still open, still staring. The medical bag I left on the chair beside him is open on his lap. I lift it and two glass bottles roll off the bed and hit the ground. One shatters, brown glass sprinkling the tops of my shoes. I glance down, spotting pieces of an empty aspirin bottle that was full the last time I gave him a dose. The other bottle didn’t break. I scoop up the empty bottle of phenol antiseptic, staring at the stark skull and crossbones warning. I shake my head as my throat tightens. I toss the medical bag to the ground and grab Otto’s arm, finding a syringe dangling from his fingers.
