P
Pia
Guest
I do too....and her nose and her eyes and her hair and her lips and her.... well, I like her a lot... awwwww...Love the cheek lines as they frame her mouth in that pic
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LittleSiss
Sorceress
I find myself with just one thought.
I counted two thoughts and Leo confirms it...View attachment 155681
I find myself with just one thought.
Tree
LittleSiss
Sorceress
P
Pia
Guest
Without warning the still silence shatters. The breaking of glass, an explosion of crystal fragmenting in slow-motion. Shouts and the running of feet. Another window breaks. Gisela pauses then runs through the rooms, still barefoot. Runs to the door and out into Gustav-Adolf-Straße. Charlotte nervously follows her.
There’s a crowd. Not the usual neighbours. They are red faced and angry under the yellow gaze of the street lamps, their lips twisted as they shout curses. Two at the front are throwing stones. They seem afraid to step over the boundary, through the gate. Others at the back shout encouragement, edging them forward. A light in the house goes out. Gisela stands still, cradling her body in her arms. Staring at the mob.
A car pulls to a halt. It’s Kurt. He quietly steps out, walks towards Gisela and places his arm around her shoulder. The mob pushes forward. Another pane smashes and falls from the first floor, showering a sparkling rain over the trees. They seem braver now, emboldened. The house isn’t fighting back. They push into the front garden. They’re laughing and cursing.
Kurt and Gisela watch from the road-side. He kisses her lightly on her hair and she looks up to him, a tiny tear in the corner of her eye. Charlotte peers around the door jamb, seeing shadows surging to and fro.
They’re kicking at the door. The wood is strong and will not splinter. They smash the stained-glass panel. Someone is carrying two large pots. Gisela can see over their heads. She watches as he paints on the door. A yellow star. She watches him bend and lift the brush again.
“Juden sind hier unerwünscht“
“Kurt...” Gisela is whispering, her head tilted to his ear.
“ Kurt... Do something... Please do something... Please....! She’s.....she’s my friend.... Please Kurt....”
Her words dissolve into snuffles and choked-back tears. He looks at her, looks at the crowd, slowly becoming bored and beginning to drift away, a few laggards throwing their last stones at the house, and with a strong arm leads her back through their front door. Gisela crosses the threshold and runs to the sitting-room, flinging herself down and sobbing. Charlotte, still at the doorway, touches Kurt on the sleeve and quickly whispers something. He follows Gisela and stands over her. Watches her trembling, her face pushed into a cushion. He takes a deep, long breath.
There’s a crowd. Not the usual neighbours. They are red faced and angry under the yellow gaze of the street lamps, their lips twisted as they shout curses. Two at the front are throwing stones. They seem afraid to step over the boundary, through the gate. Others at the back shout encouragement, edging them forward. A light in the house goes out. Gisela stands still, cradling her body in her arms. Staring at the mob.
A car pulls to a halt. It’s Kurt. He quietly steps out, walks towards Gisela and places his arm around her shoulder. The mob pushes forward. Another pane smashes and falls from the first floor, showering a sparkling rain over the trees. They seem braver now, emboldened. The house isn’t fighting back. They push into the front garden. They’re laughing and cursing.
Kurt and Gisela watch from the road-side. He kisses her lightly on her hair and she looks up to him, a tiny tear in the corner of her eye. Charlotte peers around the door jamb, seeing shadows surging to and fro.
They’re kicking at the door. The wood is strong and will not splinter. They smash the stained-glass panel. Someone is carrying two large pots. Gisela can see over their heads. She watches as he paints on the door. A yellow star. She watches him bend and lift the brush again.
“Juden sind hier unerwünscht“
“Kurt...” Gisela is whispering, her head tilted to his ear.
“ Kurt... Do something... Please do something... Please....! She’s.....she’s my friend.... Please Kurt....”
Her words dissolve into snuffles and choked-back tears. He looks at her, looks at the crowd, slowly becoming bored and beginning to drift away, a few laggards throwing their last stones at the house, and with a strong arm leads her back through their front door. Gisela crosses the threshold and runs to the sitting-room, flinging herself down and sobbing. Charlotte, still at the doorway, touches Kurt on the sleeve and quickly whispers something. He follows Gisela and stands over her. Watches her trembling, her face pushed into a cushion. He takes a deep, long breath.
P
Pia
Guest
Kurt’s shadow falls over her. She’s still sobbing, her face buried, her hair wild and red over her back. He moves forward and puts his hands around her. He feels the softness of her breasts as he lifts her from the couch, as he pulls her into his body. Her tear-soaked, red-rimmed green eyes meet his deep blue stare.
