Ben Shulman is the last remaining member of Cal's mortar squad. He was the lightweight champion of the boxing team back in France before the Battle of the Bulge. He and I are an explosive combination when there is alcohol involved. He's the keg of gun powder and I'm the match. I instigate, and he detonates with all the words, spit, and fire that I wish I could spew. The war has left seeds of hatred in both of us, but he expresses his more easily. I like to live vicariously through his fury as I brood nearby.

After my morning at the POW camp, I am desperate to gain some ground under my feet. Leon Wagner has left a crater under me and I can feel myself spiraling down. Latent anger makes sense. What Leon has awoken in me, I don't recognize anymore.

"Say, Ruthie." Ben tips the neck of the bottle of wine towards me. "You sure you aren't Jewish?"

"Positive," I reply for what feels like the tenth time that night.

"Pity. There is no way I could take you home to my parents if you aren't Jewish. A crying shame," he flirts with the same line I've heard a thousand times.

He admires me openly before taking a swig from the bottle. He only makes passes when he's sauced. Part of me used to enjoy the attention, but tonight, I can feel my patience waning.

"I still don't like the thought of our girls patching up those Jerry bastards over there." He jabs a finger at me, his blue eyes unfocused and bloodshot. "You tell me if any of them gives you any trouble."

My hand itches around the bandage beneath my thumb. I feel a strange pressure there as though my flesh can't forget Leon's fingers wrapped around it.

"Most of them ignore me." I walk away from where he lounges at the kitchen table.

"Most of them?" Ben snarls. "None of them have tried-"

"Don't be stupid, Ben," I snap a little too quickly.

Lawrence's gaze cuts up to me from where he stands at the window. Music drifts in from the other room and I hear the door open. Female voices speaking in German drift into the kitchen. Ben is bored with me tonight. I can't say I blame him. I'm too tired to play our usual game. He strides into the sitting room where George Pinto and Harry Sabbatini have brought over some local girls, blatantly flaunting the anti-fraternization guidelines from their superior officers.

"What's wrong with you?" Lawrence asks as I move opposite him and lean up against the windowsill. "You've been strange all evening."

I take another draw from my wine. The acidic fermentation gives a warmth to my bones. However, it's nothing compared to what I felt with Leon behind the hospital that morning. I peer into my half empty cup and realize I don't want another glass after this one.

"I'm tired, I guess. It was along shift today."

"Ruthie." He wets his lips. "I wanted to make sure you are okay about everything that happened. Between us, I mean."

I bite back a pang of guilt. I had almost forgotten about our kiss.

"I didn't know what to say afterwards." The space between us is quiet contrasted with the chaos in the other room. "The first time we kissed, I could understand why. But the other night. I didn't expect it."

"Me neither." I give a soft grin. "Honestly, I'm not concerned about it."

"Well, I was. When you do that..."

"Kiss you?"

"Yes." He brushes away an errant flop of russet hair from his forehead. "I wondered, is it because you wanted me or just wanted someone?"

I tip back the glass and finish it off, numbing the ache of guilt. I am trying not to hear the cocktail of hurt and hope in his tone. The empty glass clinks as I abandon it on the windowsill.

"I'm not in love with you or anything," he swiftly adds.

"Oh gee, thanks Lawrence." I scoff, glancing out towards the setting sun.

"I didn't mean that to sound the way it did," he groans, running his hands over his face. "I've never been good at this kind of talk."

"Then let's not worry about it." I give his upper arm a light squeeze, desperate to change the subject. "It won't happen again, right?"

Lawrence levels me with a rare solemnity in his mossy eyes. He has never taken any romantic liaison seriously. I know this for a fact. With his easy charm and a jawline reminiscent of Van Johnson, he doesn't stick around one girl for very long. Our friendship is probably his one constant relationship with the opposite sex. He would never risk it for a meaningless fling, unless those kisses meant more to him than I realized.

"What are y'all doing in here?"

I release my breath and turn with a relieved smile towards Florence. She cocks out her hip, holding her glass aloft in one hand and a cigarette in the other. With her hair curled up in her signature chignon, she has all the sass and spunk of Ginger Rodgers.

"Hello Florence," Lawrence drones.

Florence throws him a counterfeit smile. "Don't get too excited, Lawrence dear. I'm only here to fetch me an English speaking lady friend. I'm kind of out numbered in the other room."

She hooks my arm and leads me away from the stilted silence of the kitchen.

"You saved me," I whisper.

"I thought as much. You looked like you were about to jump out that kitchen window," Florence replies, taking a sip of her drink and throwing a toothy grin in the direction of George Pinto as he comes in the door. "What did the boy want anyhow?"

"We were heading in the direction of what felt like an ultimatum."

We sit down on the edge of the couch. Florence puffs her cigarette, blowing the smoke from the side of her mouth and leaning towards the ash tray.

