My Beloved Oppressor

After gathering and discussing for a while, the French soldiers eventually made a move. Without saying a word, they herded the prisoners into a corner far from the door.

“This way, this way!”

The frightened people rushed to obey the order. Annette helped her wounded comrade to his seat.

The prisoners of war were gathered near the pulpit. Next to the platform was an old piano used for mass.

Annette carefully laid the injured soldier down near the piano.

“Ha….”

The soldier let out a low moan. Annette tried to say it would be fine out of habit, but kept her mouth shut.

People gathered in one place began to whisper anxiously.

“Why all of a  sudden……”

“What’s going on?”

Annette took medical supplies from the luggage she had brought and began silently treating the man. His face was a ghastly sight as she wiped off the blood.

“Perhaps they are trying to free us?”

Someone guessed cautiously. People did not readily agree, but they seemed to have a faint hope for the changed situation.

Annette’s hands trembled faintly as she disinfected and applied the medicine. She clenched and unclenched her fists, but the trembling did not stop.

Based on her interpretation of the words the French soldiers said earlier, it seemed that they were going to clean up this place tomorrow morning. And she did not think long about what kind of cleaning that would be.

“I want you to …… live.” (H)

Annette squeezed her eyes shut.

“You said you would live.”

She was suddenly afraid of dying. In fact, she was never afraid of death. It was not because she was not afraid of death itself that she tried to end her life.

She was just more afraid of living than she was of dying.

But strangely enough, at this moment, more than her fear of death, it was the feeling that she could not keep her promise to him.

She was finally able to face his past, even if only a little. The fragments and rhythms of the words he let out like his last breath, but passed so easily by…………she could finally get a dim grasp of it.

She should have listened to him properly at least once.

She should have asked properly at least once.

But it was not just because she was the daughter of Marquis Dietrich. It was not only because of her bad relationship with him (Heiner), to whom she was terribly connected.

But as his longtime lover and as a couple who had lived together, they should have a proper talk at least once.

That became a regret.

***

The sun set over the horizon.

The French soldiers did show any particular action. They were just busy going to and fro outside, keeping an eye on the prisoners.

Annette tried to see Elliot, but he was nowhere to be seen. She tried to find an opportunity to get the child out of here, but there was nothing she could do against the armed soldiers.

‘It’s hard…’

Annette was completely exhausted, both mentally and physically. Her body was stiff from sitting on the cold floor for so long.

She got up from her seat, pulled out a long piano chair and sat down. Rubbing her stiff shoulders and inhaling, she saw a small pair of shoes standing out of her view of vision.

Annette looked up. The child stood hesitantly. She smiled gently and asked.

“Is there anything you need?”

The child shook his head. He just stood still with his eyes down on the floor.

Annette had no idea what the child wanted. She pondered for a moment and then extended her arms.

“Would you like to come over here?”

The child meekly approached and hugged her. Annette then realized that the little body was trembling like an aspen tree.

“Are you cold?”

The child shook his head. Annette took the child in her arms and placed him on the chair. The child was held still with his face against her chest.

Eventually, bored, he began to play with his hands this way and that. He touched the buttons on Annette’s nursing uniform, her hair, and then opened and closed the piano lid.

Seeing the innocent child, something surged up in her heart.

The fact that such a small child had to be sacrificed to the ambition and selfishness of adults was heartbreaking. This child did nothing wrong.

No fault………

The image of Heiner was superimposed over the child’s face. At the time he was in the training camp, he too was only a boy. That fact came anew.

The child pressed the piano keys. Unconnected notes made random sounds. Annette watched it for a while and then asked.

“Have you ever played the piano?”

The child shook his head. Annette grabbed the child’s index finger and started to move with him. The keys were pressed by the child’s finger and the notes followed in turn, creating a melody. It was one of her favorite songs from her childhood.

Perhaps it was strange, but the child’s breathing became a little erratic. Annette laughed quietly at his frank reaction. They played the piano together for some time.

Armored vehicles created a heavy noise as they rolled outside. The sound of soldiers’ military boots trampling over the city was also a challenge.

Annette watched the small back of the child’s head. The body held in her arms was small and warm. There was a time like this for her.

There was a time when she wanted to be comforted, despite her very small sadness.

Annette let go of the child’s index finger and placed both of her hands on the piano. The keys were softly pressed under her thumbs. She began to move her hands slowly.

It was like approaching a very agile animal to put on a leash.

When her father died in the shooting, Annette was playing the piano before a competition. To win. To push herself beyond her limits.

But now Annette did not play the piano for competitions.

Here there were no well-dressed spectators, no lavish bouquets of flowers, no dazzling camera shutters.

Still, she pressed the keys.

The second half of the song they had just played together continued from her fingertips. A melody that sounded both beautiful and sad bloomed like a flower.

It was to comfort someone.

It was for all the sick and lonely things in the world.

The eyes of the people sitting there turned to Annette. They held their breath without saying anything, as if they had promised.

The soldiers who had been watching the captives, and had been busy coming and going, stopped in their tracks. They listened to her performance with faces as if they had received an invitation at the border between the living and the dead.

The performance, which started very slow and clumsy, slowly picked up speed.

Shells still exploded from afar. Somewhere, wounded people prayed and children cried. The remaining fires that set the city ablaze were crackling everywhere.

An unnamed corpse without a military tag lay on the wreckage of war without closing his eyes. His unfocused eyes reflected the cloudy sky.

Gently, a yellow butterfly flew into the center of her blurry vision. The butterfly, which had been hovering over the corpse, changed direction and flew all over the city.

Annette closed her eyes. Her fingertips constantly touched the keys. A sorrowful and gentle tune caressed the ruins filled with blood and groans.

Despite the long hiatus, there were hardly any gaps in her performance. Annette just pressed the keys as if she were breathing.

The culminating performance soon drifted to its conclusion. The melody gradually faded away. She pressed the last note and glided her hand away.

The surroundings were quiet.

Annette opened her closed eyes. Her body was shivering lightly. There was a tingling sensation in her chest.

The child, who had been staring at her hands in a daze, quickly turned his head. His eyes sparkled as he looked at Annette.

The large, moist eyes flashed quickly and his chubby cheeks twitched. Annette could feel the child’s emotions as they were. She smiled and pressed her forehead to his. She could feel the child’s unique warmth on her skin.

For some reason, she choked up.

***

Night was falling. The church was full of fatigue and tension. Some remained completely asleep. Annette was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. Suddenly someone tapped her on the shoulder. She opened her eyes dimly.

Through her dark vision, she saw a familiar face. It was the red haired soldier. Nicolo.

Annette narrowed her brows and looked at him suspiciously. Nicolo pointed with his thumb toward the door. He seemed to mean, “Follow me.”

An ominous feeling crept up on her back. Annette shook her head, keeping her body as close to the wall as possible.

Nicolo laughed hysterically, grabbed her arm and pulled her up. Her upper body was forcibly raised by the pulling force.

Annette tried to hold on, but the difference in arm strength was too great. Others who had been sleeping woke up one by one and recognized the situation.

But no one stepped forward to interfere recklessly. They just looked at her with scared and worried faces.

Annette glanced down. Fortunately, the child had fallen into a deep sleep. She couldn’t let her child see this situation.

Nicolo tugged at her. Annette forced herself to swallow the scream that was about to escape. Her mind went white with fear.

At that moment, someone grabbed Nicolo by the shoulders. It was another soldier who was watching the prisoners. He said with a slight frown.

“Hey, stop.”