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~*~
It is a night of sociality and still I am all alone.
Motionlessly I am standing on top of the stairs that lead to the highest floor of the Alexandrinski Theatre in Petrograd. My hands, which show a plain, silver ring on their left, are resting on the wrought-iron railings, over which I bend in order to sneak a peek at the people below. It is a Saturday evening in April 1917. Like all the others I am dressed in evening garments, a white tie assembly.
I wear patent-leather shoes, which I have polished so thoroughly that the light of the countless lamps reflects in them. I did it myself and not leave it to my employees, due to the mere fact that if you want something to be done properly, you better do it yourself.
Even though I have slicked back my hair with comb and pomade, black strands keep shifting into my face. I leave them be. It is not like anybody but my closest friends would know me here. If you asked me why, I would tell you the following:
I am a man who prefers to remain unknown, since the sole mentioning of my name would cause sheer excitement - especially on a night such as this. If there is one thing I cannot stand, it is unnecessary excitement. It is better for me and my mood to remain in the background.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Around me there is the laughter of people, the silent whisper of merry voices, muffled sounds of the orchestra on the ground floor. Tonight's play is already over, yet most of the guests still remain for a while in the extensive halls. They stroll around, talk to friends and acquaintances, see and are seen. They appear happy and relaxed and even though my face does not show any emotion, I am silently relieved that those around me lived through a nice evening. In the end I am the reason for their presence within these walls. It is their grace that ensures my living. You ask me who I am? Let me tell you.
My name is Levi Ackerman and I am this theater's play writer. The drama that has been shown tonight was written and provided by me. It was not only a simple performance, to be more precisely, no. It was the premiere. Premieres are always something special. They leave a first impression on the audience that can hardly be corrected afterwards. Whether a play will be a success or failure – something like this is often decided on such a night. Therefore it might not be much of a surprise that I am filled with a gentle excitement, even though I do my best not to let it show on the outside.
I open my eyes and straighten up. While doing so I turn slightly away from the railing and look down the floor that can be seen to my right. Here, far away from the others, there is nobody but me. I sigh. When she left me here she had promised me to hurry, though the unpleasant truth is, that she is been letting me wait here for more than ten minutes now. I raise my brows and bite my bottom lip to express my growing displeasure.
„Hange, you damn woman“, I mutter while I lean against the railing and fold my arms in front of my chest. Her disappearance is the climax of an evening heavily influenced by the bitter taste of mere duty performance. I should leave her here and go, but there is no one to whom I could flee who would make a better company than her, and I am fully aware of that. Therefore I stay, while I secretly count the minutes before I am finally allowed to enter the carriage that will bring me back home – not as if there would be a better life waiting for me.
Do not think I dislike visiting the theatre, since rather the opposite is the case – but I am no good when it comes to dealing with people. It is a huge difference whether I write about them or have to face them in the real world, a difference, so big that it is almost impossible to describe.
What brought me here this evening that is actually dedicated to me, the author of tonight's play? Well, to illustrate this in an appropriate manner it might be better to return to the moment of my arrival here. Not that anything of this was your business, yet you know just as well as I, that I have nothing better to do right now. It will help me to pass the time until my dreadful friend returns. So do me a favour and be quiet while I tell you my story and the words unfold their true meaning.
~*~
When the carriage stops in front of the theatre, allowing me to step outside, I take care not to ruin my shoes on the uneven paved ground. One last time I check the fit of my clothes, inquire if I have really brought tonight's billets with me and turn around. From the pitch-black interior of the vehicle cabin a filigree, hand shoe covered hand of a young women points in my direction. I take it in the most experienced manner and help my companion step outside, taking care of her, making sure she will stand by my side unharmed and well. Her slender body is hidden by a black fur coat by Paul Poiret, the opulent collar covering her neck like a scarf of fur. It is a wickedly expensive, extravagant piece. Underneath she is wearing a golden silk evening dress, which shows only from time to time in a rather shy manner, covered by an outer dress made of black silk-matt, embroidered with cut crystals that merrily sparkle in the light of the surrounding lanterns. I carefully eye her face and once I am sure that she stands safe I let her go.
„What was the name of tonight's play again?“, she asks without looking at me. She never does. I readjust the fit of my topper before I offer her my right arm and she agrees. Together we stroll towards the entrance door of the theatre. We are early. It might be still about one hour until the play starts.
„The Fall of Mephistopheles“, I reply casually. She nods but I can easily see that she is not interested. I look at her for a while, until she finally raises her head and replies my gaze, but she does not give me an answer. I look down on her, eye her arms and finally her fingers. They rest on me in a very volatile manner, taking care not to touch me more than necessary. She wears the same ring as I do on the left of her gloved hands, right now invisible for the outer world, decorated with a small, but wonderful diamond.
The name of this young lady is Mikasa Ackerman and she is my wife. We might be married, yet in love we are not. It is a marriage that has been set up, just like many others, for pragmatic reasons but not for sympathy, back then in spring 1911. We manage it to live our lives without interacting much and as long as we offer each other the personal space we both require it works – somehow. I know that she is having an affair with a young military officer, but as long as she behaves discrete I could not care less. We treat each other with the coldness of polished crystal glass, only connected by the mere fact that neither of us has ever been in love with the other, furthermore chained together by our three year old daughter with hair, black as ebony and skin, white as snow. My marriage might be joyless, yet I will not deny that this little girl compensates me every amount. She means everything to me. She is the light of my life.
Arm in arm, Mikasa and I pass the spacious place in front of the theatre, heading toward the entrance doors. My eyes are resting on the marvellous, yellow painted neoclassical building. I have loved it since I first laid my eyes on it, all the details, the pillars, the stucco, the bronze horse figures on top of the roof. It staggered me when my path led me here for the first time and even now, after all these years, I still could look at it for hours. It is a privilege that my plays are shown here, a circumstance that marks the climax of my career, I suppose. To be honest, she could have married worse than me.
The place is lively and croweded. Wherever I look I see people wearing their most beautiful clothes heading in our direction, great anticipation written all over their faces. We pass an advertising pillar on which posters announce tonight's premiere, leave the masses behind us and enter the theatre through a light brown wooden door. We cross the extensive room, while walls and ceilings are decorated with stucco and paintings, and eventually stop in the middle of the room.
„We would profit more from this evening if people knew you were the author of this piece“, Mikasa mutters most discontented and not without judgement. She does not look at me while she is speaking. Her eyes searchingly wander over the countless people who while away the time by strolling up and down. Here and there small groups of acquaintances and close friends stand together, chatting, talking. Like a soft veil their laughter covers the omnipresent joyful anticipation that fills the air.
