Yes, and he gives her the “peaches.”

Rotation for night patrols and guard duty is divided among the soldiers as the rest of the sunlight sinks. Reinforcements arrive with new faces and Romanians, which create language barriers and worried attitudes about the security of the offensive. After having a hot meal, Graeber stumbles over some stowed Russian goods and finds some of the “peaches” from earlier. He also takes his cider, thinking he could make the Russian something hot to drink.

He’s equipped with a flashlight and uses it to explore the room's dark corners. He finds it empty at first, only finding blood stains. Then, he calls out. “Hey, uhm, girl?”

His voice is low, but it's an answer to elicit a response. “I’m in here.”

Graeber’s heart leaped in surprise at the sound of the girl’s voice. When he sees her, she is armed with a pistol.

“If you shoot me, the others are sure to show you no mercy,” Graeber warns the Russian while cursing his lack of concern.

The Russian blinks and puts the pistol down. “Entschuldigung. It was just for safety.”

The tension is nearly gone when Graeber offers the can of fruit. The girl takes it and then hesitates. “I have nothing to open this with.”

Graeber choked before he reached for his bayonet and spade. This time, he hesitates. He used this bayonet only once in combat. “I’ve used this once to kill.”

“Have you washed it since then?”

“Of course,” he says.

“Then I’m so hungry I couldn’t give a damn.”

Despite her response, he tries not to rain too much of the contents of the can as he haphazardly opens it. Once it is opened, she is content and eating dripping fruit.

“What’s your name?” Graeber finally asks.

She looks up at him. Her brown eyes are slightly shaped like almonds, and her lips are thin as she chews. “Why?”

“I’ve…I don’t know. Just to know you, I suppose. I’ve seen you twice. Saved you twice. And now I have just now spoken to you at least somewhat normally.”

“Natalie,” she swallows.

“Graeber,” he chases with.

Natalie shakes her head. “Not your surname.”

Graeber blinks. “Just my surname.”

She insists, however.

“Samson,” he sighs.

“You have a Jewish name,” she says with a tight smile and a loose chuckle. “Are you a Jew?”

Samson does not share the same humor as the Russian before him. “I’m not.”

“I bet you’re circumcised,” she lightly teases.

“I bet you fantasize about being with an SS officer,” he spits back.

The venom in his words are purposely added to hurt Natalie. It was easy to get upset with her for some reason. He now intends to badger and insult her with insults and rude remarks. He then wonders why he took so much offense from her comment. Lukas poked Graeber with Jew jokes before. As he raises his voice, she raises hers.

“You filthy fucking communist,” Graeber snapped. “Do I need to show you my cock to prove I’m a full-blood German?”

Natalia’s eyes dart down to his crotch and then back at him directly. Her face wrinkles slightly, and she smiles. “Of course not! Do I need to let you fuck me to let you know I have no interest in the radicals of your army?”

Graeber knows his face is hot, but he now it’s for a different reason. “Of course not.”

Aside from Natalie’s slurping, it’s silent in the room. When he looks at her, he realizes that she’s avoiding his gaze too. He remembers that he has cider and offers to make it for her. She politely declines but asks if she can stay and talk with her. A strange request after their little exchange, but he chooses to remain nonetheless.

It’s awkward, but he doesn’t know what to do. This war has tainted even the most basic of questions. Her parents might be dead. If she had any brothers, they could either be dead, captured, missing, or fighting– something could be applied to a boyfriend or husband.

Luckily, it isn’t him who is tasked to break the silence. “Are you Jewish?”

“No,” he deadpans. “But, as you may imagine, I keep my name hidden for a reason. When I’m done with this war, I’m getting it changed. Otherwise, getting a regular job might be annoying.”

“Don’t you think that’s bad?”

“No,” he says, unsure if it’s a lie or not. “You Russians…”

“Us Russians?” She inquiries. “What do you mean?”

The very culture of her people has become political, and he becomes nervous about how to approach her. Natalie is like an unexploded shell from an artillery piece. How does one talk to the enemy? He rubs his temples. “I don’t know what I mean. This is all confusing.”

Natalie is quiet. “It is.”

She places down her peaches and sighs. “I was told all Germans were rapists, and now I owe you for saving me twice and feeding me…Keeping me company and risking your life to make sure I somehow get out this mess.”

“I don’t want to get into this,” Graeber curses. “Eat your peaches.”

“I have,” she sighs. “The can is empty.”

“Then what should we do?” He asks. “I’m here to keep you company.”

She shrugs. “Your friends will come looking for you if you don’t return to your place of duty, won’t they?”

“Maybe,” Graeber is lost in thought, and he isn’t sure where his words will lead him if he continues. “You’re a pretty girl. I would have flirted with you if I saw you in peacetime and our government didn’t hate each other.”

Natalie laughs at this and regards him with great eyes. “You’re handsome too. I would have taken your flirts as fine compliments.”

“I’ve met many women since joining the army I would have liked to know before…before all this,” he thinks, returning his gaze. “Two of them were Polish even, and now a Russian. Would we have become friends if we weren’t so…toxic?”

Natalie shakes her head. “We would have never seen each other if we never had this war. Nor would we have had the chance to speak if our motherlands didn’t hate each other.”

“Fatherland,” Graeber corrected, but she just rolled her eyes.

“Do you think we would have married?” She asks.

“I don’t know,” Graeber studies her like a piece of mysterious material. “My father fought in the first world war against the Russians. I don’t think he would have liked me marrying one.”

Her brows furrow. “My mom is German, and she married a Russian. Remember?”

“Well, you are pretty.” He admits. “I don’t know.”

“Should we pretend for a moment?”

Graeber chuckles. “You’re crazy now.”

“I haven’t spoken to anyone about anything, so…normal. It’s always the war. We might not have another time to pretend.”

“Pretend that we are married?”

“And Hitler didn’t try to conquer us. We met somewhere first, though. Where did we meet?”

Graeber realizes now that he’s in this deep, he might as well try to humor her.