Jonathan Rabb - Rosa

The answer came far more quickly than he could have imagined. There was a loud conversation outside the door, and a moment later Hans Fichte-a drunken Hans Fichte-stepped into the studio. Hoffner had had his chances not to be here: the look of the building, the ice in the seat of his pants, Lina’s first hesitation; he had taken none of them. This was now his reward for those missed opportunities.

Fichte’s face was red from the climb, his eyes marginally focused, though he spotted Lina at once. A man in front of him tried to ask what he was doing here, but Hans already had Hoffner in his sights: nothing was going to keep him from the drinks table. He pushed through.

Fichte stood there breathing heavily and saying nothing. He took no notice of Lina; his gaze was fixed on Hoffner.

“Hello, Hans.” Hoffner spoke with no emotion. “You’ve had a bit to drink.” Fichte continued to stare in silence. “This isn’t the place for this.”

There was a rage behind the eyes; Fichte was doing all he could to keep it in check. “And where would that place be, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar ?” Fichte suddenly spoke in a loud voice. “Where you could throw her over a chair and fuck her?”

Everyone in earshot looked over. Hoffner could feel Lina’s embarrassment, though he felt none for himself. He waited for the conversations to pick up again before saying, “Why don’t we go downstairs?”

Fichte was having none of it. He reached out for Hoffner. “And why don’t you-”

Hoffner caught him by the wrist and twisted. Had Fichte not been drunk, it would have made no difference, but Fichte was drunk, and his reaction was slow. Hoffner twisted tighter and saw the pain run across Fichte’s face, the shoulder now on fire, even as Hoffner felt his own rib cage wrenching at the exertion. Fichte teetered, and Hoffner put out a hand to steady him. They now had a captive audience, and within seconds Hoffner was maneuvering Fichte to the door, then to the staircase, forcing him up against the wall for balance as they sped down. Two floors on, their momentum drove Fichte into the front door, which seemed to stun him for a moment. It was enough time for Hoffner to move him back, pull open the door, and take them both out into the cold air. With what little strength he had left, Hoffner dropped Fichte onto the snow pile and then bent over and gasped for breath. His ribs were in agony as he staggered back to the wall and continued to suck in for air, all the while keeping his eyes on the lump that was Fichte.

It was nearly a minute before either of them could say a word. Hoffner spat. “You all right?” he said, still breathing heavily.

Fichte was having trouble focusing. The door had done more damage than Hoffner had imagined. Fichte was trying to rub his shoulder when Lina raced out onto the street. She was holding her coat, and stood there motionless as the door clicked shut behind her.

Hoffner got himself upright. The bandaging was now useless and only making things worse. “Put on your coat,” he said. “You’ll freeze.”

Without thinking, Lina did as she was told.

Fichte had recovered enough to lift his head. “You always do what he tells you?”

Hoffner said, “Watch yourself, Hans.”

Fichte let go with a cruel laugh. “That’s rich. And what do you need to watch?”

Hoffner’s head was buzzing; he thought he might be sick, and he bent over. Lina was still by the door. She had pulled her coat tight around herself, her arms crossed, her hands tucked up under her chin. She was doing all she could not to cry.

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” said Fichte. “That’s a laugh.”

“Shut up, Hans.” Her face became laced with anger. “Don’t tell me anything. Not a thing. You think I don’t know what’s been going on with you? You think I didn’t know all along? Did you hear anything I said last night?”

Fichte shook his head sloppily. “Since Belgium,” he said. “Since before any of this, which makes you a whore.” He looked over at Hoffner. “Congratulations. You made her a whore.”

Hoffner saw Lina raise her hand to strike Fichte, and he quickly reached over. Her arm was shaking when he caught it; Hoffner tried to pull her into him, but she threw him off, barking out in frustration as she stepped away. Hoffner could feel her loathing as he leaned back against the wall. Fichte had slouched over his open knees, his arms resting on his legs. Lina kept her back to both of them.

Staring down at the ground, Fichte said aimlessly, “You’re a son of a bitch, you know.”

Not much question in that, thought Hoffner. “Yes,” he said. “I know.”

There was a long silence. “I thought I was in love with her,” said Fichte. “I did.”

Lina turned toward him, the rage now in her eyes. She stared at Fichte’s hulking shoulders and his blotchy skin, at his enormous fingers clenched together in one giant fist. “Shut up, Hans,” she said bitterly.

Fichte bobbed his head once. “‘Shut up, Hans,’” he echoed.

Hoffner said quietly, “Maybe he did.”

Lina shot him an icy glance and again turned away.

Hoffner felt a strange sense of relief, not in the discovery or the accusations, but in the simple truth of it all. No one was blameless, least of all himself, and there was something comforting in knowing that they all saw that now. Lina stared away, Hans peered down at his boots, but it was themselves that they could not bear to face. Their own betrayals were writ large by the presence of the other two now here: Hoffner with Fichte, Hoffner with Lina. Hoffner himself had never denied his role in all of this, and so couldn’t share in their shame.

He said to Lina, “We need to get you home.”

Both Fichte and Lina looked over. Her powder was streaked. She seemed at the edge of herself, but she managed a nod.

Fichte stared in disbelief. “You must be mad,” he said. “You think I’m going to let you take her home?”

“No one’s taking her home, Hans,” he said. “We’ll find her a cab.”

“So you can get into the next one and follow her out there? You think I’m stupid?”

Lina cut in furiously, “You think I’d let him come? You think I’d let either of you?”

It was too much for Fichte, who was having trouble following. He searched for something else to say, but instead settled for dropping his head to his chest.

Hoffner stepped over and took Lina’s arm; she put up no resistance. “Wait here, Hans.”

They found a taxi stand around the corner. They had walked in silence, although Lina had allowed him to keep his arm in hers. He opened the door and they stood there, staring at each other. It was only then that he felt regret, not for their past but for the pain he saw in her eyes.

“He’ll be fine,” he said, trying to find something to console her.

This only seemed to make things worse. “You think that’s what this is?” she said. Hoffner had no answer. She spoke quietly and without accusation. “He called me a whore and you said nothing.” The word slapped at him. “Is that what you think, that I’m a whore?”

Hoffner stood stunned. She was capable of inflicting pain; he had never known that. “No,” he said. He wanted to believe that the sudden swimming in his head was from the ribs or the whiskey, but he knew better. “No,” he repeated.

It was not nearly enough. Hoffner started to say something else, but she stepped past him and into the cab. Unwilling to look at him, she sat back and stared straight ahead.

Hoffner knew there was nothing to be said now. He watched her a moment longer and then shut the door. He told the driver where to take her and handed the man a few coins, more than enough to get her home.

Fichte was gone by the time he got back. It would be an early night for everyone. Hoffner wondered what Martha would make of that.