Okay, here's the deal.
Nov. 22nd, 2005 02:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
okami_huThese are the two current chapters of an untitled AU Erik/Charles fic. ((YES, those are Magneto and Professor Xavier.))
Title: ~no title~
Authors: ethereal_vision & okami_hu
Rating: ?
Warning: AU
Chapter 1
The mingled smell of the soap, the hot water, and the soaking dirty dishes sat heavily in the air. It wasn’t pleasant at all but Erik knew better than to complain. He could be thankful that he had a job, even if something like this – doing the dishes in a rich family’s kitchen.
Erik sighed, as he started to scrub a pan. It wasn’t such a hard job and the wage was acceptable, too. Moreover, he had time to think while doing it. His thoughts carried him away again, back to three days ago.
~ ~ ~
Ewa came home late; only Erik was up, trying to mend his coat.
„Why do you struggle with it?” the pretty, blonde Ewa asked, as she hung up her own new coat „Aunt Agnieszka would be happy to do it.”
„I didn’t want to bother her with such a little thing,” Erik protested. „I can do it, too.”
Ewa stepped closer and stroked the young man’s graying hair fondly. Since Erik found the Jewish quarter of the city and knocked on one door randomly, the Nowicki family treated him like a member. Ewa, who was some five years older than Erik, became his big sister, telling him about the life here, and teaching him some essential English words. She was tall, slender and she paid special attention to dress finely. She worked as a servant at some rich household; she was a maid.
“You know, youngster, you need new clothes,” Ewa told Erik. “That coat is more like a fishnet. Your shoes have holes, and all your shirts are grey.”
“They’re fine,” Erik shot back offended. Ewa had it easy with her payment.
“Erik, this is America. If you don’t look fine, nobody will believe, that you’re a good person. Let me take you out tomorrow to shop.”
Erik scowled. He didn’t need charity! He didn’t need a woman to pay for his clothes or anything!
Ewa sighed dramatically and sat down, crossing her long legs. She pulled a cigarette out of her apron’s pocket and lit it. Blowing the smoke toward the ceiling, she eyed the stubborn young man. He was still thin from the long starvation and the grey hairs in his thick mane told about the horrors he had seen.
The head of the Nowicki family, Jan sensed the danger and he took his family sometime in 1938 to flee to America. History proved him to be right as a mere year later, Hitler took over Poland.
Since they settled down here, the family established a nice background; they had a four-room flat and a pleasant income.
“Erik, would you like to work?”
The young Lehnsherr tilted his head up. “Of course I would!”
“At the house I work, they’re looking after a new servant. It’s kitchen work, mainly doing the dishes, mopping the floor and such. I told the mistress, that I know a reliable young man, who will gladly accept the job.
It wasn’t the most perfect occupation ever but Erik swallowed his pride. Work provides money and he needed that, quite desperately.
“Thank you, Ewa. When could I begin...?”
“The day after tomorrow. I’ll wake you early and we’ll buy you some nice clothes first. If you really want the job, you have to look presentable. And if you want that, you can pay me back later.”
“It’s a deal,” Erik nodded eagerly.
~ ~ ~
The next day, the slender blonde woman indeed took the young Lehnsherr to shop. Ewa knew all the good tailors in the district and by lunchtime, she deemed Erik presentable. They went home, and the young woman started to teach more English to him. She also explained the rules of the Xavier residence.
“Mistress Sharon is kind and calm, she won’t shout at you but she won’t approve laziness. Master Marko is more dangerous, he shouts; sometimes he even hits a servant. He’s rude and if you don’t treat him with respect, he’ll fire you in no time.”
“I understand,” Erik nodded. “Is there anybody else?”
“Marko’s own son Cain is learning elsewhere, he isn’t around fortunately. He’s a devil,” Ewa shuddered. “Mistress Sharon’s son Charles is a very nice youngster on the other hand. He’s quiet, kind and very bright. However, he has some kind of illness. He has strong headaches. He’s about your age.”
Erik stored away the information in a corner of his brain.
~ ~ ~
The next day, Ewa took him to the big, stylish mansion. Erik was nervous and angry as well, when he discovered that his hands were shaking lightly. The collar of his brand new shirt felt too tight and when he looked up at the tall iron gate, he had to take a deep breath. Too many memories...
Sharon greeted them with a smile and Erik felt instantly better. The blonde woman radiated warmth and her cheeks took up a faint tint of pink, when the young Lehnsherr bowed deeply and kissed her hand, which was originally offered for a handshake.
“He’s indeed very polite,” Sharon nodded to Ewa approving “but you said he doesn’t speak English. That could be a problem.”
