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Day 2 (Aug 29): Festival | “Oh! Let’s play that game!”
The air was alive with the cries of happy children, people bustling, carnival games being won and lost. The air was crisp, too, the evening falling on another day. He inhaled its brittleness, relishing in the sharp cool of it flowing through his nostrils. It was different here, the heat less oppressive, the sky more gray. He found that he didn’t mind it.
Tugging Germany along by the hand, he pointed to a food vendor’s stall. The handwritten sign advertised ‘Würstchen im Schlafrock!’ Whatever it was, it smelled delicious. “I want to try that!”
Letting himself be pulled along, Germany took a moment to read the sign. “That does sound good…” he mused.
They walked up to the stall, where Italy excitedly inspected a line of sausages on display, wrapped in dough and laid neatly in little paper cartons. “Two please!” he said, holding up two fingers.
The man behind the stall’s counter nodded, then barked something in German to his right. “Dat will be two euros,” he said in a heavy accent.
“Here you go, sir!” Italy fished the coin-piece from his wallet and plopped it into the man’s outstretched hand.
“Please wait eine moment. They will be ready soon.”
“No problem!” Italy responded cheerfully. He spun around to face Germany, who was standing next to him. The tips of the other man’s ears were slightly pink from the autumn evening’s chill. It was rather adorable, he thought.
Noticing Italy’s attention was on him, Germany quickly glanced away, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Er… are you having fun, so far?”
“I am!” Italy beamed. “Thank you for taking me to this festival.”
“Ah, of course. You said you wanted to experience some German culture, after all, so…”
“This is perfect!” Italy smiled again. He did not miss the slight pinking of Germany’s cheeks.
“Hier they are,” the man said behind them. Italy turned around again and took the proffered food. He handed one to Germany, who reached around him to grab a few napkins from the dispenser on the counter. Together they walked through the bustling streets of the festival.
“Mmm, this is delicious!” Italy exclaimed. The sausages were wrapped in a light, flaky dough, and served on sticks so as to make them easier to eat. “Do you know how to make this, Germany?”
“I’ve never made them before, but I could try, I suppose.”
“Maybe we can make them together!”
“Ja, maybe.”
They stood for a moment, watching a balloon vendor tie a long, stretchy balloon into an animal of indeterminate species, then hand it to a delighted child. The child skipped off holding her mother’s hand, her long twin pigtails bouncing behind her. Italy glanced to his side, seeing Germany’s soft smile.
“Do you want kids, Germany?”
The other man startled, caught unawares by the question. “Um, I suppose so, ja. Maybe one day.”
Italy giggled. “My brother always says I’m too irresponsible to take care of children. Maybe he’s right, but, I think it would be fun!”
“Taking care of a child is not always ‘fun’, you know.”
“I know, but don’t the fun parts make up for that? I mean, could you imagine me running around with a little kid that looks just like me? That would be so cute.”
Germany cleared his throat, seeming uncomfortable. “I… I suppose.” By this time, they had finished eating their food, and threw the empty containers into a nearby trash bin. “Oh, you have some crumbs on your coat,” Germany said, obviously trying to change the subject. Italy let him. “Here, let me…” He briskly brushed down Italy’s coat, ridding him of the crumbs. “Do you have to be such a messy eater?”
Giggling, Italy said, “It’s just because I enjoy my food so much!”
“I suppose.” Germany sighed, but fondly.
They continued walking, taking their time, ambling slowly and stopping occasionally to look at the foods or toys this or that stall was offering. They passed a vendor offering samples of all sorts of German beers, which Germany side-eyed.
“Do you want to try it?” Italy asked.
Germany quickly glanced away, obviously not expecting Italy to have noticed. “Well…”
Knowing Germany, Italy decided to make the choice for him. “Come on, let’s go!” He took hold of Germany’s hand again, pulling him towards the stall.
“Guten abend!” the vendor exclaimed, noticing the two potential customers approaching him. “Probieren sie ein paar biere!” He gestured to an ornately carved wooden sign, which had a list of many German words that Italy assumed were the names of beers.