He leads her out of the room, past Charlotte in the hall-way. Up the stairs, into the bedroom. She drops to her knees at the foot of the bed, her legs folded under herself, her head in her hands. Kurt looks at her, then carefully removes his jacket, tugs back his opened shirt. His fingers twist the buttons on his trousers, loosening them. The black braces tight over his chest. He looks again at Gisela. She hasn’t moved. She faces the end of the bed, a supplicant kneeling at her altar.
Kurt steps back and walks to the dressing table, picking up the two rolls of ribbon that Gisela had bought in Römischer Kaiser, one pink, one black. He advances to where Gisela still crouches, bowed, and takes her left hand, pulling her firmly yet still gently up onto her feet, then extends her arm to the post of the bed, He places her hand against the turned wood. She glances at him, her face streaked with tears and mascara, then looks back towards wall beyond the bed. She feels him tying the ribbon tight, looping then pulling. She hears his breathing. She glances at the black ribbon and flexes her fingers. He is still. She can feel him behind her. He raises her right hand and ties that with the pink ribbon. Gisela looks left and right, to her wrists bound with the beautiful silk ribbons. She can feel the rise and fall of her breasts tight against the cotton of her dress.
He leans to her and slowly, deliberately, undoes the buttons on her dress, drawing it off her shoulders. He kisses her back as it reveals itself to him. He can feel her panting. He opens the clips on her bra, running his hands over her, sliding the clothing away, squeezing, rolling. Gisela bites at her lip, hearing only the faint sound of her own breath as she exhales. She shuts her eyes, squeezing them tight, waiting. He pushes her legs apart with her feet, tugs the dress down around her ankles, lets his hands flow over her belly, over her hips. Lets his arms follow hers, his hands wrapping around the pink and black silk that binds her; squeezes his body tight to hers, pushes deep, moving in serpentine waves over her back, leans, arches, his head far away then kissing and biting at her neck and ears. She feels him. She feels part of him. She feels alone. She is burning. She hears him cry out and push close again.
“Kurt... Kurt... You...you’re hurting me...”
She feels his breath warm on her face.
“Gisela... I love you Gisela... Sing for me Gisela...Sing!”
He is crushing her. She is hanging from the two ribbons. Pink and black. From her wrists. She opens her eyes and looks at her fingers.
“I...I can’t... Kurt.... I can’t....”
“Sing Gisela... Sing the anthem.... Sing...”
“I.... I....”
“Sing! Sing the second verse for me Gisela.... Sing it now.... Sing!”
“Deutsche Frauen..... I can’t Kurt..., I can’t....”
Gisela sobs, the salty tears running down her face into her mouth.
“Deutsche Frauen .....deutsche...... Treue.....Kurt, please! Please Kurt...”
“Sing it Gisela!”
“Deutsche Frauen, deutsche Treue,
Deutscher Wein und....deutscher ...Sang....Please Kurt, I can’t....
Sollen in.... der Welt behalten....
Ihren .....alten schönen Klang,
Uns zu edler.... Tat begeistern....Please Kurt, I want to stop.... I’m sorry Kurt.... I’m sorry!
....Unser ganzes Leben..... lang”.
Her tears swallowed her, she was drowning in a deep red sea.
Kurt pushed his face next to hears, his mouth finding the softness of her ear, whispering , sadly, bitterly. His voice coming from somewhere deep within, a voice of loss, of betrayal, of bitterness. A voice at once firm, yet trembling. A voice of hope and of love.
“Deutsche Frauen, deutsche Treue...”
Deutscher Wein und deutscher Sang!”
Gisela’s eyes shut tight. She could feel his fingers running through her thick tangle of red hair, sliding over her, tracing the outline of her face.
