Notes

Chapter 5 - Not here and not now

Klaus did not come to him for three days. All these days Ivushkin again endured subtle torture, all these days Ivushkin could not sleep at night. He tried to force himself into the realm of Morpheus, to fall asleep, tried to remember the tune of at least one Jäger song, but in vain. He longed, he longed for the Kraut. For his bruised face, for the touch of his cold fingers, always clad in leather, for his speech. The tag at this time behaved relatively quietly, did not cause the Russian any inconvenience, which, admittedly, he also longed for. It was as if all the colors had been sucked out of Ivushkin's world. Again. The only ray of light in his gray everyday life was Klaus.



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Jäger, on the other hand, had been feverish for three days, delirious. Apparently, he picked something up during his visits to the Russian's cell. He was saying something about a chick, calling him. From time to time the word "terrific" would slip into his speech, incomprehensible to those around him.
Every now and then he would fall into darkness, and, like the sun, the image of Ivushkin would light up the darkness. He stretched out his hands to him, called his name, and just when he thought he was about to touch him, he fell back into the void. And so it went on and on. They put as much medicine into him as he had taken in his entire life. By the evening of the second day, he had recovered somewhat, and by the third day, the fever was gone. He regained consciousness, and his first question was the one everyone expected: "How long have I been here?" And as soon as he heard the answer, he was horrified.

"Three days?" the German interrogated, his lips curled.

He threw off the crumpled blanket, staggered to his feet, and then settled down again because of the pain drilling his head. Klaus wrapped his arms around his face, grimacing, trying to calm the discomfort. His head was buzzing, about ready to burst.
'Three days... I've lost three whole days,' he said in his head. The hourglass was back in front of him, except that most of the sand had already poured down, and there was almost no sand left at the top. He had hardly any time left...

He had only one day left, and there was no margin for error. One single chance to get the Russian out of the damn cell and finally remove the awful notation "to be destroyed" from his personnel file.

He stood up again with difficulty, walked clumsily to the washbasin, ran water over his face and neck, and on his way to the clothes rack remembered how to keep his balance, for after a long time in bed he seemed to have forgotten how to walk straight. Jäger thought feverishly about what he should do next. But the answer came to him himself. Literally. There was a knock on his door.

"Come in."

"Herr Standartenfuhrer, another Panther was delivered to us."

Tanks...

In Jäger's mind matured, as he thought, the perfect plan.



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Kolya sat with a dictionary in his hands. To him, it was a piece of Jäger, which he hid so carefully when the exemplars entered his cell. He paged through the pages quietly, searching for the right words, practicing his half-whisper. Admittedly, at first, he tried to compose a long ranting triad, in case Jäger showed up. But gave it up in its infancy. Limited himself to two phrases: "Where can you be?" and "I miss you."



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The German, on the other hand, was diligently recalling the short and simple Russian word "sorry", so necessary to him now.

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Kolya literally glowed when he saw him in the doorway, and again felt the usual pain under his ribs. But, pulling himself together, he put on as unconcerned a look as possible, turning his attention to the dictionary in his own hands. The German hesitated a little, looking intently at the Russian.

"Where can you be?" Without tearing his gaze from the yellowed pages, Kolya asked quietly and hesitantly. He was afraid that he would never see him again. He was afraid that the Kraut had decided to leave him, that he had had enough of his toy and had found a new one. Kolya finally looked up at the Kraut, and he felt ashamed of his thoughts. He realized that he was wrong. Klaus looked bad - disheveled, drained, tired. So something had happened, something had happened. These thoughts made Ivushkin's heart skip a beat.

Although Jäger was dressed as usual perfect - starched shirt, ironed pants and polished high boots, and, how to forget the most important attribute - black leather gloves.

"I'm sorry..." he said in the same quiet voice. Nikolai felt ashamed. The German slowly, as if afraid to scare him off, headed in his direction.

"I miss you," Ivushkin confessed to him, curling his lips in a barely perceptible smile. The German literally lit up after his words, still keeping his eyes on Kolya. He looked at his face: his eyes were red, his hands were trembling - it meant he had not slept for a long time. He glimpsed him from head to toe and, noticing fresh signs of torture, became angry. The jacket on the Russian was stained with blood and dirt, burned in some places. Jäger thoughtlessly reached out to the Russian, picked up the edge of his blouse, and exposed his mark. The German breathed a sigh of relief - the pattern on the Russian's body had not been touched. Noticing the confusion on Kolya's face, Jäger hurriedly put the fabric back, taking his hand away. Slowly he settled down beside him, raising a peaceful look at him. Repeated the Russian's phrase.

