Please Forget Me - Chapter 131
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
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People who loved the government, the military, and their neighbors gradually began to distrust the government and the military, eventually losing faith in their neighbors as well.
I was no exception and had no right to blame anyone. How did it come to this?
Then, an incident occurred.
Recently, a young painter living in the village of Mullenbach was reported to the military by his neighbors for suspicious behavior. He was currently being investigated by the military. Whether he was merely an unfortunate victim or if the neighbors truly had sharp eyes remained to be seen.
“Me, a spy for the Falklands? Who would believe that? I’m from here!”
The painter, being an outsider, was easily labeled a spy, with no one to support him.
“But, Miss Ratz, you’re already hated by your hometown people. They won’t defend you; they’ll probably even file complaints against you.”
Brigitta, knowing the implications of her past behavior and reputation, opened her mouth to argue but fell silent instead.
“Besides, you have the perfect conditions to be accused of being a spy.”
“What? Me? What are you talking about?”
“You’re one of the few residents who can get permission from the military to leave Eisenthal.”
Brigitta must have used connections and bribes to obtain the coveted travel permits from the military. With those, she would go to the city to buy supplies, making her the only source of goods in this mountain village, monopolizing everything except for the rations provided by the government.
Yet, she even raised prices, and given that the townspeople’s income had dwindled due to the curfew, she had become as wicked in their eyes as the demons of the Falklands.
“Going to the city to buy goods means you’re meeting with spies from the Falklands. It makes sense, doesn’t it? The Major would agree, wouldn’t he?”
Brigitta had no response. Like me a moment ago, she bit her lip and trembled, merely spitting out a colorful insult.
“You devilish woman.”
“The one who started with threats, something a devil could learn one or two, was you, Miss Ratz. I’m just imitating you. But seeing you tremble like this, I guess I have a knack for imitation.”
“Hah….”
This wasn’t even a threat, but now she was shaking to her fingertips, turning pale. I had thought it was anger, but now it felt like fear.
“I’ve thought about it before, but are you completely out of your mind?”
“Out of my mind?”
I genuinely felt wronged. I was merely responding to threats with threats, yet it seemed acceptable for her to threaten while I was labeled as the crazy one.
“Oh my… your eyes are completely wild.”
As Brigitta made that rude remark and turned to leave, I reminded her not to forget the purpose of her threats.
“So don’t tell Johann.”
Until this moment, I had been calm, but as soon as Brigitta disappeared, I began to tremble again. When someone threatened Johann’s life, I had always threatened to kill, but this was the first time I had threatened someone else.
Of course, threats are just words. I had no intention of taking action.
Yet the mere fact that I had spoken such terrifying words made my whole body shake.
‘I’m scared now too.’
Everyone was frightening.
* * *
Exactly ten days later, Brigitta Ratz was dead.
Accused of being a spy.
It all began with an anonymous tip. I hadn’t done anything. Everyone whispered that it was the doing of the Zimmermans.
There was not a soul in this valley who didn’t know of the Zimmermans’ hatred for Brigitta. While the truth was unknown, the Zimmermans firmly believed that Brigitta was responsible for the death of their eldest son, who had been dragged back into the military and killed.
In the midst of all this, their only child—a two-year-old daughter—had recently contracted the flu. The Zimmermans, swallowing their pride, sought help from Brigitta to obtain medicine or send the child to a hospital outside the valley, but she reportedly coldly refused.
Then, on the day Brigitta and I had our argument, the child passed away. It wasn’t Brigitta’s fault that the child had the flu. No one could even guarantee that the child would have avoided death had Brigitta helped.
However, at the child’s funeral, the Zimmermans were said to have cursed Brigitta in unison. They needed someone to blame, and who better to despise openly than Brigitta? The child’s death must have been the final straw for the resentment that had built up over time.
“…So it must have been the Zimmermans who turned in Brigitta.”
Everyone suspected this, including Mrs. Bauer, a neighbor of the Zimmermans.
“Don’t you two think so?”
“Well…”
“There must be more than just a couple of people she’s made enemies with.”
“True, I suppose.”
For a week after the anonymous tip, whenever this topic arose, Johann and I consistently gave vague responses that led nowhere. We knew who the culprit was, and the culprit knew that we knew.
Two days after the child died, the Zimmermans came looking for us.
“Can you ghostwrite something for me?”
They wanted Johann to write a letter reporting Brigitta as a spy, as there was no one else in the household who could write well. They must have believed that since we had a bad relationship with Brigitta, we would be willing to help. It was incredibly inconvenient.
“I would like to write it for you, but Major Felkner knows my handwriting.”
