The German Triangle Read online

  While Ron had been busy soaking up the atmosphere of his first wine fest, Ingrid had been busy looking for a place to sit. She pulled on Ron’s hand and motioned to a half-full picnic table near the center of the tent, but far enough away from the music so as to allow for talking. Ron nodded and they made their way around and through the hustling waitresses to the waiting table. Ingrid slid onto the wooden bench first, nodding hello to the couple across the way. Ron followed, doing the same and offering his hand to the man. The man hesitated, then slowly raised his hand to Ron’s, briskly shaking it upon contact. The rousing end to a brisk polka broke the moment as everyone at the table applauded the efforts of the popular band. Ron sat down and turned to Ingrid.

  “Now let’s get you that beer before you really go crazy,” she said, motioning to one of the larger waitresses to come over. The haggard-looking woman completed her deliveries and moved over to their table.

  “Bitte, ein grosses bier und eine weiss wein,” said Ingrid. She turned to Ron and asked him if he was hungry. After his affirmative, she continued to the waitress, “Und zwei bratwurst mit Brot and Snef.”

  “I understood most of what you said, but what is Snef?” asked Ron.

  “Snef is mustard, hot mustard, and adds just the right touch of spice.”

  “If you say so,” smiled Ron as the band started a loud refrain to the delight of the roaring crowd.

  “This is one of our favorite drinking songs and always gets the crowd going,” explained Ingrid. “It starts out slow and gets faster and faster with each chorus and the crowd accompanies the band by banging on the tables, getting louder as they get faster. Watch.”

  Sure enough the crowd, including the couple sitting across the table, was starting to lightly tap on the wooden table, doubling now as a drum. As each chorus ended, a loud roar went up from the crowd and the music got faster and the banging got louder. He watched as Ingrid joined into the festivities.

  After about the fourth chorus the man across the table caught Ron’s eyes and, smiling, motioned him to join the banging. Ron nodded in return and began to do his part to fit in. Ingrid felt the vibrations of the table and turned to see what caused the sudden movement. She smiled when she saw Ron doing his best to fit in with the other people at the table and to enjoy himself. She turned back to the bandstand with a smile on her face.

  The song ended with the crashing sound of hundreds of fists hitting the wooden tables at the same time, with smiles and raucous laughter filling the tent from end to end. Applause followed the band as it exited the bandstand for a well-deserved rest. Ron and Ingrid both took deep breaths and slumped over the table.

  Magically, the largest beer mug that Ron ever saw appeared before him while a medium sized glass of white wine showed up in front of Ingrid. Immediately behind the drinks came the two bratwursts and two small rolls with a dab of yellow mustard on the plate beside each one. Ron went to reach into his pocket to pay, but Ingrid put her hand on his arm to stop him. The waitress reached across between them, and using white chalk, scribbled something on the table, turned and left. Ron looked puzzled as he looked at Ingrid.

  “This is the way they keep track of how much you owe. Each type of line indicates what you have been served. For example, that straight line is a beer, the squiggly line is a wine, and those two oval circles are the bratwursts. A second beer would result in a second line, and so forth. It is a simple system and frees up more time for the waitresses to serve instead of making change after each delivery. Of course, honesty is essential in these situations, but there rarely seems to be a problem.”

  Ron listened and nodded his understanding as he reached for the mug. Little foam covered the top and he could see the clear golden liquid easily through the mug’s glass. Ingrid grabbed her wine glass, raising it to lightly tap the much larger mug, and slowly sipped her drink. Ron followed suit, tasting the first cold beer of the day and savoring its typical German bitterness. A second sip immediately followed the first, a third following the second, and by the time the mug was replaced on the table, half of it was empty.

  Ron looked embarrassed as he realized how much beer he had consumed in a matter of seconds. He vowed to keep a watch on his consumption, not wanting to ruin what, from all initial appearances, was going to be a very nice day with Ingrid. She looked at him, then at the mug, then back at him, smiled, and took another sip of her wine as if to say, “That’s ok, I have my wine.” The moment was interrupted by the shriek of the microphone as the master of ceremonies introduced the next band to play. The crowd laughed as the drummer punctuated the introduction with crashing cymbals and whacks on the snare drum, all the time laughing and urging the crowd on. The master of ceremonies finally gave up, and in a good natured gesture, threw up his hands and skipped to the stairs, waving as he slowly disappeared from sight.

  The band burst into song and the crowd roared with approval.

  The afternoon seemed to slip away. Ingrid took Ron around the whole fest area, stopping at several more beer tents along the way. At each one, they had the now traditional beer and wine, sometimes with additional food, sometimes without. And as they moved from place to place, their attraction to each other seemed to grow.

  Ingrid liked the quiet swagger of the American pilot, his confidence masked from most by his unfamiliarity with the German culture he was experiencing for the first time. But she watched his eyes as they took in the events of the afternoon and realized that he was constantly watching and learning from the little things around him. But more than learning what to do, he was assimilating the reasons behind the doing, mentally filing away important pieces of German thinking while quickly discarding those which were lager-inspired. She liked that about him. He was not the typical solder, German, American or otherwise. He was performing his duty as a soldier, but he was not a soldier. He was more than that and she wondered what the future had in store for him.