Kolya was visibly embarrassed, straightened the folds on his belly, visible only to him. He slyly glanced at the German neighboring, reached for his shirt in response, but, catching his stern look, abandoned the venture.

Jäger began to tell him something again. At first, the Russian listened attentively, though he understood nothing, then he stopped perceiving the world around him. The presence of the German caused Ivushkin to nod off. He felt safe when he was with him. And German speech acted on him like a soporific. He finally passed out.



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There was a knock at the door. The German gently rubbed Nikolai's shoulder to wake him up.

The Russian forced his eyes open, yawning softly. There was another knock at the door. Jäger threw something short in German, glancing toward the door. Ivushkin shook his head and sat more or less straight.

Jäger stood up from the bench, straightened his uniform, interlocked his hands behind his back in a lock. He took an important and serious look, straightened his back. He looked briefly at the Russian with his moon eyes.
Ivushkin was perplexed, but following Jäger's example, got serious and quickly hid the dictionary in the folds of his tunic, lying on the "bed", which served as their blanket.



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"Come in," Klaus said loudly enough, squinting his eyes at the door.

A small young girl slipped inside. She was staring at the floor, not daring to look up.

"Explain to him why you are here," commanded Klaus coldly, without even glancing in her direction. Ivushkin was amazed at how quickly he can change, how quickly from a reverent and attentive man he turns into a cold and soulless snake. The Russian glimpsed the girl, but when he noticed the German's attentive gaze turned to him, he looked away. 'Jealous?' The thought made his chest warm. 'Ridiculous,' hastened to dissuade him with common sense (or was it?), already?

"I'll translate." Staring at the floor, the girl spoke uncertainly.

Ivushkin nodded, shifting his eyebrows perplexedly. "What's going on?"

Klaus began his speech, the girl, a little belatedly, translated:

"I have a proposition for you." The woman followed the German with a chatter. "I can make you my assistant, you will help me train our tank men."

The German walked from side to side, keeping his gaze on the Russian. Ivushkin was perplexed.

"You will be with me, you will carry out the exercises together with me." The girl continued to babble. Ivushkin incomprehensibly watched Klaus. "Today is the last day, on your personal file is marked "to be destroyed", in case of refusal you await execution." Kolya trembled. "If you agree to cooperate, give your name and rank."

Kolya was silent. His brain was desperately trying to process the information it had just received. Was that really all the German had come to him for all this time? No, there is something wrong here.

"Name and rank," Klaus interrupted the silence, looking at Ivushkin. He nodded to him, shifting his eyebrows slightly, saying, "go ahead."

"Fedor Petrov, junior lieutenant." Kolya squinted at him slyly, raising one eyebrow, saying, how do you like it?

The German, standing with his back to the interpreter, held back a chuckle. His eyebrows rose and a smile spread over his face.

"Great." The German nodded, looking slyly at Kolya. "I will order to bring you to a proper appearance, and then send to me." He said calmly, and when he had waited until the girl had finished translating he turned to her. "You may go. Out." The man spat out sharply. The girl quickly slipped away.

As soon as she left, the German softened again. He was smiling stupidly, muttering something to himself in German.

"Fyodor Petrov... Clever boy, Kolya, I expected such a thing."

Kolya stared into his eyes, squinting, and shifted his blond eyebrows to the bridge of his nose in bewilderment. With all his appearance he showed that he did not understand what was going on. Klaus tried to explain to him, on his fingers and with the help of a dictionary, that everything was all right, and that he was not to worry.

An hour and a half later Ivushkin was already sitting in Jäger's private office. Clean, disguised, handsome.

"Fyodor Petrov, eh?" laughed softly Klaus, watching the Russian with a sly look. "So be it."

Ivushkin smugly grinned back, showed on his fingers "four-two" with a proud look. Jäger responded with a picturesque roll of his eyes.



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And then the Russian sniffled peacefully in Klaus's bed, on which he first sat and then accidentally fell asleep listening to him babble in German. He buried his nose into the perfumed scent of laundry detergent on his pillow, wrapping his arms around it.

The German decided to leave him alone. He locked his office behind him and, clutching the pipe in his teeth, went away to the paper department in order to add "his" name to Ivushkin's file and, at last, to remove the note about the execution.
He came back an hour later. A little nervous, for he had already had a fight with someone, but the sight of Kolya sniffling in his bed calmed him down in a moment. The Russian continued to sleep, not letting go of his pillow. The German carefully settled down beside him, smoothed his hair softly, wanted to kiss the top of his head, but quickly jerked back, remembering the consequences of the touch. Not now. Not here.
This moment had to be special.