„No“, I answer in a short tempered manner. I know this tone quite too well. „You would profit more from this evening – at least you believe that. People would follow me around and ask me all sorts of stupid questions.“ I click my tongue. The thought alone is more than enough for me. „It's something I can definitely do without.“
I give her a volatile look from the corners of my eyes and press my lips together. Even though I can understand her displeasure over the missing appreciation that she, as my wife, deserves just as much as I do, the decision about this matter remains in my hands. She knows that too well, and I assume it is exactly that feeling of powerlessness that troubles her most.
„I don't understand why you reject the fame you deserve“, she continues, but I only listen to her half-heartedly. I slip my hands inside the pockets of my pants and look around.
„Because I treasure my peace, Mikasa“, I answer in a most irritated manner. „That's why.“
„I know that“, she replies and when she looks at me again her eyes sparkle furiously in the dim light. „We have discussed this matter so often, Levi. I know your reasons, even though they are highly incomprehensible to me.”
Just like you are to me, I cannot help myself from thinking.
„It is more than enough as long as I understand my reasons“, is all I answer and the conversation is over. Her face darkens. Fingers that are clenched around the black lace fan tighten their grip. She turns away from me when suddenly something seems to catch her attention. I follow her gaze and understand right away. Not far from us, accompanied by his friends and comrades, stands a young military officer. Strands of brown hair keep shifting into his face. Green eyes rebelliously sparkle in the warm, electronic light. He is younger than me and therefore relates to Mikasa in a way I never could. With twenty-eight years I took her as my wife, she was barely sixteen back then. She's barely twenty now.
Her fan touches my forearm and draws my attention back to her. Steel blue eyes are resting on me, half asking, half provoking.
„Would you excuse me?“
I nod. „Feel free to go.” What I gain in return is a volatile smile, a smile that does not belong to me, though. „Be back before the play begins.“
„Certainly“, she replies, turning away from me, disappearing only seconds later between the surrounding people. Motionlessly I observe the soldier, on whose face honest happiness can be seen once Mikasa reaches him. It is a kind of appreciation I cannot offer her and she cannot offer me. He touches her forearm in a tender, almost careful way that I cannot understand. Her face though does not show any sign of the emotions and thoughts she is carrying in her heart; discretion is on her side.
All of a sudden something heavy touches my shoulder. I whirl around – and stop in an instant once I recognize who has just addressed me. In front of me, the left hand raised in a way that makes me think she has placed it on my shoulder only seconds ago, stands Hange Zoe. Hange Zoe, my friend from childhood days. A pair of excitingly sparkling eyes is watching me carefully. She is wearing a white, translucent dress made of muslin. Her auburn hair, which has been pinned up and curled, is only decorated by one simple hairpin. She is hardly wearing any jewellery. In her right hand I can see the usual, linen covered notebook she is never leaving the house without, a sharpened wooden pencil attached to the cover. She is truly a remarkable wench, and of course, not married. When the Russian universities opened their doors for women a little more than ten years ago, she enrolled right away. She studied politics and literature and graduated as the best of her year to the displeasure of her mainly male colleagues. She has been writing for Petrograd's newspapers ever since. Due to the war in central Europe she left Russia and used to live close to the eastern front for a couple of years. Six months ago she finally returned. When our gazes meet, a bright smile appears on her lips.
„Ljowuschka!“, she calls out my time honoured pet name. „Oh, how nice it is to see you here. I love this theatre, all these people, all these stories. The tragic. The comedy! And of course I am dying to see The Crash of Mephistopheles.“
„It's The Fall of Mephistopheles“, I reply quite matte. She bends down and starts patting my shoulders, which I let happen without showing any signs of emotion. Once she has started to speak there is nothing that can stop her. She is a roaring water fall, a stormy wind. If there is one person in Russia that incorporates the forces of nature, it is this woman.
„Are you here for the press tonight?“, I ask and point at her notebook. She nods.
„Yes, they asked me to write a detailed review“, she laughs and raises her hand to underline her words with heavy waving. „Even though I don't think I will have something to criticise on. You know how much I love your plays.“
A rebellious sparkling enlightens her eyes. When she continues speaking, her voice has taken a conspiratorial tone. „You always manage it to make them political, even though you do it in such a discrete manner one has to look very closely to notice. We all know that it might be better to keep our eyes and ears open after what happened in February.“
We nod at each other and remain silent. After that she carefully looks at me, obviously satisfied over the fact that she has finally found me, when suddenly she furrows her brows.
„Say, Ljowuschka“, she says and tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. „Has your wife ditched you again?“
I snort in an amused manner and give her a look that is fraught with meaning.
„You’ve returned to Russia six months ago, Hange, and you still ask me these kind of stupid questions. Did you expect anything different tonight?“
„Well“, she begins, but suddenly interrupts herself. For a moment she struggles to find the right words, before she finally shakes her head. „No“, she admits, „actually not.“
„There you are.”
„Aren't you scared this could cause a scandal one day? It is a well known secret that she is the lover of Officer Yaeger. What if someone who is jealous of you comes to know about this?“
„I don't care.“ I shake my head and shrug. „And I know that she is looking after herself. A scandal would harm her even more than it would me, so she has no interest that either. Apart from that-“ I click my tongue. „I am glad over every minute I don't have to spend in her presence, since we have absolutely nothing to talk about.“
„You poor, old man.“ Hange laughs and links her arms with mine. „Your marriage is so bitter that I keep wondering why you don't consider a divorce. When you stay together like this you destroy each other's chance for real happiness on purpose.“
„A divorce is not an option“, I reply short temperedly. „Not if children are involved. Kuchel would hardly be hardly see her mother anymore. I work the whole day and she needs her loved ones.“
„Well, you're old enough“, is all she replies. Then the same awkward smile returns on her lips. With a jerk she pulls me closer. „Come, Ljowuschka“, she calls out. „Come. Let's go and meet the others.“
She drags me through the hall, before we eventually stop in front of a group of people that we know quite well and who, in return, know how to keep a secret. There is Mike Zacharias, a calm, severe contemporary with his beautiful, remarkably intelligent wife Nanaba. Standing between them, much shorter of size, I discover a petite, pretty lady, whose name is Petra Ral. Her husband died early and left her a splendid sum.
I consider all of them close and dear. None of them would reveal my true identity to others. When they lay eyes on me, they smile in honest pleasure. We greet each other, involving us in the always same conversations of such evenings. If I was excited considering the potential success or failure of the play – I deny. If I have had the chance to witness the rehearsals – I deny once more. If I knew by now, that once more Erwin Smith had been casted to perform the leading role. Well, I say and cannot avoid that my voice sounds a little more hoarse than usual, I in fact had heard about that.
„The rise of this young man sure is impressive“, Hange bursts out, already taking notes. With a slight scratching sound her pencil slides over the paper. In a most boisterous manner, she proceeds. „And only in such short time. Ah, I would sell my soul just to make sure I could ask him some questions about that.“ She turns around and looks at me. „Ljowuschka, my dear, my precious, the closest amongst all my friends, couldn't you, as author-“
„No, I cannot“, I interrupt her speech and turn away. The simple thought of a conversation with this particular star on Petrograd’s sky makes my stomach turn into a knot.
