To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [170]
His hand gripped her arm, and he wanted to protest, no, stay here. She was looking into his eyes, and for a brief second he did not turn away, did not want to release her arm, did not want to be away from her at all. He looked down now, forced himself to draw back.
“Yes, of course. I hope she will be well.”
She slipped her arm away from him, made the giggle again, that soft lovely sound. She seemed to know what he was thinking, said, “I will return tomorrow, in the afternoon. I am certain you will have visitors. You will not even miss me.”
She began to move away from him, walking back out through the garden, turned, looked at him one more time, kissed the air, aiming it toward him. He felt suddenly awkward, childlike, didn’t know what to do, smiled, watched as she moved past the guards at the gatehouse, then out, down the street, the last glimpse of her white dress. No, you are wrong. I already miss you.
He saw the guards, two men looking back at him, smiles of their own. He ignored them, felt his face flush red, a surge of pain in his head, moved through the entranceway. He met the familiar smells, walked through the rows of beds, felt the need for the cane. He helped himself along past wounded men, tried to ignore them, remembered now why he hated hospitals. He passed one man who made a sudden sound, deep and liquid, the smell suddenly worse. He kept moving, saw nurses coming quickly toward him, then past, a doctor emerging from a side room, hurrying past him as well. Richthofen did not look behind him, had seen this before, thought, Tomorrow, another empty bed. He moved down the row of men, some motioning to him, friendly gestures, men with lesser wounds, healing, who knew by now who their famous companion was.
He made his way closer to his bed, was surprised to see a uniform, the man sitting on the bed, then standing, moving toward him, the tall, clumsy enthusiasm of his brother.
“My God, Manfred. I didn’t know what to think. Your bed was empty, and no one would tell me anything. I thought . . .”
He saw the teary warmth in Lothar’s eyes, his brother gripping him by both shoulders.
“No, I’m fine. Out for a walk, that’s all. They should have told you.”
Lothar gripped his shoulders hard, smiled now, the fear in his eyes wiped away by the sight of his brother. The playfulness returned, as it always returned, and Lothar lowered his voice, glanced around, a part of the conspiracy now.
“They say nothing to anyone. We’re all under orders, you know that. At the aerodrome, the reporters have been trying to get an interview with you for days. Bodenschatz is a positive terror, keeps them cowering in a corner, tells them you’re far too busy killing the enemy. He told one man that if you didn’t knock the enemy down today, you might go mad, could roll your Albatros right into the aerodrome and start shooting anyone that moved, starting with them!” He laughed, his voice growing louder with each word of his story. “How much longer, Manfred? When are you coming home?”
Richthofen motioned with his hand, quieter, said softly, “It’s not my decision, you know that. General von Hoeppner has these people falling over themselves to keep me in good spirits. You should see all the food I’m eating.”
“Not just von Hoeppner, Manfred. I hear Ludendorff himself is threatening to shoot anyone who even speaks your name!” Lothar laughed again, tapped him on the shoulder. “So, tell me about the girl.”
Richthofen was surprised, had not spoken to anyone about Kate. “What do you mean?”
“The girl, Manfred! We’re all dying to hear about her. Word is, she’s your own personal healer. A cure for every ailment, eh?”
He felt a fury burst inside of him, magnified by the pain now throbbing in his head. He stared hard at Lothar, said in a quiet hiss, “There is no girl. I have a nurse. Tell the men they will concentrate more on their duties, and less on what goes on here!”
Lothar seemed surprised by his anger, pulled himself back, his hands out in front of him. “Certainly, Manfred. My apologies. It’s just . . . there are rumors.”
“There are always