"...Klaus..." Ivushkin whispered softly in his sleep, rolling over onto his other side. Jäger ruffled his hair with his hand, exhaling muffledly. The thought of the Russian dreaming about him warmed his soul pleasantly. Kolya grimaced quietly in his sleep, rubbed his hand over his solar plexus. Klaus understood him, Kolya was not the only one with a sore rib. Jäger gently placed his hand on the Russian's mark, concealed by the fabric of his shirt, sighing.



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Both of them felt a little better.


---

Chapter 6 - Good morning, Kolya

Kolya woke up to a gentle touch on his hair. Jäger held a book in one hand, while the other gently brushed the Russian's hair. Ivushkin wanted to pretend that he was asleep, in order to lie there longer, but the change in the rhythm of his breathing caught the German at once.

"Good morning, Kolya." Klaus affectionately stretched, switching his attention from book pages to the tank-man. Kolya muttered something in reply, did not want to get up, clung to Klaus's hand closer.

The German grinned softly and continued to stroke the top of the Russian's head. Kolya murmured something in response and made himself comfortable.

"Get up, little bird, it's time to go." Reluctantly, lazily stretched out after a few minutes, Klaus moved his hand lower, on his shoulder, gently swatted, so that Kolya surely understood everything. He would have loved to spend at least an eternity doing something like that, but he couldn't. The German rose to his feet, stretching his shoulders and back, which had become stiff from sitting.

Feeling that the bed was empty, Kolya turned his sleepy face in the direction of the Standartenfuhrer and stuck to his back. Jäger glanced at him briefly, grinning.



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There was evidently a spark between them, but Kolya still did not dare to admit it, wanted to but did not dare, constantly looking for some excuse for Fritz's behavior, looking for excuses. Was Kolya worried? He was. Badly. He was unbelievably attracted to this Kraut, but he had run away and endured these tortures so many times for his sake, hadn't he? No. He endured it for the sake of the one who carried under his ribs an eagle just like himself. And he was ashamed, ashamed that his heart had chosen a man who could in no way be his soul.

For some reason, it never occurred to him that perhaps he was very much mistaken.

Or did it occur to him?



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Kolya deigns to leave the bed only a minute or two later. He stands there, muttering, straightening the things he had wrinkled in his sleep. He takes his embarrassed look away from Klaus.

The German ticks his tongue, watching him. It is not right. The Russian looks untidy. Ivushkin only spread his hands to his sides, making a pitying expression. Like, excuse me, Herr Jäger, I did not mean to crumple things. Fritz made no reply to this gesture, went to the wash-stand, slightly wet his hands to refresh his face, then ran a wet hand through his dark hair, fixing it. Ivushkin followed his example. And this time it was Klaus who was staring.



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And so, by mid-afternoon, Kolya was brought to the range. Six Panthers stood in a straight line next to a large garage. Around the tanks, the cadets, quite green and young guys, were rummaging. Everyone was busy doing something.

Jäger walked proudly along the tanks, watching with a haughty grin the guys' work. Kolya shadowed behind him, trying to get used to the cane, which, incidentally, was presented to him before breakfast by Jäger. It was black, with a metal headpiece in the shape of a snake's head, and its eyes were inlaid with some stones or glass, which were the same color as Klaus's eyes. He knew that Ivushkin would like his present, knew that the Russian would not part with it.

Ivushkin looked around with interest, squinted rather at the scorching sun, to the light of which he had not been out for a long time, enjoyed the blowing wind, which he had not felt for so long, looked at the green trees in the distance. A little aloof, with a hint of some pity, he watched the training of Jäger's cadets, which did not impress him at all. Jäger still had to teach them and teach them, inexperienced at all.



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As dusk began to fall toward evening, it was time to leave the range and return to headquarters. On the way back behind Jäger, Ivushkin's quiet, slightly hesitant voice rang out.

"...Herr Jäger, I want to lie on the grass," said the tankman.

"What?" the German stretched out perplexedly and stopped and looked attentively at Ivushkin.

Kolya muttered something incomprehensible and took the dictionary out of his jacket pocket looking for words "lie", "grass", "want" in the half-light. After Ivushkin voiced his request, the German grinned, glanced around, and, not noticing anyone, turned off the path somewhere to the side, pulling the Russian after him by the sleeve.