„Well, I don't think he is that young anymore, Hange“, Mike joins the conversation, patronizingly raising his brows. „He should be about my age, I suppose. Don't you agree?“ He, in the end of his thirties, proudly thumps his chest with his fist, while letting his gaze wander over those present in silent amusement.
„Probably“, I agree in a dry manner. I would rather turn to another topic, but I might be alone with that urge.
„Maybe you should ask him yourself, darling.“ Nanaba gently touches the forearm of her husband, before she points at a person not far away from our group. „That's him, isn't he?“
I follow her gesture with my eyes and freeze. Not ten metres away from us, absorbed in a passionate conversation, I can see a tall, quite slender man. Blonde short hair is shining slicked back in the warm light of the surrounding lamps. His face is of characteristic features, but timeless beauty, the white skin already hidden underneath a thick layer of theatre make up. He probably has a few free minutes left before he needs to disappear backstage, since his first appearance is only in scene eight – apart from the actors and theatre employees I might be the only person in this room who knows about that. While he speaks, from time to time a thin smile appears on his lips. Water blue eyes are sparkling lively in the twilight. He is wearing a black, plain suit, but he will get rid of it later to put on his costume for this evening. Tonight he will descend into the deepest hell and return as the devil himself; my devil.
From the moment I lay my eyes on him my heart seems to stop beating. Without noticing my breath stops and an excitement that makes my hands cold and sweaty fills my chest. Unmoved on the outside I keep my countenance. I have seen him strolling around the theatre lobby from time to time, but I had not expected him so early. Unable to let go I stare at him, until he finally raises his head and looks in our direction. For a sheer endless moment our gazes meet, causing the other to smile gently, just as an unexpected rush of nervousness forces me to turn back toward my fellow companions. My heart beats heavily in my chest and I feel hot.
„It's really him“, I can hear Petra saying next to me, „will you go and ask him, Mike?“
„Certainly not“, the huge man replies and starts to laugh. „Actors are very busy people. He sure is already up to something since the play is about to start any minute. Let's leave him alone.“
„Yes“, I agree with Mike in a determined manner and unconsciously reach for my tie in order to adjust it. A gesture of nervousness I have not been able to get rid of yet. „Let's leave him alone.“
„Do you know him?“, Mike asks me.
„No. Should I?”
„Well, he's playing the lead of your play, Levi.“
„Still, though, there is nothing worse than being interrupted while working, especially as an artist. I don't want to offend him.“
I can hear Hange laughing next to me. Patronizingly she taps my shoulder.
„You speak from experience, am I right?“, she giggles and laughs even louder when I raise my hand to make her stop.
„With having you amongst my friends, certainly“, I mutter and give her a meaningful look which she replies in friendly mockery. She opens her mouth to reply something, but the sound of a ringing bell hushes her in an instant. Immediately her eyes widen. She steps closer, shifting up her glasses that were resting on her big nose with her index finger.
„It's getting serious“, she moans and suddenly my mouth feels all dry. „The play is about to begin. I am so excited!“
Normally I do not give much about such evening societies, but during the last few minutes before a new work of mine will be performed for the first time, the thin veil of excitement covers me as well, even though it might be only for a few minutes.
I signal her with a short nod that I heard what she just said and look over to my friends, who, still holding the brochures with tonight's program, are now heading toward the stairwell that leads to our usual loge. Split seconds later Mikasa appears next to me. By now she has opened her fan and moves it up and down with short, precise movements. I do not miss that her cheeks are shimmering in a reddish tone. She appears hot and excited, and I know nothing of this relates to the play or my person in any possible way.
„This officer still seems to make you good company“, I remark not without sarcasm and notice not without satisfaction that her lips form a thin line due to my words. She folds her fan. Her fingers clench a little too tight around the black grip.
„Of course he does“, she replies coldly. „Otherwise I would have hardly spent the past few minutes with him.“ She greets the surrounding persons with a short nod and only gets restrained reactions in return. “I only hope it won't be so terribly political like the previous one.“ She sighs. „I mean, who actually wants to see something like this in these dreadful, uncertain times?“ With these words she turns around and leads the way. One last time Hange pats my shoulder to show some compassion before I leave her behind and follow my wife. Once more I watch out for the blonde devil. He is nowhere to be seen. He might have already withdrawn himself backstage. At least that is what I assume.
We have been spoiling us by renting a loge for a few years now in a row, located on the second floor, right next to the stage, decorated with wine red curtains and golden stucco. This place offers an excellent view and annually costs me quite a sum, but since we share the loge with my fellow friends the price cannot be considered too high. Mikasa and I have already sat down when the remaining persons join us. Hange sits – I have not expected it to be any different – on the chair next to me, opening her notebook, her face filled with expectations. Progressively the voices in the hall die away, until not a single sound can be heard anymore. Then, just in time, at seven thirty, the light is dimmed and the orchestra begins to play the opening tune that has only been composed for this purpose.
I take a deep breath and lean back. Feeling stiff and tense I look at the still closed curtains, before I eventually bend forward and let my gaze wander over the audience. I have seen many of them before. Some of them are actually very important people of our town. I straighten up and wait for the beginning of the first scene. It is of no use to be excited. It does not change a thing. It will all work out in the end; hopefully.
Tonight's play is named The Fall of Mephistopheles – that is not an accident. I felt free to rewrite the story of Faustus and add a little bit of my own. The plays of Marlowe and Goethe have been dear to me from my early years; the narration around Faustus' pact with Mephistopheles is something that has impressed and influenced me in a most indistinguishable manner. It was only a matter of time and trigger that would lead to the fact that I took care of this material. And now, since I have accomplished my set goals, I cannot refrain from smiling despite myself. The plot is easily summarized. It is a traditional narration and still offers some new elements – just like every good story should.
At the end of the nineteenth century Faustus considers himself a member of the Parisian boheme. As a rising young man of letters he lives a life between constant lack of money and merry evenings in demimondaine societies. He is an idealistic youngster, characterised by his greed to understand the true nature of humans through writing, sensitive, yet determined. But the financial success will not come to Faustus and when a false friend steals one of his manuscripts and publishes it successfully, Faustus, broke and without income, considers himself on the edge. By chance he manages it to lay hands on a book about dark magic, which he uses to summon the evil itself. The devil appears and offers Faustus the life he is longing for, when he, in return, promises his soul. Faustus agrees, but only under one condition: The devil named Mephistopheles would only be able to take his soul if he would not develop any sympathies for Faustus within the upcoming years. Mephistopheles, who is out and out a gambler, does not hesitate long and bets with Faustus. Of course he is destined to fail. In the end, Mephistopheles tries to rescind from their pact and turns against his own authorities. The result is his fall and the death of Faustus, who, nevertheless, has to live through eternity in hell. It is a play where nobody wins, a tragedy.
