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A steady rain pelted the ground. The dark clouds hung low, obscuring any sunlight. Heinrich sat on the wooden bench beside the graves, soaked through. Water dripped from his hair and eyelashes, concealing any tears he might have shed. An ignored umbrella sat next to him. He couldn’t bring himself to open it. To tear his eyes away from the cold wet earth in front of him.
Something tugged at the umbrella, forcing Heinrich to look up. Johann took his hat off. He shook the excess water off his head like a dog and set the umbrella aside gently. “You’ll catch a cold out here.” Johann sat slowly, making a face at the wet bench.
Heinrich didn’t look at him. “So be it. I’m not coming inside.”
Johann nodded beside him. “Will you have my company, at least?”
They sat in silence for several minutes. Rain poured down on the pair. Johann had dressed sensibly enough for the weather in his hat and raincoat. Even though the real sensible thing to do was to go inside. Heinrich hadn’t changed from his pajamas and robe. He barely remembered shoes.
“I didn’t…” Heinrich started, before shaking his head. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. He had never gotten so close with friends from racing. And Johann was so smart, and any thought Heinrich could verbalize would fall miles short of what Johann would have said.
Johann leaned closer. “You didn’t…?” he prompted.
“I didn’t really know her.” Heinrich gestured at the graves. Grey stones sat side by side, decorated with crosses on the top. The style had changed over the centuries, but the Schwarzkopf family plot was uniquely unified, compared to other plots across the same eras. The only deviation from the grey and white were the fresh blue flowers against the grave of Erna Schwarzkopf.
Johann had nothing to say. He could only nod. He’d told Heinrich of his ‘mother’s’ passing, but that was fraud. Johann Weiss was not real, and neither was his mother. Sasha’s mother was safe in Moscow. What comfort could he offer?
“I get my looks from her, apparently.” Heinrich stared down the unflinching stone. He tugged at a strand of his hair. “Blonde like her and Grandmother. I get my eyes from her too. Father says I have her lips.” He pressed his lips into a straight line. “But it’s not enough.”
Johann flicked Heinrich’s hand, forcing him to stop tugging at his hair. “She sounds beautiful. Did…Did your father tell you much about her?”
“He doesn't like to talk about her.” Heinrich admitted. He held onto Johann’s hand, running his nail over Johann’s skin to distract himself from picking. “I only have the vague memories from my youth. I think she was funny. Or maybe my father used to be. I remember her laugh in our Berlin townhouse. I was tucked in, in my bedroom. They were having a party downstairs. I could hear her laughing as she came down from putting me to bed.” He started to smile, the rain slid around the corners of his mouth. “She must have been kind. I remember sitting behind the sofa and listening to her and my uncle Willi. My father refused to see him, but she still treated him like family. She let him stay with us after Grandfather passed.” Heinrich pointed across Johann, at a tall tower like gravestone decorated with a large cross and the family crest.
Johann nodded again, looking over the markers. “How old were you?” he asked. Mildly inappropriate for their professional relationship, but Heinrich obviously had no one else to talk to and saw no issue in trampling over societal rules.
“I was six. It was a few months before we were due to move back to Riga, actually.” Heinrich tightened his grip on Johann’s hand, intertwining fingers. “It should have never happened. Our car still had old plate glass windshields. It broke in the accident…there was glass everywhere. I was in the backseat, you know?” He pulled his hand away, and pulled up his drenched sleeve. “I got this cut. I got off easy, I guess. It was all so fast. She was talking to my father one minute, and the next…she was gone.”
Johann took in a deep breath. He couldn’t help it. Death made him sick. Had since he was a child.
“I blamed her for a long time. It’s stupid. I know it wasn’t her fault.” Heinrich clenched his fist. “I needed her. Father wasn’t warm towards me, not like a mother would be.”
Johann let Heinrich rest his head on his shoulder. Heinrich was thankful for the rain to hide his tears. Johann must have felt the difference in cold rain and warm tears but he said nothing.
Johann was about to open his mouth, to offer some bullshit story from his own ‘life’, but Heinrich stopped him. “I know your mother didn’t really die.” He said softly.
Johann tensed. “What do you mean?”
“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you are too well-adjusted. You had somebody. I assumed you ran away from home. It’s easier to start a new life if you say you’re an orphan, I understand.”
Johann wiped rain from his brow but it was quickly replaced. The downpour hadn’t stopped. “I had to leave–” he rushed to defend himself. If Heinrich was suspicious or worse, offended, he could lose his job. If Heinrich told his father of Johann’s lies, there was no hope of getting a job anywhere in Riga.
Heinrich pressed his chin into Johann’s shoulder. “Just don’t leave me.”
Johann stilled. “I don’t plan to go anywhere,” He lifted his hand to Heinrich’s hair.
Heinrich laughed, and sniffled. Johann’s coat grew damper, if possible. Thunder boomed over them. Heinrich snapped his head away so fast he risked breaking his neck. “It’s just the storm.” Johann soothed. “We should go inside before this gets any worse.”
Heinrich stood with Johann, holding onto his arm. He was beginning to shake. He needed to get out of these wet clothes. Johann rolled his eyes. He was half convinced Heinrich was a masochist with the situations he inflicted on himself. At least he would listen now to reason and come indoors.
The two snuck into the Schwarzkopf estate through the servant's entrance. Heinrich’s father would have a fit if he saw his son soaked to the bone, accompanied by Johann, who seemed to be constantly in their house. Heinrich tracked water up the stairs and down the hall to his room. He was about to flop onto the bed when Johann stopped him. He insisted Heinrich take a shower, at least put on dry clothes. Heinrich brought an extra towel and a pair of his clothes for Johann, leaving him the bedroom to change in while Heinrich took the closet. On rare occasions, the younger Schwarzkopf could be very considerate.
Heinrich stayed close to Johann’s side the rest of the day. He trusted Johann despite the obvious lies. The men he grew up with never lied about their backgrounds, and they were some of the cruelest people he’d ever met, hiding behind politeness and good manners. Johann could lie as much as he wanted about where he was from. His character was real. Heinrich lay beside him on the floor of his bedroom, now dry from the rain. Johann wouldn’t have them sit on the bed together. The rain on his window shined like stained glass, projecting patterns in every color over Johann’s face. Heinrich reached for his hand again. Tomorrow he would pretend today never happened. For now, he would enjoy the company.