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Five minutes later, he was lying happily in the grass among the bushes. He was covered in it, and happy, dirty, stretched out on the ground, smiling as clearly as if he were sunshine. Jäger rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, not imagining how he would explain the appearance of a tanker at headquarters if they meet someone on the way to the office. And then, unexpectedly for Ivushkin, just laid down next to him. Kolya looked at him, moved a little closer, and whispered "thank you" almost in his ear, scorching him with his hot breath, making the German shudder and blush invisibly for Kolya. Ivushkin blushed himself. Jäger gave him his gaze in return, and Ivushkin once again drowned in his eyes. They lay there for a long time, just looking into each other's eyes.



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Each thought about how he wanted to talk to the other. Understandable to both, without a dictionary or translator. To say the most intimate and long-awaited words, which, admittedly, each of them knew both in German and in Russian.



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- Ich Liebe dich," Kolya said quietly, not expecting it himself. He gave a silent ouch as he put his fingers to his lips. He felt deeply hurt and ashamed of himself.

"I love you," Klaus answered him just as quietly, lifting himself up on his elbows. He gently touched his shoulder, pulled up the edge of his shirt with his free hand, revealing what he had so stubbornly hidden from Ivushkin, and in the half-light, the Russian saw exactly the same pattern as his own.




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Kolya was choking back tears. Kolya couldn't believe it.



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He couldn't believe that his soul had been there all this time.


---

Chapter 6 - One eagle, one name, and...

Their first kiss... that same evening, on the grass. Salty from Ivushkin's tears and incredibly tender, with a mixture of happiness and longing. Sad that their fate had turned out this way, and happy that she had been gracious to them, had not taken them from each other and allowed them to be together.



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And then the road to headquarters. Klaus barely got the flummoxed Ivushkin to his office without meeting anyone, to his delight. Kolya was shaking, he could not let go of Klaus, whispered something to the German, without stopping, as if in a delirium.



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"Come on... take it easy. Everything's going to be all right now." Klaus whispered in his ear, leaning on the bed with his knees and wrapping the Russian in a blanket. Kolya's clothes he had already successfully removed, for in a clean bed, he did not want to let him like that. "Now we will always be together, do you hear?" he kissed every tear from his face, stroked his back and shoulders, trying to soothe him.

In an instant, Kolya caught his lips with his own, closing his eyes and moving his eyebrows amusedly. Klaus exhaled in surprise through his nose, raising his eyebrows. He grinned, deepening the kiss. Ivushkin clung to him like a drowning man to a lifeline, unwilling to let go of him, pulling him closer by the shoulders. Klaus was, admittedly, surprised. He pulled away for a second, left a brief kiss on the Russian's lips, kissed his chin, nibbled lightly, and made a trail of kisses to Kolya's neck. He whimpered something quietly, tilting his head back a little, giving Jäger full access to his neck. Klaus kissed literally every inch of it, sometimes catching the skin with his teeth, making Kolya moan softly, barely audible. The Russian's voice made the German shiver. He moved his kisses down to his bulging clavicles, paused for a moment to look at Kolya.

The Russian was flushed, breathing hot, grabbing the air with his lips swollen from the kisses, which he now lacked in excess of sensations. Klaus squinted contentedly, continuing to kiss the Russian's body. He ran his hands down his sides, going gradually lower and lower, down to his thighs. Klaus greedily squeezed them with his fingers, leaving at the same time the first hickey under Kolya's collarbone, making him mutter something incomprehensible and arch.

It was only a matter of time before Jäger was completely blown away by all of this. He pulled himself together, and then pulled away with a chuckle.

"You've had enough for one day," Jäger voiced his thoughts, loosening his grip on Ivushkin's hips. The Russian exhaled in frustration and then flushed even more. Jäger grinned again, realizing what the problem was. He saw clearly a bump peeking out from under Kolya's underwear.

"Though, we'll solve that today..." he said slyly, turning Kolya on his side and embracing him from behind. Reaching slowly with his free hand to the rubber band on his underwear Ivushkin, grabbed it by the edge, pulling the interfering item of clothing down. He exhaled hotly on the Russian's ear, taking his fangs to his lobe. Kolya shuddered, squinting bashfully.

"And just ten seconds ago you were a lot braver," Klaus's hot breath came over his ear again. He gently wrapped his fingers around Ivushkin's cock, making a couple of cautious and soft movements, to try it out. Kolya in response to his actions muttered something in a thin voice, hiding his nose in the pillow. Jäger was amused by the behavior of Ivushkin. Too much inconsistency in it: now he climbs, now shy. But he liked it. He liked that the Russian was unpredictable. Klaus began to move his hand up and down, now faster, now a little slower, teasingly, hissed something in German in Ivushkin's ear.

