Feind [mxm]

TWO

c h a p t e r  t w o  |  s h o e b o x

He reread the passage. The yellowing letter crumpled in his hands, and he let it drift to the floor where the dog sniffed it in curiosity.

*****

Upon the click of the front door shutting, Dieter climbed out of the small tub and reentered the main bedroom to observe through the window as the boy scurried up the path. He watched until his rescuer's thin, lanky figure had been enveloped by the trees and then returned to the bathroom to quickly dry off. Ignoring the pants set out for him and careless for his nudity, the German began a search of the house. His instincts demanded to know as much as possible about his location and the Englishman called William.

The boy's puppy barked at Dieter as he limped past her to explore the average sized cottage. His wounds felt mild and gave him only the slightest of difficulties; after all, he'd suffered much worse before. However, unfortunately, he did not have the same luck concerning information about the Englishman.

After hours of shuffling through all the cabinets and drawers he could find, and even uncovering a tiny basement under a trapdoor (empty of everything save old files and minimal supplies), the most Dieter discovered about his rescuer was that "William" was a small-town journalist with a penchant for Jane Austen and a pathetic adoration of every animal in existence. In the kitchen, there were even labeled jars of food scraps, collected nuts, and the like for whatever starving critter came along, though the dog was the only permanent one.

With a frustrated huff and a slight tinge of amusement, the German returned to its spot a jar full of fish scraps labeled "Kitty Treats" and decided to return to the Englishman's bedroom for the final part of his investigation.

And that's when he'd uncovered them, crumpled up in an old shoebox shoved underneath the bed.

First, there were pictures upon pictures of what Dieter assumed was the Englishman's hometown: a typical wealthy town-not-quite-city sprawling with endless grasslands and luscious gardens. A few other photos Dieter recognized immediately, and they had labels such as "Journeying France, 1937" or "Belgian Tour of 1939". Stacked underneath those were letters from relatives, mostly the Englishman's mother and sister, and concerning small topics like the latest who-married-who (did you know?), how the animal clinic's reception was improving, and finally explanations for the international photos. Apparently, William's sister was weak to resist the frequently reoccurring allure of travel.

All of these were nice to know about his rescuer, but they didn't prove helpful to Dieter in his mission. He still couldn't quite perceive what kind of a man this William truly was, though he knew more than he would like about William's mother. But was William the kind to stab someone in the back after rescuing them, or the kind that cared not for the politics, or perhaps the fearful kind that would obey his every wish? Or maybe, God willing, William was the kind of man that would understand Dieter's circumstance and help him? The German had no way of being certain.