Battle of the Rhine

Quincy went nuts twice before Michael fully moved into Quincy's house.To be precise, it was the day Michael moved things.It wasn't Michael's fault for going mad for the first time, at least not entirely.Michael picks up Quincy in his beloved jeep, and while communication is difficult, it's upbringing—"Every knucklehead pretends he has one," Oliver said sharply—and Quincy puts it succinctly that he Will help Michael, "carry the luggage".

It was not in line with Michael's life credo to have college students carry their luggage.He hasn't understood the German higher education system yet, but judging by Xia Li's proud appearance, Quincy's alma mater should be good.He parked the Jeep on the side of the road, and Mr. Muller in overalls eyed the stranger suspiciously. "You don't look German at first glance." Oliver signaled, "You have to keep a straight face, as if someone owes you ten thousand dollars."

"Then I'll kill him." Michael said casually.

"I'll just make a fucking analogy, you miser!"

Michael smiled at Mr. Muller, and fished a brass key from under a pot of dead peonies.Quincy was still asleep at this hour.He used weekends to recover his strength, because he usually worked too much overtime.Germans work an average of fifty hours a week, and working with them is like fighting a war.Sometimes it's more tiring than fighting a fucking war. After all, most of the time in the war is wasted needlessly. You just need to squat in the trenches and wait for orders, instead of running around, shouting at the top of your lungs in the workshop, being surrounded by noise. My head was buzzing with shock.What Peter Eisen said was true. After working in the factory for a week, Michael decided that he would retire when he was 35 years old, or go back to his farm to herd cattle.

The door opened, and Michael tiptoed into the living room, holding a paper bag of bread and two bottles of jam.As a result, as soon as he put down the paper bag, he smelled the smell of alcohol keenly.The house smelled of new wood, and the smell of Russian wine was strange and pungent.

"You're here." Michael turned his head and found Quincy hiding in the shadows by the fireplace, with an ax and some messy logs lying at his feet.

"you've been drinking?"

"What do you tube!"

Drunk Quincy's English accent is not standard at all.He was holding a small glass bottle with half a bottle of liquid in his hand. "Fuck you, Fiennes," the German stared at Michael resentfully, "I hate you, you're a bastard..."

Michael took a few steps back, looking for a weapon.A chef's knife does negligible damage compared to an axe. "You, trash, scum," Quincy yelled, "like the US government, Fiennes, you're a trash... barge into my house...fuck you!"

"Give me the wine." Michael stretched out his hand, keeping a safe distance so as not to be hit by the axe, "Charlie doesn't want you to drink."

"Fuck, you dare to mention Charlie! You, you rapist—" Quincy patted his chest, "Fuck you, Fiennes, you broke into my house... The United States gives aid to Germany! Ha, It's just...isn't it intended to make Germany resist the Soviet Union...the Iron Curtain...you can do whatever you want..."

"Sorry, I'm not interested in the international situation," Michael said.He had given himself the title of rapist a long time ago.Yes, he was a rapist, and even if the victim was a man, the rape process didn't seem to be "in place"... Of course, in biblical times, Michael would have been stoned to death for doing such a thing.A Puritan who committed rape, even Michael himself felt that this was a great blasphemy against God.

"Fuck you, Fiennes, you hypocritical, arrogant..." Quincy switched back to German. He spoke so fast that Michael could only understand some fragments. He took out his German-English dictionary and flipped through it. "Mongrel dog", "pig", "rogue", "monkey", "soft tail", "stinky mushroom"...Finally, Quincy grabbed a piece of wood and threw it at Michael together with the wine bottle. "Fuck you!"

Then, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.It took a few minutes for Michael to confirm that his new landlord had fallen asleep after drinking.He cleared the wine bottle fragments and threw the logs into the fireplace.The lit fireplace made the living room much warmer, and he grabbed Quincy by the collar, moved him to the sofa, and went to the third floor to get the quilt.After waiting a full two hours, Quincy woke up moaning, scratched his hair, and resumed his typical German cold expression.

