I Pray That You Forget Me - Chapter 77
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
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The reason he brought up my weight loss was already anticipated, so it wasn’t surprising or shameful. The Major had behaved much like a merchant who had recently come to buy cows from Mrs. Bauer, openly sizing up my body as if pricing it.
“Today, Rize Einemann’s price is five ration cards. Ah, don’t be upset. It’s not that your value has decreased, but that the value of the ration cards has increased.”
The Major added his own twisted sense of consolation before starting his lecture, as if he was seriously concerned about my future.
“Rize Einemann, still don’t understand how the market works, huh? Wake up before your price drops even further.”
Ironically, the one who didn’t seem to understand and didn’t ‘wake up’ to the market’s workings was the Major himself, who was absurdly slashing the price of a woman with no intention of selling herself.
“All the money you should be earning is going to that Freckles.”
The Major, not knowing Brigitta’s name or perhaps not caring, or maybe thinking a name was too good for a dog, referred to her as ‘Freckles.’
“Aren’t you regretful? If you had done business like Freckles with what you got from me, by now you could have been the queen of this backwater.”
Brigitta, subjected to various humiliations in my presence, received more ration cards, money, and luxury items than other women. She used this capital to start a business and was highly successful.
Somehow, she even managed to use trucks to go to the big city, where she obtained rare items and sold them back in Eisenthal to the residents and bunker soldiers at high prices. She even supplied the bunker with necessities and luxury items.
Thus, in a couple of months, Brigitta made a huge profit and became the queen of this small mountain village. While everyone else was scantily clad and starving, she alone wore expensive new clothes on a well-fed body.
“That pig is getting fatter and fatter, while you waste away like a dry branch. Don’t you feel anything seeing that?”
It seemed more like the Major should be the one feeling something about it, not me.
“It’s not even my business and yet it’s such a waste.”
If he finds it wasteful, he could simply stop. I couldn’t understand why the Major, knowing whose fault it was for Brigitta getting fatter and me getting thinner, continued to fuel her business just to torment me.
“Think about it. It would even make your husband’s life easier.”
When I didn’t react, he once again prodded my vulnerability.
The Major should be the one to think. Would Johann really want such a life?
Johann is an honest and upright man. He would despise exploiting others’ poverty to build his own wealth.
He’d rather starve than fatten himself on others’ misery, especially if it was at the expense of his beloved wife.
Johann’s pain being my joy means I’m glad he fears losing me, not that I want him to actually suffer from losing me.
“He might say not to, but deep down he’s probably disappointed, isn’t he? ‘I wish my wife would stop lounging around eating up our food and start earning some money. Even if it means selling herself to the Major.'”
See? The Major has no idea who Johann really is.
“So, you’re still not going to hand over the writings?”
He still makes insinuations about my husband. The real suspicious person doesn’t even realize it’s him.
“I’ve told you that’s not the case.”
I’ve said it maybe dozens of times over two months. The Major suggested Johann as a ghostwriter for the Prime Minister, so I’ve already relayed his request for Johann to write. But Johann is too busy grading and correcting students’ essays to even have time to write his own.
He would squeeze time from nowhere to have a chance at being the Prime Minister’s writer, rejecting such a position sounds like a plausible yet implausible excuse to everyone, including me, Johann, and even the Major.
“There must be a reason you can’t show the writings.”
“Because the Major has no reason to help Johann.”
Acknowledging that Johann deliberately avoids giving his writings to me, I pointed to the Major as the reason. It’s not that Johann is suspicious, but that you, the Major, are suspicious.
Indeed, the Major is quite suspicious.
If he truly wanted Johann’s writings, there would be many ways to obtain them without constantly harassing me. Why focus solely on me? It’s as if his goal isn’t really the writings but something else entirely.
“So, would you like to try writing instead?”
Now it seemed as if the target was not Johann but me.
“I don’t know how to write.”
“Don’t lie. I distinctly remember you saying you knew how to write.”
“I only said I can read.”
That was indeed a lie. How fortunate it was that I didn’t write on behalf of the townspeople, which would have exposed me to the Major.
“Can’t you even write your name?”
“I can do that, at least.”
Expecting him to ask me to write something more substantial, he instead asked for something unusual.
“Write down your home address then.”
The Major oddly requested I write down the address.
“If you give me a pencil and paper, I will write it for you.”