  It was about 7:30 in the evening when the two of them sunk down on a bench alongside the main walkway of the wine fest. They had been at it the better part of the day, and both sensed that the other one was tired and wanted to rest. But neither of them wanted the day to end. What had started out as a cordial relationship had begun to blossom into something more. The initial hand-holding was replaced with arms around each other’s’ waist, little messages whispered into ears, and the slight brush of one set of lips against another, something that happened without any planning or forethought. It was just the right thing to do at the time. Drawing back from that initial kiss, they looked into each other’s eyes and both knew they wanted more.

  “Do you think we should be getting back?” Ron asked as he held Ingrid’s hand, his words saying one thing, his voice saying another.

  Ingrid heard the real question in his voice. “Yes,” she said, “before the wine takes over completely.”

  Not saying anything else, they got up from the bench and started walking back to the car, struggling against both the crowds that were coming for the evening activities and the effects of the alcohol they had consumed. It took a minute to find the car, but there it was, still under the tree, the leaves of the branches resting easily across the roof. Ron guided her around to the driver’s door and after she unlocked it, held it open for her until she was seated inside. He then walked around to the other side, pleasantly surprised that she had opened his door, and plopped himself in the passenger seat.

  The ride back to the village took a little more time than the ride to the fest. Ingrid was very careful with her driving, making sure that the effects of the wine did not overcome her judgment while driving. Ron sat alongside her, his eyes an extension of hers, constantly on the lookout for any potential conflicts. Forty-five minutes after leaving the parking lot, Ingrid pulled up in front of Frau Schlegel’s house and stopped.

  Ron looked at her as the car stopped. “Would you like to come up to my room?” he asked, holding his breath waiting for her answer.

  She looked through his eyes and into his heart, r
eading the affection that had grown during the day. She wondered about the timing of his request, and of her response. How much was real and how much was the alcohol? Would she be better off waiting or was now the time? Her mind raced back to her utter dislike for anything in uniform, but her heart saw him without a uniform; without the prejudices that went with it. He was a man, not a symbol, and she saw him as such.

  “Yes,” she said.

  They walked up the stairs together, holding onto the railing to keep themselves steady. In opening the front door he had dropped his key and Ingrid had picked it up and put it into her pocket. They reached the top of the stairs and he pointed to the door to his room, his little sanctuary from the outside world. He opened the door and ushered her in, leaning against it to keep from stumbling. He closed the door behind them and she turned and looked at him. He walked toward her and held his arms open.

  She moved toward him and his arms encircled her, his lips searching for hers. She tilted her head upwards, and they kissed. He led her to the bed, still kissing, and laid down on the bed, pulling her on top of him. She fit neatly into the folds of his body and he could feel her warmth spreading to both of them. His hands began to caress her body and he sensed her pleasure by the little moans that escaped from her throat and the movements of her body as she sought to get closer to him.

  “So this is what it’s like to be loved,” thought Ron as he began to unbutton the back of her dress.

  Suddenly Ingrid stopped. She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. Her moment of hesitation was too much for Ron. He froze, a puzzled look on his face.

  “No,” said Ingrid. “This is not how I want it to happen. I don’t want it to be influenced by the amount of wine or beer we had. I don’t want to wonder later on if it was love or lust that drove us together. I want to know it is the real thing. I want it to be the result of our love for each other. And I need to know in my heart that this is something I want, not for just the moment, but forever.”

  She rolled off of him and stood up; swaying a little as she straightened her dress to make sure everything was where it should be in case she met Frau Schlegel on the way out

  “Ron,” she said, “this has been one of the nicest days of my life. Thank you for making me realize that I can be happy with someone. That my life is not destined to go through this world alone. That I can, that it is possible despite my ingrained reluctance, to care for somebody. That,” and she hesitated, “I can love someone.”

  Ingrid turned and walked to the door. Reaching it, she turned to Ron and blew him a kiss.

  “Good night, love,” she said with one of the sweetest voices he had ever heard.

  The door closed behind her

  He turned over and passed out.

  Chapter Eight

  Ron rolled over, reaching for the covers to ward off the chill of the night. His hand groped for the quilt but found nothing. Irritated, he opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the ceiling.

  “What is going on?” he thought.

  Slowly he turned his head to the right and his eyes focused on the dresser against the wall. He shifted his view to the left and the top of the bed gradually came into focus. He realized that he was lying cross-wise on the bed and, after further investigation, was still in the same clothes he had worn when he and Ingrid went to the wine fest.

  “Oh no,” he thought, “what did I mess up last night!” His memory went back to the end of the day and he remembered kissing Ingrid and pulling her down on top of him. He then vaguely remembered her getting up and saying something, then leaving. The rest of his memory failed him.

  He looked at his watch and, barely able to focus, saw that it was sometime between 3 and 3:30 in the morning. He slowly got up and took off his shoes and shirt, leaving on his pants so he could carefully walk to the bathroom at the end of the hall. His mouth tasted like stale beer and he grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste to take with him. He cautiously negotiated the hall to the bathroom, did what had to be done and slowly made his way back to his room.

