THE LAST RESORT by Daniel Kuttner
Max and Trude set down their weathered leather bags and waited in line. His world-weary eyes scanned the carved marble, tinted glass, and dark granite trim, opulent yet cold, expensive and imposing. The cylindrical pillars reminded him of the old palace.
He caressed his wife’s shoulder. Though he had lived in this country for decades and eschewed speaking German, he maintained his Heidelberg accent. It went so well with his high collars and college dueling scar. “Liebchen, this place looks so expensive.”
Trude looked up to meet his gaze. Diminutive and wiry, the years had not dimmed her steely gaze. “What does that matter? We are not paying.”
“We did pay, when those uniformed visitors collected all our possessions and asked us to leave our house.”
She straightened the stylish veil on her hat. “They were polite. The young man especially relished our grandfather clock.”
“...and your strudel. Why did you feed them?”
“They were just following the New Rules. We must all play our part. As that stern man on TV says ‘We are in it together.’”
“Yes, but some more than others. Do you really think they donated that clock to the poor?”
She put a finger to her bright red lips. “Shhh. Don’t let the others hear you.”
The chubby, tanned couple ahead of them glowered over their shoulders.
Trude smiled at them. They shook their heads and turned their attention forward.
Max scoffed. “What else can they do to us?”
A uniformed man beckoned to them from behind the counter. “I can help you here. Step up.”
Max sighed and picked up both bags. “Yes, sir.”
“Your papers, both of you.” He inspected them. With an imperious flourish, he slammed a purple ink stamp upon both. “Any questions?”
“Will we need these?” Max held up his worn and soiled cloth mask. Trude dangled hers by one frayed elastic band.
“Didn’t they tell you on the train?” You won’t need those again.” The clerk snatched both and hurled them into a metal can marked Biohazard. It was overflowing with similar face coverings, pill bottles, and prescription slips.
Max and Trude exchanged a glance. Max raised an eyebrow.
“If there’s nothing else ... the folder with your key-card has further details. You’ll have a few days to enjoy yourselves until your number is called. You’ve elected to stay together, correct?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He clicked a few keys on his keyboard. Two plastic cards ejected through a slot into his waiting hand.
“I have a question.” Trude’s grey eyes focused on the clerk.
“Yesss.” He sighed and checked his watch.
“What kind of work will we be doing? We want to do our part.”
“This is not a work camp for you. Just enjoy your stay here and do as you’re told.”
Something tapped against Max’s shoulder. He turned to see the stern face of a grey-moustached man with a monocle. “Really, old boy.” The man huffed and tapped him again with the head of his cane.
Max’s scarred lip curled into a sneer. In an instant he could disarm that pretentious poltroon and insert that cane into a very painful place. His face must have betrayed his thoughts, for the man coughed, withdrew the offending stick and turned away.
The clerk drummed his fingers on the counter. “All the answers you need are among the FAQs in the folder. Read it when you get to your room.”
Trude and Max fumbled with the official salute. They spoke in unison. “In it together.”
“Yes. Yes. In it together. Move along now. Next!”
“What a nice young man,” Trude remarked as she and Max hoisted their frayed bags and merged with the line leading to the elevators. When the line ahead stopped, they dutifully stood on the orange footstep stickers. They perused the patriotic posters interspersed among the industrial kitsch decorating the walls.
“There’s one I haven’t seen before.” Trude pointed to a depiction of several handsome elderly couples marching toward a blinding red sunset. Working for Freedom was the block-lettered slogan.
Later, inside their room, they explored the stone and porcelain fixtures. The carpet was a light brown, muting the tone of the New Industrialism decor, a style that bordered on militaristic. Max turned a wall switch marked Ambiance. A slow, strident orchestral march filled the room.
Trude flinched. “I preferred the quiet.”
Max clicked the switch off.
Two queen beds took up one side of the main area. They stretched out on one and held hands.
At the wall ahead, another poster glared back at them. Its primary colors depicted a muscular figure in a suit, wind sweeping his hair. A heroic expression set on his ruddy, resolute face, gazing into the distance. Below it, the motto: Our Beloved President thanks you for doing your part.