From the corners of my eyes I look over to my wife, who is staring at the stage with a blank face. She will hate it. I already know.
The music fades, the curtains open and the play begins. I insisted on casting a woman for the role of Faustus – breeche roles have had a characteristic charm ever since and will always have them – and I am quite satisfied with the choice of the theatre's general director. She acts not too bad. With every of her movements her short black hair shimmers in the spotlight's light. Silently I listen to Faustus' monologues, his contemplations over the true human nature, his sorrows and needs. I know every word by heart yet I barely notice what he says. Deep inside, and I am aware of that, I am only waiting for one certain moment: The summoning of Mephistopheles. And finally, when Faustus quotes the incantation and the devil enters the stage, it leaves me breathless.
Straight, his head up high, dressed in a dark red French military uniform from the Napoleonic wars – he approaches Faustus and makes him an offer from which I know he will not refuse. Silently I witness every of his movements and when Mephistopheles in the end kneels down in front of Faustus in order to convince him, my heart stops beating for an instant. My fingers, which I have placed on my chairs arm rest, grab, unnoticed by myself, the padding tighter and tighter. Never before I have seen an actor who presents himself on the stage with such beauty and grace. Never.
I discovered him in spring 1915. He had just joined the ensemble, a young, meaningless actor from Moscow, the son of English migrants who was hoping to gain fame and honour in Petrograd. Of course he only played tiny, absolutely irrelevant extra roles in the beginning, yet I can still remember the moment when I first laid my eyes on him. It happened during a new staging of Tschechow's Cherry Orchard. I had no words for what was happening but something about him caught my interest. It might have been his way of speaking, his voice, his aura. And the longer I watched him like this, right next to my wife, who could not guess what I was feeling in these moments, the more it filled me with pleasure to observe this man.
Until this night I visited the theatre only in an irregular manner, but this changed quite fast afterwards. What remained invisible for the others was omnipresent for me. This man was born for the spotlight. I wanted to see him in the first row, as often and as soon as possible. And so I soon started to take him into account when I wrote my plays. Whenever since this meaningful night in the early spring of 1915 one of my pieces formed a point in this theatre's repertoire, one could be certain that there existed a role that could only be represented by one special person. Not knowing of my every evening visit in the theatre I wrote the leads especially for him – and with success. It did not take long and he had worked his way up from the unknown extra to one of Petrograd's most well known actors. It was something we both gained profit from. He earned the fame he deserved and I got the privilege to watch him as incarnation of my very own wishes and dreams.
Still, though, we have never talked to each other after all; I was always taking care scrupulously to avoid exactly this. When it comes to the real life, I am not a man of many words. I am more confident with pen, paper, and: silence. From face to face I would have barely been able to give him the appreciation he deserved. I tend to act too rough with people and not just once they took it so badly that the contact came to nothing. I do not know what I would do if something like this happened with Erwin Smith. No.
Therefore I preferred it to remain in the background and silently admire him from afar, like a photograph that fades if someone touches it too often. That he does not know who I am, that he has never seen my face, is my trump card. Only this way it is possible to let Faustus look so much like me without others becoming suspicious. Deep inside my heart I am longing to form Mephistopheles' counterpart. I am longing to conclude a pact with him. Only once I want to touch this body with my very own hands and then go to hell.
How, I ask, can somebody not fall for such a flawless human being? His beauty makes him perfect for Mephistopheles' role, the devoted gambler, the incurable seducer – the devil himself.
I like the way they staged the play. And whenever I let my gaze wander around it is obvious that I am not the only person who is satisfied. As if spellbound the masses stare at the stage. And apart from the actor's neatly modulated voices it is absolutely silent in this room, interrupted only from time to time by amused sounds of Hange, who writes down something in her notebook with a broad smile. It seems as if I did well, also the actors, the set designers, the tailors and make-up artists. I am truly glad. One look over to Mikasa and I know she is not. I am not surprised.
Mephistopheles can easily be read as representative of the Russian nobility. His failure mirrors the failure of the monarchy. Same goes for Faustus, whose striving for freedom, equality and perfection leads him to hell. He is a revolutionist in every possible way, yet we have enough revolutionist on our own within Russia right now. The Fall of Mephistopheles is an explosive piece. It is political, blunt, and scandalous. It is the best I have written in all these years. It is my masterpiece.
„Ljowuschka.“ The voice sounds like from a far away. „Ljowuschka! For God's sake, don't tell me you fell asleep over your own premiere!“
Somebody grabs my shoulders and shakes me. I whirl around and look right into Hange's face.
„I am awake“, I hiss, being brought back to reality in a most uncomfortable manner and hesitate, when I suddenly notice the rapturous applause that fills the air. The piece is over. The curtains close. Lost in thoughts, caught by Mephistopheles' overwhelming stage presence I must have stared motionlessly on the closing curtains. Hange eyes me for a while, then furrows her brows.
„Is everything alright, dear?“, she asks and snaps the book shut before she joins the applause as well. „Didn't you like it?“
„No, it's not like that“, I reply and follow her example, just in the moment when the cast enters the stage once more. The applause rises. People stand up. Flowers are being thrown. A thin smile shows on my face while watching it all. „I think I liked it“, I mutter and look at my friend from the corners of my eyes. „Are you happy now?“
She bursts out laughing and rises as well. „Yes!“, she shouts at me with a broad smile. „Yes, I am, my dear!“
The others get up and are about to leave the loge. One last time I look at the stage, then follow them, turn to Mikasa, but before I can address her she has passed me and left. From the tip of her nose I could see what she was secretly thinking about this play and deep inside she might be relieved about the fact that not anyone here knows her as the wife of the responsible author. My facial expression must speak for myself, since, before I can step in the floor, shaing my head, Hange joins up.
„What was that supposed to mean?“, she smirks and I raise my hand to hush her.
„She's pouting because the play was too political for her taste“, I say and decline. „It wouldn't be the first time. Right now she might be rushing to Officer Yaeger in order to vent her anger.“ I start laughing, but it only sounds bitter and dry. „As usual.“
The clicking of Hange's tongue forms her reaction while she is looking in the direction in which Mikasa has just disappeared. I can see unhidden disapproval over my wife's behaviour, but I only shrug.
„I can’t believe you let her treat you like this, Levi“, Hange begins but one look of me is enough to make her fall silent.
„It's still better than having to look at her grumpy face for the rest of the night“, I reply tonelessly, „it's something I have to do at home all the time, so give me a break,.“
I sigh and fold my arms in front of my chest. My tiresome spouse is nothing I am in the mood to talk about now. One last time I shake my head and nod towards the door that leads back to the stairs.