“Oh, no Mrs. Xavier!” Ewa protested hotly. “He’ll work very diligently and I’ll be there to tell him what you want. I’ll teach him a little English every evening. He’ll be fine after a few months. And he understands German perfectly, Nicht wahr, kleiner Bruder? Du verstehst doch Deutsch.” (Right, little brother? You do understand German.)
Erik stirred.
„Ich hasse diese Sprache,“ (I hate this language) he answered quietly, rubbing his arm like he would be cold.
Sharon looked at Ewa. “Why...?”
The young woman stroked Erik’s hair, playing with the silver-striped brown locks.
“He had been in a Nazi camp,” she told to her mistress quietly.
Sharon paled a few shades and her eyes turned even gentler.
“When could he begin?”
~ ~ ~
It has been three days and Erik couldn’t complain. Mistress Sharon was kind like a mother and the other servants were friendly. The old gardener could speak German and even though the words felt like burning his tongue, Erik liked to talk to him.
Marko was, however, a constant issue. His method was to yell at Erik in English, until the young Lehnsherr’s ears began to ring. Then, the man switched to German. Fear’s cold frost crept up on Erik’s spine every single time he did that. Most probably, the similarity was a mere coincidence, but Marko sounded like the guards in Auswitz, with the same arrogance and annoyance lacing his words. Erik just nodded, whatever he was told and nearly fled from that tall, menacing shadow looming over him clad in finely tailored suits.
Of course, he hated it. He hated, how his knees went weak, how his breathing quickened. The nightmarish years spent in the labor camp affected him more than he was ever willing to admit. He wow to get stronger, get healthier. And of course, he knew he has to master those powers hiding in him. He first noticed them when the soldiers lined him, his family, and his weakest compatriots up in front of the grave they dug. The guns rattled and the ruby droplets flew up into the misty air, to land in the dark, sticky mud. The bodies fell into the ditch, face down.
In the silence, the heavy breaths sounded too loud. And the surprised shout shattered it completely, as slowly, a small, messy figure emerged from the mass grave; a young boy, whom the bullets evaded completely. The soldiers asked him about his age.
He lied that he’s useful enough.
~ ~ ~
Charles Francis Xavier sat quietly at his end of the dining table, absorbed in his own thoughts, but one ear tuned into his parent's conversation.
"And so I told him to buck up, but the little shit kept crying and..." Kurt Marko boomed from his end, which wasn't necessary, as his wife, Sharon Xavier sat to the right of him. She looked up from her plate.
"Language, Kurt," she reminded gently. Kurt snorted and dipped his spoon into his soup, brought it up to his mouth and nearly sprayed it all over everyone present. "What the hell is this! There is shit on my spoon! You pay these Goddamn servants, even Cain gets better than this and..."
Charles tuned out his step-father's rant. Cain. He wondered how his step-brother was doing in boarding school, he never wrote back to any of Charles' letters. He noticed Dr.Marko was finished.
"Kurt, please. We're a hand short, the cook left and all the duties have been-"
"I don't give a damn, Sharon. Just get someone else."
Charles inspected his spoon and then dipped it into his bowl. Tentatively he took a sip. Nothing wrong.
"I will get someone tomorrow, don't worry. We need to-"
"Ah! Mother!" Charles grabbed his head, dinner forgotten. The pain was sharp and it came too suddenly, without any warning. Mrs. Xavier ran over to him, giving orders.
"James, help me get him to bed. Kurt, please go get some painkillers. Charles is having one of his headaches again."
A few minutes later Charles lay in bed, groaning. Distantly he heard his mother order their butler to fetch a glass of water. Soothing him best she could, Sharon stroked her son's forehead.
Soon he felt the floating sensation that came with his headaches. He was looking at himself with concern washing over him. Dr. Marko came into the room and Charles became angry and annoyed at himself for no reason. It started to make him shiver, being around emotions he couldn't control.
He returned to his body as his mother propped him up to swallow some aspirin with water.
"Come, he's asleep. Leave him, alone, you'll spoil him." Dr. Marko reached for his wife. She pulled from his grip. "Maybe I should stay, to make sure he's okay." Marko sighed, knowing she wouldn't leave and he marched out of the room.
"Charles? Charles, are you alright? Honey, come on now, I know you can hear me."
Charles opened his eyes and gave his mother a weak smile. "Sorry for ruining dinner, Mother."
Sharon smiled back at her son. "It's alright. Are you hungry?"
"No." Charles lay, studying his room, not wanting to look at his mother, who was gazing at him with the concerned fondness that had made his friends tease him when he was younger.