Footnote: In 1935, Lotta Johanna (nee Pinthuis), her husband Dr Louis Herzberg and their two daughters left Germany for good. Initially they found refuge in Nijmegen in The Netherlands and later they moved to Amsterdam. Their fates are unknown but it is probable that, like the rest of their family, they perished in Auschwitz some time in 1944. From 1933 until 1936 the department store Römischer Kaiser was under constant observation. In August 1935 a police report read “The Jewish businesses did not have any noteworthy custom during the propaganda days (the Reich tournaments of the SA). Even on the following days, the Jewish businesses were anxiously avoided. As was confidentially ascertained, a number of customers have cancelled their accounts at the Jewish department store Römischer Kaiser... as from September 1st 1935”. The decline in sales caused by the anti-Semitic agitation became obvious by the end of 1936 and the owners were obliged to seek a sale. In the end, the compulsory sale of Römischer Kaiser was controlled, monitored, led and authorised by the city mayor, Kiessling, in consultation with the Gauleiter, Sauckel. The NSDAP member Völkert, an ombudsman of the Munich party executive committee, represented the buyers: Hans Quehl, an entrepreneur from Leipzig, Dr. von Zabiensky, a bank director from Erfurt and the lawyer Dr. Ahlburg from Berlin who had specialised in the acquisition of “Jewish department stores” by means of bank loans. The partners Pinthuis and Arndtheim felt obliged to sell the store for half the agreed price as some of the loans had not been approved. The instant dismissal of all Jewish employees was stipulated in an annex of the agreement. In October 1937 the public learned the news of the family business’ sale and attention was drawn to it by the press as Swastika flags were put up on the building as signs. Shortly after, there was a great run on the store as customers were no longer afraid to do their shopping there. In April 1939 the Arndtheim family emigrated to Palestine and lived there in the city of Ramat-Gan. (reference: “Fates of Jewish Families in Thuringia - 1933-45, edited by Monika Gibas; Landeszentrale für politische Bildung Thüringen, Regierrungsstraße 73, 99084 Erfurt, Germany. www.lzt.thueringen.de 2009)
He leads her out of the room, past Charlotte in the hall-way. Up the stairs, into the bedroom. She drops to her knees at the foot of the bed, her legs folded under herself, her head in her hands. Kurt looks at her, then carefully removes his jacket, tugs back his opened shirt. His fingers twist the buttons on his trousers, loosening them. The black braces tight over his chest. He looks again at Gisela. She hasn’t moved. She faces the end of the bed, a supplicant kneeling at her altar.
Kurt steps back and walks to the dressing table, picking up the two rolls of ribbon that Gisela had bought in Römischer Kaiser, one pink, one black. He advances to where Gisela still crouches, bowed, and takes her left hand, pulling her firmly yet still gently up onto her feet, then extends her arm to the post of the bed, He places her hand against the turned wood. She glances at him, her face streaked with tears and mascara, then looks back towards wall beyond the bed. She feels him tying the ribbon tight, looping then pulling. She hears his breathing. She glances at the black ribbon and flexes her fingers. He is still. She can feel him behind her. He raises her right hand and ties that with the pink ribbon. Gisela looks left and right, to her wrists bound with the beautiful silk ribbons. She can feel the rise and fall of her breasts tight against the cotton of her dress.
He leans to her and slowly, deliberately, undoes the buttons on her dress, drawing it off her shoulders. He kisses her back as it reveals itself to him. He can feel her panting. He opens the clips on her bra, running his hands over her, sliding the clothing away, squeezing, rolling. Gisela bites at her lip, hearing only the faint sound of her own breath as she exhales. She shuts her eyes, squeezing them tight, waiting. He pushes her legs apart with her feet, tugs the dress down around her ankles, lets his hands flow over her belly, over her hips. Lets his arms follow hers, his hands wrapping around the pink and black silk that binds her; squeezes his body tight to hers, pushes deep, moving in serpentine waves over her back, leans, arches, his head far away then kissing and biting at her neck and ears. She feels him. She feels part of him. She feels alone. She is burning. She hears him cry out and push close again.
“Kurt... Kurt... You...you’re hurting me...”
She feels his breath warm on her face.
“Gisela... I love you Gisela... Sing for me Gisela...Sing!”
He is crushing her. She is hanging from the two ribbons. Pink and black. From her wrists. She opens her eyes and looks at her fingers.
“I...I can’t... Kurt.... I can’t....”
“Sing Gisela... Sing the anthem.... Sing...”
“I.... I....”
“Sing! Sing the second verse for me Gisela.... Sing it now.... Sing!”
“Deutsche Frauen..... I can’t Kurt..., I can’t....”
Gisela sobs, the salty tears running down her face into her mouth.
“Deutsche Frauen .....deutsche...... Treue.....Kurt, please! Please Kurt...”
“Sing it Gisela!”
“Deutsche Frauen, deutsche Treue,
Deutscher Wein und....deutscher ...Sang....Please Kurt, I can’t....
Sollen in.... der Welt behalten....
