Heidi noticed it in the smallest things first.
Bruno smiled more.
He laughed now, too. Loudly. At things that were not clever, not profound, and not worth rembering. A grandchild tripping over her own feet, a poorly told joke, or the dog stealing bread from the table.
That alone told her more than any declaration ever could.
She watched from the doorway as he attempted to help one of the younger boys repair a loose shutter, only to make it worse, splintering the wood where it had not been broken before.
In the past, such a failure would have provoked a correction; now, he only laughed and promised to fix it "properly tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
Heidi felt her breath catch at the word.
For decades, Bruno had lived as though tomorrow was an uncertainty to be conquered, planned for, or denied entirely. Now he spoke of it casually, as sothing he assud would co.
He teased his grandchildren, while allowing himself to be teased in return. Accepted small defeats with grace and larger inconveniences with humor.
The man who had once asured ti in campaigns and contingencies now lost track of it entirely. And that frightened her.
Not because she feared peace would end, but because she realized how long she had been waiting for it.
Bruno had been ho for a little over a month since the war ca to an end. The green leaves, now speckled with the yellow and orange of an ever encroaching autumn blocked out the waning sun.
All the while Bruno rested with a dusty old to in his hand. This was not a political treatise or a text of philosophy. Nor was it a manuscript from the Ministry of defense like was commonly found in Bruno’s personal collection.
No, this was Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s magnum opus, the pinnacle of traditional German literature, and an original first edition text, finely preserved albeit with aging print. Bruno’s fingers traced the lettering, all while he silently read its contents.
It was not until he heard an angel calling out to him that he closed the text and looked over.
"I never thought I’d see the day where the Lion of Tyrol reads a work of fiction... I thought such works were beneath the mighty Reichsmarschall. Whom I might add has the curious tendency of tracing the text with his finger like a child."
Bruno chuckled as he gazed down at his wife who stared up at him with an amused smirk.
"For a long ti it was... Works of fiction have little bearing when one is besieged by a world of enemies. But I have been known to enjoy the classics now and again. As for my finger tracing... Can’t a man enjoy the sensation of touching a work of art that has existed long before his own birth, and will survive long after his death?"
Heidi grabbed hold of the text and read the title clearly. She was genuinely curious about her husband’s taste in literature.
"Faust... Really? Honestly, Bruno. I know you don’t like to talk about those other mories of yours. But, you would think after a century we would have sothing better to read than this dusty old to! Even in a world you despise, surely even its culture wasn’t so tarnished that this is your source of entertainnt?"
Bruno took the book back from his wife with relative ease, while pulling her up into the hammock to join him. It was only after her head was pressed firmly against his chest, did he answer the question.
"You would think so, but sadly we only had a few grand works to truly celebrate. There were only a handful of writers from my old world who still understood sacrifice, consequence, and myth. n who had lived through the wars, not comnted on them. n like Tolkien, Heinlein, Herbert, and to a lesser extent Howard...."
Heidi looked up into Bruno’s eyes, for the first ti when he spoke of the past there wasn’t contempt or vigilance but pity. And detached pity at that.
"That’s it, four authors whose works could compare to what we grew up reading?"
Bruno scratched the back of his head as he thought about the question in greater detail. Sighing as he did so.
"I an, there were a few other nas for the way the world was becoming, but they didn’t create anything grand; they simply negated what was already happening. Literature died with the n who fought the war. And what followed were shallow stories ant for mass consurism and moral affirmation of generations that had never truly known hardship."
Heidi remained silent for the longest ti. Tracing her fingers across Bruno’s chest, lightly and delicately, as she seed deep in thought.
Eventually, she shocked Bruno when she finally made up her mind on what she wanted to say.
"I’m glad... You no longer talk about that world as if it’s haunting your every thought. I have waited sixty years of my life, and I finally get to see you the man I always knew existed deep down inside. I finally get to watch you enjoy the ti we have together without so constant specter threatening to disturb our peace..."
Bruno truly didn’t know how to respond to this remark. He could only burst out laughing. At the absurdity of it all. Heidi joined him, and they shared a mont together devoid of any daunting future that may yet unfurl.
In the end, Bruno could only sigh and shake his head.
"So was it worth such a monuntal sacrifice? To stand by my side... To bear my burdens, to watch from afar as I faced the fates and the tides of history as they actively conspired against ."
Heidi sohow had expected Bruno to sneak in a serious question amidst their fun. But she wasn’t angry at him, not like she would have in the past whenever he self-sabotaged any mont that beca too comfortable between the two of them.
Instead, she crawled further atop him and kissed him on the lips, whispering subtly in his ear.
"Not at all... But even so, I wouldn’t want to have lived any other way, for a burden that is shared is much easier to bear, is it not? And we did alright even though it all. You made wait sixty years for you to co ho for , and I’m just happy you finally fulfilled your promise."
Bruno kissed Heidi back, as the two of them shared a mont beneath the setting sun together in peace.
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