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Juliette and the Captain: Racism Writ Small
Moon over Berlin, Sun over Santorini: B1C6
As Ian and Dima pine for one another, neither quite openly aware of it, let’s peek in on one of Ian’s close friends. The last time we saw her, she was at Green Week, urging Ian not to get lost on the subway and end up in East Berlin again.
Juliette glanced at her watch.
Five o’clock. No, 1700, she corrected herself, trying to get acclimated to military and European time. She took a sip of her white wine and fought to keep her lip from curling. It hadn’t been very good cold, but now …
She’d been waiting for Ian over half an hour. Mark was working out. She’d refused to go to the gym with him after work. The stench of rancid male sweat that hung in the wet air only reminded her of the leers that bored into her back every time she turned it.
She looked over at the door for the tenth time and noticed that the officers club was filling up, now that people on base were finishing their shifts. Some 30 small tables dotted an airy room, lit through enormous vaulted windows that that overlooked the empty flight line.
High ceilings and elaborate moldings testified to Tempelhof Central Airport’s origins as a monument to the Thousand Year Reich. An elderly German…