"If you don't want me to move in, just say so." Michael rubbed his legs.Just now he flipped through a half of the dictionary and circled the curse words with a ballpoint pen, "I know you hate me."

Quincy combed her hair slowly, "Go and carry your luggage."

It was the first time that Quinnessy went mad that day.The rapist moved into the home, the victim couldn't stand it, it was normal, Michael understood.But Quincy seemed tired after his drunken madness, and meekly got into the jeep.So far, he's been pretty normal, and it's all Michael's whim, stopping in the middle of the city, and running down to buy two bottles of orange soda and a small packet of chocolate candies.

The Coca-Cola Company stopped exporting raw materials to German processing plants during the war, and the Germans invented a soda by themselves.Michael likes Coke, and this orange soda tastes good too. It's quite strong, and it's easy to burp when you drink it.Perhaps to make up for the drunkenness, Quincy hugged the soda bottle and even said "thank you".The thank you sent Michael's mood into the sky. He chewed gum and watched Quincy drink his soda from time to time while driving.The soda wet his lips, his eyes drooped, his eyelashes long and curled.

"Did I kiss you?" Michael asked cheerfully, unable to control his mouth and tongue, and his organs as long as Quincy was around.He wanted to kiss those wet lips, for God's sake, just one kiss?

Who would have imagined that this question caused Quincy to go mad for the second time.His pale face flushed suddenly, "Fiennes, just a bottle of soda?"

"Is soda bad?" Michael puzzled, "It's worse than Coke, but—"

"How many pfennies is a bottle of soda worth?" Quincy clutched at the top of the glass bottle. "Fuck you, it used to be four dollars and 65 cents..."

"What?" Michael stopped the car. "What four dollars?"

"One hundred and seven dollars! 23 times!" Quincy shouted with red eyes, "I've already counted it, you bastard, 23 times..." He scratched his hair, face and neck with his hands in a breakdown , "Give me compensation! Give me the money, and the crime you committed will be offset, right?"

"I didn't think that way!" Michael was also devastated, "I was worried about you, afraid that you—"

"Worried about me? How about being afraid of me? Afraid that I will meet the same rapist as you? The same disgusting, nasty? Rape men for fun?"

"Why do you misinterpret my meaning, I'm afraid that when you go home—"

"Yeah, yeah, when I got home," Quincy rubbed his face into his hands, "that's great, I sold myself for a hundred and seven dollars. Thanks to your kindness, Mr. Michael Fiennes, I Not dying of starvation on the road to mend the house and get Emma a decent grave...Thank you, Mr. Fiennes, American philanthropist...not like other Yankees who can sleep with two cigarettes A German girl. Four dollars and sixty-five cents, I don't get it cheap, do I? You're at a loss! I have to thank you..."

"Stop talking about yourself like that," Michael couldn't bear it anymore, "Calm down!"

"Which number am I?" Quincy asked suddenly. "Which number is your dear Tim?"

"Damn it, Tim is my friend!" Michael felt furious, "Fuck, if you dare to mention Tim again, I'll beat you—"

"Which one am I?" Quincy said without fear, "Huh? Philanthropist, how many people have you given [-] yuan to?"

"Fuck, it's only you!" Michael slammed on the steering wheel, "Shut your mouth!"

Quincy fell silent, breathing rapidly into his hands, and probably cried for a little while.When Michael parked the car in front of the hotel, he regained his composure for the second time. Wearing a black windbreaker, except for his red cheeks and eyes, Quincy looked like a German among Germans, with the corners of his mouth pursed and his expression serious and serious.

"...Otherwise, I still won't move there." Michael opened the door, "You tell Xia Li, the bastard Yankee broke the contract."

Quincy sat down in the only chair and looked around.The room was very clean, Michael cleaned it specially. "It's cold," he said, nasally. "Please hurry up."