The battleship Ulysses survived. In fact, it would survive until the end. But today, on June 3, it was largely a hospital ship. It had collected the wounded who had been aboard other ships, and they now filled its every room. Not even the senior officers’ salon had been spared.
“I can’t even die now,” complained Olivier Poplin. “Just imagine arriving in hell only to find Walter von Schönkopf already there, carousing with the witches like he owned the place. Puts you off going at all.” He had bandages on his head and around his left forearm, and wore jelly palm under his uniform in place of underwear.
Dusty Attenborough, who had given his all as fleet commander but escaped injury, examined the paper cup of whiskey in his hand. “Better live as long as you can, then, and make sure the world knows who you are. Now that that middle-aged delinquent von Schönkopf’s gone, it’s yours for the taking.”
Poplin didn’t reply right away. His expression made clear that he had no interest in a world given to him by default, but the words he finally spoke took a different tack.
“ ‘Olivier Poplin, born Tredecember 36, SE 771, died June 1, 801, aged 29. Drowned in a lake of beautiful women’s tears.’ To think—I chose my gravestone’s inscription, and now I can’t even use it. It’s a real shame.”
Attenborough nodded absently, then suddenly grinned. “Wait a minute. That means it’s past your birthday. You’re thirty now, right? Admit it.”
“You can be so tiresome, you know that? Fine, I’m thirty—what does it profit you?”
“If I only cared about profits, what would distinguish me from some greedy Phezzanese merchant? By the way, where’s our commander gone?”
“He went to comfort a girl heartbroken over the loss of her father,” said the Ace of Iserlohn, and raised his paper cup. This, it seemed, was his way of wordlessly showing respect for that heartbroken girl’s father, and Attenborough followed his lead half a second later.
✦ ✦ ✦
II
Finding Karin took longer than Julian expected. Once negotiations with the empire were finished, he searched throughout Ulysses, but did not find her. Poplin’s face betrayed nothing, presumably intentionally so. When Julian finally wandered as far as the spartanian bays, he heard a low voice singing. It was a beautiful voice, but far from a smooth one. Not because of any lack of musicality on the part of the singer, but because the singer was in the grip of powerful emotions.
My darling, do you love me?
Yes, I will love you,
Till the end of my life,
When the Queen of Winter rings her bell,
The trees and grasses wither away,
And even the sun has fallen asleep,
And yet, with spring, the birds will come again,
And yet, with spring, the birds will come again…
“Karin.”
The young woman in uniform turned to face him. Neither was sure what expression to wear. After she finished her song, Karin heaved a deep sigh.
“My mother loved that song. She told me she sang it to Walter von Schönkopf once. He often sang it alone even after they separated, she said.”
“Karin, Admiral von Schönkopf is—”
“I know.”
Karin shook her head—hard enough to set her tea-colored hair swaying; almost hard enough to make her black beret fall off.
“He strutted around here acting like he had five or six lives to spare, and could just come right back anytime he got killed. Why did he have to die? I hadn’t even gotten my revenge on him!”
“Revenge?”
“Yes, revenge. I was going to hold out my child to him and say, ‘This is your grandchild. You’re a grandfather now.’ It would have been the best revenge of all for that middle-aged delinquent…”
She hung her head, and this time, soundlessly, her beret did fall off. Julian did not choose the wrong course of action. Ignoring the beret, he drew her close and hugged her. She offered no resistance. Indeed, she clung to his chest, repeating the same word over and over as she wept.
“Papa, papa, papa…”
Julian said nothing. As he stroked her shining hair, some words from Olivier Poplin came back to him A girl’s tears, Julian, are as sweet and beautiful as melted rock candy.
Time passed, and Karin raised her head. Her face was still damp with tears, and her expression combined shame and gratitude.
“I got your clothes all wet. I’m sorry.”
“They’ll dry.”
She meekly accepted the handkerchief he offered, but then it seemed that some impulse within her took control, and she spoke again in a serious tone.
“Do you love me, Julian? If you do, don’t just nod. Say it out loud.”
“I love you.”
Karin dried her eyes and smiled for the first time. It was like a sunbeam glimpsed before the rain had fully cleared.
“Democracy’s a fine thing, isn’t it?” she said.
“Why?”
“It lets a corporal give orders to a sublieutenant. That wouldn’t fly in an autocracy.”
Julian laughed and nodded, then hugged Karin again. In the future, when they were older and married, June 1 would no doubt be a date never forgotten in their household. It was the date on which both had lost their fathers, and the date on which the first page had turned in their new personal histories.