04:06
Faizan
To the Countryside of Augsburg
(Part I of II Parts; Part Two: "The Lady from Augsburg")
We left the city limits, and no sooner had we left, Chris pulled the car over to the side of the street, looking at some potato fields, said:
"Chick, well, shall we go visit the people?" She then, without waiting for my response, opened the car door, and started walking towards the fields, where one could see high reaching wooden skeleton like towers.
"By the way," I said, "... who are the people?"
I was following behind her as she got out of the car and started walking into the semi-wet, somewhat dusty and lumpy field of dirt, and then she said, hesitantly: "I like it here... the sky is so blue" then looking at the bodies all about, their backs bent over she said "those are potato pickers... " it all looked so strange to me: why were we here in the first place? I asked myself.
All the same, Chris looked comforted by being here, as it was strange for me, wondering why we were being here. On the other hand, it give me the impression she had a simple and commonplace side to her, like I had.
We stood in the middle of the field for a long minute, silent, even the sky seemed mute. There was something about this woman that I found very interesting, especially in this compassionate moment. Ever since she had told me she was a German-Jew, and the tragedy of her family in WWII, and the closeness she had with her grandmother, who helped raise her, I had taken an interest in her a little more in that she become more open to me, if not vulnerable fresh. I was discovering we perhaps had bonded together somewhat, were growing as they say, instead of going, wherever; in lack of a better phrase, we found something common between us, yet I couldn't name it, and I was not sure why I felt this way in the first place, especially in this odd place of places, she had selected to show me, but I knew or at least felt, she had been through more hardships in life, than I had in life, being three years my senior likewise, born the last year before the ending of the Second World War and her father taken as a prisoner, Jewish intellectual, and never seen of thereafter-right out of his library at his home office; and thereafter, her mother and grandmother escaping to London, avoiding the Nazi regime, that is to say, missing being captured by a thread, and perhaps avoiding a trip to Poland. Yet I suspect it was spring too, you know, timing can play a big part in any reminiscing, evoking old events in one's life they now cherish; I said to my impulsiveness, 'I'm just excited about being on a second date' -where would it lead?
"What are the towers for?" I asked.
They were like observation towers in the middle of the potato fields. Older women were picking or planting, or doing both, potatoes all around us, all at the same time, or so it appeared; -more than I had notice before at any rate. So, Chris explained the towers, "... they are for the boss to see what is going on in his fields, let's climb up one," she suggested.
I continued to walk through the landscape behind Chris, we came to a wooden structure, which was one of the field towers, about twenty-five feet high, with a wooden enclosure on the four sides to the top, a skimpy looking ladder at that that went up to this boxed-in observation post; a peaceful silence still circled the aurora around us, filled the cool and freshness of the countryside air. Chris put her hands on the ladder pulling herself up from one step to the other; the brisk air reproduce a warm-chill inside of me, I held my jacket a little closer to my body, I was a little lost for the moment-like I was drifting at sea: my stomach and intestines stimulated somewhat, it would have been embarrassing had I tried to describe to her what I was feeling, but it was enticing. She had a skirt on.
Standing at the bottom of the ladder, as she was now in the center, several more steps to the top, I started to climb upward, doing so in as much as I wanted to, and not to, I couldn't help but see from viewing her long lean legs, her sway, and the motion of her slim hips climbing those last few steps, stretching one step the other; I quickly looked the other way, as Chris just happened to turn her face ninety degrees, looking down at me with a smile (she knew I was viewing her outlines);
'Ye!' I said 'can't help peeking,' I think I was really trying not to, but hick, why lie, I was all the same! I could never figure out women, was she doing this to entice me or what? I mean she could have suggested I go up first, be the leader in this escapade.
Somehow, I was not even ashamed (for the moment, as the old saying goes: I had no blood in my face, nor pride), nor did I feel guilty for getting caught-actually I felt good about getting caught: it made it more daring, or it made me look more daring, not sure, but after a moments discovery, I was a hero to myself for enduring that moment of misbehavior, and I kind of wanted to just grab her and... well, I'll leave it at that.
She could either have laughed or as she did, smile; I think she chose the more amusing one, if not more reserved, her approach in life was always that way. Women are like cats, sly and secretive, so I was learning. Men are more like bulldogs, so predictable, so I was learning, also. I was to a certain degree shy, not a sinful shyness, but a chivalry kind of shyness; it's not what a knight would do. I suppose the modern term might be gentlemen, but that seems a little out of place for me, especially back then.