Ihren .....alten schönen Klang,
Uns zu edler.... Tat begeistern....Please Kurt, I want to stop.... I’m sorry Kurt.... I’m sorry!
....Unser ganzes Leben..... lang”.
Her tears swallowed her, she was drowning in a deep red sea.
Kurt pushed his face next to hears, his mouth finding the softness of her ear, whispering , sadly, bitterly. His voice coming from somewhere deep within, a voice of loss, of betrayal, of bitterness. A voice at once firm, yet trembling. A voice of hope and of love.
“Deutsche Frauen, deutsche Treue...”
Deutscher Wein und deutscher Sang!”
Gisela’s eyes shut tight. She could feel his fingers running through her thick tangle of red hair, sliding over her, tracing the outline of her face.
Footnote: In 1935, Lotta Johanna (nee Pinthuis), her husband Dr Louis Herzberg and their two daughters left Germany for good. Initially they found refuge in Nijmegen in The Netherlands and later they moved to Amsterdam. Their fates are unknown but it is probable that, like the rest of their family, they perished in Auschwitz some time in 1944. From 1933 until 1936 the department store Römischer Kaiser was under constant observation. In August 1935 a police report read “The Jewish businesses did not have any noteworthy custom during the propaganda days (the Reich tournaments of the SA). Even on the following days, the Jewish businesses were anxiously avoided. As was confidentially ascertained, a number of customers have cancelled their accounts at the Jewish department store Römischer Kaiser... as from September 1st 1935”. The decline in sales caused by the anti-Semitic agitation became obvious by the end of 1936 and the owners were obliged to seek a sale. In the end, the compulsory sale of Römischer Kaiser was controlled, monitored, led and authorised by the city mayor, Kiessling, in consultation with the Gauleiter, Sauckel. The NSDAP member Völkert, an ombudsman of the Munich party executive committee, represented the buyers: Hans Quehl, an entrepreneur from Leipzig, Dr. von Zabiensky, a bank director from Erfurt and the lawyer Dr. Ahlburg from Berlin who had specialised in the acquisition of “Jewish department stores” by means of bank loans. The partners Pinthuis and Arndtheim felt obliged to sell the store for half the agreed price as some of the loans had not been approved. The instant dismissal of all Jewish employees was stipulated in an annex of the agreement. In October 1937 the public learned the news of the family business’ sale and attention was drawn to it by the press as Swastika flags were put up on the building as signs. Shortly after, there was a great run on the store as customers were no longer afraid to do their shopping there. In April 1939 the Arndtheim family emigrated to Palestine and lived there in the city of Ramat-Gan. (reference: “Fates of Jewish Families in Thuringia - 1933-45, edited by Monika Gibas; Landeszentrale für politische Bildung Thüringen, Regierrungsstraße 73, 99084 Erfurt, Germany. www.lzt.thueringen.de 2009)
THE END OF GISELA'S THIRD STORY
Last edited by a moderator:
P
Pia
Guest
I'm attaching a full version of the Third Story, which includes the many small and sometimes large changes and revisions I've made along the way.... I hope it makes easier reading all in one go! You do miss out though on the fun of the many interactions, diversions and digressions into music, cinema and so many other things! I am also sure that I have still left lots of errors and that if I was to spend some more time re-reading I would be editing all night and all tomorrow, but there we go... 1935 was fun for me... 1913 next I think....
While I don't know exactly when this is going just the time it takes place is darkly foreboding. My 'adopted grandparents' were French Jews that came to the US late in the 1930s. Had they stayed I may have never known them...
Tree
Tree
P
Pia
Guest
It's done.... I wanted to paint a picture of a time when it might have felt good to be there.... depending who you were....but also to hint at the dark undertones that were presaging the storm to come. Gisela in 1935 was living between two possibilities and maybe she never decided.... did she believe in "German women, German loyalty" or was her heart in the house next door....? You can decide.... You can invent the her future....and wonder about her regrets...
P
Pia
Guest
Pfff - too much last minute editing this time! I think the sands ran out before I could do the last bit (if there is ever a last bit....)....
...it's over???
Tree
Tree
P
Pia
Guest
Yep - it's over.......it's over???
Tree
Once again, a breathtaking finish, PK, I'm all blown away!
I'm sorry it's over, but you could write up the telephone directory and I would love it!
W
Absolutely beautiful PK! Thank you for taking so much time to write such an amazing story for us!
Everything that CX just said and more.....well done!
P
Pia
Guest
Thank youAbsolutely beautiful PK! Thank you for taking so much time to write such an amazing story for us!