“Guten abend!” Italy replied, melodic voice twisting strangely around the unfamiliar syllables. “How does it work?”
The man smiled, then began pulling miniature-sized beer glasses out from under the stall’s counter. “For ten euros, you may try a sample of these ten different, beloved German beers! You want to try, junger mann?”
“Not for me, thank you, but he does!” Italy pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, at Germany. “You did want to, right?” He turned around to assess.
“Ah, well… yes.” Germany dropped the hand that was still holding Italy’s, to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “There are some beers on this list I have not tried before.”
“Perfekt! One sampler of die biere for mein freund over hier!” The man began pouring the first beer into one of the small glasses. “Das ist ten euros.”
Germany made to get out his wallet, but Italy stopped him. “I will pay, Germany! You brought me here, after all, it’s the least I could do.”
“But I’m drinking the beers,” Germany pointed out.
“Come on, let me do this for you!”
“Ja, let dein freund here pay for you,” the man said, winking at Germany.
The latter’s face turned red. “I’m not—we’re not—”
Italy looked between the two, confused. ‘Freund’ was ‘friend’, right? Why was Germany suddenly so embarrassed? He chalked it up to Germany being Germany and handed over the ten euro bill to the man. “Here you go!”
“Danke, junger mann.” He turned now to Germany. “Hier ist das erste biere. It ist von der Schlenkerla,” he explained, lapsing into mostly German now that he was addressing Germany solely.
Taking the beer, Germany said, “Oh ja, I have heard of this. It is from a historic brewery.” He took a sip. “Ist sehr gut.”
“How is it?” Italy asked, looking curiously up at Germany.
The other man smiled. “It has this wonderfully smoky taste.”
“Ja, die Schlenkerla is ein famous brewery in Bamberg, known for its traditional rauchbier,” the vendor explained.
“That means smoked beer,” Germany translated for Italy.
“Oh wow! How do they make it?”
“It ist ein historical way of making bier,” the vendor said. “Not done in many places anymore. In den old days, to dry the malt, they use ein traditional fire oven, which gives the bier its smoky taste.”
“That’s so cool!” Italy exclaimed in amazement. “It’s like you’re drinking a piece of history right now, Germany!”
Germany let out of a huff of amusement, then took another swig of the beer. “I suppose so.”
“Can I try?” Italy said. “Oh!” He turned around to face the vendor. “I hope it’s okay.”
“Ja ja, of course.” The man waved him on. “Only if, you don’t drink all of it!” He chuckled.
“Here.” Germany gave the glass to him, and Italy took a tiny, tentative sip.
“Oh, it’s… good.” Italy tried to stop himself from wrinkling his nose, but the beer’s taste was strong.
The vendor laughed, and even Germany cracked a smile. “Not ein bier mann, huh?” the man said.
“I prefer wine,” Italy said, smiling apologetically.
“Kein problem. More for this guy, huh?” The vendor jabbed a thumb at Germany.
“Exactly!” Italy gave the half-empty glass back to Germany, who took a few more sips. The latter closed his eyes, savoring the unique taste of the beer on his tongue. Italy couldn’t help but wonder if the beer would taste better from Germany’s—
“Und this ist the next bier!” The vendor broke his suggestive train of thought. “Das ist ein Hefeweizen.”
“I have tried this before,” Germany said. He eagerly took the next glass, then took a large swig. “Just as good as I remember.”
The vendor kept offering fun tidbits about the beers, and he and Germany talked back and forth on a few of the finer details. Italy was admittedly a little lost, especially with the sprinklings of German thrown in, but he was happy to just watch Germany enjoying himself. Germany’s already seemingly semi-permanent blush when he was in Italy’s presence seemed to darken a bit more with each beer he drank. The man’s tolerance was impressive, to be sure, and the glasses were small, but it was still ten drinks in a row. And German beers were not exactly known for their lightness.
Finally, the last beer was done, and Germany wiped his mouth with the napkins he had taken from the food stall earlier. “Danke,” he said, smiling slightly at the vendor. Italy liked it when Germany was looser like this, when he smiled more. It hadn’t been on his mind when he convinced Germany to try the beers, but it certainly was not an unwelcome side effect.
