Espionage

My head was pounding as I was regaining consciousness. I felt something wet rubbing my face, followed by something cold and stinging. I shot up, screaming. I knocked whoever was next to me over as I tried to see where I was. I heard running coming towards wherever I was and the flap to what I’m guessing was a tent opened. Aldo peaked his head in, then stepped inside. He had an eyebrow raised and now that I got a good look at him, I could see certain facial characteristics that set him apart from other people. The first thing I noticed about him was the large scar that traced from left to right across his neck, signifying that he had once been hung by a rope and lived to tell the tale. Another thing I noticed was that his bottom lip jutted out a bit when his mouth closed, taking over the top lip. His eyes were an icy blue color that you could swim in. They were calming, but terrifying at the same time. His dark hair was long at the top and short at the sides. It sat on his head, combed to the side. He also had a mustache and some stubble lining his chin.

“ ’She alright, Wicki?” His thick accent shone through. I looked at the man that was now hovering over me.

“Her face is fine. I haven’t gotten to see the rest of her.” Wicki’s accented voice replied. He sounded German, but I couldn’t be sure. He was a very handsome man with soft brown eyes. He looked back over to me after he responded.

“Sprechen Sie deutsches? (Do you speak German?)” He asked. He had a deeper voice than Stiglitz, but it wasn’t menacing. I nodded my head. “Ich muss wissen, wo Sie verletzt werden. (I need to know where you are injured.)” He seemed gentle enough, like he wouldn’t hurt me, but I couldn‘t chance it. I just stared at him.

“Hey girly, we don’t have all day. You either tell us, or we’ll look for ourselves.” I looked at Aldo, then to Wicki. He nodded.

“Meine Hand. (My hand.)” I really didn’t want to tell them about my ribs or my back in fear that they would make me take my shirt off. Wicki inspected my hand gently.

“Dislocated.” He said aloud so Aldo could hear. “Ich werde sie zurück setzen.(I am going to place them back.)” My eye widened as my breathing became heavy. The pain in my ribs came back, making me hunch. He held my hand with one of his large hands and used the other to hold one of my fingers. He looked me in the eye before pushing my left ring finger in. I used my right hand to shield the screams that were coming out. Tears streamed down my face as he grabbed the other finger and doing the same. “Ganz getan. (All done.)” He gave me my hand back. The knuckles were purples and blues, but they were back in their places. “Wo sonst? (Where else?)” I shook my head.

“Stiglitz said she was purty beat up when they threw her in the cell, said she was spittin‘ up blood. She’s lyin’.” My lips went into a tight line. I wanted to kill this man. I shook my head again and gulped.

“Nichts anderes. (Nothing more.)” I was frantic. I just wanted the pain to go away.

“Es ist einfacher, wenn Sie mich gerade überprüfen lassen. Ich verletze Sie nicht. (It’ll be easier if you just let me check. I won’t hurt you.)” As appealing as that sounded, I’m going to have to disagree with it. No thank you. Aldo had another idea, though. He took two terrifying steps my way, but I stood up. I hunched over as my movement caused bones to rub together. I put a hand out to stop him, the sound of footsteps ceased.

“Ich zeige Sie, aber er muss gehen. (I will show you, but he has to leave.)” I pointed to Aldo. He didn’t know why I was pointing until Wicki told him I wanted him out. He agreed and left the tent. In all honesty, I was terrified of what we were both about to witness. The grotesque markings that will be there permanently on my body for as long as I live. The black and blue bruises that will leave a mental scar in my mind. All memories of what my father did to me.

I started unbuttoning my shirt from the top down. When I got to the bottom, I heard a gasp from Wicki. Tears of shame fell down my face. I didn’t think that he was expecting me to take the entire shirt off when I did, leaving me in my bra. I turned around.

“Lieber Gott. (Dear God.)” Escaped from his lips. I looked down at my stomach as my back was turned. It was covered in blacks, blues, greens, yellows and purples. My once smooth stomach was now full of cuts and bumps where my ribs were poking. I could only imagine what my back looked like. I sobbed quietly as he looked at my exposed torso. “Ich benötige Sie, auf Ihrer Rückseite niederzulegen. (I need you to lay down on your back.)” I helped lower me back down onto the cot. His hands were cold as they held onto my shoulder, lowering me down. He started rubbing my ribcage, making me wince. When he’d poke some places, I couldn’t hold back a scream. It turns out that only one of the ribs was broken and that it would heal itself in time, but that didn’t help my predicament any.

Wicki was now using an antiseptic to clean my back. I bit down on a leather strap to keep me from gnawing my own arm off from the pain. He told me that they would leave pretty nasty scars and that I should thank God that I couldn’t see them. He wrapped gauze around my torso so I didn’t get an infection and left the tent.

I was now dressed in civilian clothes that the Basterds had lying around and trying to rest on the cot with my eyes closed. I didn’t know who’s bed I took, but I was grateful that I was on it. I heard the crunch of a leaf and opened my eyes. I almost screamed when Aldo’s crystal blues were staring straight through me.

“I hear you speak purty good anglish.” Was the first thing to come out of his mouth. I knew that lying wouldn’t get me anywhere, especially since Stiglitz knew who I was, so I decided that the truth was the best option.

“Yes.” I piped.

“Well that would’ve been a damn good thang to know when we picked yeh up, girly. I hate hearin’ the Kraut talk. Confuses the shit outta me.” He chuckled. He walked closer, hands on his hips, and stopped at the side of the cot. “Wicki told me what was the matter with yeh. Why you were all cringy and whatnot. Someone beat the fuck outta yeh. Got a broken rib and a good hundred lashin’s on yer back and yer face is all busted up. Now, who the hell would want to do somethin’ like that to a purty little flower like yerself?” I was about to shake my head when he stopped me. “Now don’t go shankin’ yer head at me. You may not talk to Wicki, but you sure as hell are gonna talk to me.” He gave me a stern look. “Now, I know you ain’t a Nazi considering the fact that yew were thrown in that there jail cell with Stiglitz and you ain’t American with all that Kraut talk, so what are yew?” I didn’t know what to tell him. Telling the Basterds that you were a Landa wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but if I lie and they find out, I’m as good as dead.

“I am German, not a Nazi.”

“What’s yer name, girly?”

“Lorelei Landa.”