.... Waking up thinking that there are just a few things near the end I need to fiddle with.... It's never done....
...surprised by the ending but after thinking about you get myof approval...
tree
of approval...tree
P
Pia
Guest
So..... I really was not happy with the last bit, so I have re-done it and have tried to sort out some of the formatting nightmares that seem to beset me every time I shift scripts between my PC and my Mac... to say nothing of the sweet little tablet... I will post the ending again (new version) and the full Stories 1-3 and then I am done until I start Story 4!!!!
P
Pia
Guest
Kurt’s shadow falls over her. She’s still sobbing, her face buried, her hair wild and red over her back. He moves forward and puts his hands around her. He feels the softness of her breasts as he lifts her from the couch, as he pulls her into his body. Her tear-soaked, red-rimmed green eyes meet his deep blue stare.
He leads her out of the room, past Charlotte in the hall-way. Up the stairs, into the bedroom. She drops to her knees at the foot of the bed, her legs folded under herself, her head in her hands. Kurt looks at her, then carefully removes his jacket, tugs back his opened shirt. His fingers twist the buttons on his trousers, loosening them. The black braces tight over his chest. He looks again at Gisela. She hasn’t moved. She faces the end of the bed, a supplicant kneeling at her altar.
Kurt steps back and walks to the dressing table, picking up the two rolls of ribbon that Gisela had bought in Römischer Kaiser, one pink, one black. He advances to where Gisela still crouches, bowed, and takes her left hand, pulling her firmly yet still gently up onto her feet, then extends her arm to the post of the bed, He places her hand against the turned wood. She glances at him, her face streaked with tears and mascara, then looks back towards wall beyond the bed. She feels him tying the ribbon tight, looping then pulling. She hears his breathing. She glances at the black ribbon and flexes her fingers. He is still. She can feel him behind her. He raises her right hand and ties that with the pink ribbon. Gisela looks left and right, to her wrists bound with the beautiful silk ribbons. She can feel the rise and fall of her breasts tight against the cotton of her dress.
He leans to her and slowly, deliberately, undoes the buttons on her dress, drawing it off her shoulders. He kisses her back as it reveals itself to him. He can feel her panting. He opens the clips on her bra, running his hands over her, sliding the clothing away, squeezing, rolling. Gisela bites at her lip, hearing only the faint sound of her own breath as she exhales. She shuts her eyes, squeezing them tight, waiting. He pushes her legs apart with her feet, tugs the dress down around her ankles, lets his hands flow over her belly, over her hips. Lets his arms follow hers, his hands wrapping around the pink and black silk that binds her; squeezes his body tight to hers, pushes deep, moving in serpentine waves over her back, leans, arches, his head far away then kissing and biting at her neck and ears. She feels him. She feels part of him. She feels alone. She is burning. She hears him cry out and push close again.
“Kurt... Kurt... You...you’re hurting me...”
She feels his breath warm on her face.
Kurt pushes his face next to hers, his mouth finding the softness of her ear. He whispers deeply, sadly, bitterly. His quiet, firm, deliberate voices comes from a place deep within. It’s a voice of loss, of betrayal, edged with hope and love.
“Deutsche frauen .... deutsche Treue”
The words rhythm his movements, rhythm Gisela as her body is forced against the unyielding wood of the bed, her arms stretched in a cross, moving in a slow dance, pulling tight in her bonds of silk.
“Gisela... Gisela... Sing for me Gisela...Sing!”
He is crushing her. She is hanging from the two ribbons. Pink and black. From her wrists. She opens her eyes and looks at her fingers.
“Kurt ....you...you’re hurting me...I... I can’t.... Kurt..... I can’t....”
“Sing Gisela....... Sing...”
He forces himself hard against the smooth flesh of her back, stretched taut as she hangs and twists.
“I.... I....”
“Sing! For me Gisela.... Sing it now.... Sing!”
“Deutsche Frauen..... I can’t Kurt..., I can’t....”
Gisela sobs quietly.
“Deutsche Frauen .....deutsche...... Treue.....”
She sobs quietly, the tears running down her face and into her mouth
“Deutscher Wein und....deutscher ...Sang....Please Kurt, I can’t.... Sollen in.... der Welt behalten....
Ihren .....alten schönen Klang....Uns zu edler.... Tat begeistern....Please Kurt, I want to stop.... I’m sorry Kurt.... I’m sorry!....Unser ganzes Leben..... lang”.
