The Losing Role Read Online Free PDF

this little misfit Aussenseiter Felix was a man he might be able to confide in? A man he could
trust? Were there even any left? He flipped the pages of a Life magazine, skimming the photos and ads. Americans
devoted full-page ads to hair tonic and tiny ads to typewriters,
while in Germany it was just the opposite.
    He made a clucking sound with the top of his mouth.
He was sure to smile when he spoke even though Felix couldn’t see
him. “What we’re up to here? Let’s not kid ourselves. Has to be a
secret mission. Behind the lines surely. That’s some dicey stuff.
Don’t you think?”
    Felix didn’t answer right off. His bed squeaked,
once. “You tell me. Sure, and then tell me about your big combat
days. Go on, Max.” Felix had never called him Max before. It had
always been Herr von Kaspar, with a smile or a joking bow.
He should have never told Felix about the stage name.
    “If I must. I was on the Ostfront for six
months. Always on the front lines.”
    “How many times you fire your gun? How many you
kill? Any face to face?”
    “How many?” Now Max snorted a laugh. “Who was
counting? My God, we were too busy getting shot at, and bombed . .
.”
    “You never killed anyone. Right? Right. So spare me
the Hitler School patronage. Your fake optimism. You think whatever
we got going here is doomed. That’s what you think. That’s why
you’re prying just now.”
    “Prying? Me?” Max chuckled. Not Felix too? he
thought. A deluded child, like all the rest? Then again, the little
juggler was also an actor.
    The Luftwaffe boys were still having at it, slapping
down cards and shouting. Max spoke lower. “You were never on the
front lines. I didn’t mean to question your ability, dear Felix, if
that’s what you mean. So please, temper the finger pointing. It
will only get you—us—into trouble.”
    The top bunk creaked. Felix leaned over and stared
down at Max, blocking the light. Max stared up. Felix climbed down
and knelt next to Max. His small, narrow eyes locked on Max’s, and
he wagged a finger. A narrow finger. Everything about Felix was
slender, from his shoulders to his eyebrows, from his lips to his
skinny bowed legs. Even his Berlin accent was tinny. He was like
some mythical forest imp. Max stared back, blank-faced.
    “Don’t give me that. I got your number,” Felix said.
“No one else here does, but I do.” He whispered now. “You don’t
believe in any of this. You don’t believe in the war.”
    “ Quatsch ,” Max said, yet he had to shrug and
look away.
    Felix stayed at his side. Smiling now. Not letting
Max off the hook.
    Perhaps less direct was best, Max decided. He tossed
the magazine to his feet. “In America? You said you were in the
circus,” he said.
    Felix looked away, first at the Luftwaffe boys, and
then at his hands hanging off his knees. “Why not, I figured. I
could ride a unicycle, juggle, play the clown, dress up like a
woman and play one even better. So I’d give it a shot. Cabarets
were closing here. Not like your time over there, eh?”
    Max shrugged. “Apples and oranges.”
    “So why give it all up for Germany?”
    Max stared, a long time. How to answer this? With
the proven old platitudes, or something more shrewd. Before he
could respond, Felix jumped back up onto his bunk. He had to be
smiling again, the way his voice was singing. “That’s why you come
here—why you play along. To find new roles, right? After all, you
are an actor. And perhaps some new friends? From adversity comes
clarity, isn’t that the line?”
    “Something like that . . .” Max rolled his eyes.
Whatever was coming after Grafenwöhr, it might just give him a way
out. And Felix was certainly giving him ideas. Had he meant to?
Could this little forest imp read his mind? Predict the future?
    “And you?” Max said. “Why’d you volunteer?”
    “Didn’t you know?” Felix said, adding a snicker.
“It’s to help you.”
     
    By their second week in Grafenwöhr, the