"You know I'm not Lawrence's biggest fan, but I couldn't agree with him more." Florence lifts an eyebrow at me. "One kiss with the boy and you can get away with it. You kiss him twice, especially with the way he's always carried a torch for you-"

"He has not," I interrupt.

"Has so and you know it. He deserves to know where he stands." Florence goes silent and stumps out her cigarette. "So. Who is the other boy?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm guessing it's not Ben Shulman."

"I'm not Jewish."

"No. You're much too poor Irish Catholic to be allowed into his upperclass Chicago synagogue. A pity, Ben is too handsome for his own good." She puts a finger to her chin thoughtfully. "I don't think it's Pinto, though he has to be the most precious little thing enlisted in the entirety of the Allied Forces. And Sabbatini is more a second older brother to you than anything."

My eyes skitter away from her face towards the balcony where a particularly buxom blonde wraps herself around the wide-eyed replacement called Ralph. I realize I've never had a full conversation with the kid.

"You're not telling me something." Florence leans into the couch, wrapping an arm around the back and crossing her legs. "But I'm patient. I can wait until you're ready."

"Thank you, Florence."

GI Jive with Dorothy Collins' clean, chirpy soprano comes alive in the room. Harry saunters over from the record player, holding out a hand to Florence. He removes the cigarette from his mouth and beckons her over.

"C'mon, Wilkins. Don't let me down," he coaxes with a wink.

"Catch me before I swoon."Florence rolls her eyes, but she launches herself to her feet just the same. "You drop me again, Sabbatini, and I swear you'll pay."

I stand as well, brushing the wrinkles from my skirt. I'm bored with pretending to be interested in the evening. A good buzz doesn't hold the same allure as it has in the past. I feel Lawrence's eyes follow me as I walk over to the door and leave for home.

∆∆∆

Florence leaves our room before I do. She's promised to give me a ride to the hospital with the Red Cross jeep from the clinic in town, but wanted to race down to the town bakery first. I pace from the bathroom to the window, gnawing my thumbnail.

Sinking into a chair by the door, I pick up my copy of Beowulf and leaf through it. I haven't looked at it since finding it in a used bookstore in London. It's remained buried at the bottom of my trunk until recently. The familiar words are a comforting distraction.

...he had dwelt for a time in misery among the banished monsters, Cain's clan, whom the Creator had outlawed and condemned as outcasts.

I smirk. Part of me has always felt empathy towards the monster Grendel. In high school, I argued with my traditionalist teacher that perhaps he was only misunderstood. Ignored and exiled simply for where he had originated. Perhaps he wasn't as gruesome as he seemed. Maybe if the Danes had given him a chance, things might not have turned out so bad. The teacher stared at me slack jawed before returning to the blackboard without a response.

...the vicious raids and ravages of Grendel, his long and unrelenting feud, nothing but war...all were endangered; young and old were hunted down...so Grendel waged his lonely war, inflicting constant cruelties on the people, atrocious hurt.

Pausing, I bite my thumbnail again. Perhaps my teacher was right. Grendel was born of monsters, dwelt among them, and thus became one. Whether kindness had been extended to him or not, his personal destiny was inevitable. I glance down at the bandage on my hand. Snapping the book shut, I make my way to the door.

Walking out onto the landing in front of the staircase, I peer down towards the front hall, my hand resting on the railing. They stand alone at an innocent distance from each other. Morning light glows through the half window in the door. The tension between them is thick even from this distance.

Florence holds a paper bag in one hand. Lieutenant Pawloski says something in his gentle tone and her head dips forward, a pink tinge blossoming in her face. A blonde strand of hair drifts over her cheek. My heart stops as he curls it behind her ear. Her hand lifts. Their fingers hook and hang midair between them like a bridge that should have been burned months earlier.

My face is cold. I backtrack to the door and shut it firmly, so it can be heard. They both look up at me as I turn the corner. Their hands swing at their sides and Pawloski withdraws a step.

"Lieutenant." I manage a cagey smile towards him as I descend the stairs.

"Ruth, how are you?" He asks a little too brightly.

"Fine, thank you." I give Florence a pointed stare and her face pales. "I'm going to be late if we don't leave now."

"Of course. Have a good day, Lieutenant," she quips without looking at him.

"Good day," he says before we shut the door behind us.

The first half of the trip is stagnant with silence. Florence shifts the gears, her arm perched on the door with a lipstick smudged cigarette hanging between her fingers. I stare ahead.

"You saw us, didn't you?"

"Why did you break off your engagement with Tom?"

Florence takes a drag from her cigarette. "I realized I wasn't in love with him."

"Where did that realization come from?" I turn my body towards her. "Did he make you question your commitment to Tom?"

Florence shifts the gears with a grimace.