“Thank you! Have a nice evening, sir!” Italy waved at the man. “What do you want to do next, Germany?”
“We are at a festival, maybe we could play some of the games,” he offered, a bit shyly.
“That sounds fun! Let’s go!” Italy took Germany’s hand, dragging him away from the stall. He waved to the vendor one last time, who watched them go with a small smile on his face. Together they weaved through the bustling crowd of couples and families, pausing to linger at any games that seemed interesting. “Oh, let’s play that game!” Italy pointed at a brightly lit stall, where many empty cups were set up, covering a whole table set a little ways behind the stall’s counter. “It looks like they have fun prizes!” Brightly colored toys and big, soft plushies were lined along the back wall, waiting to be claimed.
“Sure.” Germany smiled softly, still holding Italy’s hand, and let himself be led towards the stall.
“Hallo, freunde!” The woman behind the counter raised her hand in greeting. “Würden sie gerne spielen?”
“Hallo,” Germany said. “How do you play this game?”
“Oh, ist simple!” the woman said, switching to English. “For fünf—five—euros you get twenty of these balls.” She held up a small, white ping-pong ball. “Your goal ist to land the ball in one of the cups. You get differing points for which color cup you land.” She turned around to gesture to the table. “The blue cups, nearest to us, are five points. The red cups are ten points.” She pointed at one of the red cups, which were randomly scattered throughout the sea of blue. “At the back wall,” she motioned towards the back line of cups, which Italy had to stand on tip-toe to see, “are the black cups, which are twenty points.” She nodded at a sign hanging from the top of the stall. “If you forget, there are the color codes for each points.” Then she spread her arms to indicate the wall of prizes behind them. “Prizes are worth different points. Ones on the bottom are twenty-five, above those fifty, then one-hundred, and so on. If you want to know how many points a prize ist, please ask me!”
“Makes sense to me!” Italy said. “Do you want to try too, Germany?”
He shrugged. “Sure, seems simple enough.” He fished out his wallet from his pants pocket. “I will pay this time.” Italy knew better than to protest. “Twenty balls for each of us, please.” He handed over two five-euro bills.
“Right away, sir!” She reached under the counter, and pulled out two small, woven baskets filled with ping-pong balls. “You may start anytime!” She quickly moved to the side to give them room to aim.
Italy aimed carefully, then threw his first ball. It bounced along several of the glasses, all the way from one side to the other, then flew off the side of the table. He frowned, then tried again, with the same result. “This is harder than it looks! You try, Germany.”
He looked to the side, to see Germany, who had been watching him, quickly look away. “Okay,” he said, squinting at the table of cups in concentration. He took one of the balls in his hand, weighing it carefully. Slowly, he brought his arm up. Italy watched, enraptured. Then, all of a sudden, he flicked his wrist forward, and sent the ball sailing through the air. It bounced a few times off some of the cups, slowing gradually, then rolled around the rim of one of the blue cups and fell inside.
“Five points!” the woman said, marking something down on a sheet of paper.
“Verdammt,” Germany muttered.
“What do you mean?” Italy exclaimed. “That was great!”
“I was going for one of the black cups.”
“You still have nineteen left!”
“Let’s take turns, so we don’t interfere with each other’s throws.”
“Wow, Germany, you are taking this really seriously!” Italy decided to up it a notch, but waited until Germany had picked up his next ball and was on the verge of throwing it. “It’s almost like you want to win me something.”
Germany made a strange noise and flunked his throw, sending the ball sailing completely clear of the table and bouncing against the wall on the other side. “I—I don’t—I—” He glanced, wide-eyed, blushing, at Italy, then picked up his next ball, words dying in his throat. Italy allowed himself the briefest of smug smiles. “Your turn now,” Germany managed to say.
