I Pray That You Forget Me - Chapter 75
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
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‘But dreams can be like that, can’t they? There’s nothing impossible in dreams.’
However, there was something impossible in that dream. How could I explain that it was only when Johann and I locked eyes that my body, which had refused to listen to me until then, moved on its own?
My body still wasn’t listening to me. I had no intention of moving, but it moved as if following a script.
‘So… it was as if I was retracing a set memory.’
That again led me to believe that this was not a dream but a memory, that Dana really existed.
It’s driving me crazy. No, it feels like I am crazy. Maybe I’m hallucinating all this.
‘But what if it’s not a hallucination?’
I suddenly realized I shouldn’t be confusing myself alone. Someone who knows the answers is right beside me. Yes, rather than becoming a madwoman who confuses dreams with reality, I should ask and end this torment forever.
‘Johann, does Dana really exist? What exactly is your relationship with her…?’
“I haven’t been able to forget Dana.”
But if asking that means starting an eternal agony…
I’d rather believe I’m crazy.
* * *
Spring has returned, with hyacinths bursting into bloom. Yet, the spring of my heart is still far off.
The end of the war is still nowhere in sight. The government has yet to reclaim the capital and remains hidden in the bunker in Eisenthal. Meanwhile, the hearts of the locals here are as devastated as the trampled homeland.
The belief from last fall that things would improve by this autumn was betrayed by the introduction of rationing. Still, after a harsh winter, we harbored hope again that life would improve with the coming spring, but empty warehouses don’t magically refill with the start of spring.
Perhaps we have stepped into the coldest spring of our lives.
Spring has become a scarier season than winter because of the war’s prospects. In the fierce cold of winter, at least, both sides are somewhat restrained, preventing major movements on the frontlines.
Ironically, winter was the safest time for us. Even if we died of hunger or cold in the rear, at least we wouldn’t die a horrific death at the hands of the enemy.
But as winter drew to a close, worry spread like a plague among those who had heard news from soldiers in the bunker or families at the front.
“It seems a command has been issued to start the operation to reclaim the capital.”
Women whispered in the cargo area of a truck headed to the bunker. The engine noise was loud enough that it wouldn’t reach the driving compartment filled with soldiers, but they instinctively lowered their voices and glanced nervously in that direction.
“It would be great if they could reclaim the capital quickly and we could leave this place.”
Such thoughts weren’t pleasing to hear for those who might overhear.
“Before the devils from Falkland find this place first.”
The military operations delayed by winter were about to begin. In other words, the enemies, too, were about to initiate operations to discover the hiding place of our government and high command.
This meant that even the residents of this remote rural area in the rear were no longer safe from the war’s reach.
I had a worried expression like the other women in the cargo area, but in reality, my heart was lighter than it had been on the way to the bunker.
‘I’m relieved.’
Brigitta wasn’t in the cargo area.
At the beginning of the year, having witnessed her copulating with the Major and running away in shock seemed to have provided a highly entertaining spectacle for the bored Major. He continued to summon me for months afterward to do the same thing with Brigitta.
It was persistent, but thankfully not daily.
The Major slept with women every day, but not the same woman. If he was to show me his lovemaking every day, it would mean showing me all five or six women who frequented his bedroom.
It seems that none of them, except for Brigitta, were willing to show their neighbors such a spectacle of being naked and entangled with a man, no matter how desperate for money they were.
Brigitta, on the other hand, would run to his bed like a dog at the mere sound of his whistle. Yet, the Major didn’t break his tradition of changing women daily to keep summoning me. He only called her once or twice a week.
But I am almost called daily. I am also a woman, why doesn’t he tire of me?
‘I wish he would tire of me….’
I had long grown tired of the Major. Initially, he was frightening or repulsive, but from the moment he began showing me his acts, he appeared to me not as a human but as a mere dog.
However, even if he was a dog, watching mating is distasteful. People throw stones to chase dogs away when they mate in broad daylight on the streets, yet I can’t do that; I must fully witness that grotesque mating.
For this reason, it became a habit for me to check if Brigitta was present when I climbed aboard the truck to the bunker in the morning. Other women are called at night to share his bed, but only Brigitta is called early in the morning with me. It’s too blatantly obvious that she is used solely to torment me.
‘At least she’s not here today.’
I felt relieved, then immediately soured. It meant I was glad to be alone with the Major.
It’s not that I’m pleased. It’s just slightly more bearable that way.
The Major hasn’t tried to force himself on me, true to his word of not committing r-pe. He’s only ever touched me once, thinking I was trying to run away while I was heading to make tea, and he hasn’t touched me since.