His dresser was partially visible through his closet door that he forgot to shut this morning. His desk in the corner was full of papers, chair shoved in hastily, and a pen lay uncapped over a letter he had been writing. The walls were painted with a soft, natural beige color, partly to contrast the elegant furniture’s deep, rich brown. Various paintings hung on the walls, still lives and landscapes which always managed to calm Charles down and when he was a child, the pictures never failed to entertain his bright imagination.
His mother sat on the chair next to his bed where we usually put his clothes. His nightstand was on the other side, now holding the glass of water along with a lamp, a book he hadn't finished reading, and a bottle of aspirin.
"Charles? Why don't you tell me about that girl, Cindy, was it?" Sharon looked at her son, hoping to get a reaction.
Charles sighed. "She's okay. Nothing serious, Mother, why are you so worried?"
"Well, you just... I want to see you happy, and I thought you were happy with her."
Charles brought a hand up to rub his eyes. "I thought we'd talked about this. I don't want to get married. Not yet. I want to go to college. I want to teach. I don't have time for a girlfriend. Much less a marriage. And kids."
Sharon smiled. "I don't want to be a grandmother yet, but I do want you to meet someone. Okay? How bad is it for a mother to want her son to meet that special someone?"
Charles kept his mouth shut for that. He hoped she didn't want to be a grandmother for a long, long, long time. Well, ever. Cindy just wasn't his type. Come to think of it, girls-
"Well, I leave. You probably should get some sleep. It'll help."
Sharon stood, looking at her son. Charles rolled over, feeling slightly tired.
"I love you, Charles."
"Love you too. Night."
"Night."
Chapter 2
Charles woke up later, feeling hungry. Collapsing at dinner did that to him. Slowly he got out of bed, swaying as the room spun for a moment before carefully making his way to the kitchen. He most certainly didn’t want to fall over and gather some injuries.
Charles mused over his latest headache, trying to make some sense of it. It felt almost like he was reaching into people's heads. Actually, it wasn’t a new feeling, he had similar experiences since he hit puberty but it always frightened him a little. After all, only the mentally ill claim to hear other people’s thoughts. Or those charlatans who fool naïve people with simple tricks. The blond youth was afraid that if Marko gets word about this, he’ll send his step-son into an asylum. Maybe Charles respected his foster parent but didn’t like him and definitely didn’t trust him.
Moonlight filtered through the windows as Charles went through the library, enjoying the solitude. It was all so peaceful at night. He walked down to the ground floor and pushing the door open, he stepped into the kitchen. It was mostly empty and quiet, save for a young man washing dishes. ‘Must be new.’ Charles shrugged, going to a cupboard looking for a snack. As he searched, a box fell out and hit the ground. Instantly the other youth twirled around, going into a crouch, holding a soapy knife. Charles froze, not sure what to do. Slowly the strange man relaxed and bowed slightly, muttering an apology.
Charles bent to pick up the box. "It's okay." He came up, smiling.
The other man stared somewhat blankly.
"Oh, Entschuldige mir, ich wollte dich nicht erschrecken," (I’m sorry, I didn’t want to frighten you) Charles remembered his mother mentioning a new servant who could only speak German. He had no problems with that; he knew the language well, as well as some others. He received a good education and he had an affinity for foreign languages, too.
"Es ist nichts.” (Nothing happened) The young man thought for a while, then spoke up slowly and precisely, forming the English words with care. “My name is Erik." He had an adorable accent.
"Guten Abend, Erik. (Good evening, Erik) My name is Charles." He reached out to shake hands. Erik stared at it warily for a moment before drying his hand to shake with the other man.
"Ach, so Sie sind der junger Meister." (Ah, so you are the young Master.) Erik bowed deeply. “Good evening.”
Charles smiled, taking in the figure, his stance, defensive and strong. Erik was handsome and not even the silvery strands in his brown hair could change that.
"It is nice to meet you, Erik."
"Danke." Erik said, returning to his job.
Charles put the box back and grabbed two apples. "Are you hungry, Erik?"
The servant stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. Actually, yes, he was hungry a little. But that’s just not done, he couldn’t accept anything meant for the masters.
“No, thank you,” he shook his head. In the next moment, his stomach grumbled loudly. Erik blushed.
Charles laughed wholeheartedly, stepped to the young servant and patted his shoulder.
“Come on, It’s okay. You can take a break and have something with me,” he told him on German. “Let’s sit down and tell me where you come from. I can seldom practice my German anyway.”
Erik sighed just a little at the thought of more of the hated language but he obeyed, took the apple and began to tell about his life. He cautiously avoided mentioning the camp in depth. He didn’t need the young Master’s pity and he didn’t want to talk about it anyway.
Charles listened, sometimes asked questions but otherwise let the young servant do the talking. He heard about the death camps and assumed it’s only natural that Erik doesn’t want to remember. Odd as it may seem, he could feel the unease radiating from the other. Charles knew exactly, how afraid he was to be asked about the topic and he didn’t intend to press the issue.