„Let's go“, I say and suggest a smile. „I want to watch the people a little more before I return home.“
Together we progress through endless hallways, passing countless theatregoers who, obviously still moved by what they just saw, are still talking over tonight's premiere. My impression was not wrong. The mood is quite positive; even Hange, who, by now, once more has linked her arm with mine against my will, wears a smile that broadens with every step we make.
„Tonight apparently marks a success for you, my dearest Ljowuschka“, she smirks with a tender voice and pulls me a little closer. I nod. Without waiting for my part she goes on. „Even though there was one thing I didn't quite understand.“
Furrowing my brows I eye her with a severe gaze and fall silent for a few seconds, before I can bring myself to an answer.
„And that would be?“, I ask.
„Well...“ She bites her bottom lip and looks up to the ceiling. We by now have reached the staircase and enter, after we went down, the spacious foyer. „I do not understand why the light had to be turned off when Mephistopheles and Faustus sealed their pact. Is not the seal itself the most important thing of such an agreement? Why did you decide to hide it?“
We stop at the bottom of the staircase and exchange a long look.
„It is actually quite trivial“, I answer and slide my hands into my pants's pockets, before I turn around to her. „But maybe it would be better you write it down if you want to use it for your article.“
She nods heavily and raises her hands, before her face freezes to a perplex mask. With huge eyes she looks at the palms of her hands and turns pale.
„Good grief!“, she whispers under breath and starts to tear her hair. „My notebook! I must have forgotten it somewhere. All my memos and sketches – I need them for this article! If the book's gone I shall be in some serious trouble, Ljowuschka, that's for sure. Oh, what should I do...“
I reach for her wrists and force her to stop. The surrounding people stare at us with shocked faces. The edges of her glasses, over which Hange is looking at me, shimmer in the warm light of the surrounding lightbulbs.
„Pull yourself together“, I hiss and let her go, once I can be certain that she has calmed down. Biting her lip she does not talk for a few moments, while her eyes nervously wander back and forth over the wooden floor. Slowly her hands clench into fists and she furrows her brows. I wait, secretly wishing she might hurry up. When she finally snaps her fingers with a sound of relief, it happens so suddenly that I twitch next to her.
„That's it!“, she calls out and grabs my shoulders so forcefully that I can feel all of her fingers pressing through the fabric of my tailcoat. I try to get rid of her, but she has the strength of a bear. „I placed it on the loge's railings when I put away my fan. I might have left it there.“
With a silent moan I roll my eyes.
„Are you serious?“, I whisper and Hange lets me go, before she shrugs in an apologising manner.
„Well, it better be there“, she starts and with every syllable her voice loses its strength. „Otherwise I really have to come up with something.“
„Excellent, Hange“, I say and pull a wry face, „well done.“ I have a look around, but nobody I know is with us and therefore I decide to join her for her quest to regain the notebook. „So we're going back to the loge?“, I say and she nods.
„Yes“, she replied and steps back on the stairs, „back to the loge.“
To my relief we do not meet anyone we know on our way back, are not getting involved in unnecessary, superficial conversations. After a short time we arrive at the second floor.
„I'll just go and get the notebook.“ Hange raises her index finger. „You'll be a good boy and wait here for me, right? Don't run away.“
„Depends on how long you intend to take for this.“
She laughs. „Five minutes“, she says and turns around, „at most.“
With these words she rushes down the hallway and has soon disappeared behind the next corner. I keep staring after her for a while, then, in the end, fold my arms and wait.
That's how I ended up here.
Of course it does not take her only five minutes at most. And when she has not returned after ten I am about to follow her – but in the end refrain from doing so, since the chance that we miss each other appears higher to me than actually finding her. Instead I place my hands on the broad railing and bend over, let my gaze wander around and carefully watch all the people that keep strolling through the building. The nervousness that has filled me during the whole evening – it finally disappears. What remains is infinite, merry light-heartedness. I turn a little away from the railing and look down the hallway. Hange is still nowhere to be seen.
„Excuse me, sir.“
One has to address me twice before something in me realises that I am the one spoken to. It is the voice of a man I cannot identify right away. I turn and look around, then freeze. Only one or two metres away, a friendly, but slightly reserved smile on his lips, stands nobody but Erwin Smith himself. He is still wearing the costume of Mephistopheles and the golden piping is sparkling in the dim twilight. In his left hand he holds a light blue book. For a second my heart stops beating. Unmoved, with slightly opened lips, I stare at him before I can finally force myself to answer after a sheer endless amount of time.
„Yes?“, I say under breath, my voice nothing but a whisper. The man's smile brightens until it has reached an expression that would let him appear creepy to everyone else, but not to me. He steps closer. I move back until my hips touch the railing.
„Are you Levi Ackerman?“, the other asks and I can clearly hear the hope in his voice. „The author of tonight's play?“
I raise my brows and then once more look down the hallway. Has Hange revealed my true identity in order to get her damn interview? Inwardly I decide to take her to task as soon as we meet again.
„Whatever gives you that idea?” I ask coldly.
„Well“, the blonde begins and approaches me even further. Doing so, he opens the book and I realise it is an edition of tonight's play; my play. It is already worn out and well-thumbed. Here and there some words have been underlined with pencil and I can see memos and thoughts written next to the text. He leaves through the pages before he shows it to me. One look is enough to make me gasp. I turn pale. With widened eyes I stare at the pages.
„There is a picture of you printed in the edition they handed out to us“, Erwin says happily and I need to bite my tongue in order not to start swearing. How was that even possible?! There was nothing like this in my voucher copy.
„I did not know about that“, I growl between clenched teeth and honest surprise shows on Erwin's face.
„You did not know?“, he asks and now furrows his brows. „The ensemble was very excited to finally find out about your true identity, after all these years. Did nobody of us talk to you after the show?“
„No, I didn't and they did not either“, I reply irritatedly and take the book away from him. Carefully I pattern the copperplate portrait of me – which has no resemblance to my person at all – before I hand the book back to him. „I had actually enjoined them from printing this.“ I click my tongue. „But it seems like those responsible screwed up.“
I think of my wife and her never resting greed for more attention and fame. A short letter from her would have been enough to cause this mess.
„Well, there goes my anonymity“, I sigh and silently decide to take her to task as well as soon as I am done with Hange.
„With your anonymity?“
Erwin suggests a smile, causing me a short nod.
„Not everybody feels as comfortable in the spotlight as you actors.“
„Certainly.“ He nods and then laughs politely. While doing so his eyes stare at me so intensely that the speed of my heartbeat progressively accelerates. He clears his throat and addresses me once more. „Apart from that – you and Faustus in fact did look quite alike, if I may say so.“ He raises his brows in a patronizing manner. „Coincidence?“
„Faustus' appearance was the general director's decision, not mine“, I reply and stare at him with a blank face. The way he stands so close to me makes me feel uncomfortable. His presence reawakens the nervousness I believed to be gone for tonight. Instinctively I reach for my cravat and readjust it.
