A Winter's Evening in Augsburg (1970)

A Winter’s Evening in Augsburg
(1970)


Inside the nightclub (disco) it was warm and lit up, sections, the lower, and the rounded balcony. The mugs of beer glowed with the wood of the tables, waitress were cleaning some off, and young customers were eating pretzels, popcorn and chips, seated and gazing about for girls, everyone appeared to be happy and content. Outside the nightclub, it was a chilly winter’s evening.
Two American soldiers (Ski and Christopher Wright) sat together at a side table, overlooking the dance floor; there was a clock that was way high on the wall. A waitress took their order, and brought Christopher a large cold beer, and Ski, who sipped on his, while the other Christopher downed his like water.
After a few more drinks, Ski was still on his first, but Christopher was on his third, “Can I bring you coffee, sir?” asked the waitress to Ski, thinking perhaps he was the driver for the two of them, and didn’t want to get in an accident.
“No,” he said, “I’m fine.”
“She thinks the coffee will keep me awake,” said Ski to his friend.
“Bring me another beer,” yelled Christopher to a passing waitress.
“Thank you Fraulein,” he said as she picked up two marks from the table.
“Do you speak German,” she asked Christopher, since he and Ski looked like they may have some German in them, “No,” Christopher said, “Maybe a little,” he added with a smile.
“Oh, yes, sir, I speak English, some.” She said and moved on another table.
“Look over there,” said Ski, “That gal is checking you out,” and he looked, “should I ask her if she wants to dance with you?” he asked Christopher.
“No,” I can if indeed she is directing those looks at me, perhaps its coincidental, she’s just looking about.”
“Mademoiselle!” yelled Ski, catching her attention through the loud music and dancing, she was two tables away.
“Yes sir,” she said, with a cleaver smile.
Christopher watched her close, she looked thin, a few years older than he, perhaps Jewish-German with a little hook on the nose, pretty, with blue eyes, and brownish hair, and she had a glass of wine in her hands. She spoke English, and looked interesting to Christopher.
“Stop speaking for me,” said Christopher to Ski, kind of direct, but not hatful.
“I can’t talk to you over this noise, come here,” she yelled, then with two and a half finger she waved Christopher on.
“I don’t necessarily like the way she’s waving me on, it’s kind of like a doggish, you know—to its master.”
The waitress came over, asked,
“Do you want me to move your drinks over to her table?” evidently, she was watching the movements, and Christopher pretended not to understand her broken English. She then went away.
“She wants you to come to her,” said Ski.
The waitress came over to their table again, “How much is her wine,” asked Christopher, “Four marks, sir,” she said, then he counted out the money slowly, put it on the table, “Then here, bring her whatever she’s drinking.”
“Cheers!” she said, holding up her glass of wine, looking at Christopher and Ski.
Christopher stood up this time, as she again was waving him on with those two and a half fingers, “Mademoiselle,” he said, “Would you like to dance?”
“Well of course, I’ve been waving you on for fifteen minutes now.” She said almost provokingly.
“Matter-of-fact, I don’t like the way you’ve been doing that finger thing, it looks like I’m suppose to be your trained dog.”
“Oh,” she said with a chuckle, “that’s kind of an ugly thing, you Americans are touchy,” she said, grabbing his hands before he changed his mind to dance, and holding him tightly, as if he was a rail, or post.
They danced several dances, and that was how they met, Chris Steward, and Christopher Wright.

“Have a cigarette,” she said, then offered Christopher one from her pack, he took it, she lit it, and they at down and laughed.
“I don’t smoke much,” said Chris, “It’s a dirty habit I’ve been trying to stop.”
“I smoke too much,” said the soldier boy, taking a puff of the cigarette, and drank his beer glass empty. He looked at the clock, and then his watch, his was a bit faster, “I should be going, it’s 10:00 O’ clock, and we have headcount, or bed check at midnight, I got to get a taxi or bus back to the base.”
Chris called the waitress, “The bill please,” and she paid it, said, “I have a car, don’t worry about getting back to the base, I’ll get you there in time, but let’s go to another club, I know one a mile or two from here.”
“If you like,” he said.
“You would like to stay with me, wouldn’t you?” she asked.
The waitress blushed as she gave her back some change.
“I mean, no disrespect,” she added, knowing he was sensitive, “but two make a party, not one, night loafer in Augsburg is velvety, I have friends I’d like you to meet.”
“That sounds interesting, but I also have a duty to be at the base by midnight, I must be in bed, myself in person.”


They were now in the car, and he asked, “Where did you learn you’re English?”
“At an English School, I am a manager of a café, among other things, and it helps because we serve a lot of GI’s.”
“Tell me about it,” asked Christopher.
“The school or the Pizzeria?” she asked as she drove deeper into the center of the city.
“You’re an awfully good looking soldier,” said Chris, “and let’s just keep it on the first date scale; I’ll tell you more about me if we go on a second date, ok?”
“Yes,” said Christopher….




Originally written in 2002, St. Paul, Minnesota, for the book, “A Romance in Augsburg.” Rewritten for “Days without Women,” shorter form, 1-2-2008.