While Erik talked, the blond young man had the time to observe him. The Pole was rather scrawny although his body carried the promise of a wonderful transformation as soon as the small miracles of good meals, freedom and independence do they work. The silvery streaks in the chestnut hair made Erik look older and serious. Beneath his steel-grey eyes, slow flames were dancing; Charles had no doubt that those flames could erupt with a frightening power and the thought made him shiver. Erik was handsome and Charles thought it’s a pity that he’s only a servant-
Now, wait a sec. Did it matter at all? So what if the young immigrant was a rich family’s employee, did that somehow lessen his worth? He was a human with the same needs as any other and he suffered enough already for a whole lifetime. Ha had the same rights … or better said he should have had the same rights as any other human on Earth. Charles felt the annoyance to stir deep inside him. Why can’t people be equals? Why should Erik lurk here in the kitchen, why shouldn’t the young Master get befriended with him?
“Erik,” he spoke up suddenly, “let’s be friends.”
The young Pole blinked. “But young Master-“
“Please, call me Charles when we’re alone,” the blond youth said confidently. “I’d like to know you better and I could even teach you English. Come to my room when you have some free time.”
Erik considered this. Charles was undoubtedly a nice, honest, and intelligent young man, quite handsome on top of that. ‘Now where did that come from…?’ Erik frowned at his own thought but quickly dismissed the confusion as the blond youth was waiting for his answer.
“It would be wonderful… Charles.” He smiled at the young Xavier and marveled a little, how intensely the blond one radiated the joy he felt.
Charles stood up and briefly touched the servant’s – hopefully future friend’s – shoulder. “Remember. You can come any time. Now, it’s already late, I won’t hold you back anymore. Goodnight, Erik. I’m glad we met.”
The young Lehnsherr nodded with a smile. As Charles disappeared behind the door, Erik quickly finished the remaining dishes and went to sleep as well.
~~~
The stench of burned flesh lingers above the black and grey barracks. The winter wind’s cold bites the naked skin like a hungry wolf; the body is on the verge of giving up. Death seems sweet and tempting; a quiet dream after the suffering, yet, the human mind recoils frightened – their way isn’t the way to go!
Creatures composed of skin and bone, once human, walk slowly in long lines, as the soldiers are herding them. Dull, soulless eyes measure the building, weakening hearts pound in panic: will this be the day? Will the shower leak icily burning water or soft gas, which bites the lungs and kills slowly while you’ll be looking at their laughing faces?
Heavy snow clouds cover the morning sky like leaden shrouds. No ray of sunlight can break through the thick barrier and he muses upon the propriety of it. This place should be covered by perpetual darkness, lit only by the demonic flames of the metallic funeral pyres. Ah, metal. He can hear how it sings to him; a sweet melody, a softly humming lullaby. Yet, he doesn’t dare to reach out for it and grind the rusty barbed wire, the iron bars, and the quick, deadly bullets as he pleases –they might want to know, how he did that… He doesn’t want to be torn apart by Mengele’s thirst for knowledge.
A desperate cry echoes weakly from the barrack, claw-like fingers scratch the tightly closed door in a frantic attempt to get free, to get away from Death’s clutches. He can almost hear the hissing of the gas, the hopeless prayers, and the curses. His time is drawing near and this makes him feel sick.
A few minutes after deadly silence descends on the camp again. It’s over. Soon, the guards open the door, throw a disgusted glance inside; barked orders call the vultures to work. He’s one of them.
As he walks there, he can feel the heat of the hatred radiating from the eyes of his compatriots. He’s a traitor among them, the dog of the demons, hated by his masters, despised by his own kind. He wants to cry again, fight and die here but he’s too fond of life, may it be as miserable as it is. He’s a coward with eyes long went dry. He steps into the chamber and looks around. Skeleton-like, twisted bodies lay everywhere, ready to be ravaged by him. The words feel like ashes in his mouth.
“Thy sun shall no more go down...”
Charles opened his eyes and in the next moment he bolted up on his bed, feeling nauseous. His eyes opened wide in horror as the images from the dream flashed before him again. There was no violence, no fear in the dream but the sheer images, so clear like he had been there, had a frightening effect on him.
“I won’t throw up, I won’t throw up, I won’t…” Charles chanted inwardly, repeating the words like a prayer. Good Lord, where did this all come from??
And what was the most frightening: he knew. Charles knew exactly, that he had seen a Nazi death camp, the Jews were murdered there the cruelest ways possible and that Erik was there.
“This was… Erik’s dream…” Charles muttered to himself, completely confused. In the next moment, a sharp pain slashed into his head, making his eyes water. He blindly groped for the bottle, took two painkillers and fell back on his bed. It was too much at once.