„That's why you came to me, Erwin Smith?“, I ask without looking at him. „To ask me that?“ Erwin shakes his head.
„No“, he says and the sound of his voice makes me shiver. It sounds so different from when he is on the stage. Softer, without the artificial way of modulating every word like it is usually done by actors during their performances. Once more Erwin points at the book. „But I have a few questions on the character of Mephistopheles I would like to ask you“, he says and the smile on his lips reveals flawless, white teeth. „Provided you want to waste your time on an untalented actor like me.“
When he says these words his eyes show a challenging expression that I do not miss. I take a deep breath and raise my hand before I point in the direction in which Hange has disappeared only minutes before.
„I'm waiting for my friend“, I begin. „She's been gone for quite a while, so she will probably-“ I suddenly bog down. Wordlessly I reply the other's gaze, whose eyes are downright piercing me. I then let my hands sink. A silent signal lets the resistance I held up to this point crumble in an instant. What do I have to lose?, I ask myself.
And after all – he came to me.
There were times when Hange used to say that there are people that are found by others, they do not find. Probably, and I cannot help myself from thinking that, this is one of these moments. Erwin Smith has found me, after I did not dare to approach him during all these years. I click my tongue.
„Fine, Erwin Smith“, I say, „hurry up and ask your questions.“
„No.“ He gently shakes his head, before he stows away the small book in the inner pocket of his uniform jacket. „Not here.“
I raise my brows and examine his face, secretly searching for something that tells me what he is up to. But his face is all blank; a mask of gentleness. I cannot say what he is thinking.
„Where do you want to go?“, I ask and let my arms sink. The other raises his hand and points in the air behind him.
„Not far away from here there is a stair that leads to the roof“, he says and smiles in a most self-confident manner. „We wouldn't be interrupted there. Apart from that – and I hope you will forgive me my frankness – I am longing for some fresh air. I've been trapped in this theatre for the whole day.“
One last time I gaze down the hallway. Hange is still nowhere to be seen.
„As you wish“, I say and away from the railing. „Let's go. That view will better make up for the circumstances.“
The man next to me starts laughing and it sounds very sincere.
„Be unconcerned“, he says and smirks, „from up there you will have the nicest view over the whole of Petrograd.“
I follow the man who is so well known to me yet absolutely unfamiliar at the same time, my eyes staring at the ground while we walk. Everything happened so fast that I can still hardly realise what is going on. With every step my heart beats faster, my hands feel sweatier and my throat drier. My companion leads the way and even though I cannot see his face I guess that his expression shows the self-confident calmness that can also be seen during his performances. After we went on like this in silence for a couple of minutes – the hallways became more and more plain and simple until I am certain that we have reached parts of the building that were not supposed to be accessed by theatregoers – we stop in front of a simple wooden door. It is not locked. Erwin opens it and steps outside. I follow.
Like expected we are all alone. I step outside and a cold breeze tousles my hair in an instant. I try to avoid any further damage by placing my hand on my head and stop while I have a look around. It is a flat roof of unimaginable size, framed by stone railings to every side. At the opposite end I discover the bronze rider statue that thrones over the main entrance. From down there it appears manageable in size but up here I finally realize its impressive dimensions.
„Levi?“, Erwin's voice sounds behind me in the distance and brings me back to reality. He has already reached the middle of the roof, but has turned around to me after he has noticed that I was not following anymore. I mutter an apology and join up with rapid movements. Not far away from the bronze statue we stop. I lean against the railing and lower my gaze. I don't know what to say.
„So“, I whisper silently and have a look over the city. The view truly is remarkable, but nervous as I am I find myself unable to appreciate it as much as I would normally do. „Here we are. Ask me.“
We exchange a volatile gaze, but Erwin does not answer. Thoughtfully he eyes the blue book in his hands, his brows furrowed, just as if he has realised only now what he actually wanted to tell me. When he finally raises his voice it has taken an almost melancholic sound.
„It is not like I was always allowed to play the lead“, he says and gives me an almost shy smile. „You knew that?“
„More or less“, I answer without looking at him. „You joined the ensemble two years ago when you moved here from Moscow, if I remember correctly.“
The man next to me nods gently.
„Indeed“, he answers. „I was an insignificant, unknown actor. They offered me secondary roles and I was quite happy about that. Every actor is glad when he is allowed to perform on stage, no matter in which role. As an author you sure know how uncertain the life of an artist can be.“
„Yes.“
„I would have never dared to complain. I had found a way to make myself a living, so I did not care if I performed in the first or last row. Of course I hoped that they would allow me to play a lead one day, but you have to work your way up, it's just as simple as that.“
„Nothing can be created out of nothing“, I mutter and Erwin gives an agreeing sound. I am not sure what he is up to, and due to this, my nervousness increases.
„A few months after I started to work in Petrograd the rehearsals for a new piece named The Private Anatoli started, a piece written by nobody else but you. I liked the subtle, political undertone that would easily be missed if one did not look very closely. Furthermore I could not get rid of the impression that Anatoli and I equalled each other in every possible way. There were so many things about him I could relate to and obviously I wasn't the only one thinking that. They offered me the lead and I did my best to meet the requirements.“
„You met the requirements. More than that“, I join him and try to give back my voice its usual strength. „It was due to your remarkable performance that this play became such a success.“
„Not at all“, Erwin shakes his head without looking at me. „It was a good play, so good that I was concerned to ruin it with my performance.“ He smiles at me and suddenly I feel hot and cold at once. „Fortunately that wasn't the case. When we started to prepare the next drama of yours a few months after that, the whole ensemble was surprised to see that the lead role once more only seemed to fit me. Most didn't think anything of it, but for me it had some sort of strange taste. And when we finally began with the rehearsal for The Fall of Mephistopheles, my suspicion changed to silent certainty that there must be someone who takes care of me. I knew it could only be a frequent visitor of this theatre, since the stage directions and writings even took small characteristics of mine into account that could not be known by someone who is not going in and out on a regular base. The audience usually thinks that we don't notice them at all but that's just plain wrong. From time to time I stroll around the foyer before our performances and I can usually see the same faces over and over again.“
The smile on his lips increases, while with every word I turn pale and paler. Slowly I realise that what he really wants to talk about is actually much more than his role. My fingers clench around the railing while I desperately try not to let my emotions show . Erwin silently clears his throat before he proceeds. „You used to visit all of your premieres – of course. I could also see you whenever there was a drama that included me. During the other days though your seat remained empty. It was easy to notice, since the loge you're normally using is easily accessible. Deep inside I became suspicious that you might be the author of these plays that helped me to gain fame and influence, but since you have never been officially introduced to me as Levi Ackerman there was nothing I could do but to speculate in silence. Only after they handed these books to us and I discovered your portrait inside everything finally made sense, like a puzzle that had been missing the last piece.“ He raises his head and eyes me carefully, showing a gentle smile. „I don't know what caused you to take care of me, but I owe you my deepest gratitude. Without you I would hardly be where I am now. Most likely I would still perform small secondary roles in the background.“ He laughs and it sounds warm, almost tender. „Of course this only applies if I am not mistaken with my suggestions. If I have offended you I am very sorry. Please forget what I have just told you then.“
Unable to reply anything I stare at him, my lips slightly opened, with wide eyes, pale and with a heavily beating heart. My hands, still resting on the railing, slowly clench into fists. I have never felt so caught like in this very moment. Uncertain what I should reply I bite my bottom lip. Surely he can see in my face that he is on the right track. I do not want to lie to him. And of what use would it be to deny what was actually the truth?