(Part I of II Parts; Part Two: "The Lady from Augsburg")
We left the city limits, and no sooner had we left, Chris pulled the car over to the side of the street, looking at some potato fields, said:
"Chick, well, shall we go visit the people?" She then, without waiting for my response, opened the car door, and started walking towards the fields, where one could see high reaching wooden skeleton like towers.
"By the way," I said, "... who are the people?"
I was following behind her as she got out of the car and started walking into the semi-wet, somewhat dusty and lumpy field of dirt, and then she said, hesitantly: "I like it here... the sky is so blue" then looking at the bodies all about, their backs bent over she said "those are potato pickers... " it all looked so strange to me: why were we here in the first place? I asked myself.
All the same, Chris looked comforted by being here, as it was strange for me, wondering why we were being here. On the other hand, it give me the impression she had a simple and commonplace side to her, like I had.
We stood in the middle of the field for a long minute, silent, even the sky seemed mute. There was something about this woman that I found very interesting, especially in this compassionate moment. Ever since she had told me she was a German-Jew, and the tragedy of her family in WWII, and the closeness she had with her grandmother, who helped raise her, I had taken an interest in her a little more in that she become more open to me, if not vulnerable fresh. I was discovering we perhaps had bonded together somewhat, were growing as they say, instead of going, wherever; in lack of a better phrase, we found something common between us, yet I couldn't name it, and I was not sure why I felt this way in the first place, especially in this odd place of places, she had selected to show me, but I knew or at least felt, she had been through more hardships in life, than I had in life, being three years my senior likewise, born the last year before the ending of the Second World War and her father taken as a prisoner, Jewish intellectual, and never seen of thereafter-right out of his library at his home office; and thereafter, her mother and grandmother escaping to London, avoiding the Nazi regime, that is to say, missing being captured by a thread, and perhaps avoiding a trip to Poland. Yet I suspect it was spring too, you know, timing can play a big part in any reminiscing, evoking old events in one's life they now cherish; I said to my impulsiveness, 'I'm just excited about being on a second date' -where would it lead?
"What are the towers for?" I asked.
They were like observation towers in the middle of the potato fields. Older women were picking or planting, or doing both, potatoes all around us, all at the same time, or so it appeared; -more than I had notice before at any rate. So, Chris explained the towers, "... they are for the boss to see what is going on in his fields, let's climb up one," she suggested.
I continued to walk through the landscape behind Chris, we came to a wooden structure, which was one of the field towers, about twenty-five feet high, with a wooden enclosure on the four sides to the top, a skimpy looking ladder at that that went up to this boxed-in observation post; a peaceful silence still circled the aurora around us, filled the cool and freshness of the countryside air. Chris put her hands on the ladder pulling herself up from one step to the other; the brisk air reproduce a warm-chill inside of me, I held my jacket a little closer to my body, I was a little lost for the moment-like I was drifting at sea: my stomach and intestines stimulated somewhat, it would have been embarrassing had I tried to describe to her what I was feeling, but it was enticing. She had a skirt on.
Standing at the bottom of the ladder, as she was now in the center, several more steps to the top, I started to climb upward, doing so in as much as I wanted to, and not to, I couldn't help but see from viewing her long lean legs, her sway, and the motion of her slim hips climbing those last few steps, stretching one step the other; I quickly looked the other way, as Chris just happened to turn her face ninety degrees, looking down at me with a smile (she knew I was viewing her outlines);
'Ye!' I said 'can't help peeking,' I think I was really trying not to, but hick, why lie, I was all the same! I could never figure out women, was she doing this to entice me or what? I mean she could have suggested I go up first, be the leader in this escapade.
Somehow, I was not even ashamed (for the moment, as the old saying goes: I had no blood in my face, nor pride), nor did I feel guilty for getting caught-actually I felt good about getting caught: it made it more daring, or it made me look more daring, not sure, but after a moments discovery, I was a hero to myself for enduring that moment of misbehavior, and I kind of wanted to just grab her and... well, I'll leave it at that.
She could either have laughed or as she did, smile; I think she chose the more amusing one, if not more reserved, her approach in life was always that way. Women are like cats, sly and secretive, so I was learning. Men are more like bulldogs, so predictable, so I was learning, also. I was to a certain degree shy, not a sinful shyness, but a chivalry kind of shyness; it's not what a knight would do. I suppose the modern term might be gentlemen, but that seems a little out of place for me, especially back then.
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