Title: ~no title~
Authors: ethereal_vision & okami_hu
Rating: ?
Warning: AU
Chapter 1
The mingled smell of the soap, the hot water, and the soaking dirty dishes sat heavily in the air. It wasn’t pleasant at all but Erik knew better than to complain. He could be thankful that he had a job, even if something like this – doing the dishes in a rich family’s kitchen.
Erik sighed, as he started to scrub a pan. It wasn’t such a hard job and the wage was acceptable, too. Moreover, he had time to think while doing it. His thoughts carried him away again, back to three days ago.
~ ~ ~
Ewa came home late; only Erik was up, trying to mend his coat.
„Why do you struggle with it?” the pretty, blonde Ewa asked, as she hung up her own new coat „Aunt Agnieszka would be happy to do it.”
„I didn’t want to bother her with such a little thing,” Erik protested. „I can do it, too.”
Ewa stepped closer and stroked the young man’s graying hair fondly. Since Erik found the Jewish quarter of the city and knocked on one door randomly, the Nowicki family treated him like a member. Ewa, who was some five years older than Erik, became his big sister, telling him about the life here, and teaching him some essential English words. She was tall, slender and she paid special attention to dress finely. She worked as a servant at some rich household; she was a maid.
“You know, youngster, you need new clothes,” Ewa told Erik. “That coat is more like a fishnet. Your shoes have holes, and all your shirts are grey.”
“They’re fine,” Erik shot back offended. Ewa had it easy with her payment.
“Erik, this is America. If you don’t look fine, nobody will believe, that you’re a good person. Let me take you out tomorrow to shop.”
Erik scowled. He didn’t need charity! He didn’t need a woman to pay for his clothes or anything!
Ewa sighed dramatically and sat down, crossing her long legs. She pulled a cigarette out of her apron’s pocket and lit it. Blowing the smoke toward the ceiling, she eyed the stubborn young man. He was still thin from the long starvation and the grey hairs in his thick mane told about the horrors he had seen.
The head of the Nowicki family, Jan sensed the danger and he took his family sometime in 1938 to flee to America. History proved him to be right as a mere year later, Hitler took over Poland.
Since they settled down here, the family established a nice background; they had a four-room flat and a pleasant income.
“Erik, would you like to work?”
The young Lehnsherr tilted his head up. “Of course I would!”
“At the house I work, they’re looking after a new servant. It’s kitchen work, mainly doing the dishes, mopping the floor and such. I told the mistress, that I know a reliable young man, who will gladly accept the job.
It wasn’t the most perfect occupation ever but Erik swallowed his pride. Work provides money and he needed that, quite desperately.
“Thank you, Ewa. When could I begin...?”
“The day after tomorrow. I’ll wake you early and we’ll buy you some nice clothes first. If you really want the job, you have to look presentable. And if you want that, you can pay me back later.”
“It’s a deal,” Erik nodded eagerly.
~ ~ ~
The next day, the slender blonde woman indeed took the young Lehnsherr to shop. Ewa knew all the good tailors in the district and by lunchtime, she deemed Erik presentable. They went home, and the young woman started to teach more English to him. She also explained the rules of the Xavier residence.
“Mistress Sharon is kind and calm, she won’t shout at you but she won’t approve laziness. Master Marko is more dangerous, he shouts; sometimes he even hits a servant. He’s rude and if you don’t treat him with respect, he’ll fire you in no time.”
“I understand,” Erik nodded. “Is there anybody else?”
“Marko’s own son Cain is learning elsewhere, he isn’t around fortunately. He’s a devil,” Ewa shuddered. “Mistress Sharon’s son Charles is a very nice youngster on the other hand. He’s quiet, kind and very bright. However, he has some kind of illness. He has strong headaches. He’s about your age.”
Erik stored away the information in a corner of his brain.
~ ~ ~
The next day, Ewa took him to the big, stylish mansion. Erik was nervous and angry as well, when he discovered that his hands were shaking lightly. The collar of his brand new shirt felt too tight and when he looked up at the tall iron gate, he had to take a deep breath. Too many memories...
Sharon greeted them with a smile and Erik felt instantly better. The blonde woman radiated warmth and her cheeks took up a faint tint of pink, when the young Lehnsherr bowed deeply and kissed her hand, which was originally offered for a handshake.
“He’s indeed very polite,” Sharon nodded to Ewa approving “but you said he doesn’t speak English. That could be a problem.”
“Oh, no Mrs. Xavier!” Ewa protested hotly. “He’ll work very diligently and I’ll be there to tell him what you want. I’ll teach him a little English every evening. He’ll be fine after a few months. And he understands German perfectly, Nicht wahr, kleiner Bruder? Du verstehst doch Deutsch.” (Right, little brother? You do understand German.)