„You are not mistaken“, I whisper. „Rather the opposite. It has occurred just as you assumed it.“
I lower my head and stare at the ground. A strange prickling in my cheeks forms the proof of the fact that I am blushing in the darkness. Silently I hope that Erwin will not notice this. When I eventually look over to him and our eyes meet, there is no judgement in his gaze. Like a child, brim-full with curiosity, he watches me.
„Why?“, he asks in the end and his voice sounds so soft that it makes me shiver. „Why me?“
„Because you are a gifted actor, Erwin“, I manage to say and involuntarily lean back until I touch the railing. I feel cornered but the way Erwin looks at me causes me to keep talking against my will. „It was your way of performing that inspired me to write these plays“, I continue with a fragile voice. „I am not an extroverted person, you need to know. I prefer to remain in the background. It probably would have been easier to make you an insignificant compliment, but apparently that's just not my style.“
„I see.“
We both nod and then fall silent. Erwin begins to skim through the pages, scanning them with his eyes, stopping here and there to have a closer look at the one or another part. Slowly I calm down. Even though he has caught me – the way he deals with it, the way he treats me, provides me the feeling that everything is fine. As if all of this was nothing more but the necessary outcome of my actions.
„You know“, he suddenly begins without looking up from the book. „I think this here is different from the other plays you wrote.“
I furrow my brows. A few strands of hair shift into my face which I silently tuck behind my ear.
„How?“, I hear myself asking.
„You usually have a very short and quite factual style of writing; very modern, not as overwritten as the authors of the past decades used to write like. You quickly get to the heart of something and your protagonists as well tend to keep a certain distance of their emotions. I think this style represents the zeitgeist well and I consider it very appealing. But The Fall of Mephistopheles is different. Faustus and Mephistopheles are different. I don't want to say that they act driven by their emotions, since it doesn't appear adequate for me in this context, but I don't know how else should I express this feeling.“
„They are connected by their pact. They act in a goal-orientated manner“, I say and Erwin nods heavily.
„Yes, that might be. Yet still – Mephistopheles is too critical with Faustus. He treats him rough and coldly but in the end he turns against his own authorities in order to save Faustus from hell, knowing that he was destined to fail.“ Once more he leaves through the pages, but with more passion than before. „I don't understand that. I can't see what's happening in Mephistopheles' mind. What causes him to act in such a self-destructive way, if he knows that it won't be of any use for anybody? He knows that his way of acting means his own as well as Faustus's doom.“
„Yes. And still he cannot act otherwise.“
„Why?“ Erwin speaks with a determination that makes my heart beat faster. He leaves his place at the railing and steps even closer. His eyes are resting at me driven by a sheer thirst of knowledge. They sparkle as if they were made of crystal. „Would you tell me? I ask you.“
He is standing so close to me that I need to move away from him to keep a comfortable distance. Silently I lean against the railing. My hands close around the cold stone. I have lowered my head so much that strands of hair keep shifting in my face while I search for the right words.
„Ignorance“, I say in the end.
„Ignorance?“, Erwin asks and cannot hide the surprise in his voice.
„Yes“, I whisper. „Ignorance against himself and his feelings for Faustus.“
Without saying a word Erwin listens to what I have to say, then, just as if he finally understands, his expression changes.
„What kind of feelings do you mean?“, he asks under breath, causing me to smile.
„Even God himself once loved the morning star, didn't he?“, I whisper, my head still lowered. „To notice that Faustus somehow caused such strong feelings of sympathy or even love in him, knowing that this was their bet amount – for someone who has never known something like this, who has never felt those kind of feelings it must be a frightening experience.“ I hesitate and my fingers nervously slide over the railing. „I think it is something than can definitely leave you in despair. He is the devil. He is part of the power that would always wish evil but always creates the good in the world. And what is not supposed to be shall not be. That's what many people think and even the devil himself is not immune when it comes to that.“
I speak with a low, toneless voice, think about my ideas while I pronounce the words, thoughts I have never told anyone else before yet they just flow as if they had waited for this very moment all these years. „His self-denial rings the bell for Mephistopheles' damnation. When he finally commits his true feelings, when he lives through his catharsis and dares to raise his hands he is already too late to prevent the imminent danger. Mephistopheles resists and pays for this with his existence. But it does not change a thing. Faustus' soul still belongs to Lucifer – but instead of accompanied by Mephistopheles Faustus has to live through eternity all alone.“
With these words I finish my explanations and fall silent. Waiting for Erwin's reaction, I look at the roof's ground. I notice the wind that, from time to time, caresses my face and makes me shiver. Finally I raise my head and look up into the sky. I can see some cumulus scattered over the horizon, the moon covers everything with its blueish light. Here and there I see some lonely stars at the firmament.
„What a sad story“, Erwin whispers next to me. I look at him. He has followed my example and watches the night sky. His blonde hair shimmers silky in the pale moon light. When he notices my gaze he replies it and smiles gently. „But I think I might understand better now“, he says. „Thank you very much.“
Once more the warm prickling appears on my cheeks. And even though my heart starts beating wildly I cannot take my eyes of him. Before I realise what I am doing I turn towards him, who I have secretly been admiring from afar for the past years, loosen my left hand from the railing and reach out. I behave in a strange manner, I know that. And so I hesitate before I can do something stupid even though I am longing to let my fingers slide over his uniform jacket, his hair – his skin. Now, where we face each this way, I am struggling to keep my countenance. With every second I look at him like this my breath accelerates. This man has bewitched my body and soul. I can't help myself. I can't act otherwise. I clench my jaw in order not to let it show on my face. Silently Erwin first looks at me, then my hand, then back at me. He is still watching me with the eyes of a child, filled with fascination for his new toy. When I can't stand it any longer I turn away. My remaining hand slips from the railing.
„It's cold out here“, I somehow manage to say, „let's go back inside, Erwin Smith.“
„Please wait.“
His voice sounds with so much determination behind me that freeze right away against my will. Slowly I turn around.