“Okay!” Italy said innocently. He picked up another ball, trying to aim it carefully like he had seen Germany do. He tried to do the same method with flicking his wrist forward, but his hand-eye coordination wasn’t great, and the ball landed short of the table. “Ah! Let me try again. That wasn’t good.” Sticking his tongue between his teeth in concentration, he decided to try to target one of the black cups against the back wall. With a bit more force, he threw his ball, and it hit against the back wall before bouncing against the line of black cups. He watched it jump from cup to cup, eventually settling, miraculously, and probably luckily, into one of the red cups. “Alright!” he cheered. Glancing up at the points board, he said, “That’s ten points for me!”
Germany glowered at him. “My turn now.” He took a deep breath, then remained silent and still for a few seconds. He chucked the ball in an elegant overhanded throw, and it ricocheted from cup to cup before settling into one of the black cups. Turning back to Italy, he huffed, “Twenty points.”
Italy pointed at him challengingly. “Oh, it’s on!”
They took turns throwing their balls, each crowing or morose at their respective outcomes. Gradually, the number of balls in their baskets dwindled, until there were none left.
“How many points do we each have now?” Germany asked the woman.
She looked down at her notepad. “Your friend has 65 points, and you have 170.”
Germany smiled a full, wide smile at that. He crossed his arms haughtily in Italy’s direction and exclaimed, “I won.” Italy found that he didn’t even mind. Seeing Germany smile like that was prize enough for him. “Now, pick something.”
“Huh?” Italy stared blankly for a few moments, before realizing. “You were trying to win me something!”
Gaze falling to the ground, arms still crossed, Germany said, shyly, “Maybe.”
Italy couldn’t suppress a small smile as he perused the wall of prizes. His gaze landed on an adorable teddy bear wearing a shirt with a little German flag on it, and a slightly grumpy look on its snout. “Oh, that one!” He pointed. “How much is that one?”
The woman smiled apologetically at them. “Unfortunately, that one is 200 points.”
“Oh,” Germany said, crestfallen. “I don’t suppose… there is any way to combine points?”
“Well…” she said, glancing left and right. “Normally, no, but you two are just so cute that I think I’ll make an exception, this time. Just don’t tell anybody else!”
At this, Germany turned red and sputtered. “We—cute—I’m—we’re not—”
“We’ll take it!” Italy interrupted, before Germany could do any damage. “Thank you so much!” The lady pulled out a small ladder to reach the bear, hung a little ways up on the wall. She pulled it down, and handed it to a beaming Italy. “Oh, he’s so cute! He reminds me a little of you.” Italy giggled.
“Because of the German flag?” Germany said, raising an eyebrow.
“No, because he’s so grumpy looking!”
Germany huffed, but Italy caught the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. He turned back towards the woman and inclined his head slightly. “Danke sehr.”
“You two have a nice rest of your evening!” She waved after them as they walked away from the stall, Italy happily clutching his new soft friend.
“It’s getting kind of late,” Germany said, checking his watch. “We can probably do a few more things and then we should head home.”
“Is there anything else you wanted to do?”
“Well—” Germany cut himself off. “I mean, what do you want to do?”
“You were about to say something.”
“No, no, we came here for you, after all.”
“Come onnnn, Germany, say it! I want you to have fun too!”
“I did. Have fun, that is.” Germany looked at Italy, then quickly looked away. “Well, I suppose… I did want to ride the ferris wheel. But I know you’re afraid of heights.”
“How did you know? I don’t remember ever telling you that.”
“You’re afraid of everything,” Germany pointed out.
Smiling sheepishly, Italy said, “I guess you’re right. But…” He tapped a finger against his chin. “If you’re there with me, I won’t be so afraid. Because you’ll catch me if I fall, right?”
Germany snorted. “Of course. And you won’t fall. They have railings and safeguards to protect you.”
“Then that decides it! Let’s go on the ferris wheel, then go home and eat some pasta.” Italy skipped off in the direction of the large wheel, visible from all corners of the festival.
He could hear Germany following behind him, muttering, “You and your pasta…”
They reached the wheel, and luckily there was not much of a line at this point in the evening. Most people were beginning to go home now. They chatted a bit as they waited, and Germany even patted the teddy bear’s head when Italy stuck it in his face. Eventually reaching the ticket booth, Italy opened his mouth, but Germany spoke before he could. “Zwei, bitte.”