Erik stirred.
„Ich hasse diese Sprache,“ (I hate this language) he answered quietly, rubbing his arm like he would be cold.
Sharon looked at Ewa. “Why...?”
The young woman stroked Erik’s hair, playing with the silver-striped brown locks.
“He had been in a Nazi camp,” she told to her mistress quietly.
Sharon paled a few shades and her eyes turned even gentler.
“When could he begin?”
~ ~ ~
It has been three days and Erik couldn’t complain. Mistress Sharon was kind like a mother and the other servants were friendly. The old gardener could speak German and even though the words felt like burning his tongue, Erik liked to talk to him.
Marko was, however, a constant issue. His method was to yell at Erik in English, until the young Lehnsherr’s ears began to ring. Then, the man switched to German. Fear’s cold frost crept up on Erik’s spine every single time he did that. Most probably, the similarity was a mere coincidence, but Marko sounded like the guards in Auswitz, with the same arrogance and annoyance lacing his words. Erik just nodded, whatever he was told and nearly fled from that tall, menacing shadow looming over him clad in finely tailored suits.
Of course, he hated it. He hated, how his knees went weak, how his breathing quickened. The nightmarish years spent in the labor camp affected him more than he was ever willing to admit. He wow to get stronger, get healthier. And of course, he knew he has to master those powers hiding in him. He first noticed them when the soldiers lined him, his family, and his weakest compatriots up in front of the grave they dug. The guns rattled and the ruby droplets flew up into the misty air, to land in the dark, sticky mud. The bodies fell into the ditch, face down.
In the silence, the heavy breaths sounded too loud. And the surprised shout shattered it completely, as slowly, a small, messy figure emerged from the mass grave; a young boy, whom the bullets evaded completely. The soldiers asked him about his age.
He lied that he’s useful enough.
~ ~ ~
Charles Francis Xavier sat quietly at his end of the dining table, absorbed in his own thoughts, but one ear tuned into his parent's conversation.
"And so I told him to buck up, but the little shit kept crying and..." Kurt Marko boomed from his end, which wasn't necessary, as his wife, Sharon Xavier sat to the right of him. She looked up from her plate.
"Language, Kurt," she reminded gently. Kurt snorted and dipped his spoon into his soup, brought it up to his mouth and nearly sprayed it all over everyone present. "What the hell is this! There is shit on my spoon! You pay these Goddamn servants, even Cain gets better than this and..."
Charles tuned out his step-father's rant. Cain. He wondered how his step-brother was doing in boarding school, he never wrote back to any of Charles' letters. He noticed Dr.Marko was finished.
"Kurt, please. We're a hand short, the cook left and all the duties have been-"
"I don't give a damn, Sharon. Just get someone else."
Charles inspected his spoon and then dipped it into his bowl. Tentatively he took a sip. Nothing wrong.
"I will get someone tomorrow, don't worry. We need to-"
"Ah! Mother!" Charles grabbed his head, dinner forgotten. The pain was sharp and it came too suddenly, without any warning. Mrs. Xavier ran over to him, giving orders.
"James, help me get him to bed. Kurt, please go get some painkillers. Charles is having one of his headaches again."
A few minutes later Charles lay in bed, groaning. Distantly he heard his mother order their butler to fetch a glass of water. Soothing him best she could, Sharon stroked her son's forehead.
Soon he felt the floating sensation that came with his headaches. He was looking at himself with concern washing over him. Dr. Marko came into the room and Charles became angry and annoyed at himself for no reason. It started to make him shiver, being around emotions he couldn't control.
He returned to his body as his mother propped him up to swallow some aspirin with water.
"Come, he's asleep. Leave him, alone, you'll spoil him." Dr. Marko reached for his wife. She pulled from his grip. "Maybe I should stay, to make sure he's okay." Marko sighed, knowing she wouldn't leave and he marched out of the room.
"Charles? Charles, are you alright? Honey, come on now, I know you can hear me."
Charles opened his eyes and gave his mother a weak smile. "Sorry for ruining dinner, Mother."
Sharon smiled back at her son. "It's alright. Are you hungry?"
"No." Charles lay, studying his room, not wanting to look at his mother, who was gazing at him with the concerned fondness that had made his friends tease him when he was younger.
His dresser was partially visible through his closet door that he forgot to shut this morning. His desk in the corner was full of papers, chair shoved in hastily, and a pen lay uncapped over a letter he had been writing. The walls were painted with a soft, natural beige color, partly to contrast the elegant furniture’s deep, rich brown. Various paintings hung on the walls, still lives and landscapes which always managed to calm Charles down and when he was a child, the pictures never failed to entertain his bright imagination.