I sigh. "Florence, I'm sure that whatever this is feels real-"

"There was a moment," she interrupts. "We had a moment. After Bastogne. Richard was feverish from that flesh wound he got to the hip."

"I remember that. He was in a bad way." My hands are folded calmly in my lap, but my thoughts race. How could I have missed it?

"I persuaded him to take some rest and helped him back to a bedroom at headquarters." She flicks the cigarette into the wind. "He was nearly delirious. I propped him up on his pillows and he touched my face. We would have kissed."

"Did you?"

"No." Florence lets out a slow breath. "The major came down the hall at that moment. He didn't see anything thankfully."

"Has anything happened since?"

"That's the first time we have been alone since it happened." She runs her once finely manicured fingernails over her lips thoughtfully. "Honest."

"I believe you. What are you going to do now?"

Florence smooths a forefinger under her eye. A damp run of mascara stains her skin as she returns her hand to the wheel. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

I swallow hard. "I suppose there isn't anything to be done."

We pull up to the entrance of the bivouac. She jams the stick shift into park and whips towards me.

"You know this isn't the real me. I feel like I've changed, this war has changed me. I would never do anything like that at home. My mother would be so ashamed," she babbles frantically.

"We are still responsible for who we are, despite what happens to us." I lay a hand on her shoulder. "You and Richard Pawloski are good people. Don't let this warp out of control into something you'll regret when you come to your senses."

She presses her red lips together with a nod. Giving her a small smile, I leave the vehicle and walk towards the MPs guarding the entrance.

A new slew of surrendered soldiers has been hustled into the already packed camps around Zell am See. Allied officers are nervous about letting any of them leave too soon before they are thoroughly screened. There is always the chance a high ranking Nazi is masquerading as a lower rank to escape justice.

It isn't hard to avoid Leon. I dare a peek towards his cot. It's empty and I cannot see if his personal items are still there. I have no idea whether he has disappeared from my life forever or not. I'm not sure which option is worse.

Behind one of the few privacy screens in the hospital, I attend a doctor as he treats a soldier with a bad neck wound. One of the other nurses mentions he is fourteen years old. I am having difficulty detaching as silent tears streak his dirty face. The doctor does his best to remove a piece of shrapnel from the blistering infection. I stick his arm with a syringe of morphine. He meets my gaze with a pleading glance.

The nurse and doctor bring him to a cot, leaving me to clean up. I am thankful for the moment of solitude to gather myself. I close my eyes and lay a hand flat on my stomach, breathing the hot air thick with antiseptic and body odor.

"Ruth?"

My eyes snap open. Leon leans against the rod holding up the screen. I barely acknowledge his presence before busying my hands with the leftover bandages. This is the first time he has ever sought me out.

"Ruth, I wanted to tell you-"

"You shouldn't be on your feet so much."

In the relative quiet of our corner, he approaches from behind, blocking my escape.

"I need to tell you something." His voice is weak.

"You don't need to tell me anything."

He grasps my bare elbow with clammy fingers. His hand is trembling. It makes me hesitate. I turn towards him and peer up into his face. A damp sheen dusts his furrowed brow, his green eyes burning with fever. He wets his dry lips, mouth parting as he tries to mete out his next sentence. I place my hands on his cheeks. 

His skin is seething. The infection has worsened. My breath catches in my throat in fear. He lifts a hand and places his fingers over mine, leaning into my touch. He sighs slowly, his eyes growing heavy lidded.

"Leon. Leon, how long have you felt like this? Has anyone seen you?"

"I think I have fallen through the cracks." He gives a faint smile, running his nimble fingers down my wrist.

"You need to get back to your cot now." My voice is strident with worry.

I wrap an arm around his side and lead him to where he has been sleeping. He tumbles back with a thud, the hinges on the worn cot creaking with his weight. I pull off the boot from his injured leg. Leon is quiet, a hand over his eyes as though the light is too bright for him. He is nearing delirium.

Rolling up his pant leg, I peel back the bandage. It hasn't been changed recently. Veins of spidery blue curl around the seeping wound, white puss coating the torn flesh like a layer of silt. I can only hope it hasn't gone septic. My heart pounding, I lean over him.

"Leon, I'm going to get somethings to make you more comfortable. I will bring the doctor as well," I tell him, struggling to keep my tone light.

His hand wraps around the back of my neck. His burning touch scorches the sensitive skin beneath my hairline.

"I want you to know me," he begs. "Who I am when I'm not here... like this. When I'm not apart of this monstrous-"

"I don't think you're a monster, Leon," I cut him off, taking his hand and placing it to his chest. His quick, heavy pulse radiates through his shirt. "I know- I know you aren't."

Numbly, I realize that what I say is true. He wets his lips again to speak.

"Don't speak. Save your energy. I will be back in a moment," I instruct before rushing away.