„Yes?“, I mutter. Erwin is still leaning against the railing. One hand is resting on his thigh, the other one is resting to his side. „There is still one last question I would like to ask you“, he says and gives me an apologising smile. „If it is not too much of a bother.“
I watch him for a moment and then shift my hands back into my pockets. I am only wearing my thin tailcoat and the wind up here is meciless.
„Go ahead.“ My voice sounds cool. Erwin points to the place next to him, just where I stood seconds before, and even though I hesitate in the beginning, I follow his invitation and return. He waits until I stop next to him. I search for his gaze and raise my brows in a challenging manner. „So?“
The corners of Erwin's mouth twitch slightly. He supports himself with his left hand on the railing and turns to me, so close that I can smell his after shave. It contains notes of musk and patchouli; a heavy, characteristic scent.
„When Mephistopheles and Faustus sealed their pact“, he begins and sounds more and more conspiratorial. „Tell me, why do the lights must go off?“
Even though the night is freezing cold my heart feels light and warm. Silently I reply his look and am so fascinated that I almost forget to answer.
„Sometimes you can create a stronger effect when you leave the happenings to the audience's imagination“, I mutter.
„What did they do?“, Erwin insists. I raise my brows and look at him. His eyes penetrate me.
„What do you think?“, I ask and my voice equals a toneless whisper. Erwin, who has bend down now stands so close to me that I can feel the warmth of his body through his uniform jacket. After seconds of silence he starts to smirk.
„You said Mephistopheles falls in love with Faustus?“, he whispers.
„Yes.“
„I see. Two men falling in love with each other. That's quite a scandal.”
“If you think so.“
Searchingly he examines my face, so slowly and intensively that it takes my breath. I do not miss the mischievous sparkling that appears in his eyes.
„Well“, he whispers, „if that's the case I think they did the following.“
He leans down and before I know what happens, but before our lips meet, he stops. I can feel his breath on my skin. Carefully he leans his forehead against mine, lets the top of his nose slide over my cheek, before letting me go. I cannot help myself but to stare at him with wide eyes and slightly opened lips. My blood rushes through my veins and my loins.
„Something like that?“, he whispers.
„Probably“, I say. We look at each other and I feel as if someone has stopped the course of time. It feels strangely surreal. Like a dream.
„Erwin“, I sigh and interrupt myself, not knowing how to finish this sentence. I let my arms sink and once more reach out for him, until my fingertips finally slide over the golden buttons of his uniform. Gently and quite restrained, scared that I might scare him away like this. Once more I open my mouth when I am interrupted by the sound of an opening door.
„Ljowuschka!“, somebody shouts and I do not need to turn around to know that the speaker is Hange. I sigh. Only a few more seconds, that was all I was secretly longing for. I turn around. My friend stands on the other side of the roof, waving at us with her notebook, before she comes over and joins. „Here you are, for heaven's sake“, she swears blamingly. „I have been looking for you everywhere. Your spouse as well, by the by.“
„Did she stop pouting?“
„She will start again if you don't return to her soon.“
She notices Erwin and lets her gaze wander back and forth between us. When she finally realises that the leading actor of tonight's play is standing in front of her, she gasps.
„Hange, this is Erwin Smith. Erwin Smith, this is my friend Hange Zoe, journalist“, I mutter hastily and warn her with a glare to pull herself together. She somehow manages it to stay calm. Erwin, though, gives her a friendly nod. They address a few polite words to each other, but I barely listen.
„How did you find me anyhow?“, I eventually ask her and cause her to burst out laughing. She raises her hand and heavily declines.
„A few employees saw you two disappearing here“, she smirks. „Leaving me like this when I was just going to pick up my notebook, shame on you my dear friend.”
„It took you long enough“, I answer surly. „Was it where you suspected it to be?“
„No, no.“ She laughs once more. „It seems like I handed it to Mike, since he was carrying it around when I finally ran into him.“ As if butter would not melt in her mouth she shrugs and places her hands on her hips. „However – I shall tell you from your wife that the nanny can only stay until midnight. She wants you to come to the foyer so you can return home.“
„Tell her I'll join her right away“, I reply with unhidden displeasure. I had hoped the evening would not end in such an abrupt way after it took such joyful turns and twists. Hange gives me a volatile nod and turns to Erwin.
„If it's not too much of a bother“, she addresses him and her voice sounds shrill with excitement. „I am writing for Petrograd's papers and would be honoured if you could offer me some of your spare time for a short interview-“
„Hange“, I growl and make her hush in an instant. Erwin though replies her look full of friendliness.
„Certainly“, he answers and causes Hange a delight sigh. „Contact the theatre during next week, so we can set up a date.“
„I'd be glad to!“, she cries out and her eyes begin to sparkle. „I'd truly be glad to! Oh, thank you very much, sir!“
„Don't mention it.“
„Hange“, I join the conversation and address her in a way that clearly shows my opinion over her sudden interruption. „How about you go to Mikasa and tell her that I'll come as soon as I have bidden my farewell to Erwin.“
She moans.
„Fine, Ljowuschka“, she mutters and turns to go. „You’re as charming as usual. Have a good night, Erwin Smith.“
„Thank you very much“, he smiles. „And goodbye.“
One last time Hange raises her hand, then turns around and has soon disappeared back inside the theatre. When the door closes behind her, I cannot refrain from sighing.
„That woman“, I whisper quite irritatedly. Erwin gives me an amused look.
„She appeared to be a very sincere person.“
„I didn't deny that.“
We both laugh silently.
„You have children?“, Erwin eventually asks, the smile still written all over his face. I nod.
„Yes“, I say, „a daughter of three years.“
„How lovely.“ It sounds honest. „It must be nice to watch young life grow.“
„Indeed.“
We exchange a long look and while we gaze at each other the prickling returns onto my cheeks and lips, as if I could still feel him kissing me.
„Well“, I say and step away from the railing. „I should go. I hope I could answer your questions to your satisfaction.“
„You could“, Erwin smiles at me but does not move at all. He will let me return alone and remain here, how tactful of him. Still nervous I let my fingers run through my hair.
„Good night, Erwin Smith“, I say and leave. I have barely passed the rooftop halfway when suddenly Erwin's voice sounds behind me once more.
„One last thing, Levi Ackerman!“, he shouts and makes me stop. I turn around.
„Yes?“, I ask into the darkness.
„Why don't you come a little earlier next time – if you don't mind.“ He indicates a smile, as bright as the sun. „I will show you around a little.“
I reply his gaze, my brows furrowed. Suddenly, I smile despite myself and nod.
„I would love to“, I say tenderly. One, two seconds I look at him like this and then turn to go. This way, buoyant and with a heavily beating heart, I leave the rooftop of Petrograd's Alexandrinski Theatre, sensing that this was one of those nights that, once you looked back at it one day, would possibly have rung in a new chapter in my life.
~*~