His mother sat on the chair next to his bed where we usually put his clothes. His nightstand was on the other side, now holding the glass of water along with a lamp, a book he hadn't finished reading, and a bottle of aspirin.
"Charles? Why don't you tell me about that girl, Cindy, was it?" Sharon looked at her son, hoping to get a reaction.
Charles sighed. "She's okay. Nothing serious, Mother, why are you so worried?"
"Well, you just... I want to see you happy, and I thought you were happy with her."
Charles brought a hand up to rub his eyes. "I thought we'd talked about this. I don't want to get married. Not yet. I want to go to college. I want to teach. I don't have time for a girlfriend. Much less a marriage. And kids."
Sharon smiled. "I don't want to be a grandmother yet, but I do want you to meet someone. Okay? How bad is it for a mother to want her son to meet that special someone?"
Charles kept his mouth shut for that. He hoped she didn't want to be a grandmother for a long, long, long time. Well, ever. Cindy just wasn't his type. Come to think of it, girls-
"Well, I leave. You probably should get some sleep. It'll help."
Sharon stood, looking at her son. Charles rolled over, feeling slightly tired.
"I love you, Charles."
"Love you too. Night."
"Night."
Chapter 2
Charles woke up later, feeling hungry. Collapsing at dinner did that to him. Slowly he got out of bed, swaying as the room spun for a moment before carefully making his way to the kitchen. He most certainly didn’t want to fall over and gather some injuries.
Charles mused over his latest headache, trying to make some sense of it. It felt almost like he was reaching into people's heads. Actually, it wasn’t a new feeling, he had similar experiences since he hit puberty but it always frightened him a little. After all, only the mentally ill claim to hear other people’s thoughts. Or those charlatans who fool naïve people with simple tricks. The blond youth was afraid that if Marko gets word about this, he’ll send his step-son into an asylum. Maybe Charles respected his foster parent but didn’t like him and definitely didn’t trust him.
Moonlight filtered through the windows as Charles went through the library, enjoying the solitude. It was all so peaceful at night. He walked down to the ground floor and pushing the door open, he stepped into the kitchen. It was mostly empty and quiet, save for a young man washing dishes. ‘Must be new.’ Charles shrugged, going to a cupboard looking for a snack. As he searched, a box fell out and hit the ground. Instantly the other youth twirled around, going into a crouch, holding a soapy knife. Charles froze, not sure what to do. Slowly the strange man relaxed and bowed slightly, muttering an apology.
Charles bent to pick up the box. "It's okay." He came up, smiling.
The other man stared somewhat blankly.
"Oh, Entschuldige mir, ich wollte dich nicht erschrecken," (I’m sorry, I didn’t want to frighten you) Charles remembered his mother mentioning a new servant who could only speak German. He had no problems with that; he knew the language well, as well as some others. He received a good education and he had an affinity for foreign languages, too.
"Es ist nichts.” (Nothing happened) The young man thought for a while, then spoke up slowly and precisely, forming the English words with care. “My name is Erik." He had an adorable accent.
"Guten Abend, Erik. (Good evening, Erik) My name is Charles." He reached out to shake hands. Erik stared at it warily for a moment before drying his hand to shake with the other man.
"Ach, so Sie sind der junger Meister." (Ah, so you are the young Master.) Erik bowed deeply. “Good evening.”
Charles smiled, taking in the figure, his stance, defensive and strong. Erik was handsome and not even the silvery strands in his brown hair could change that.
"It is nice to meet you, Erik."
"Danke." Erik said, returning to his job.
Charles put the box back and grabbed two apples. "Are you hungry, Erik?"
The servant stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. Actually, yes, he was hungry a little. But that’s just not done, he couldn’t accept anything meant for the masters.
“No, thank you,” he shook his head. In the next moment, his stomach grumbled loudly. Erik blushed.
Charles laughed wholeheartedly, stepped to the young servant and patted his shoulder.
“Come on, It’s okay. You can take a break and have something with me,” he told him on German. “Let’s sit down and tell me where you come from. I can seldom practice my German anyway.”
Erik sighed just a little at the thought of more of the hated language but he obeyed, took the apple and began to tell about his life. He cautiously avoided mentioning the camp in depth. He didn’t need the young Master’s pity and he didn’t want to talk about it anyway.
Charles listened, sometimes asked questions but otherwise let the young servant do the talking. He heard about the death camps and assumed it’s only natural that Erik doesn’t want to remember. Odd as it may seem, he could feel the unease radiating from the other. Charles knew exactly, how afraid he was to be asked about the topic and he didn’t intend to press the issue.
