Krauss found himself smiling, despite the ever-present sadness that had settled in his heart and lingered. Stefan had picked up a few words and phrases of the German’s native language, whispered between the sheets and fallen like feathers upon downy pillows with silk covers. ‘Für mein Hans’ was charming beyond all words, unsure in an unfamiliar alphabet.
That was distinctly and absolutely Molokov: intelligent and charming.
The photos that lay face up on his desk resonated with his memories of the officer; always a hint of a smile, good natured, and a living image of the Russian ideal -- broad shouldered, blonde hair, square jaw. Handsome in the most traditional sense of the word. Reminiscent of the propaganda posters that littered Berlin early in the war -- warning the Volk to be weary of ‘Ivan‘. The same broad shoulders, square jaw… something was different though. The kind smile and beautiful eyes.
For the first time, it occurred to Johann that perhaps Stefan was so smitten with him for similar reasons -- the blonde haired, blue eyed Teutonic enemy that his father’s generation had chased from his country with bitter hatred, conquered finally with kisses and flowers by candlelight.
Krauss sighed, and realized he was overanalyzing everything. Stefan had no sinister motives, he simply had an eye for things that were unique and an honest curiosity.
His eyes trailed over the ring, as Liadov mentioned it. “Yes, indeed. The ring. Of course…” he mumbled, though he was genuinely more fascinated with the photos than the priceless bauble.
The Major turned over the other photographs, lining them all into neat little rows. The beautiful wife, now an unfortunate widow at such a young age. Natashenka Molokova, smiling and seeming so much happier than during the conversations he’d had with her over the phone.
And the son; that broke his heart more than he thought it should have.
“I assume…” He spoke after a long silence, “General Olavyenko has made arrangements for the widow and the orphaned son… if he was so close to Stefan as some have told me.”
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-03-27 07:16 pm (UTC)That was distinctly and absolutely Molokov: intelligent and charming.
The photos that lay face up on his desk resonated with his memories of the officer; always a hint of a smile, good natured, and a living image of the Russian ideal -- broad shouldered, blonde hair, square jaw. Handsome in the most traditional sense of the word. Reminiscent of the propaganda posters that littered Berlin early in the war -- warning the Volk to be weary of ‘Ivan‘. The same broad shoulders, square jaw… something was different though. The kind smile and beautiful eyes.
For the first time, it occurred to Johann that perhaps Stefan was so smitten with him for similar reasons -- the blonde haired, blue eyed Teutonic enemy that his father’s generation had chased from his country with bitter hatred, conquered finally with kisses and flowers by candlelight.
Krauss sighed, and realized he was overanalyzing everything. Stefan had no sinister motives, he simply had an eye for things that were unique and an honest curiosity.
His eyes trailed over the ring, as Liadov mentioned it. “Yes, indeed. The ring. Of course…” he mumbled, though he was genuinely more fascinated with the photos than the priceless bauble.
The Major turned over the other photographs, lining them all into neat little rows. The beautiful wife, now an unfortunate widow at such a young age. Natashenka Molokova, smiling and seeming so much happier than during the conversations he’d had with her over the phone.
And the son; that broke his heart more than he thought it should have.
“I assume…” He spoke after a long silence, “General Olavyenko has made arrangements for the widow and the orphaned son… if he was so close to Stefan as some have told me.”