Her tears swallow her, she is drowning in a deep red sea.
Kurt kisses her on her cheek. he bends first left, his lips touching the black ribbon, then the pink. He runs his tongue over her neck, opening her mouth. He takes a deep breath, his voice buried in her:
“Deutsche Frauen, deutsche Treue”
Gisela’s eyes shut tight. She could feel his fingers running through her thick tangle of red hair, sliding over her, tracing the outline of her face.
He leads her out of the room, past Charlotte in the hall-way. Up the stairs, into the bedroom. She drops to her knees at the foot of the bed, her legs folded under herself, her head in her hands. Kurt looks at her, then carefully removes his jacket, tugs back his opened shirt. His fingers twist the buttons on his trousers, loosening them. The black braces tight over his chest. He looks again at Gisela. She hasn’t moved. She faces the end of the bed, a supplicant kneeling at her altar.
Kurt steps back and walks to the dressing table, picking up the two rolls of ribbon that Gisela had bought in Römischer Kaiser, one pink, one black. He advances to where Gisela still crouches, bowed, and takes her left hand, pulling her firmly yet still gently up onto her feet, then extends her arm to the post of the bed, He places her hand against the turned wood. She glances at him, her face streaked with tears and mascara, then looks back towards wall beyond the bed. She feels him tying the ribbon tight, looping then pulling. She hears his breathing. She glances at the black ribbon and flexes her fingers. He is still. She can feel him behind her. He raises her right hand and ties that with the pink ribbon. Gisela looks left and right, to her wrists bound with the beautiful silk ribbons. She can feel the rise and fall of her breasts tight against the cotton of her dress.
He leans to her and slowly, deliberately, undoes the buttons on her dress, drawing it off her shoulders. He kisses her back as it reveals itself to him. He can feel her panting. He opens the clips on her bra, running his hands over her, sliding the clothing away, squeezing, rolling. Gisela bites at her lip, hearing only the faint sound of her own breath as she exhales. She shuts her eyes, squeezing them tight, waiting. He pushes her legs apart with her feet, tugs the dress down around her ankles, lets his hands flow over her belly, over her hips. Lets his arms follow hers, his hands wrapping around the pink and black silk that binds her; squeezes his body tight to hers, pushes deep, moving in serpentine waves over her back, leans, arches, his head far away then kissing and biting at her neck and ears. She feels him. She feels part of him. She feels alone. She is burning. She hears him cry out and push close again.
“Kurt... Kurt... You...you’re hurting me...”
She feels his breath warm on her face.
Kurt pushes his face next to hers, his mouth finding the softness of her ear. He whispers deeply, sadly, bitterly. His quiet, firm, deliberate voices comes from a place deep within. It’s a voice of loss, of betrayal, edged with hope and love.
“Deutsche frauen .... deutsche Treue”
The words rhythm his movements, rhythm Gisela as her body is forced against the unyielding wood of the bed, her arms stretched in a cross, moving in a slow dance, pulling tight in her bonds of silk.
“Gisela... Gisela... Sing for me Gisela...Sing!”
He is crushing her. She is hanging from the two ribbons. Pink and black. From her wrists. She opens her eyes and looks at her fingers.
“Kurt ....you...you’re hurting me...I... I can’t.... Kurt..... I can’t....”
“Sing Gisela....... Sing...”
He forces himself hard against the smooth flesh of her back, stretched taut as she hangs and twists.
“I.... I....”
“Sing! For me Gisela.... Sing it now.... Sing!”
“Deutsche Frauen..... I can’t Kurt..., I can’t....”
Gisela sobs quietly.
“Deutsche Frauen .....deutsche...... Treue.....”
She sobs quietly, the tears running down her face and into her mouth
“Deutscher Wein und....deutscher ...Sang....Please Kurt, I can’t.... Sollen in.... der Welt behalten....
Ihren .....alten schönen Klang....Uns zu edler.... Tat begeistern....Please Kurt, I want to stop.... I’m sorry Kurt.... I’m sorry!....Unser ganzes Leben..... lang”.
Her tears swallow her, she is drowning in a deep red sea.
Kurt kisses her on her cheek. he bends first left, his lips touching the black ribbon, then the pink. He runs his tongue over her neck, opening her mouth. He takes a deep breath, his voice buried in her:
“Deutsche Frauen, deutsche Treue”
Gisela’s eyes shut tight. She could feel his fingers running through her thick tangle of red hair, sliding over her, tracing the outline of her face.