While Erik talked, the blond young man had the time to observe him. The Pole was rather scrawny although his body carried the promise of a wonderful transformation as soon as the small miracles of good meals, freedom and independence do they work. The silvery streaks in the chestnut hair made Erik look older and serious. Beneath his steel-grey eyes, slow flames were dancing; Charles had no doubt that those flames could erupt with a frightening power and the thought made him shiver. Erik was handsome and Charles thought it’s a pity that he’s only a servant-
Now, wait a sec. Did it matter at all? So what if the young immigrant was a rich family’s employee, did that somehow lessen his worth? He was a human with the same needs as any other and he suffered enough already for a whole lifetime. Ha had the same rights … or better said he should have had the same rights as any other human on Earth. Charles felt the annoyance to stir deep inside him. Why can’t people be equals? Why should Erik lurk here in the kitchen, why shouldn’t the young Master get befriended with him?
“Erik,” he spoke up suddenly, “let’s be friends.”
The young Pole blinked. “But young Master-“
“Please, call me Charles when we’re alone,” the blond youth said confidently. “I’d like to know you better and I could even teach you English. Come to my room when you have some free time.”
Erik considered this. Charles was undoubtedly a nice, honest, and intelligent young man, quite handsome on top of that. ‘Now where did that come from…?’ Erik frowned at his own thought but quickly dismissed the confusion as the blond youth was waiting for his answer.
“It would be wonderful… Charles.” He smiled at the young Xavier and marveled a little, how intensely the blond one radiated the joy he felt.
Charles stood up and briefly touched the servant’s – hopefully future friend’s – shoulder. “Remember. You can come any time. Now, it’s already late, I won’t hold you back anymore. Goodnight, Erik. I’m glad we met.”
The young Lehnsherr nodded with a smile. As Charles disappeared behind the door, Erik quickly finished the remaining dishes and went to sleep as well.
~~~
The stench of burned flesh lingers above the black and grey barracks. The winter wind’s cold bites the naked skin like a hungry wolf; the body is on the verge of giving up. Death seems sweet and tempting; a quiet dream after the suffering, yet, the human mind recoils frightened – their way isn’t the way to go!
Creatures composed of skin and bone, once human, walk slowly in long lines, as the soldiers are herding them. Dull, soulless eyes measure the building, weakening hearts pound in panic: will this be the day? Will the shower leak icily burning water or soft gas, which bites the lungs and kills slowly while you’ll be looking at their laughing faces?
Heavy snow clouds cover the morning sky like leaden shrouds. No ray of sunlight can break through the thick barrier and he muses upon the propriety of it. This place should be covered by perpetual darkness, lit only by the demonic flames of the metallic funeral pyres. Ah, metal. He can hear how it sings to him; a sweet melody, a softly humming lullaby. Yet, he doesn’t dare to reach out for it and grind the rusty barbed wire, the iron bars, and the quick, deadly bullets as he pleases –they might want to know, how he did that… He doesn’t want to be torn apart by Mengele’s thirst for knowledge.
A desperate cry echoes weakly from the barrack, claw-like fingers scratch the tightly closed door in a frantic attempt to get free, to get away from Death’s clutches. He can almost hear the hissing of the gas, the hopeless prayers, and the curses. His time is drawing near and this makes him feel sick.
A few minutes after deadly silence descends on the camp again. It’s over. Soon, the guards open the door, throw a disgusted glance inside; barked orders call the vultures to work. He’s one of them.
As he walks there, he can feel the heat of the hatred radiating from the eyes of his compatriots. He’s a traitor among them, the dog of the demons, hated by his masters, despised by his own kind. He wants to cry again, fight and die here but he’s too fond of life, may it be as miserable as it is. He’s a coward with eyes long went dry. He steps into the chamber and looks around. Skeleton-like, twisted bodies lay everywhere, ready to be ravaged by him. The words feel like ashes in his mouth.
“Thy sun shall no more go down...”
Charles opened his eyes and in the next moment he bolted up on his bed, feeling nauseous. His eyes opened wide in horror as the images from the dream flashed before him again. There was no violence, no fear in the dream but the sheer images, so clear like he had been there, had a frightening effect on him.
“I won’t throw up, I won’t throw up, I won’t…” Charles chanted inwardly, repeating the words like a prayer. Good Lord, where did this all come from??
And what was the most frightening: he knew. Charles knew exactly, that he had seen a Nazi death camp, the Jews were murdered there the cruelest ways possible and that Erik was there.
“This was… Erik’s dream…” Charles muttered to himself, completely confused. In the next moment, a sharp pain slashed into his head, making his eyes water. He blindly groped for the bottle, took two painkillers and fell back on his bed. It was too much at once.
