Damned Strong Love by Lutz van Dijk

Author:Lutz van Dijk
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466883840
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

THE LETTER

IN THE MIDDLE of August 1942, I slipped the following lines into an envelope and sent them, firmly sealed, to the central Wehrmacht address for German soldiers at the Eastern Front:

Dear Willi!

I haven’t had any news at all of you for so long. I’m so worried about it. I miss you so much. I think of you every day. I am always thinking about you. I pray every day that you will come back safe.

I’m working in the theater as before, but I’m not going out anywhere. Also not to the place we used to meet. I’m just true to you and will remain so for my whole life. Please write to me as quickly as possible so I can be reassured. I can’t sleep, I think only of you.

With love and kisses,

Your Stefan

I considered for a moment whether I should put my return address on the back of the envelope, for Willi did have my address. But then I thought it would be sensible, because the letter might have to be sent back if it weren’t deliverable.

Again the anxious weeks of waiting. Nothing happened. More and more often I had to think, Dear God, why didn’t You protect him? I was still certain that he would have gotten in touch with me if it had been at all possible.

Meanwhile, at the theater, I began to work with the stagehands. I didn’t enjoy wandering around the city any longer, because it just made me think of Willi all the more. During this period I became rather friendly with Zygmund, to whom I’d once poured out my heart because he was always very nice to me, and because I knew that he was also homosexual.

Everyone knew about Zygmund. Like me he had blond hair and moreover, to his distress, a really good growth of beard. While I admired a bristly beard and wished that mine would hurry up and sprout some more, Zygmund dreamed of going down in history as a diva, as he put it. When I first met him, I thought he was quite silly, running around backstage, made up and trailing long scarves. Involuntarily I thought, Typical queer—exactly the picture that Mikolai and his pals have.

But the more I got to know Zygmund, the more I thought, Really, why not? He’s one of the most helpful, most cheerful people in the theater, and if it pleases him…? Why do some people always have to tell other people what’s good for them, anyhow?

My image of Zygmund changed one evening at the beginning of September 1942. We’d finished the last clearing up together and were just checking out with the stage doorman, each of us about to go home, when Zygmund poked me and asked, “Hey, romantic, are you still thinking about your big, strong dream man? I’ve really wanted to ask you for a long time if you could show me that shed you were telling me about.”

I looked at him with raised eyebrows—why did he want to know that?

“No, little one, not what you’re thinking!” Zygmund waved his arm dismissively.

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