They unpacked and donned flannel nightgowns. She adjusted her bonnet then his nightcap, draping the silly woolen ball behind his head.
Max kissed Trude on her forehead. Schätzchen, so much has changed since the old days. And yet so little.”
She cuddled up to him. “Ja, mein mann, du hast recht.”
Their bodies molded together in a way familiar for decades. They slept.
A sharp knock at the door startled them awake. The sun peeked through the vertical blinds.
A woman’s shrill voice pierced the door. “Time for breakfast. No dawdling. Got to take your pills.”
Max stretched. “Pills! Trude! Maybe they will give us our prescriptions back.” He ensured that his wife was modestly covered and tossed his cap upon the bed. He opened the door.
A blond-bobbed woman in a grey pant-suit pushed a trolley with two cafeteria style trays of food on top. More were stacked below. “You may sit at the table by the window.” She shoved the two trays on the table and placed glasses of a reddish juice by each. Vacuum-wrapped plastic utensils completed the setting.
Max and Trude sat, hands folded on the table. Max began “Lieber Gott ...”
“No time for that now. Here, take your pills. I have to watch you. Come on, I have more food to deliver. Hold out your hands.” She opened a dark brown bottle and shook a blue capsule into each of their palms.
Max held his up to the light filtering through the window. “What is this?”
“It’s your stabilizer. You want to do your part, don’t you? No fuss, no muss?”
“Of course, we do.” Trude slid the capsule into her mouth and sipped some liquid.
Max followed her example.
“Good. Good. Keep doing as you’re told and all will go well with you.“ The matron consulted her watch. You have free time until eleven A.M., then report to the observation deck. It’s on the diagram in your folder.” She pointed. “Look, you can see it out your window.” She strode out the door before Max could thank her.
Trude unsealed her plasticware and swished the cold granular eggs with the fork. “How long do you think we have?”
Promptly at eleven, Trude and Max emerged from the building, he wearing his black suit, she with a flowered dress and mesh-veiled hat. At the deck, they stopped while a man checked off their names.
Happy voices came from below. Max beckoned Trude to the railing. They peered over the edge and down. Waves crashed on stained rocks below. A scattering of people lounged on the adjacent beach.
Max pointed. “Look, Trude, how many are swimming.”
She shaded her eyes. “There is a line of them swimming out into the ocean, almost as far as the eye can see.”
They walked on, their formal clothing contrasting with the others, who wore beach attire. A solitary woman in a red shift danced and hummed, a garland of red flowers decorating her hair.
They passed a buffet line. The attendant pointed at them. “You two. The line starts over there.”
“Oh, excuse us please.” Max held Trude’s elbow and guided her behind the last in line. “There are no orange footprints.”
“Maybe that is part of the New Way.”
They took their plastic trays, pill packets, and cups of juice, passing to the left of the railed observation area. A couple stood together at a small platform jutting out through a gap in the railing. Facing each other, they held hands and smiled. A cold brass march played on the outdoor speakers.
Holding onto the balustrade, Max greeted the couple. “Hello. Nice day to you.”
The couple glanced his way but returned to their mutual gaze.
Trude nudged Max. “Let’s eat over there.” As they placed their lunch on the table, Max looked back toward the platform. The couple was gone. A lone man stood at the railing looking down toward the breaking waves.
Max and Trude’s eyes met. The cool ocean breeze ruffled the veil on Trude’s hat and bent Max’s single shock of white hair into a curl above his head. He smoothed it into place.
They swallowed the blue capsules.
Max picked at the cold, bland hash. “Who do you think gave them our names?”
Trude shook her head slowly. “The children, of course. Who else knew?”
Max sighed. “I guessed it but didn’t want to think.”
They ate a while in silence, punctuated only by an occasional splash below.
Trude reached for Max’s hand with both of hers. “When they call our number, which way should we go, jumping or swimming?”
“We have time to decide. Maybe there’s a third way.”
“As long as we’re together, Liebchen.” They kissed.
Trude lowered her veil. They held hands and gazed toward the horizon.
The martial music played on, punctuated by occasional splashes below.
