“Gianna, do you have some connection with that handsome SS captain?” Irina suddenly asked.
Khanyi’s dark eyelashes fluttered slightly, her head lowered even more, tears welling in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, just pretend I didn’t say anything,” Irina patted her shoulder, feeling the frail shoulder tremble violently, “Gianna, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Khanyi sniffed, forcing a smile, “I’m fine, what were you just saying?”
Irina frowned, hesitating for a long time before speaking, “…I just wanted to say, since it was the SS who took them, that captain might have a way…”
“Captain Jacob…” Khanyi murmured, seemingly unconsciously standing up from her chair, taking stiff steps toward the door.
“Gianna, where are you going?” Irina was very worried about her.
“It’s too stuffy in here, I want to go for a walk…” Khanyi passed through the dormitory area, with Irina closely following. They arrived at the school’s teaching area, in the art studio on the third floor, everything was in disarray, papers and art supplies scattered everywhere, and unfinished sketches still stuck on the easels. Just the day before, everything had been so orderly, but now the teachers had all been taken away, and the students had just dispersed…
In the corridor of the classroom hung a religious painting of Christ bound to the cross. In the lower right corner of the painting was a scrawled name, “John Brown,” from Professor Brown’s hand. Although it was just a demonstration piece, it was evident that the professor’s sketching skills were very profound; Christ on the cross was emaciated, his expression peaceful, as if he were merely asleep.
Khanyi’s dark eyes suddenly brightened; she remembered a day after class when she and her brother Brown passed by this painting. He stopped, pointed at the demonstration piece and said, “Look, what Professor Brown calls realism also has its limitations, just like Christian art does not deliberately express suffering; when nailed to the cross, it is all so calm, because this calmness highlights the nobility and greatness of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice for humanity.”
She blinked her large black eyes and innocently asked, “But his palms clearly have nails; being pierced by such long nails, wouldn’t it hurt…” At that moment, she felt a dull pain in her own hands.
“Silly girl, this is just a symbolic allegory.” He smiled and ruffled her hair.
…
Khanyi reached out to touch the painting, as if Brown’s voice and smile were right in front of her.
Irina raised her blue eyes to look, seeing this black-haired girl trembling as she touched the painting, her lips moving as she murmured something, “To die is human; it may be as light as a feather or as heavy as a mountain…”
Irina couldn’t understand that language, only knowing that her mental state was very poor, “Gianna, are you okay? Do you want to sit over there for a while?”
Khanyi shook her head, seemingly lost, “Irina, I’m fine… there’s no time left, you should go back… I mean, I want to be alone for a while.”
After sending Irina away, Khanyi returned to her dormitory alone. On the bed lay a freshly washed deep blue sweater, belonging to her brother Brown, smelling only of detergent and jasmine, devoid of her brother’s warm body heat and the scent of ink. She collapsed onto the sweater, sobbing uncontrollably, her tears soaking it through. She was very scared, terrified of that black uniform, waking from nightmares countless times in the night, startled by that unfathomable darkness. She had endured so much suffering to escape from his hands; it was more due to his concession than her own luck. In fact, that day in the woods, from the moment the gunfire did not sound, she knew he had a strange affection for her. She dared not be sure, nor did she want to admit it was love; he was so cold and ruthless, he would never understand love. Even if it was love, it was obsessive, cruel, and twisted.
Khanyi did not want to think about why he would fall in love with her; whether being loved by such an obsessive, mad, cold-blooded person was fortunate or unfortunate. She only wanted to know if he would, for this feeling, let go of Brown and the school teachers if she was willing to return to his side… If it were not for desperation, she would not resort to such a measure. For the sake of her loved ones, for her family and friends, she would rather be nailed to the cross; perhaps her actions were merely a moth to the flame, unable to save them and only leading to her own demise. But she was unwilling to give up, even if there was only a one in ten thousand chance.
