Get In Line

Days had passed.
The angel had introduced me to her house, and her husband. She was already married. A thin man, almost skin on bone, though he was far stronger than he looked. Little by little we began to understand each other. They allowed me to stay here in a separate room. I remember I had soup on the first night. It was also the night that I first met her.
Could you blame me for being a little jealous?

I learned her name, finally. It was Lola. 'Lola von der Mola' was her stage-name, at least. Her husband's name was Pyotr. Well, to be fair, it was Pieter, but Pyotr was easier for me to pronounce. They let me stay in their house and in return I kept myself busy by doing some chores and keeping the occasional man in a uniform away from them.
What I learned from Pieter was that he too was in the war. At the border of his homeland, looking for any danger. He told me all that ever came in was refugees from Belgium.
I could tell he had some sympathy for me. Maybe he could see in my eyes the many horrible things I had to do. His service was relatively sedate, simply standing guard at the borders, and he told me he married right when the war was over. Married to Lola.
I preferred not to think about any of those things.

Yet they had the kindness in their hearts to let me stay and take me places. I'd barely seen a more crowded place than a supply camp and the odd village or two, so it was all new. It was all scary.
But they helped me through it, only from goodness.
And I couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

We sat in the bar one night, the same bar she worked at, but just as a guest now. Her face always looked just that little bit prettier when she went to work at the bar. I'd only sometimes seen her without the pretty paint on her face. She had a very strong jawline then. Her eyes were still so beautiful, but less black around the edges. She had a very muscular physique too, probably from all that dancing. And Pieter loved her. And she loved Pieter.
And there I was, standing a little behind them with no one but memories.
And I think they noticed.

Pieter was good with cameras. Like the one I saw back on the train home. How long ago was that? I wasn't sure. My old clothes had withered away. They gave me some new. Except the scarf. The scarf stayed. I was very adamant that the scarf stayed.
Pieter made photos of almost everything he saw. Even of me, and of Lola. And of us three. One time he was making photos of Lola in nothing but a fur shawl. I was there for that too, to model. That feeling that she was an angel remained.
I didn't know angels had things between their legs, but she was an angel still.

Back at the bar. We were at the table, I must have been lost in thought. Over the music and the smoke Lola tells me she's noticed I've been looking very sad. And it was true.
They knew why and yet I couldn't help tell them that I felt alone, like a third leg of a duck; a dangling misshapen thing without purpose. I've tried to set the war out of my head before, but that only worked if I did something with my hands, since my German was still too bad to carry conversations well. And that I felt guilty for staying at their house and eating their food, but what else could I do? I had no money. The only service I could pay them back in was doing chores... or killing. And I didn't want killing. I couldn't stay here all my life, but how long had it been?
Was there a home I could come back to if I left?

Lola said she had to go backstage while I sat over the table with my head on my arms. Pieter had drank too much and began rambling to the pretty women on the stage, maybe in an effort to distract me.
There was a woman in a short blonde bob and a yellow dress doing the Charleston on stage. I don't think I've seen her before, nor did I want to. Her eyebrows were a little big. The crowd seemed to love her, though. They threw roses on the stage and chanted her name.
Good for them.

Then descended another angel. Right as Lola came back and sat at our table again there was another beauty, shoulder-length hair all brown and wavy, rosy cheeks and sweet, seductive eyes. They lured me right in. I felt like the wax candles that were warm and melting in the room, ready to fall apart with just one touch. My senses blurred a pinkish purple before all I could see and think about was her. Whereas the young girl before danced with zest and almost electric movements, the woman on the stage sang a slow, almost sensual ballad. A chanson with a piano somewhere I couldn't see. Even when she picked up the rose from the floor and held it to her face she was precious. Beautiful. Like the moon.
She looked at me when she sang. She looked. At me! I could fly when I realised!
She went dangerously close to the edge. Near the lamps. I don't know how I ended up in the front, but I did. Everything was a blur. Did someone push me? Where were Lola and Pieter?
She was right in my face. What did I have to do again? I had something crumpled in my hand. It smelled like money. Adrenaline rushed everywhere. I felt afraid. I remember what the officers did to people who were afraid. I remember what the firing squads did to cowards.
I must've blanked out because she was still there, smiling at me with those beautiful dark-red lips of hers. It was dead silent. Was I supposed to do something?
I looked over my shoulder to see Lola and Pieter smiling and gesturing both to the woman on stage and to the thing in my hand. Lola winked. My face felt so warm.
The money almost burned in my hand so I held the rim of her dress like it was the most fragile plate for a teacup in existence. I felt hers and everyone's eyes burning like bullets against me. It made my eyes sting and my hands itch and I had to try my hardest to keep breathing so I wouldn't have to break out in rashes.
And she laughed. She laughed, at me. No, not in a mean way. I could feel it. She knelt down, lifted my head up with one finger and just smiled. Her eyes said the rest as her hand gently gestured mine to stick the crumpled money between the dress and her chest. Never before had I felt my heart beat in my throat in such an intense, positive way. Her skin felt so warm.
She planted a kiss on my forehead, stepped back and went on with her performance.
I think I remained at the edge of the stage all night. For one eternity, one short eternity, I was hers, and it was the most conflicting, exhilarating and loving thing I had felt since my first night here.
If Lola was the guardian at heaven's gates, then this woman must have been God herself. And she was beautiful.