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Unity and justice and liberty
clenching her chest so much it hurts, is it desperation or elation that are too big for the cage of her ribs? "We are the people, WE are the people!" and flags with the shouts, black, red, and gold, and someone is humming the melody, the next one takes it up, they go from line to line
for the German fatherland
who is that, she thinks, can't be my father,
the Party, the Party --
fuck the Party, she told him last week, and he was irate
as long as your legs are under my table
let us all strive towards these
before she went (to Sasha, she wanted to meet her at the demo), she'd turned around. There he sat, staring at the empty other half of the kitchen table, the silence crystalizing around him.
In the crowd they are already
brotherly, with heart and hand
and sisterly, she thinks, grandmotherly, friendly, yes, with the hearts and hands they are holding, holding onto, she and Sasha (a bit nervous, what, if someone sees them, or worse, recognizes them?), and then someone on the left takes her hand and continues humming, he is holding his other hand to his neighbour and the chain grows like large hydrocarbon molecule and she feels like a part of something big -- will they be as flexible as polyurethan?
Unity
finally getting to know Grandpa, whom she only meets in his CARE packages from the West and who can't stand Dad, so it seems (so the walls are saying) -- some old story, maybe because he thinks there is only his way of
Justice
boy, that pisses her off, just last week when she wanted to see Sasha. He liked her finally learning Russsian in earnest, but when he realized what for (for whom), he appeared freaked out -- Are you One of Those, too? Fuck that, what does he think he talks about, as if she knew, but then she doesn't, because she is confused. Paul said Over There it's illegal (but only for guys) and here, she'd asked, no, he said, our Comrades were more progressive on that, and seemed proud, somehow, although she doesn't understand what there is to be proud of in this country.
Liberty
looks different: They should put you into the gas, an old man hissed at Paul, when she was at the theatre with him and his boyfriend. Paul called him a repugnant fascist and the fascist called him an ugly faggot and so everyone was right in their own way, as Paul remarked later drily. She doesn't really understand him, he knows Marx and Lenin as well as Klaus' upper, lower and middle body (he once told her what they are doing when they are not discussing socialism, woa...), and he likes to complain about the bigot fat cat in the Party (her father), and once (once!) she saw a strange list of names and dates in his room. Paul had looked at her and noone had said a thing.
...are the pledge of happiness
That's a bit too much in her opinion, she is happy sitting on Sasha's sofa and taking small sips of the chocolate plus Sasha's mamka is making for them, and she is also happy when Grandma has been there for a visit and her father seems a little less sad and angry.
Flourish in glow of that happiness
that would be nice, more colours, less greyness, not being taken on by the cops because of that leather jacket, and if you had to go protest for that -- and this protest sense of community was, after all, rather nice, then so it be.
Flourish, German fatherland.
Oh, well ...