“Dreißig euro.”
Germany pulled out a ten- and twenty-euro bill, handing it to the man in exchange for two small white tickets, of which he gave one to Italy. They stood for a little bit longer, waiting for the wheel to complete a few tours. When it stopped, an attendant motioned them forward, unlatching the small door of an empty compartment, and they stepped inside, Germany bucking his head under the doorframe.
Seating themselves, Germany asked, “Are you sure you will be okay?”
“I’m sure!”
“You say that now, but once we’re off the ground…”
“If I get too scared, you can always hold me,” Italy said, casting a sideways glance in Germany’s direction. It was too dark now to see his blush, but he was sure that it was there.
“Alles gut?” the attendant asked, after latching the door back closed. Italy gave him a thumbs up, and he nodded once and motioned to another attendant, who started the wheel back up.
“Here we go!” Italy said. He couldn’t deny that he had some nerves, but it wasn’t a very big wheel, so it didn’t go too far off the ground. Besides, his happiness at being here with Germany was outweighing his fear of being in the air. He still clutched the teddy bear tightly for support, though.
Slowly, the wheel took them up, and they watched the people and stalls below them get gradually smaller. The twinkling lights of the festival began to blur together in a mass of multi-colors, and in the greater distance, dark buildings lit by a few windows rose against the backdrop of the inky sky. The carriage was completely enclosed, so even though it rocked slightly with the motions, Italy didn’t feel any wind.
“Everything okay?” Germany asked.
“Yes,” Italy giggled, a bit nervously. As long as he didn’t look too hard at the ground, only the pretty sights around them, he could forget how far away they were from sweet land. “Just don’t do anything mean, like make the carriage shake!”
“I would never.” Germany seemed almost affronted at the suggestion that he would do such a thing.
“It’s so pretty up here…” Italy sighed, relaxing and letting himself fall slightly into Germany’s side. He felt the other stiffen for a split second, but make no motion to move away.
“Ja. It is.” Italy could see out of the corner of his eye that Germany was not looking at the scenery, but instead at him.
“Imagine being a bird, and being able to see the world like this all the time!”
Germany huffed in amusement. “You’d be a terrible bird, being scared of heights.”
“But maybe if I was a bird, I wouldn’t be scared of heights. Because I’d be used to it, right?”
“Maybe.”
They fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying taking in the world around them. The night sky was twinkling with stars which had just risen from their beds, ready to take over from the sun. In the corner of the carriage’s front window, the crescent moon slivered through the deep blue of the sky. Everything was very peaceful up here, and quiet too. Much different than the loud but joyful bustle of the carnival below. It almost felt like they were the only two people in the world.
Italy found it was not as scary to approach the ground as it was to leave it, and he watched with rapt fascination as the milling, but thinning, crowds below them grew larger.
“Aww, I hope it’s not over yet!”
“I think they make a few rounds before we have to get off.”
“I hope so!”
“I hope so too, for thirty euro…” Germany muttered the last part, more to himself than anyone else. Italy just shook his head fondly, knowing the frugality of Germans, and knowing his German was no different.
To his delight, they passed the same spot they had entered the carriage in, and continued on, rotating slowly about the wheel’s center. Emboldened a bit now, Italy watched closer this time as the tents below began to look like tiny canvas squares out of a children’s playset. He wondered about each of them, imagining what games or foods they had to offer. It was always interesting to think about the fact that all the people you pass by have a complex internal life of their own, one that is insignificant to you, just as yours is insignificant to them. Wasn’t there a word for that…? He bet Germany would know, but right now he didn’t want to disturb the peaceful silence that had settled between them. He was content to lean against Germany’s side and absorb the beautiful world with him.
The silence remained unbroken, and they went through the whole circle a few times before they eventually reached the bottom again, and the wheel slowed and stopped. This time, an attendant approached them from the other side door, unlatching that one and beckoning them out. Germany was closest to that side, so he went first. When Italy came out, Germany wordlessly offered him a hand to help him down the steps, and Italy took it without hesitation.
They continued holding hands the rest of the walk home.