"You are ... chick," he squeezed out in response to Kolya and regretted that he opened his mouth, after a retort from his mouth there was heard a pitying moan. He clamped, but Jäger decided not to pay attention to it now, he knew that the Russian needs to get used to him, and in general, to the fact that you can sleep not only with girls.
Ivushkin had no experience with men, right?
He hadn't, had he?

"C-come on, p-please," whimpered Kolya after a minute, shaking his whole body. He was in tears from the overload of sensations. "I-I-I can't go on..." the Russian sobbed, twitching briefly in the Kraut's arms, pouring into his palm.

Jäger whispered some tenderness in his ear, reached for a towel, prudently left on the bedside table. Not that he was going to get to the Russian... the German got rid of the traces of their pastime on his hands and on Kolya. Pulled his underwear back on, finally wrapped him in a blanket. Kolya lay exhausted in this cocoon, watching Jäger with a puzzled look. Klaus threw a towel in the trash by the washbasin and settled down next to Ivushkin, hugging him across his chest and cradling him in his arms.



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"Klaus, I really want to go home..." one night, lying in the German's arms, Kolya whispered to him before going to sleep, looking straight into his eyes. God, how much longing the German saw in those clear blue eyes, how much pleading.



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These words of the Russian were firmly in his mind.



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And then, during another riot, they escaped with the prisoner. Klaus was one of the organizers of the escape. They snuck out at night with a couple of dozen other prisoners and managed to get far enough away before headquarters could raise the alarm.
They wandered for a long time, joined some kind of partisan movement, with which they began to advance toward Russia. Ivushkin desperately guarded Klaus from everything, was afraid. He told everybody that he was mute, that they fought together at Nefyodovka. He did not lie about Nefyodovka either. After all, if they found out that he was a Kraut, they would put both of them against the wall. Klaus always nodded silently in reply, looking at Ivushkin with an attentive look and holding him tenderly by the wrist. In the same way, he was afraid for him.



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And so, in August of the forty-fifth, they made it home. They reached their native village of Ivushkin, which the Germans could not reach.
It was early morning, there was fog.
Kolya did not dare to knock on the door, he was pacing from foot to foot for a long time. Klaus, who had had enough, knocked himself, having received a hefty smack from Ivushkin. Quiet bustling could be heard outside the door.



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A woman, seeing a man with an overgrown beard on the threshold of her house, was frightened.

"Mom, it's me, Kolya," she immediately rushed to his neck, embracing him in a tight embrace, and burst into tears when she heard her own voice, the voice of her son, from whom she had not heard anything for years. Kolya gently pressed the fragile woman against him, pursing her lips and holding back her own tears.

She let her son out of her arms a few minutes later, and only now noticed the sunken-eyed man standing by the porch.

"Kolenka, darling, and who is that with you?

"And this, mother, is my own man," Ivushkin looked at him fondly. "Klaus, honey, come here." The figure on the porch hesitantly moved toward the entrance. And as soon as she was within reach of Kolya's mother, was encased in exactly the same embrace. And Ivushkin for the first time in his life saw Jäger crying.



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Klaus watched with interest as the Russian chopped wood. They decided to flood the bathhouse to wash away the remnants of their past lives, of the camp, of the war.



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They sat in the bathhouse, Jäger holding a mirror for Kolya while he shaved off his beard. He no longer trusted Klaus with his cheeks. Having finished with the hair on his face, he switched to Klaus's beard, to which, admittedly, the German had already grown accustomed, and even with a kind of pity watched the reddish strands falling on the boardwalk. He did his job well, not even once having hurt the delicate skin on his beloved's cheeks.



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And then the Russian took him to the lake, the path to which led through a clearing. Jäger immediately remembered where he had seen this picture before: the high blue sky, the sparkling warm sun, the grass waving in the soft wind...

It was a place they had both dreamed about in one of their first dreams together.

Klaus stopped, smiled happily bewildered Russian turned on him, pulled his wrist to him, pressed his back to his chest, and hugged across his stomach, kissing him softly behind the ear. Kolya put his hands on top of Klaus's, pressing them tighter against him, and fell silent for a second. Looking at him over his shoulder with tear-drenched eyes, he smiled back. He remembered, too.



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And it was exactly like a dream:
one eagle

one name

and one fate for two