  Pulling back the covers, Ron gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and removed his pants. Like being sucked into a whirlwind, his body fell back onto the bed, his legs snaking under the covers which now protected him from the early morning chill. His head settled softly onto the pillows and he slowly fell into a deep sleep, made all the more pleasant by the thoughts of Ingrid.

  Ron sensed more than heard the door slowly open. He didn’t know if it was a dream or not and refused to open his eyes to find out. He was still tired from the night before and even going to bed early, actually more like passed out, had not satisfied his need for rest. In truth, the only rest he had had was after waking up around 3 and settling himself into a more proper sleeping position. He was not going to disturb that now.

  Eyes closed, he replayed the events of the day before in his mind. He recalled the drive to the wine fest and the interesting discussion he and Ingrid had concerning the Roman baths. He recalled his first visit to a beer tent and the fun they had singing and carousing with the locals. He remembered a couple more of the tents, some more beer, and then a couple more tents.

  But most of all, he remembered getting to know Ingrid and how they seemed to become closer and closer as the day wore on. Holding hands, dancing close, laughing, oh yes, lots of laughter, and the comfortable feeling of being with someone.

  He remembered the ride home, her coming up to his room and into his arms. He remembered falling on to the bed and…then she left. He couldn’t remember if she was mad or angry or hurt or what. Just that she left.

  He felt the edge of the bed sag a little and a finger press softly against his lips. He opened his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind and focus on what was there.

  Ingrid sat on the edge of the bed, smiling her beautiful smile, bundled up in a warm coat, protection against the same chill that had found him earlier. Her finger pressed against his lips to stop him from saying anything that would alert Frau Schlegel.

  “Good morning, dear,” she said in a soft whisper.

  “Good morning,” he replied, his voice not as steady as hers and with a bit of wonderment. “What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”

  “Ah, the beer has taken its toll, and the memory is the first thing to go,” she laughed quietly. “Don’t you remember dropping your keys on the way upstairs last evening? I picked them up and put them in my purse so they didn’t get lost. They came in handy this morning.”

  “But you left last night, before, before anything happened. Why did you do that?”

  “You don’t remember?” she asked.

  Ron shook his head in reply. “No, I don’t.”

  “You and I were on the bed and you started to unbutton my dress. I wanted us to make love more than anything else I have ever wanted. But I wanted it to be the product of a real desire, not the type brought on by too much beer or too much wine, or a combination of both. It had to be fueled by the feelings each one has for the other and the desire to please each other now, and be with each other for eternity. Love is not a short term trip, nor, in my mind, is it to be entered into without a true understanding of the effort required to keep it going. Continuing last night would have cast a pall over a beautiful thing because I would always wonder if it was real or contrived. Regardless of where the future would have taken us, that thought would have dogged me the rest of my days. That is not how love should start and definitely not how it should be...at least not for me.”

  “I am sorry,” Ron said, “I didn’t mean to offend you in any way at all. It just felt right, us being together I mean, and so comfortable. I even sensed that you wanted it too. Perhaps I was wrong.”

  “Ron Matthews, you are not wrong. The desire was, is there. The timing was wrong. Why do you think I came here this morning?”

  He looked up into her eyes and they literally laughed at him, not a ridiculing laughter, but a laughter that was about to bring joy to someone else
. He had seen that type of laughter before, and he recognized it as the look in his mother’s eyes when she woke him up on Christmas morning to take him downstairs to the Christmas tree. It was a family tradition that no kids went downstairs until the parents went down first, and it was his mother who woke the kids up and shepherded them downstairs, that same look in her eyes.

  Ingrid continued to smile as she stood up and slowly took off her coat, letting it drop to the floor. Ron couldn’t believe his eyes. There stood Ingrid in a floor-length transparent, white negligee clinging ever so slightly to the roundness of her breast and hips. The smallness of her waist made the roundness more pronounced and the low neckline drew the eyes toward her ample bosoms. She knew she had his attention and that pleased her.

  Leaning forward, she playfully knocked on the mattress. “Can I come in?” she softly whispered.

  Ron shifted over to the side of the bed and raised the covers for Ingrid to slip under. “Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” intoned Ron.

  “With pleasure,” said Ingrid as she slid under the covers, pulling them up to her neck and turning to face him.

  “Now, where were we?” she moaned as her body pressed against his, feeling him grow at her touch. “Please don’t be long,” she pleaded as his lips began moving down to her stomach and his hands traced the outline of her body.

  “Pleeeeeeeease!”

  Chapter Nine

  Ron and Ingrid continued to see each other every day, and while their intimate moments together were somewhat restricted because of their living situation, they enjoyed being in each other’s company so much that when the opportunities arose, it was an added benefit. One of which they took full advantage.

  Winter and spring had gone and the German summer was into June, 1948. Germany, under the western countries, began to reorganize itself from a conquered nation to a sovereign country. This move was fully supported by the United States, in fact was prompted by the United States. Instead of seeing Germany as a conquered nation, the U.S. was looking to use Germany, the sovereign country, as a buffer country between itself and what it perceived as an aggressive Soviet Union and other Soviet bloc countries.