That night Agatha had a dream. Typically, sleep for Agatha was a fall into the fog, shadowy figures, mumbled sentences, confusion. This night was different: her dream was very clear.
Ernest was kneeling, his right foot on the ground, right knee bend, left knee kissing the ground. His right elbow rested on his right knee. His face was joyful. He was alone in a field of red poppies. The round red flowers swayed in the breeze, moving like a living field of blood. Ernst took off his helmet. It was as if he was hot and needed to cool his damp hair. He set the helmet next to his right foot, within arm’s reach if he suddenly needed it. He looked around taking in the beauty of the sudden break in the forest and the carpet of red thrust in between the evergreens. Agatha could smell the pine in the air.
Ernst seemed to smell it too and breathed deep. Agatha could see his shoulders relax with every breath. She wanted to walk behind him and put her hand on those shoulders, and sooth Ernst. What he must have seen in war, she thought.
The single shot rang out. Agatha saw the neat round hole and the trickle of blood as Ernst fell forward.
Agatha thought it was the shot that woke her. In reality it was the sharp and persistent knock at the front door. She and Frau Bleich entered the hallway simultaneously. Both had hurriedly pulled on knee length skirts, long sweaters and boots. Agatha’s hair was in pins from the night before. Frau Bleich’s hair was plaited. What time was it? Where was the maid? Was it too early for her to come?
Frau Bleich opened the door herself. There stood an oberst, hat in hand. His face was serious. His eyes down cast. Without a word, Agatha knew he had come to tell them Ernst was dead.
Frau Bleich knew it too. With a strangled gasp she looked at the oberst, fell to the ground, and joined Ernst in that field of flowers.
Agatha was left alone. She inherited Frau Bleich’s large, beautiful house in Berlin. But never grieved. Ernst was only one of 8.5 million Germans who fell in battle during the Great War. Agatha understood, who was she to deserve the luxury of mourning? It was the end of her innocence.