The Passport

AMONG THE GRAVES

Windisch had come back to the village from being a prisoner of war. The village was raw from the many dead and wounded.

Barbara had died in Russia.

Katharina had returned from Russia. She wanted to marry Josef. Josef had died in the war. Katharina’s face was pale. Her eyes were deep.

Like Windisch, Katharina had seen death. Like Windisch, Katharina had held on to life. Windisch quickly tied his life to her.

Windisch had kissed her on his first Saturday in the stricken village. He pressed her against a tree. He felt her young stomach and her round breasts. Windisch walked through the gardens with her.

The gravestones stood in white rows. The iron gate creaked. Katharina crossed herself. She wept. Windisch knew that she was weeping for Josef. Windisch shut the gate. He wept. Katharina knew that he was weeping for Barbara. Katharina sat down in the grass behind the chapel. Windisch bent down to her. She grasped his hair. She smiled. He pushed up her skirt. He unbuttoned his trousers. He laid himself on her. Her fingers clutched the grass. She panted. Windisch looked up past her hair. The gravestones were bright. She trembled.

Katharina sat up. She smoothed her skirt over her knees. Windisch stood in front of her and buttoned up his trousers. The churchyard was large. Windisch knew that he hadn’t died. That he was home. That this pair of trousers had waited for him here in the village, in the wardrobe. That in the war and as a prisoner, he hadn’t known where the village was and how long he would continue to live.

Katharina had a stalk of grass in her mouth. Windisch pulled her by the hand. “Let’s get away from here,” he said.